Wraiths and Shadows

The Warlord needed fodder for his ranks. That led him to the slave traders. They moved often, but he knew their ways. He wasted only a day before he found them, and was accompanied down to the slave pens. He passed miserable specimens, his experienced eye searching for potential. He was looking for young, and untrained. Or old, and seasoned. The old he would only take if they were crippled in some way. A reason they had failed to free themselves. The sort that would be good as a teacher. Or the young, with potential buried in their growing bodies. He dismissed the first few pens he moved by. Too wiry, too broken, too much cruelty in their eyes. Slaves broke that way, sometimes. They were useless to him.

He walked until a scent caught his attention and he froze in his tracks. His guide came to a stop a moment later. Eyes politely on the Warlord. Sirius spent good trade on them, it afforded him a few oddities. He took a moment to work his way through the scent. To understand why it seemed faintly familiar to him. When understanding came, his eyes darkened with concealed rage. He never expected to find one of the brood of those wolves. He had no curiosity as to the fate that led her here. He turned, following his nose. "My Lord, my Lord, those slaves aren't processed yet" his guide protested, but not too strongly.

They both came to a stop in front of her pen. She was a pale, slip of a thing. Like a Wraith, a ghost cladded in fur and dirt. She was pressed to the side of the pen, looking as if she would will herself out of existence if it was within the realm of possibility. Meek, and damaged. He could see the missing tail, and one paw didn't look right. He couldn't tell the extent of it unless she stood, and it didn't look like she'd be doing that by her own volition for a while. But his eyes didn't falter as they trailed across her body. His expression analysed her like so much cargo. He couldn't let his emotions out, not here. Not now.

"This one." He said to his guide. The wolf beside him gave the slave a doubtful look, but a sales pitch was a sales pitch. "Of course, My Lord." He said agreeably "This one is a fine choice. Young, malleable. A pretty wee thing. A good amount of sex appeal." He gave a sideways eye to the Warlord beside him. He said the last not because the Warlord was interested in that sort of thing, but because he'd been known to buy merchandise to save them from such a fate. This time, there was no appalled grimace in his client's expression. Only cold, appraising eyes. The guide cleared his throat awkwardly. "Right. Well, the boss hasn't had his fun with this one yet. These things up the price, as you know." His bargaining was met with further silence, and he struggled not to fidget. "Those crystals you brought us last time, two. Plus a dagger from your blacksmith." He bargained. The Warlord turned to the guide now, his eyes disapproving. "She’s damaged goods, she doesn't even have all her parts. Are you trying to cheat me?" He asked with indignation. "One crystal, and nothing else." He bargained. The guide did fidget now, trying to determine how much he could push. But another glance to the damaged slave left him sighing. "Deal." He agreed at last.

The Warlord handed over a crystal from his pack, and turned to the girl. "On your paws." He ordered, voice cold and demanding. A subtle threat, and a need to be obeyed.


"Speech"