"So, what're you in for, mate?" The man chained next to him bumped Miles on the shoulder.
Awaking groggily, he replied: "Pancakes! Someone get me some pancakes!"
A guard rattled the cage. "Shut up back there!"
Miles waited two seconds. Then, as the guard turned around, he asked his fellow cellmate, "Where are we headed?"
Seeing as the guard didn't turn around, he gathered the courage to respond. "We're to be sold at Auction, of course. Haven't you see the red flag before? The orange sun emblazoned upon it represents House Oravenci."
Miles looked on blankly. "You haven't been living under a rock, have you?" The cellmate continued.
"Only if you count a really long tunnel as 'under a rock.' By the by, Celly, what's your name? You have yet to introduce yourself, it appears."
"My name is Bartholomew Hatsemeyer. I'm from Rorik's Head, near the Blue River. My friends just call me 'Hats.' What's yours?"
"My name is Miles. I'm from… the Grass."
"I said shut up back there!" The driver roared. His accent was imperial.
The road rumbled on for a bit. As Miles was unjustly thrown back and forth by the clambering of the wheelspokes against the uneven bricks, he thought angrily to himself.
"The first act I would have as the head of a township will definitely be better roads. Preferably flat. Also a carriage that bounces up and down 'to get out of sandy areas LOL.' Yes, yes."
They began to near a large settlement. "There it is." Hat noted. After half a breath, he added, "The town of Cleavance. They're known for their great meat market, hence the name. Sounds better than Slaughterville, at least."
As a former Oklahoman in his past life, Miles agreed wholeheartedly.
As the truck entered the town, Miles looked around him. The people were mostly human, but some dwarves and elves were spattered throughout.
That being said, their faces were not the best-receiving. Out of 10 people, 7 people would ignore, two would stare disapprovingly, and 1 would be a girl sending him a flirty glance, laughing, and then once again- ignoring him.
"Sheesh." He thought to himself. "Apparently, the people here don't like slaves either."
The Oravencian caravan pulled to a stop. The driver got down. He walked into a large building. A few minutes later, he came out with some additional armored fellows. One had a bow. The other two had spears.
The driving man opened the cage. "Get out!" He shouted.
Miles looked down at his hands. He was perfectly fine except for the cuffs around his hands. But he wasn't an idiot. He was about to get out, when, all of a sudden, Hat ran out first! That's right, he ran!
Skillfully avoiding the spears being thrown at him, Hat weaved left and right before running straight into a signpole jutting out from the nearby bakery. Unfortunately, he hit it so hard that he began to do a backflip in the air.
It was at that moment that a spearman shouted. "Archer!"
"You're not gonna take me!" Hats shouted back.
Pfeew! The arrow shot straight and true.
As Hats was halfway through his flipping, an arrow hit his arrow. A pointed object hit his pointed object. The man screamed out in the agony of a thousand fiery suns. "It went up my butt too!" Hats cried, overwhelmed with emotion, pain, and the weird feeling of his butt muscles driving it further in.
"Wait!" The driver cautioned. "He might be worth more now, right?"
"If you're willing to hire a healer to keep him alive… Yeah, probably." The spearman in charge replied.
As Hats and Miles were herded inside, Miles mentioned something to the reeling man.
"Hats, I will never forget you. For as long as I live, you will lie in my memories as my one truest friend. May every friendship show such truths to one another."
Hats looked on. His pain was real.
The two of them were shortly taken to a closed room each. They were stripped of their worldly belongings, including their clothes.
Miles waited a bit. After about 30 minutes, a bald man in a yellow cloak came through the door carrying a cart. "Let's see how strong you are." The man said.
On the cart were several metal balls of various sizes. Miles walked over to the biggest one and picked it up with one hand.
"Dayumn." The man replied. "Well, it'll have to do. Pretend it's heavy, okay?"
Miles nodded. The man clasped it to him via an anklet.
The chains were real. Unfortunately for him.