"I still can't believe a kid could be so heartless. I mean, that was a bastard move," Zavali, the female Drow slave trader who'd come to Wart's rescue, snickered. "That little girl clearly looked up to you, and you didn't even flinch when she was dragged away screaming. I mean, you don't even try to plead with me to take her too."
"Would you have taken her ma'am?" Wart questioned as she worked.
Wart had watched the procession of goblins sold off to the highest bidder, and many had been dragged away by hair or ears weather or not they intended to follow willingly. Watching Remy being sold had been particularly rough. The girl kept wailing for Wart, begging her to save her as though she could do anything about what was happening. It had drawn an uncomfortable amount of attention to Wart. In order to minimize the impact, she had made a point of pretending she didn't know or hear what was going on.
"No," Zavali replied, "but did you know that?"
"With all due respect ma'am, I am lucky that you decided to take me, let alone another goblin child you may or may not actually need. I didn't want to push my luck." Wart replied as submissively as she could.
"You are a smart one, that's for sure," Zavali stated with a wry smile.
"If it pleases you ma'am," Wart replied. She was uncomfortably aware of the female drow's gaze as she continued to work. At present, she was scrubbing the polished stone floors of what she assumed was a foyer in the drow's cavernous estate. They were still deep underground, but the the walls had been carved and decorated, and the black stone had been buffed and polished to the point her miserable face was reflected in its surface.
"Is something the matter?" Zavali frowned as Wart scowled angrily at the ground. A dangerous edge had appeared in the drow's tone that warned Wart to be mindful of how she responded. Once upon a time, Wart herself had often used such a tone when handling the peons that bustled around her palace. Those were the times.
"Sorry," Wart replied humbly. "I just hate seeing my horrid reflection on such a lovely floor."
"What?" Zavali busted up laughing in disbelief at her statement. "Did I seriously just hear you say that?"
"Forgive me ma'am," Wart muttered in embarassment.
"My, aren't you a strange one!" Zavali wiped a tear of mirth from her cheek. "I certainly hope you continue to prove worth my while small one. It would be a shame to discard one as amusing as you."
"I will endeavor to be of use," Wart replied.
"That's what I like to hear," Zavali stated with a nod of approval, before taking on a stern expression. "I'll leave you to your work then. Someone will be back to check on you periodically, so don't fuck this up. Remember, little one, I don't often keep merchandise for myself, so I won't take kindly to any nonsense on your part."
"Yes ma'am," Wart responded promptly. She kept her eyes down as instructed. Slave or not, Wart was fully aware of how lucky she was to be in her current position. She had once been on the other end of a slave exchange, and frankly she wouldn't have wanted to be the sorry soul that came into her possession. It was a pain being on the other end of the food chain, that was for sure.
For hours, Wart scrubbed, and scrubbed, and scrubbed some more. More than once, the cracked skin of her knobby knuckles would tear and bleed in her efforts, forcing her to reclean a spot she'd just finished. All the while, she was forced to stare into the eyes of her own woefully hidious reflection.
She had known she was ugly, after all, there was no such thing as an attractive goblin, but none-the-less having to see what she was now in comparison to what she had been was deeply painful. Once upon a time, she'd had luxurious golden locks and thick, fan-like eyelashes that framed eyes like liquid honey. Now, the dirt colored mess of a mop on her head hung over a pair of baggy eyes that were colored in a way that reminded her of pale piss. Once upon a time, she'd had a bombshell figure and a wardrobe to match. Now, she was nothing but skin and bones drowning in tattered rags. Once upon a time, she'd lived the good life. Now, she was just Wart.
"...And don't you miss an inch of those wards!" a sharp voice echoed through the room, drawing Wart's attention out of her personal well of self-pity. "I will not have anything left to chance!"
"Yes sir," Another voice replied.
Wart kept her eyes on her work, but strained her ears to listen. Despite everything, she couldn't help but be curious. Gossip of any sort was simply too appealing after her former life as a socialite. Besides, even if she couldn't do anything with it as a miserable goblin slave, it was still something interesting to help pass the time.
"With the blood moon just around the corner, we need to clamp down on security more than ever!" The first man stated.
Stealing a few glances at the man from the corner of her eye, she identified him as staff, likely a butler based on his appearance. More to her shock, it was clear his was a half-breed, a drow-goblin mix no less. Short of rape, she couldn't fathom how a goblin could end up reproducing with any other creature, but if the man had been a product of rape... Then again that wasn't her business.
"Our security is always strict," The other man, likely one of the waitstaff, replied. "Lady Zavali has many enemies, named and faceless. What makes the blood moon any more or less dangerous than any other night protecting our mistress?"
"The blood moon brings all sorts of dark and dangerous things to light," The butler replied curtly. "Demons and the undead are the largest on the list of threats on such a night, but any creature with ties to the moon is affected. Orcs are just as big of a problem, especially for us with a tribe so close on the land above..."
"Orcs?" the waitstaff scoffed. "Those brainless brutes can't wipe their own asses, much less fight an organized team of drow in the catacombs. I doubt they could find the estate to begin with! The dumb creatures can't seem to see more than two inches in front of their faces!"
"Stereotypes are for the foolish," The butler snapped. "Have you seen an orc? For that matter, have you fought an orc?"
Wart was hardpressed to keep a nuetral expression and to keep working without pausing to listen. The discussion was a lot more interesting than she had expected, though she was also doubtful an orc could be all that dangerous. An orc was practically just a large goblin with slightly bigger muscles. Big whoop.
"No..." The waitstaff member grumbled, dropping his gaze.
"Orcs are fierce warriors in normal circumstances, when they succumb to the beserker status they call a 'blood rage' that fierceness mutliplies more than ten fold. Throw the power the blood moon on top of that..." The butler scolded as he shook his head. "Even discounting all that, orcs are highly territorial, and much more cunning than you give them credit for. Their eyesight may not be as sharp as a drows, nor do they tend to have our agility, but orcs are skilled hunters and stupidly powerful. If they got the inklying they could easily track us in these caves, vision or no."
"Hogwash!" The waitstaff member snorted, though his voice trembled. "You're just pulling my leg! There's no way!"
"I pray, young man, you never have the misfortune of facing an orc in battle," the butler snapped with disdain. "I suspect you would not survive the experience."
The pair left in silence after the ominous statement. Wart was left to her chores, unsettled.