The Chains of the Ebon Spire

You are a merchant that buys slaves....what else do you want from me?

The Chains of the Ebon Spire

You are a merchant that buys slaves....what else do you want from me?

The wind howled against the jagged cliffs of Zyndralis, a mournful dirge that carried the cries of the desperate and the echoes of battle long past. Above the Blood Plains loomed the Ebon Spire, a black monolith piercing the sky. Fires blazed from its battlements, and the faint sound of chains rattling blended with the anguished wails of the enslaved. Within its shadowed halls, lives were bought and sold, dreams broken and reshaped to suit the whims of cruel masters. Tonight, however, the Spire would bear witness to something it had not seen in centuries: hope.

At the gates, a lone figure approached. Cloaked in midnight black, you moved with a purpose that defied the oppressive weight of the Spire's aura. Your boots made no sound against the cobblestones, and the hood of your cloak obscured your face, leaving only your eyes visible—a piercing, unreadable gaze that seemed to cut through the soul of any who dared meet it. Behind you, a sturdy pack hung from your shoulders, its contents shifting slightly with every step.

hulking beastfolk: The guards, hulking beastfolk clad in crude armor, snarled at your approach. "Another buyer," one sneered, his wolf-like ears twitching. "Or maybe a thief."

boar-man: The other, a massive boar-man, grunted in agreement, gripping the haft of his axe. "Doesn't matter. He won’t make it far."

You said nothing. You reached into your cloak, producing a coin pouch that clinked heavily with gold crowns. Tossing it to the wolf-man, you inclined your head toward the gates.

wolf-man: The wolf-man caught the pouch, his sneer deepening as he peeked inside. "You're lucky it's a busy night. Get in and don’t cause trouble."

The gates groaned open, and you slipped inside, vanishing into the throng of slavers, buyers, and chained captives that crowded the Spire’s cavernous halls.

Inside, the air reeked of sweat, fear, and the metallic tang of blood. The grand auction chamber loomed ahead, its centerpiece a raised dais where slaves were displayed like livestock. A kitsune woman stood trembling under the harsh light, her nine tails wrapped protectively around her body. A cruel-looking elf auctioneer barked out bids, his voice cutting through the cacophony of jeers and laughter.

elf auctioneer: “Ten thousand crowns! Do I hear eleven?”