Griselle walked the streets silently, the cowl of her hood pulled down. To outsiders, the only thing hinting to them any whiff of her identity would be her eyes, for the rest of her body was covered by the same long cloak. She remembered how her mother used to praise their colour. The colour of desert sand she would say. Of embers in a campfire and of one among many hues of the sun.
People jostled and pushed each other around her, each squeezing past onto their next destination but none could push as hard nor as effortlessly as her. She was like a rock jutting up against a river current, standing two whole heads above normal men and moving as elegantly and as forcefully as a tigeress on a hunt.
Griselle took in the scenes around her with awe. From the famed red tiled buildings to the sprawling stalls that were all either already shouting their wares or just about to. The market was finally coming alive. However, it didn't stop her from taking note of what needed to be taken note of. She mentally took down vantage points, strategic positions, alleys, manholes, anything that would help in the event of an escape.
She mentally righted herself. When they escape.
Griselle turned her head, and through the singular silt of vision afforded her by her hood, she spied a patrol of guardsmen on duty. Wicked straight blades hung by their sides, as the metallic clink of their armour and whooshing of their grey capes, emblazoned with the four winged sword of the Eldmich clan sang their approach. The instincts of a trained warrior kicked in as Griselle took the mild shock effortlessly in stride, walking past without so much as a hitch or a pause.
As long as she walked like she had somewhere to be, they wouldn't stop her
She cast a look around at the strangely dressed, peculiarly skinned and multi raced mob around her.
' My dressing shouldn't be too big a problem.' She thought again, with a little more self reassurance this time.
It was mid-morning by the time she found the first slave vendor. A short man that looked only slightly better than his "goods" greeted her. She took a good look at all his slaves and had asked for those reserved for those of more ' refined taste'. When he refused like she had expected, she had dug into her pocket for a gold coin and twirled it around her finger. A second one did the trick.
He led her to the back of a tent where a new selection had been shown to her. The sight was less than pleasing.
She saw not a small number of her brethren among them and the temptation to slash all the cages to ribbons dug its persistent claws into her. She gritted her teeth in frustration
One resigned looking slave trader later and she had left.
No luck.
To be perfectly honest, she didn't know what this princess looked like in person. She had gotten a small painting of her likeness when she was assigned the mission and Kaelen had given her no lack of details but all these facts were information from when she was still a princess. Now that she was a slave, who knew if she still looked the same?
Princess or no, most Demihuman slaves would be sold off for a fortune, and bound to live of life of imprisonment. And only Billoth knew how the initiation camp to being a slave would be like.
But there was however, one thing that Griselle knew they wouldn't dare touch. That was the colour of her fur. From what Kaelen had told her, the princess's fur was pure white, whiter as the freshest blanket of snow. No slave trader would be so foolish as to overlook its rarity and value.
Griselle went from stall to stall the whole morning, checking in on nearly every slaver she could find. It wasn't hard to find them, considering how there were just about as many of them as roaches in the sewers. Yet in everyone of their arsenals, Griselle couldn't find a single Beastman with white fur.
' I suppose it really is rare. This white fur.' Griselle thought in a huff as she departed from another dejected looking slaver.
But then again, she knew it wouldn't be easy. Anywho knew the value of white fur would undoubtedly keep a low profile on their wares. It was a well known fact even amongst Beastman, that white fur was a trait that could be seen only once only among every 50000 Beastman. It was incredibly rare and incredibly precious.
In Beastman society, might almost always made right. But in such rare cases of truly divine intervention, having white fur alone could land one a comfortable life. If you were a female, being a concubine of the Tribala's chief would be a walk in the park. No chieftain would refuse the chance to add such a prize to their collection. If you were a man, you could make great fame as a performer, or you could become a priest or join the harem of some rich noble lady.
It was an express ticket to happiness.
' Tuni Krisha', they called them. The God's chosen.
Griselle was slowly becoming weary of this endless search and she wandered the street, skimming through stalls. The threat of searching in vain was becoming more and more real.
' The princess could possibly not even be here. She might've been sold at first light and be well on her way.' She thought. ' We could be doing this for nothing.'
She stopped at a kebab store where a young girl was selling skewers.
' The meat smells good..' She thought, contemplating taking a skewer.
' Ragnar won't know right?'
Just while she was torn making a decision, a raucous loud voice cut the festive buzz like a hot knife.
" Ladies and gentlemen! For today's starting items first, I would like to starting the bidding with them! They aren't the best but I guarantee their quality. Our slaves are well sourced so you need not worry, they are well sourced. Bidding starts at 5 Hundred for female and male each!"
Griselle looked up and signed.
' Just one more slaver, then I'll treat myself to a kebab. Come on Griselle.' She dragged her feet away.
Since humans weren't that tall, there was no need to squeeze herself to the front. Looking over all their heads, Griselle spotted an upraised wood platform decked with a row of standing people, slaves no doubt but they were are human. To the far right stood a small man with a very loud voice.
Griselle clicked her tongue irritatedly.
His choice of garments ticked her off the most. Purple robes embroidered extravagantly with gold thread. Whether by luck or by intention, by Billoth's beard this unholy spawn between a monkey and a weasel had chosen the colours of Beastman Royalty. Not only that, he had managed to completely butcher the look.
A crack of a whip followed by a sound between a rat wheezing and snorting came from the man's upturned lips. Bids of prices flew and every time a deal went through, the same gleeful sound would make Griselle want to gag. Her eyes went around, finding smirks and lecherous grins, averting eyes and aloof expressions. It was the same everywhere, no one would raise a hand against this vile practice that robbed people of their freedom.
Griselle spat in disgust and she moved to turn away when his voice once again called her back.
" Now that we've reached this far into the show, I would like to propose a limited time offer just for all you gathered here, no doubt my most loyal group of customers. Be ready...and FEAST YOUR EYES!!"
If Griselle hadn't turned back in that moment, she would never have forgiven herself.
But she did, and just in time to see a Demihuman fox girl be led onto the stage. She was limping slightly on her left foot and was left, no doubt in a state of near starvation like every other slave on that platform. There was just one difference however that made Griselle jump and push forward through the crowd to make sure.
She was a fox girl, with white fur. So white in fact that her figure seemed to meld and shimmer with the albino petals that fell from the sky.
Her coat was dirtied, no doubt. The usual shine that the Demihuman women almost religiously tried to keep in their fur had long gone out of hers, and it had been stained a yellowish colour in some parts of her tail and lower body but was beyond a doubt. Her fur was truly white, down to its very fibre. It wasn't dyed, it wasn't a pelt, it was real.
The raucous voice of the trader was still going off like a loose cannon:
" This is the catch of millennia! I assure you my most loyal customers that you will not find another specimen like this in the hands of any trader in the city, hell even in the empire!"
Another of those weasel-like snort laughs left his mouth as he raised to wipe spittle that flew from his mouth.
" Bidding starts 15 million khal! Let's begin! Oh! I see 20 million! 25! 30! Ooohhahahaha 40! Do I have any bids higher than that? Should I be…."
Griselle stopped listening sometime after that. Her eyes trained in on her target as her mind explored her choices in the instant of a heartbeat.
' Grab her and run? We wouldn't make it out thirty paces.'
' Should I call the rest? Get Vella to swoop down and grab her while the rest of us fight to buy time? Possible but….too complicated. I won't be able to call them back easily and she could very well be gone by then. This is my best chance.'
' I'll need a distraction…'
Griselle moved to the front, beelining for the weasel man on the pedestal.
He was yelling something but Griselle didn't bother listening.
She raised her hand high and on her finger, a small ring glinted in the sunlight.
" Gaia."
The ring morphed and space in her hand seemed to contract and in an instant, a giant club exploded forth, blotting out the sun like a branchless tree of death and glory.
Griselle didn't know what was the last thing this weasel-man saw, but his face contorted quite terribly as the club bore down on him, crushing his face into the wood and shearing through the platform.
Then, pandemonium filled the air.
' So much for those kebabs.' Griselle thought bitterly.