"Interesting name." I grin, noting that he has no last name. "Well, Ira. I would suggest you wash up before I introduce you to my co-workers. They don't really appreciate filth and gore. Not to mention the horrendous smell you've attracted."
What I don't tell him is that promising individuals such as himself can net me quite the reward once I turn him in.
Slavery is a dirty business, but it pays quite well.
Ira shrugs, seemingly unbothered by my harsh words. "Fine then." He turns to the tavern keeper who hands Ira a key to the tavern's washroom. The filthy man gets up from his seat, leaving a stain from where he sat, and walks follows the directions from Harvey to the washroom.
I shake my head as soon as he's out of sight. There's something about Ira that I just can't place. He exudes magic similar to that of a sorcerer or a druid, magic that comes from within the blood, but it doesn't feel quite the same. It's a little more perverse, more malignant. Maybe he's a warlock? Eldritch magic is popular with the kids these days.
I click my tongue, silencing my thoughts. You pick up a thing or two after a few hundred years of meeting people, but he doesn't seem dangerous. I'm sure he's just looking to make a quick bit of coin.
Thoughts start whirring in my head. A plan, of sorts, starts forming. I smile privately at my dastardly thoughts. Maybe I can get him to work for me.
I pull out a small flask from my dark coat, ignoring the glance from Harvey. Nothing he can serve will ever compare to a good Dwarven whiskey. I cough a little after taking a swig. Shit's strong enough to sedate an elephant.
I'm not kept waiting long. Ira emerges from the washroom, and I'm able to get a better look. I'm surprised to learn that he looks better than I initially thought. Maybe putting him in my bed-chamber is a better idea.
Ira seems taller now that he shrugged off the bear pelt. He's about a full head taller than I am, which irks me a little. I'm not used to feeling short. I'm surprised to learn that his hair is naturally white. I thought it was just the snow outside. It compliments his eyes well, letting the red flecks become more apparent.
His shirt was damaged beyond repair, leaving him with only a simple pair of pants. One of the barmaids ogles his figure, looking away quickly when Ira glances in her direction. I can't blame her though, as I catch myself staring as well. I've always figured I could stand to bulk up a little, but my slight stature won't allow it. I'm jealous of his muscular figure, but I can't help but be drawn to it.
I take a second swig of whiskey to push down some indecent thoughts. Then a third.
Stay professional, I remind myself.
"So," Ira begins, wrapping the bear pelt around his torso to keep out the cold, "When do we go?" His teeth are dazzling as he talks.
Damned whiskey is muddling my brain.
I shrug, pushing my flask back into my coat and pulling it tight before walking towards the exit. "Now, if it suits your fancy." I can't help but notice that I'm slurring my words a little. "How good are you in a scrap?"
-
Walking through the slums is an easy way to stay out of trouble, as long as you mind your own business. People tend to look down on it and those who live there, so it's pretty ripe for crime. My kind of crowd. Ignoring the pickpockets, broken glass and the smell of rot, it's quite a lovely place.
Too bad ignorance will get you stabbed.
Ira follows behind me, eyes staying vigilant as he examines the scene. His body language is tense as if he's expecting a threat. Not bad for a cub, I've got to say. I tried talking to him on our little walk, but he seemed to have gone back to ignoring me. It's a shame. I liked the sound of his voice.
Daydreams are my biggest threat at this point. I shake my fuzzy head in an attempt to clear it. It doesn't go so well.
While we're walking to our destination, I take out my newly acquired dagger and start experimenting with it, throwing it in weird directions and calling it back. It's addicting once you get the hang of it. I start grinning stupidly, but I can't help it.
I've been looking for something like this for a long time.
We eventually make our way out of the slums, walking up to a bigger building bordering the edge of decent humanity. It's unnaturally well-kept for something in this area, looking pristine. I turn to Ira, breaking down some rules for him since it's his first time.
"No spitting, no fighting, no spells, no stealing," I say evenly. "That last rule is because of me, by the way."
Ira nods, seemingly eager to get in and register.
"Well then, welcome to Libidine's bounty hunter branch. You'll do just fine if you stick with me." My eyes glitter with excitement. I'll be able to make so much gold off of this.
I almost feel sorry for the poor sap. He doesn't seem to have the slightest idea that I'm about to betray him. Ears twitching slightly, lead him inside.
In many ways, this guild is just like the tavern we just left. Food and drink are served here, though of much higher quality. The rooms are bigger and better as well. The biggest difference, however, is the fact that you have slaves that serve the members. All types of species can be found to suit whatever purpose you could want.
Sometimes they're even handed out as rewards for a job well done. I notice Ira's gaze follows some of the more extravagant races, such as the beastkin or reptilians, confirming my idea that he's from the backwater. Even better, since no one will miss him much.
I ignore the furtive glances that are thrown our way, walk past the clerk after flashing a badge, and strut straight into one of the private rooms. Ira follows closely the entire time, seemingly uncomfortable once he realizes what the slaves are. I'll have to make this quick then.
Two bright pink pillows sit on the ground, a small silver bell sitting in front of them. I close the door behind us and gesture to Ira to sit on one of the pillows. I sit too, showing him that it's safe.
After hesitating, Ira finally sits. I touch the pillow and activate its enchantment, paralyzing my helpless prey. Ira's eyes widen, realizing he's been betrayed. I give him an apologetic glance and ring the small bell, letting my employer know about my arrival. Ira starts trying to fight the enchantment on the pillow, letting out small grunts of exertion.
"That's not going to do anything." I let him know, "There's enough force there to keep back an ogre. Just sit tight and watch me negotiate." I wink at Ira, whose eyes stare back at me. They're full of rage, unlike anything I have ever seen. I shudder and look away, glad that the pillow stops him from harming me.
I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. The whiskey seems to finally have left my system.
Not a moment too soon. A thin, pale waif of a man walks through a hidden door. His raven black hair slicked into a neat crop. His dark eyes flick between me and my new prisoner. He grins warmly at me, and I have to fight down a blush. I hate how good-looking he can be. It doesn't match his cruel personality at all.
"Mendacius," The man purrs, "Look at what the cat dragged in."
"Sevrus," I greet cordially, trying to keep my voice even. "I trust you are in good health."
He sighs heavily, going on about some dozen of his health problems. I don't listen, fantasizing about what I'd do with the reward. Ira starts another fit of struggling next to me, catching Sevrus' attention.
"I see you've brought a new slave." He says in delight. "My, and how ambiguous! I can't quite place his category."
Right. The categories. Sevrus' places those we hunt into three categories after we capture them.
The first is the Workers, who prepare the basic needs for us and take care of all the menial tasks we don't care to do. Most fall under this category, seeing as they're too scrawny or ugly to do much else.
Secondly, are the Pleasures, who do exactly what their name implies. Most of the women, but some of the more attractive men, are taken as pleasures to be shared throughout the guild. They are typically sedated magically so they don't fight back. Nasty business.
The final category is the Fighters. This is where we put all the slaves who fight against our command too much. Once a week, we throw them down into a pit and have them fight to the death. The last one standing earns their freedom and becomes a part of the guild. If you're lucky, or well-liked, you might be spared, but you still have to fight next week.
I size Ira up. Being a Worker would be demeaning to such a fine specimen, but he's too feisty to be a Pleasure, despite his good looks. Guess that only leaves one option.
Not like I care much anyway. A reward is a reward.
"Fighter." I smile. "Ira here is a fighter."