Chapter 2 Some new toys

James made quite the haul off the Mage. With his newfound wealth, he procured food, drink, and a fresh pair of boots. As he strode from the tailor’s shop, his gaze fell upon a peculiar figure - a diminutive man barely reaching James’s chest, clutching an ornate cane with intricate carvings that seemed to undulate in the flickering torchlight. The stranger’s weathered visage bore the marks of a life well-lived, his eyes glinting with an unsettling acuity. His gnarled hand gripped the cane tightly.

Feeling the weight of the stranger’s gaze, James frowned and a shiver of unease coursed through his body. Noticing James’s discomfort, the small man offered a slight bow before approaching with measured steps.

Near the man was a massive fuck-off tent that James had seen in his travels. He’d originally thought of it as a circus tent and hadn’t really been interested in going in.

“My apologies for staring, young man,” the stranger said, his voice low and measured.

“No harm done,” James replied, his curiosity piqued. “What’s in the tent?”

“Stock,” the man answered cryptically. “Care to take a look?”

‘Stock... ‘ The word echoed in James’s mind as they stepped into the cavernous tent. What he saw inside made him stop dead in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat.

Cages.

Countless cages lined the interior, stretching upward and outward in a dizzying array. Each contained a living being—some humanoid, others decidedly not. The air was thick with the stench of unwashed bodies, fear, and desperation. James’s eyes widened as he took in the horrific scene. It was a carnival of misery and suffering that seemed to stretch endlessly.

The small man’s grin widened as he observed James’s reaction, revealing a set of yellowed teeth. He tapped his cane against the ground, the sound echoing ominously through the tent. “An impressive collection, wouldn’t you say?”

James struggled to find his voice, his mind reeling from the sheer scale of the suffering before him. In one cage, a group of emaciated elves huddled together, their once-proud features now hollow with despair. Another held a creature James had only heard of in legends - a griffin, its majestic wings clipped and its eyes dulled by captivity.

Despite the revulsion churning in his gut, James found himself following the small man deeper into the tent. The cages towered above them, creating narrow pathways that twisted and turned like a labyrinth. From every direction, eyes watched their progress—some red, some yellow, a kaleidoscope of colors that spoke of myriad species and races. Some gazes were defeated, hope long extinguished, while others still burned with defiance and spirit.

“I run a slave trading business,” the small man stated matter-of-factly, his tone devoid of any hint of shame or remorse.

James felt a chill run down his spine at the casual way the man spoke of such a horrific practice. Yet, he reminded himself, this was not his world. In many fantasy cultures, slavery was an accepted, even commonplace institution. It was, after all, how legendary figures like Conan the Barbarian came to be—born into bondage, forged in the crucible of servitude before rising to greatness.

The realization did little to quell the unease in James’s stomach. He found himself torn between his modern sensibilities and the harsh reality of the world he now inhabited. The cages surrounding them seemed to press in; it was a physical manifestation of the moral weight bearing down on him.

“I suppose that’s how it is here,” James murmured, more to himself than to his guide. His eyes scanned the rows of captives, each face a story of loss and suffering. He couldn’t help but wonder how many potential heroes or villains were contained within these bars, waiting for their chance at freedom or revenge.

The small man cocked his head, a hint of curiosity in his beady eyes. “You speak as if you’re not from around here, young man. Where I come from, it’s just business—supply and demand, nothing more.”

James nodded noncommittally, unwilling to reveal too much about his origins. “I’ve ... traveled a great deal,” he said carefully. “Seen many different cultures and practices.”

“Ah, a worldly man!” the slave trader exclaimed, a note of respect entering his voice. “Then you understand the way of things. In every realm, in every age, there are those who rule and those who serve. We merely ... facilitate the process.”

As they continued their tour of the tent, James couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking a razor’s edge. Every step, every word, could have unforeseen consequences in this alien world. He knew he had to tread carefully, balancing his own moral compass against the necessity of survival in a place where the rules were so fundamentally different from his own.

The slave trader led James past rows of cages containing creatures he had only ever seen in myths and legends. Minotaurs with eyes full of rage, their massive forms barely contained by the sturdy bars. Delicate faeries, their wings clipped and spirits broken. Even a majestic unicorn, its horn sawed off, leaving nothing but a bloody stump—a sight that made James’s heart constrict with sorrow.

“Each specimen has its own value,” the trader explained, his voice taking on the tone of a merchant showcasing his wares. “Some for labor, others for sex, others for death matches.” He gestured towards a cage containing several young, attractive humanoids of various races. “The pleasure houses always pay top coin for fresh stock.”

James felt bile rise in his throat but forced himself to maintain a neutral expression. He couldn’t afford to show weakness or disgust, not if he wanted to navigate this world successfully.

“And what of those who resist? Surely not all come willingly.”

The trader’s face darkened, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, they all break eventually. Some require more ... persuasion than others, but in the end, they all learn their place.”

As if to emphasize his point, a commotion erupted from a nearby cage. A burly orc had managed to bend one of the bars, roaring in defiance as he struggled to squeeze through the gap. The trader sighed, producing a small, crystal-like object from his pocket. With a word, the crystal glowed, and the orc fell to his knees, howling in agony as arcane energy coursed through his body.

“You see?” the trader said, pocketing the crystal as the orc collapsed, unconscious. “Control is everything in this business. Without it, well...” He chuckled darkly. “Let’s just say the mortality rate would be significantly higher.”

James’s mind raced. He realized that in this world, power was everything. Those who wielded it shaped the fates of countless lives. And right now, he was powerless—a stranger in a strange land, with no allies and no understanding of the rules that governed this brutal society.

The whimpers and rattling of chains provided a constant, haunting backdrop to their conversation. James found himself studying the faces of the captives more closely, wondering if among them was a future conqueror, a destined hero, or perhaps even a rival he would one day face. In a world where slavery could produce legends like Conan, who knew what potential lay dormant in these cages?

“I take it business isn’t good?”

“You’re kidding, right?” the smaller man replied with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Business is better than ever. Wars, famine, rivalries, plagues—all of it brings them here, hoping they’ll get a better life than the one before. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t.”

They passed a cage containing a lifeless creature, its form already decaying. Flies buzzed around the corpse, and the stench made James’s stomach clench. He grimaced, fighting the urge to retch.

“So, what is it you’re in for?” the man asked, seemingly unfazed by the horrors surrounding them.

A soft whimper caught James’s attention.

He saw a young woman in a cage, her tail and fuzzy ears catching his eye as he studied her. The stench hit James like a physical blow. A nauseating mix of piss, shit, and sickness permeated the air, making his stomach lurch violently. The unmistakable reek spoke of prolonged neglect and inhumane conditions. James’s mind reeled at the assault on his senses, his eyes watering as he fought the urge to gag.

Seeing the half-dead state of the demi-human, forced to exist in such squalor, James felt a surge of righteous anger and desperate need to act. No wonder she looked so ill - no living being could survive long in these conditions. Her fur was matted, especially around her tail, and her eyes held a haunted look, a thousand-yard stare that spoke of deep trauma and untold horrors endured. She was rail-thin, her emaciated frame a testament to prolonged starvation. The gaunt hollowness of her face only emphasized the deadness in her eyes.

James could only imagine the PTSD and emotional scars that accompanied her physical state. The sight of her suffering stirred something deep within his core, a mixture of horror and an overwhelming urge to help this broken creature before him.

“Ah, you have a good eye, my boy!” Beloukas exclaimed, gesturing towards one of the cages. “That one’s a bit wild, but with the right touch, she could be quite valuable. Tanuki demi-humans are known for their cleverness, you know.”

Thoughts whirled in his mind. He couldn’t leave her here, couldn’t walk away knowing what fate awaited her. But how could he help without revealing his true nature, without putting himself and potentially his adoptive family at risk?

“Obviously not clever enough if she got caught,” James reasoned, his words tasting like ash in his mouth. Beloukas burst into laughter, and James forced a grin, hating himself for the cruel joke. She’d been sitting in her own filth, with no other choice. “She looks thin...”

“Yes, not eating, hardly sleeps, keeps screaming in her sleep,” Beloukas shrugged, his casual tone making James’s skin crawl. “Tail’s a bit listless.”

“Indeed.” James nodded grimly.

“Since this country practices human supremacy, and demi-humans are thought to be closer to monsters, life can be quite hard for them here. As such, they’re treated as slaves.”

“What’ll happen to her?”

“She’ll either be a sacrifice to some god, food for the cannibals,” Beloukas shrugged as if he were describing the weather, “or in her final days a sex slave for a Lord who has a Demi fetish; she does have nice tits on her.”

James’s gaze returned to the pitiful figure in the cage, his heart heavy with the weight of the situation. The demi-human’s eyes, large and fearful, met his briefly before darting away.

“I’ll buy her.”

“Good choice my boy.”

“How much?”

“1 tin,” Beloukas grinned.

God, James pulled out a piece of tin and handed it over, the life reduced to a single piece of tin. The cage was opened up and Beloukas reached in and yanked her out. She was uncuffed and dumped on the floor, unable to walk, her muscles having atrophied over time. At least James wouldn’t have to worry about her running off, not in this state.

James felt a surge of nausea as he watched the demi-human crumple to the ground. Her skeletal frame seemed barely able to support her weight, and her labored breathing echoed in the oppressive silence of the tent. The casual cruelty of her treatment, the way Beloukas manhandled her as if she were nothing more than a sack of grain, made James’s blood boil.

He knelt beside her, careful not to make any sudden movements that might frighten her further. Up close, the signs of prolonged abuse and neglect were even more apparent. Scars, both old and new, crisscrossed her skin, telling a story of repeated trauma. Her fur, which should have been soft and lustrous, was patchy and dull, falling out in clumps.

The stench that emanated from her was almost overwhelming at this proximity. It spoke of weeks, perhaps months, without access to even the most basic hygiene. James fought back the urge to recoil, reminding himself that this was a result of her circumstances, not a reflection of her worth as a living being.

Beloukas watched the scene with a mixture of amusement and disdain. “You might want to hose her down before you take her anywhere,” he chuckled, his voice grating on James’s nerves. “Though in her state, she might not survive the shock.”

James ignored him, focusing instead on the trembling form before him. He reached out slowly, telegraphing his movements, and gently touched her shoulder. She flinched violently at the contact, a whimper escaping her cracked lips.

“It’s okay,” James murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help.”

Her eyes, clouded with fear and confusion, met his. For a moment, James thought he saw a flicker of hope, or at least a dim recognition that this touch was different from the others she had endured.

As James contemplated how to transport her without causing further distress, he became acutely aware of the magnitude of the task ahead. This wasn’t just about rescuing her from immediate danger; it was about helping her recover, both physically and mentally, from the horrors she had endured. It would be a long, challenging road, but James knew he couldn’t turn back now.

“If you’re interested,” Beloukas continued, his voice oily with suggestion, “I have some other women around the corner. Human women, good bed warmers the lot. Some real primo stock that I think you can afford.”