As they approached the city gates, Horace offered Zephyrax a flask, saying, "Here, Zane, try some of this. It's a special tea, helps with the travel fatigue." The aroma wafting from the flask was enticing, a mix of sweet and spicy scents that tickled Zephyrax's nose.
Zephyrax, still cautious, eyed the flask warily. But his curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to take a sip. As the liquid touched his lips, he was surprised by its delicious taste, unlike anything he had ever experienced before. It was sweet, yet slightly bitter, with a hint of spices that danced on his tongue.
He took another sip, and another, feeling a sense of happiness wash over him. The tea was intoxicating, and he couldn't help but smile. "This is amazing!" he exclaimed, feeling his inhibitions fade away.
Horace chuckled, his eyes gleaming with a knowing glint. "I told you it was good," he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity.
As Zephyrax drank more, he began to feel a strange sensation, like his senses were expanding. He could hear the sounds of the city more clearly, see the colors more vividly. But then, his happiness turned to dizziness. The world around him began to spin, and he felt himself falling.
"Horace... what's happening?" he slurred, his vision blurring.
Horace's face appeared in front of him, a sly smile spreading across his face. "Just relax, Zane. You're just tired from the journey."
Zephyrax tried to respond, but his voice was barely a whisper. He felt himself losing consciousness, and everything went black.
When he came to, he found himself in a crowded market, surrounded by people shouting and bidding on various goods. He was lying on a wooden platform, his hands and feet bound by chains. A cold, metallic collar encircled his neck, and he could feel a strange, suppressing energy emanating from it. He tried to summon his magic, but it was no use - the collar was blocking his powers.
The slave market was a bustling hub of activity, with people of all shapes and sizes milling about. The air was thick with the smells of sweat, smoke, and exotic spices. Zephyrax's eyes adjusted to the dim light, and he saw rows of platforms, each bearing a slave. The guards, burly men with cruel faces, stood watch, their eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of trouble.
The merchant, a portly man with a greedy glint in his eye, examined Zephyrax with interest. "Ah, a fine specimen," he said, his voice dripping with excitement. "And with the collar, no less. We can fetch a pretty penny for you, boy."
Zephyrax's eyes narrowed as he realized the significance of the collar. It was a tracking device, used to monitor slaves and prevent them from using their magic. He knew he had to think fast, come up with a plan to escape.
Without hesitation, Zephyrax tried to make a break for it, struggling against his chains. But as he did, he lost his balance and fell, injuring himself on the rough stone floor. The guards rushed over, catching him and dragging him back to the platform.
The merchant noticed Zephyrax's injuries, but instead of providing medical attention, he exchanged excited whispers with the guards. "Did you see that?" he said. "He's healing already! We can fetch a fortune for him."
Zephyrax's regeneration abilities had revealed themselves, and now the slave merchants saw him as an even more valuable commodity. He knew he had to think fast, come up with a new plan to escape. But for now, he was trapped, a slave in a strange and hostile world, unable to use his magic to defend himself.
Powerful sorcerers ruled with an iron fist. Slaves like Zephyrax were mere commodities, used for labor and entertainment. But Zephyrax was different.
As he looked around, Zephyrax spotted a group of slaves huddled in the corner, their eyes fixed on him with a mixture of curiosity and envy. He knew he had to be careful, that the wrong move could mean capture or worse.