70th of Summer, 515 AV
They found a cage for him, deep in the confines of the Auction Hall basement. At first, the slavers seemed incredulous as to whether they could fit the Benshira in with their other stock - "Look at the meat on him! He'll come to own the whole pack!" The two men, whose names were long since forgotten, had gone strolling through the whole basement searching for an empty stall, but were out of luck in the extraordinarily busy summer season. With new slaves needed to help gather the last of the harvest before the winter chill crept in, it was hard to find any space not filled to bursting with other unruly field hands. The Benshira remembered one of his captors, a man with a glint in his eye and a handsome look about him, offhandedly remarking that perhaps the lummox from Eyktol would be better kept in a pen outside with the other beasts of burden. Yet, wonders of wonders, a big iron cage in the far corner of the basement managed to open up just in time, allowing the slavers to eagerly dump their most troublesome catch in a secure holding. The two slavers seemed glad to be rid of their giant Benshira, shuddering as they walked away. "Did you see the look in his eyes? Creepy, ain't it? What kind of sick fuck gets himself sold into something like this?" With one last mocking jeer, he watched as his captors, the foul men that had dragged him all across the Sea of Grass, ascended the basement stairs and departed forever.
For the next seven days, the Benshira languished in the iron cell, his wrists shackled to the wall behind him. While the other woeful captives were allowed larger wooden stalls with room to move and company to keep, he was given only metal bars and questioning eyes. Slaver and slave alike stared at him boldly through the openings of his cell, wondering aloud what had brought this devilish creature in their midst. "Some freak he is... there's no way the desert folk get so big." That's some Myrian from the jungles, ain't he? What's he doing so far east?" "Did you see the scars on that ugly bastard?" He could not blame them the stares, for he did little to appease them, only staring back with pain clear in his gaze. At times, when the whispers grew too loud, he threw himself against his chains and snarled at the onlookers like a rabid animal, hoping to scare them off... this never worked, for they would always find themselves drawn again. The guards did not trust him to leave his cell or be free of his chains, figuring that a creature his size could inflict some damage if he had the chance. Food was delivered as tasteless mush in a pewter bowl, water only sparsely handed out in this sweltering heat, and his privy emptied out when the smell became too much for the guards to handle. Beyond this, life was meaningless.
This is what you deserve, he reminded himself when he grew close to despair. Everything you have done, merits this. The lives you have taken from the world will never come back. Best you commit yourself to several lifetimes of pain, in order to repay them fully.
After seven days and nights without end, the guards finally came for their slaves. The doors down into the basement were thrown open and scores of terrified men, women, and children were drawn upstairs. This was the day of the Auction, and today the cream of the field workers would be divvied out between Kenash's masters. The Benshira held little knowledge of these events besides what the slaves had whispered to each other in their quiet nights. Wondering if perhaps he would finally be released from his cell, he pressed eagerly against his chains.
His hope was soon rewarded. A pair of sturdily built guards came for him, armed with thick wooden clubs and a rusty iron key. Unlocking the door to the cell, they stared down upon the weak Benshira. "Get up," the elder commanded, a silver-haired man with missing teeth.
The Benshira looked back up at them wordlessly, then struggled to rise to his feet. Nodding, the elder guard stepped into the cell and swiftly unshackled his wrists, then immediately drove a hard fist right into his stomach. As the slave bent over, wheezing, the guard leaned in close and murmured, "No funny business, all right?"
At this, the younger guard only offered an amused cackle.
Groaning, the Benshira gave a weak nod of understanding. He stumbled out of the cell and was grabbed on either side by his powerful captors, who dragged him off to a hitherto-unknown portion of the basement. Standing beside a small wooden tub stood two demure women with sombre expressions on their faces, the slave's brand burned into their foreheads. Without comment, the women took the Benshira from the guards and guided him directly into the tub, stripping away his filthy rags as they did. Then, still refusing to speak, they took hard sponges and scrubbed him clean, their eyes distant as they performed their thankless tasks. As each sponge was raked across his skin, the Benshira shuddered and closed his eyes, silently releasing whatever dignity he may have once possessed. When the washerwomen were completely finished, they dressed the giant in a loose loincloth and passed him back into the care of the guards. As the men led their captive upstairs, the younger snickered. "Shame they didn't get him shaved. He looks like a rat's ass."
Feeling weak, the Benshira let himself be led through the upper floors of the Auction Hall in a daze, only giving a start when he realized that the guards had wheeled him directly into an open-air auditorium. Seated all around the hall were men and women dressed in the richest finery, their keen eyes devouring all that they gazed upon, hands constantly reaching for their coin purses. He had never seen their like before, but remembered well the kind of noble that infested Ahnatep. Perhaps the group gathered before him were distant kin? Standing tall before the amassed crowd was a charming man with high cheekbones, who waved cheerfully at a departing slave. The man, a wide grin on his face, turned to face the newly arrived Benshira, and clapped his hands together. "Ah, excellent!" He beckoned the slave forward with one hand, the look in his eyes sending a chill down the Benshira's back. Pride was something he once possessed, that much he could remember... his pride would never have allowed him to languish at the behest of a cruel-hearted slaver. But pride was all but erased from him, and so the Benshira awkwardly hobbled over to the gesturing auctioneer, fully aware of the many eyes that now rested upon his practically naked form.
As he came close, the auctioneer whirled about to face the crowd, spreading his arms wide. "And here is the last of the special stock that we'll be examining today: a true goliath of the sands, a monster of Eyktol! This, right here before you, is the pinnacle of Benshira fortitude!" A number of excited murmurs spread throughout the crowd. Nodding his head fervently, the slaver stepped close to Hirem and slapped an open palm appreciatively against his breast. "Look at the size of this beast! Look at the scars that mark his flesh," shouted the auctioneer, pointing enthusiastically at the faded teeth marks left by the tsana, that ran down his right arm. Then the Benshira was whirled about by the shoulder, and the nobles cooed excitedly at the three angry scars that crawled down his back. "This one is a warrior, mark my words! Captured and educated properly, so that he may serve you fine lords and ladies with the utmost attention."
The giant was given one last turn, and now faced the hungry crowd with a blank expression on his face. "Alone, I imagine this beast could plough an entire field by himself. Purchase him, and you will have a mountain of cotton delivered to your doorstep! Or perhaps you might like a trained bodyguard at your side? Rest assured, this monster would delight to feast upon the flesh of your enemies. Hell, perhaps you'd just like to see what's under his loincloth? Rest assured, ladies, this savage can learn to be as gentle as you need!" A chorus of giggles spread throughout the crowd, but the Benshira did not flinch. The auctioneer gave one final bow of his head. "May I suggest we start the bidding at 400 gold mizas?"
They found a cage for him, deep in the confines of the Auction Hall basement. At first, the slavers seemed incredulous as to whether they could fit the Benshira in with their other stock - "Look at the meat on him! He'll come to own the whole pack!" The two men, whose names were long since forgotten, had gone strolling through the whole basement searching for an empty stall, but were out of luck in the extraordinarily busy summer season. With new slaves needed to help gather the last of the harvest before the winter chill crept in, it was hard to find any space not filled to bursting with other unruly field hands. The Benshira remembered one of his captors, a man with a glint in his eye and a handsome look about him, offhandedly remarking that perhaps the lummox from Eyktol would be better kept in a pen outside with the other beasts of burden. Yet, wonders of wonders, a big iron cage in the far corner of the basement managed to open up just in time, allowing the slavers to eagerly dump their most troublesome catch in a secure holding. The two slavers seemed glad to be rid of their giant Benshira, shuddering as they walked away. "Did you see the look in his eyes? Creepy, ain't it? What kind of sick fuck gets himself sold into something like this?" With one last mocking jeer, he watched as his captors, the foul men that had dragged him all across the Sea of Grass, ascended the basement stairs and departed forever.
For the next seven days, the Benshira languished in the iron cell, his wrists shackled to the wall behind him. While the other woeful captives were allowed larger wooden stalls with room to move and company to keep, he was given only metal bars and questioning eyes. Slaver and slave alike stared at him boldly through the openings of his cell, wondering aloud what had brought this devilish creature in their midst. "Some freak he is... there's no way the desert folk get so big." That's some Myrian from the jungles, ain't he? What's he doing so far east?" "Did you see the scars on that ugly bastard?" He could not blame them the stares, for he did little to appease them, only staring back with pain clear in his gaze. At times, when the whispers grew too loud, he threw himself against his chains and snarled at the onlookers like a rabid animal, hoping to scare them off... this never worked, for they would always find themselves drawn again. The guards did not trust him to leave his cell or be free of his chains, figuring that a creature his size could inflict some damage if he had the chance. Food was delivered as tasteless mush in a pewter bowl, water only sparsely handed out in this sweltering heat, and his privy emptied out when the smell became too much for the guards to handle. Beyond this, life was meaningless.
This is what you deserve, he reminded himself when he grew close to despair. Everything you have done, merits this. The lives you have taken from the world will never come back. Best you commit yourself to several lifetimes of pain, in order to repay them fully.
After seven days and nights without end, the guards finally came for their slaves. The doors down into the basement were thrown open and scores of terrified men, women, and children were drawn upstairs. This was the day of the Auction, and today the cream of the field workers would be divvied out between Kenash's masters. The Benshira held little knowledge of these events besides what the slaves had whispered to each other in their quiet nights. Wondering if perhaps he would finally be released from his cell, he pressed eagerly against his chains.
His hope was soon rewarded. A pair of sturdily built guards came for him, armed with thick wooden clubs and a rusty iron key. Unlocking the door to the cell, they stared down upon the weak Benshira. "Get up," the elder commanded, a silver-haired man with missing teeth.
The Benshira looked back up at them wordlessly, then struggled to rise to his feet. Nodding, the elder guard stepped into the cell and swiftly unshackled his wrists, then immediately drove a hard fist right into his stomach. As the slave bent over, wheezing, the guard leaned in close and murmured, "No funny business, all right?"
At this, the younger guard only offered an amused cackle.
Groaning, the Benshira gave a weak nod of understanding. He stumbled out of the cell and was grabbed on either side by his powerful captors, who dragged him off to a hitherto-unknown portion of the basement. Standing beside a small wooden tub stood two demure women with sombre expressions on their faces, the slave's brand burned into their foreheads. Without comment, the women took the Benshira from the guards and guided him directly into the tub, stripping away his filthy rags as they did. Then, still refusing to speak, they took hard sponges and scrubbed him clean, their eyes distant as they performed their thankless tasks. As each sponge was raked across his skin, the Benshira shuddered and closed his eyes, silently releasing whatever dignity he may have once possessed. When the washerwomen were completely finished, they dressed the giant in a loose loincloth and passed him back into the care of the guards. As the men led their captive upstairs, the younger snickered. "Shame they didn't get him shaved. He looks like a rat's ass."
Feeling weak, the Benshira let himself be led through the upper floors of the Auction Hall in a daze, only giving a start when he realized that the guards had wheeled him directly into an open-air auditorium. Seated all around the hall were men and women dressed in the richest finery, their keen eyes devouring all that they gazed upon, hands constantly reaching for their coin purses. He had never seen their like before, but remembered well the kind of noble that infested Ahnatep. Perhaps the group gathered before him were distant kin? Standing tall before the amassed crowd was a charming man with high cheekbones, who waved cheerfully at a departing slave. The man, a wide grin on his face, turned to face the newly arrived Benshira, and clapped his hands together. "Ah, excellent!" He beckoned the slave forward with one hand, the look in his eyes sending a chill down the Benshira's back. Pride was something he once possessed, that much he could remember... his pride would never have allowed him to languish at the behest of a cruel-hearted slaver. But pride was all but erased from him, and so the Benshira awkwardly hobbled over to the gesturing auctioneer, fully aware of the many eyes that now rested upon his practically naked form.
As he came close, the auctioneer whirled about to face the crowd, spreading his arms wide. "And here is the last of the special stock that we'll be examining today: a true goliath of the sands, a monster of Eyktol! This, right here before you, is the pinnacle of Benshira fortitude!" A number of excited murmurs spread throughout the crowd. Nodding his head fervently, the slaver stepped close to Hirem and slapped an open palm appreciatively against his breast. "Look at the size of this beast! Look at the scars that mark his flesh," shouted the auctioneer, pointing enthusiastically at the faded teeth marks left by the tsana, that ran down his right arm. Then the Benshira was whirled about by the shoulder, and the nobles cooed excitedly at the three angry scars that crawled down his back. "This one is a warrior, mark my words! Captured and educated properly, so that he may serve you fine lords and ladies with the utmost attention."
The giant was given one last turn, and now faced the hungry crowd with a blank expression on his face. "Alone, I imagine this beast could plough an entire field by himself. Purchase him, and you will have a mountain of cotton delivered to your doorstep! Or perhaps you might like a trained bodyguard at your side? Rest assured, this monster would delight to feast upon the flesh of your enemies. Hell, perhaps you'd just like to see what's under his loincloth? Rest assured, ladies, this savage can learn to be as gentle as you need!" A chorus of giggles spread throughout the crowd, but the Benshira did not flinch. The auctioneer gave one final bow of his head. "May I suggest we start the bidding at 400 gold mizas?"
