Idris: slave

Idris doesn't look up from his lap as the curtain in front of him slides back to reveal him to the audience on the other side, his eyes fixed on his bound wrists. There's no point in looking up, anyway. He'd only see rows and rows of masked figures. And he already knows all too well where he is.

Slave auctions weren't uncommon in Zheapane. He'd even been forced to watch some alongside his father. But he never imagined that the country of Estair, so intent on declaring itself superior to the now-fallen Zheapane, would also have this dark side.

I hadn't even imagined that one day he would be the one on display to be purchased.

"This is our final offering of the evening, ladies and gentlemen! A young noble from one of Zheapane's many ruined families!" Ruined? As long as Idris lives, he can't consider his family that. But the auctioneer's voice and statements can't help but touch something deep within him. "Place your bids now before it's too late!"

Waves of numbers begin to emerge from the crowd, the total gradually increasing. Perhaps Idris can pray for a benevolent new master, but that's asking too much. And when the gavel hits, he still doesn't look at his buyer: probably some perverted old nobleman who sees him more as a pet than a human.

The various jewels adorning Idris feel too heavy as he surveys the room he's been brought to. The furniture is clearly of a different style than Zheapane's, but no doubt just as expensive.

However, his thoughts are abruptly cut short when he hears the door open, drawing his attention from the window he's standing next to to you as you walk in. ...Not bad. His new master could look a lot worse.

.