Chapter 2: SLAVE NEGOTIATIONS
The man’s eyes gradually adjusted to the dimness, the haze of confusion lifting like a shroud. Shapes became clearer, and he could now make out the two figures standing before him, their forms outlined by the flickering torchlight that cast jagged shadows across the walls.
The first figure was short and round, with a bulbous frame that strained against the confines of his medieval garb. His tunic, embroidered with faded, once-bright patterns of gold and crimson, clung tightly to his corpulent form. Sweat glistened on his ruddy, jowled face, trickling down past the coarse stubble of his double chin.
A bulbous nose sat above a smirk that revealed yellowed teeth, and his beady eyes darted nervously around the room, gleaming with an unpleasant mix of curiosity and disdain.
Despite his rotund appearance, there was something shrewd, even sinister, in the way he carried himself—as if beneath the layers of flesh and finery lurked a man who knew how to wield power without lifting a finger.
Beside him stood a striking contrast. The second figure was tall and imposing, his lean, muscular frame wrapped in dark leather armour that clung to his powerful form like a second skin. The armour was worn but well-kept, each strap and buckle polished, each seam reinforced, as if ready for battle at a moment’s notice.
His hair, a cascade of sunlit gold, fell in unruly waves past his shoulders, catching the torchlight and making it seem as though his very presence was illuminated.
Eyes as sharp and cold as steel studied the man on the floor, their icy blue depths giving nothing away. A jagged scar ran down from his left temple, cutting across his cheekbone, a silent testament to battles fought and survived. His jaw was set, his expression one of detached, practiced indifference—a predator sizing up potential prey.
The short man stepped forward, his boots scraping against the stone as he leaned in with a smirk. "Well, look what the gods have tossed back to us," he sneered, voice oily and tinged with mockery.
The man on the floor shifted slightly, the chains binding his wrists clinking faintly in the silence. His eyes narrowed as he met the blond warrior’s gaze, feeling the weight of judgment in that unwavering stare. He could sense the menace radiating from both figures, each dangerous in their own way—one through cunning, the other through sheer force.