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Aug. 25th, 2019 03:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
etlabeteIt all seems to happen so fast, once it begins. One day, Mei is the pampered eldest daughter of some of the most-respected mages in the land, a noblewoman in silks and velvet, the apple of her parents' eye, sure of her own place in the world and the love of her family. And the next...
The next, she's here.
She still feels numb, like this is all a dream. It has to be a dream. Almost in a trance, she lets herself be dragged up onto the auction stage by the iron collar that chafes the delicate, pale skin of her neck. Her shackles clink as she's brought to stand in full view of the crowd.
Even though she's wearing only the same coarse shift and chains as the other slaves to be sold, the difference is apparent. The others, a mixture of humans and trolls and orcs and dwarves, are all born to this fate, have lived hard lives already, and it shows in their hunger-sharp features and the scars of shackles and whips on their rough-tanned skin. Mei's skin, by contrast, is milk-white and smooth, her red hair a little dirty but clearly cared for. Under the itchingly rough homespun of her shift, her body has the gentle curves of someone well-fed and never worked hard; her hands are soft and her nails manicured. More than that, though, there's something else that sets her apart: the look on her face, as though she's completely lost in this place, as though she has no idea what to expect. She's been to a couple of slave auctions in her life - upmarket affairs, to help pick out a handmaiden or a family cook - but certainly never from this side.
"Fresh to the market," the auctioneer, a tall, broadset man with a sharp smile, is announcing to the audience, his voice magically amplified, "we have a human female, eighteen years of age. Noble blood, ladies and gentlemen, this one has noble blood, and it shows! She can sing, she can sew, she knows five - five! - languages, a very accomplished handmaid or bedwarmer..."
As he speaks, he's moving towards her, largely unnoticed by Mei herself, whose wide brown eyes are fixed on the staring audience, her body now trembling with tension and fear. She doesn't react until, with a practiced gesture, the auctioneer pulls the shift down and off her, stripping her altogether. Then she screams, her shackles clattering as she tries desperately to cover herself with her hands, to the merriment of the buyers.
"A virgin!" the auctioneer announces, to the laughing crowd, with the flourish of a showman, and gestures to one of the guards, who grabs her arms and forces them down to her sides to give the audience an uninterrupted view of her naked form: pert breasts tipped with blush-pink nipples, the soft curve of her belly and hips, a neat thatch of pubic hair on her mound. "Note the soft skin, the healthy form. You can check her for yourselves, gentlemen, for just a few pieces of gold. What am I bid for Mei here, ladies and gentlemen? We'll start at fifty! Do I hear fifty?"
All the while, the unfortunate girl, apparently shocked out of her stupor, is struggling against the rough hands of the guard, her face red and tears in her eyes, her chest heaving wildly with exertion and emotion.
The next, she's here.
She still feels numb, like this is all a dream. It has to be a dream. Almost in a trance, she lets herself be dragged up onto the auction stage by the iron collar that chafes the delicate, pale skin of her neck. Her shackles clink as she's brought to stand in full view of the crowd.
Even though she's wearing only the same coarse shift and chains as the other slaves to be sold, the difference is apparent. The others, a mixture of humans and trolls and orcs and dwarves, are all born to this fate, have lived hard lives already, and it shows in their hunger-sharp features and the scars of shackles and whips on their rough-tanned skin. Mei's skin, by contrast, is milk-white and smooth, her red hair a little dirty but clearly cared for. Under the itchingly rough homespun of her shift, her body has the gentle curves of someone well-fed and never worked hard; her hands are soft and her nails manicured. More than that, though, there's something else that sets her apart: the look on her face, as though she's completely lost in this place, as though she has no idea what to expect. She's been to a couple of slave auctions in her life - upmarket affairs, to help pick out a handmaiden or a family cook - but certainly never from this side.
"Fresh to the market," the auctioneer, a tall, broadset man with a sharp smile, is announcing to the audience, his voice magically amplified, "we have a human female, eighteen years of age. Noble blood, ladies and gentlemen, this one has noble blood, and it shows! She can sing, she can sew, she knows five - five! - languages, a very accomplished handmaid or bedwarmer..."
As he speaks, he's moving towards her, largely unnoticed by Mei herself, whose wide brown eyes are fixed on the staring audience, her body now trembling with tension and fear. She doesn't react until, with a practiced gesture, the auctioneer pulls the shift down and off her, stripping her altogether. Then she screams, her shackles clattering as she tries desperately to cover herself with her hands, to the merriment of the buyers.
"A virgin!" the auctioneer announces, to the laughing crowd, with the flourish of a showman, and gestures to one of the guards, who grabs her arms and forces them down to her sides to give the audience an uninterrupted view of her naked form: pert breasts tipped with blush-pink nipples, the soft curve of her belly and hips, a neat thatch of pubic hair on her mound. "Note the soft skin, the healthy form. You can check her for yourselves, gentlemen, for just a few pieces of gold. What am I bid for Mei here, ladies and gentlemen? We'll start at fifty! Do I hear fifty?"
All the while, the unfortunate girl, apparently shocked out of her stupor, is struggling against the rough hands of the guard, her face red and tears in her eyes, her chest heaving wildly with exertion and emotion.
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Date: 2019-08-27 06:54 am (UTC)He can still remember the excitement of his family, their neighbors, the first day those flickers of flame appeared in his young hands. The first orc mage in nearly fifty years. No orc could even dream of the power and wealth the human mages held, or even the better off non-mages. They were regarded as beasts, after all, cattle. Barely intelligent enough to follow simple commands.
But the law of the land clearly stated that any man, woman, or child that could cast a spell was entitled to land. And more, if they could prove that their talents were strong.
His parents had spoke proudly of how he could use his station to improve their status. He'd ignored them. Indeed, he hadn't sent them a single scrap of gold in his entire life, ever since he'd been spirited away to the capital at age thirteen, passed all those human exams with flying colors. What use did he have for improving the station of orcs? They were right. The average orc was a dumb brute.
Not Azreal, though. Azreal was a businessman, and business was booming. Oil, diamonds, anything he could get his cadre of miners and diggers to ply out of the ground. Orcs listened to him more. He was one of their own, spoke their language. And orcs made for the best workers.
Azreal sits in his chair, in the VIP section of the auction house, a tiny little sectioned off area, surrounded by his slaves. Four large orcs, larger than even him, workers who had put in good hours in the mines. Carrot and stick approach. And of course, his harem. A beautiful elf on his lap, imported from her homeland. A cute catgirl, hugging to his knee. A tall, statuesque dragonkin woman, massaging his shoulders. Two nereids - mermaids with feet - serving him drinks.
But his girls don't interest him, despite their thin harem girl outfits, all gauze and ribbons. No, he has his eyes on the woman on auction.
A noble.
He's abandoned family, even his race, but Azreal hasn't forgotten those first thirteen years of his life. Surviving off scraps, kicked at and swore at by whatever nobles had some shady business down in the slums. Begging for his life whenever he caught the ire of one, just by existing.
He has his harem of imported luxuries, but little noble human girls are his favorite. He'd been tipped off that there'd be one on sale, but he hadn't expected her to be so young, so clearly out of her element. Usually, the noble girls on sale are rebels against the 'unjust' state, or ones who've committed some sort of crime. They're already hardened, they already know what might happen to them, in a country built on slavery.
Not this girl.
"One hundred," he booms from the back, his voice guttural - he can speak human language much better than the orcs down in the slums, but his accent still lingers. It's impossible to not realize he's an orc.
And of course, there's the mutterings of the other nobles. Oh dear, Baron Azreal has his eye on her. Poor dear. She'll be broken in before the night is through.
If she looks up at where the bid came from, she can see him, sitting on his fine chair, grinning down at her, tusks in the way of his grin.
One of the harem girls even winks down at her.
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Date: 2019-08-27 10:28 pm (UTC)She realises, in the moment of hearing that gruff, accented voice call out a bid, that she was horribly wrong.
Her face had been red, but now the colour drains entirely from her cheeks, leaving only two hectic, feverish spots on the tops of her high cheekbones. Going slack in the arms of her captors, her legs apparently giving out under her, she raises her head slowly to look up at the box where the voice came from, hoping and praying that panic has made her misunderstand. But no, there he is, yellowing tusks protruding from his smile, eyes gleaming from the shadows of his heavy brow... an orc. A brutish, hulking orc, looking at her naked body with a hungry smile that makes her feel faint. The world seems to swim in front of her eyes, the auctioneer's voice drowned out by the roar of blood in her ears.
Without being entirely aware of it, she's started to shake her head, over and over again, desperately willing herself to wake up. Wake up. This is all a nightmare. None of this can be happening. Loving parents don't sell their daughters into slavery. Noble girls don't get stripped and paraded on a stage like beasts. Beasts don't sit in the audience and try to buy people. It's nightmare logic, dream logic. Any moment, she's going to wake up, and she'll be safe in her own bed, and her own slave will bring her rosewater to wash the sweat from her face, sweet tea to soothe her...
She doesn't even hear the bidding continue - although there are more bids, both from those who want her and from those who simply don't want an orc to have what's clearly the rarest stock at this auction. Mei is busy trying to wake up, screwing her eyes closed tightly and biting her lip so hard she tastes salt. But the stage under her bare feet is still rough and solid, the shift of the warm air on her bare skin still raises gooseflesh and sweat together, and she can still feel the shackles on her wrists and ankles, the collar chafing her throat.
Don't let him win. Let him get bored. Please, any gods who are listening, let him get bored. She knows there are cruel people in the world, but this is worse. This isn't even a person. This is one of those hulking beasts she was warned away from all her life, those brutal creatures who frightened her even when she knew she was in control. If this is real, if she finds herself in the hands of an orc with no recourse...
The hammer comes down, the auctioneer barks out the last call - "Sold! To the orc in the box!" - and Mei does something she's never actually done before: she faints.
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Date: 2019-08-27 10:43 pm (UTC)She's certainly never seen one smile, the way Azreal does when he wins.
And when she faints, all he does is bark out a laugh, send one of his orcs down to fetch her. When she comes to, she might not know it at first - she's sitting on fine leather, head in the lap of one of his elves, the young woman smiling serenely down at her. Maybe this is her new master?
Until the wagon jostles, and whatever fantasy flees her. She's in the back of a coachwagon, surrounded by the orc's harem - he's sitting across from her, of course, his women still hugging in at him.
And even he's bemused by how much larger he looks than her, this close, giving her an amused snort - like a beast's, a puff of hot air from his nose - before turning his attention to a piece of paper in his hand.
The legal documents, conferring ownership of her to him.
"I've met your parents, you know," he grins, "talked behind their hands about how magic or no magic, no monster should have land. Was probably before you were born. After you were, they didn't go to parties. Kept their heads down. Figured they just lost their appetite for politicking, but now it makes sense."
The elf woman reaches for Mei's chin, turns her head up - and Azreal's hand reaches across, pokes at her lips with his thumb.
"They were hiding you."
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Date: 2019-08-27 10:54 pm (UTC)She presses her lips tight enough to ache, trying to stop them from trembling as her eyes find the huge, finely-dressed orc sitting across from her. She doesn't say anything as he speaks, but there's anger as well as fear in her eyes, and when he reaches to touch her with that horrible, huge hand, she jerks away, against the elf's grip, with a little sound of disgust.
"Don't touch me," she snaps, trying to summon the confidence and command that is, after all, her birthright. It doesn't entirely hide the tremble in her voice. "Don't you dare touch me!"