Meeting the Slaves

A/N: Chapter was jointly written by both Durzan and Master-V. Editing was done by Fredhot16.

“Lead the way,” you say as you follow the auctioneer further down the hallway, the handkerchief still pressed firmly over your face.

“Garmen, isn't it unwise to keep slaves in such filth? I'm not about to get them silk sheets, but by the gods, that smell would offend the undead!”

“My, my, young sir... these younglings might be in luck to have such a kind-hearted master," he laughs. He fixes you with an amused grin. "Though I must let you know that such things are quite common in our trade. Soon, you'll realize yourself just how much of a difference there is between us and our lessers. Little more than beasts of burden, to be quite honest.”

You nod absentmindedly at his words. True, you've never really given much thought to a ****'s life other than when you needed them for something. To you, they were more like objects. Objects that might not seem like much at first... but if it were shaped and treated properly, it'd become far more useful, valuable, and noteworthy than otherwise. A quality **** wasn't something that existed naturally; it had to be crafted, shaped, and molded. You find a rough and dull crystal, shave away the parts that hold it back, shape it to your desire and then polish it into a sparkling diamond. But one wrong move and the crystal would shatter. Such was the nature of this craftsman waiting to be unleashed upon the world.

“Ah! Here we are, young master Andrean!” Garmen says as he stops in front of a wooden door at the end of the hallway. He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket, attached to a big iron hoop, each very similar in both size and design. “Now then, which one was it?”

He squints a bit as he sorts through the keys, struggling to try and tell one apart from the other.

“Aha, here it is!” Garmen exclaims as he slides the key into the lock.

Once inside you realize the rancid odor of the pens isn't as strong here. Hesitantly, you lower your handkerchief and return it to your pocket. The smell was still awful, but not to the point where it would make you lose your lunch.

Much like before, there are many cells lining the walls of the pen. But as you walk around you see the difference between these slaves and the one from the previous pen. They were all much younger and fresher than the others and for the most part lacked the bruising, scrapes, and whip marks the others had. You could see that some had gotten out of line and were disciplined.

Just as in the previous pen, however, none of them dare to speak. Some even seem too afraid to even make a noise. Your father has always taught you to carry yourself well and to project an aura of strength. If you never look weak, then very few will seek to challenge you. You can't help but flash a cocky smirk as you note their reactions. It seems like your practice had paid off. But then again, they were mere slaves. All of them should fear you.

“Your father has already paid a great sum in advance young master, so there is no need to be shy. Any **** in here is yours to take. They are all brand new and have little to no experience.”

You glance back towards the man and nod in acknowledgment. It was just like your father to be two steps ahead of everything. Still, you couldn't help but be a little nervous. You wanted to make a good first impression as a **** trainer. Only the very best would do, and to determine that, you'd have to get a closer look.

You wander up and down, letting your eyes scan over the slaves until you notice a few that seem to catch your fancy...