Freedom
The bustle up on deck had long since ceased, leaving only the occasional creak and the sound of water against the hull. He tried to sleep, but the thought of being caught and sent back to that place kept him on edge. Being thrown overboard was a more acceptable senerio, he was an excellent swimmer, but there was no guarantee of that.
He would not go back. Most of his childhood had been lost to days of menial labor and nights on a cot in a cold cellar. No more of his life would be forfeited to his self proclaimed owners. This was his chance to end it, his chance to gain control of his destiny.
Weeks later he found himself on the docks of the city of Whitebridge. Andor, as far from his old life as he could ever have imagined to get. He soon sold the few things he managed to bring on his escape and managed to aquire a decent sword and buckler. The closest he had ever came to holding a real sword was the plank of wood he used to practice with in the cellar at night, but with a few days of practice he was soon used to the weight.
And with that he set of toward magnificent Caemlyn, as ready as he could be to start his new life. He would suffer at the will of others no more, he would slave no more, he would be weak no more. It was a soldiers life he wanted, a life of honour, and a life of respect. He had come so far and he would not accept anything less.