Our tale begins on a cloudy day in mid-spring within the upper market district of Kabrairhiel where a certain man stood among a crowd observing the raised wooden platform near the docks.
Not the one reserved for those to be hanged, nor the one for those unfortunate souls to be beheaded, no the platform which drew the crowd's attention on this day was the one used for the trafficking of humanoids. War prisoners and children of war prisoners.
A line of which could be seen currently standing upon the platform, expressions ranging from stoic to tearful to blank.
They would find no pity in this crowd, nor from the pirates who'd brought them here and they knew it.
The man in question stood near the back of the crowd, mostly to not obstruct the view of others within the crowd, and had a decent view of the entire line.
They seemed the same as many of the previous ones brought by the pirates of the Flying Scream, mostly half elves and half orcs, none brawny enough for much physical labor.
Brow furrowing he resigns himself to having to pick out whichever ones looked most capable, perhaps they'd gain more muscle with time and a few meals.
He'd most likely still end up doing more work than them even if they did gain muscle, these creatures just weren't built the way he was.
Maybe he should make his way behind the platform and check if there were any better options that had yet to be put on display.
Yes, that seemed a good idea. Now if only he could make his way through the crowd without causing too much of a disturbance.
With many muttered apologies and hasty pardons, he finally managed to get clear of people and walk around to the back of the platform where a small tent had been erected to shade the pirate quartermaster. The rest of the stock seemed to be going through a process of being assigned numbers and then waiting in a queue to be brought forward when their turn came.
His eyes were immediately drawn to a pair of more burly individuals and he approached determinedly.
The two seemed healthy enough, certainly made of stronger stuff than many of the others on display. One's hair would have to be cut but otherwise he was quite pleased with his find, he studied the numbers hanging from their shoulders and then strode into the quartermasters tent.
Unsurprisingly they were of a shorter race than himself, honestly most were, the braided mohawk was unexpected though as were the tattoos upon their arms.
He introduced himself to the much smaller person.
"G'day. Nighcaller Moor, yard master here in Kabrairheil. I like the look of two of your stock out there, numbers 56 and 57, how much do you want for them?"
The quartermaster stood in an attempt to make themselves appear more authoritative though it did little next to this massive individual. Smoothing back their hair and adjusting the long coat they wore, they cock a crooked grin and glance out the tent opening before meeting this Mr Moor's gaze.
"They'd be good choices there Mr. Moor. Strong they are, they listen right good too. I'd put them at five gold a piece. Does that suit ye?"
Nightcaller furrows his brow while doing some calculations but then gives an affirmative nod and pulls the coins from his pouch.
"The price suits me fine. I'll take them with me now if it's not inconvenient, much work to be done today."
The quartermaster snatches the coins from the relatively large grey hand and counts them three times before slipping them into a pouch of their own with a nod.
"Not inconvenient 'tall." they lead Mr. Moor from the tent and towards the queue. "Now there do be some parchment needin' signed afore I hand em over."
Nightcaller nods absently, his eyes passing over the stock still in the queue, his head tilts a bit upon spotting one of the individuals. He gestures towards it and asks "How much for that one. The blue one there."
A grin climbs the face of the quartermaster and they draw themselves up to their full height.
"Oh the blue one, caught yer fancy did she. You got fine taste there Mr. Moor, not many end up blue. Fine little thing that, not much good fer liftin' but plenty of other uses for a spritely creature like that. I'd not take less than seven gold fer that one. On account o the unusual color."
Nightcaller frowns while considering the offer and studying the blue creature. He had the gold for it and with the two burly ones he was sure to get more than what he paid for in return. After several moments of consideration he nods in agreement.
"Very well. I'll take that one as well. Bring the parchment and I'll sign what is needed."
He digs seven more gold from his pouch and hands them over to the quartermaster who scoops them up just as greedily as the first ten.
"O course, o course." they turn towards one of their crew and snap at them. "Artin! Git the parchment o sale for Mr. Moor here."
A quarter of an hour later Nightcaller was walking through the city towards his home, his three new hands in tow.
This would be the only night they'd be allowed at his home, they'd stay at the yard starting tomorrow.