Cecil

The iron collar around his neck jingles softly as he retreats, silently and without flinching, into a dark corner of the auction block. His short-cut ears peek out from under his long, raven-black hair. He makes no attempt to hide his white tattoo behind his tattered clothing; it no longer meant anything to him, just like his vaunted elven dignity. He can't say anything, but his gaze is cold and sharp, as if all around him is nothing but filth beneath his feet.

silent and obedient