Although the elven architecture remains magnificent, the part of the city you're travelling through seems more poor and run down. The paint is cracked, the stonework chipped and the prostitutes, which seem to be on every street corner even in the day time, were obviously of a lower, cheaper class, standing with rouged nipples openly displayed and shouting crude suggestions at passers by.
The wagon eventually rolls into an old warehouse, apparently long abandoned. You feel the wagon shake as the half orcs dismount.
"Haresh, Murlac, welcome," a cool voice says, and a figure steps into view. She is an elf, tall and beautiful, with hair so blond it is almost silver. She is clearly wealthy, wearing a green silk dress which clings to her slender body and adorned with gold and jewels. Some of the odd patterns in her ornaments make you suspect she is a magic user. Her heartbreaking face is marred by her contemptuous expression, an expression mirrored on the face of the elven warrior who stands behind her as her bodyguard.
"You have the potions?"
"Yes, ma'am, but it was hell getting 'em past the border."
Your eyes widen. The smuggling of illegal magical potions is dangerous but highly lucrative. But it is the next exchange that truly panics you.
"Where are they?"
"Under the hay. I'll get them."
You freeze, realising that the sharp-cornered box you've been sharing your hiding place with must be their illicit cargo, and that there's no way they'll retrieve it without finding you. You struggle to think of a way out as you hear one of their footsteps, but your mind is blank.
Then the hay is lifted aside, and for the first time you get a look at the wagoneers' faces. Like most half-orcs, they are ugly, with warty faces and tusk-like teeth. Many half-orcs are born from women who've been raped by orc raiders and, judging from the leering grins, they have inherited their fathers' habits.
"What is it?" the elven lady asks, stepping into view just as one of them reaches greedily for your breast. They pause, caught between lust for you and respect for her.
"Well," she says, "This seems to be a bonus. Stand up, girl."
You obey cautiously, trying to cover yourself with your hands. That makes her smile cruelly.
"If you’re so concerned about your modesty, child, you should not be wandering around nude. Now, what shall I do with you? I'm sure you would fetch a fine sum at the slave market, especially if I had them bid on you as you are now. And of course there are other less... public buyers, who would be eager to purchase such a fine piece of female flesh. Or I could put you to work in one of my brothels. You'd earn a fine amount there. Of course, I could always make you a more... personal slave, either for me or one of my daughters."
Sadly, letting you go does not seem to be one of her options. |