The Slave Market verseXsour diesel

[Verse]

Erryl Earthlander enjoyed his place in society. It was his people - referred to as the Midfolk by Skeratto natives - who'd built this new world upon the old one. Most of the people in the Thremarra market still remembered Skeratto before the Landing Party that had laid siege to their continent. Well, most of it. Some places were still to be tamed. But if most of the land had fallen, what chance did some plots of savages have? Soon, Skeratto would be civilized.

The world Erryl had come from was spoken for. He himself had left considerable wealth in land and ore behind to see what this new place might bring. His station in his old home was reflected in the rank he had here. A Lander. And one of rather high worth, if he may say so himself. He had his iron mines, which supplied the Landing Party with the material needed to subdue these critters. The iron that bound the Fae and killed the orcs. The armor that protected all Midfolk.

The tumultuous first years of taking Skeratto were over. He went to chip away at the last strongholds sometimes, for his bloodthirst, but mostly he jus enjoyed his riches now. And to the young Lander that meant doing it at the cost of others. It was because of men like him, and their demands, that the Life Market in Thremarra existed. He came here often. His estate and biggest mine wasn't far from here. And, being the capitol, this Life Market provided him with a busy array of choices. Getting new creatures was a pastime of his - and even though he was a Lander, known to have others do their work for him, Erryl himself was prolific for his skill in taming just about any creature without help. Of course, being a man hung like an ogre helped.

Today the Lander wore a blue coat over light trousers, and brown, tall, boots. He had a good height for a human, but that didn't matter much, since all races had their innate sizes. He could not stand shoulder to shoulder with the Giants chained to the ground on their backs, on the grass field connected to the market, and he could not hope to squat down low enough for the borrowers. So you'd just have to insist upon yourself as yourself, and whatever race you were born into. Here, he was well regarded and respected. Midfolk had won the war. Everyone else bowed whether they wanted to or not.

He stopped by a stand with lit-up jars and cages, placed on the table and shelves. The Earthlander son thought the display was well done, and one creature caught his eye immediately. "These have a diversity." he said and pretended to be considering all of them. But it was true. Fairies were usually caught in batches, but these were different, all of them. This seller must have a varied and vast stock.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Lander sir." the keep said and lifted his hat. He was a goblin. Erryl knew he must be a very dedicated business man not to have eaten his inventory already. Erryl could respect that. "We don't go out to sack their homestead. We pluck them." his voice was nasal, but his language was understandable, it was a variation of the common tongue forced upon Skeratto after the landing. Goblins were hard to teach, so the fact that this one had taken the time and effort boded well. "This is a very well curated establishment." the seller chirped on and snapped his suspenders. Erryl lifted a black brow and finally grabbed the jar with a leather lid. The creature inside was adorable. The goblin raised a finger. "Recently plucked. We haven't gotten her name yet, but she's lovely, isn't she?"

Erryl turned the cylinder once to look at her from all the good angles. "A pixie?" he asked to provoke her, if she could hear. His dark hair was brushed behind his ears, and while he had very prominent facial features, he wondered if he looked like a buffoon to her small self.

 

[Sour Diesel]

A woodland fairy was not a pixie, though few knew. For many confused the tiny and shy creatures who only seemed to appear at night. Pixies served the high elves, while a fairy was a servant to the ancestral fae spirits. It was a pretty severe insult to refer to a fairy priestess as such.

Her true name was a well kept secret. She didn’t dare give anyone that power. She took on many names. The beautiful fairy in the jar had golden tan skin. She wore an outfit made of flower stems and white lily petals, though this outfit did not include underwear. Pieces of her wilting dress were already falling apart. The fairy had no idea how she got here.

She fell asleep inside of a flower bulb. That was the last thing she remembered, then a sudden rush of being scooped up and stuffed inside of a mason jar. She couldn’t use her magic to break free. A container with no escape meant she could only grow to fit that size. Too small to use force meant waiting until she was set free. The fairy was removed from her forest.

A pang of detachment hit her no longer being able to bask in the ethereal fae realm. A city filled with smelly humans made her frightened. They were all so huge and moving fast in every direction. She was eventually taken to the shop where she would sit and wait. A stranger to this land, she had never spoken to a human much less been to the Life Market.

Then he approached. A hulking behemoth of a human. He was watching her like a hungry beast. Her little heart thumped with worry. Weight shifted around inside the jar being lifted so she shrunk a little and fluttered her white satin wings.

He saw up close she had hair like wheat chaffe tied up in a messy bun. Her cheeks were dotted with freckles, and her eyes shimmering deep emerald green. She gazed at the human’s distorted face in the jar palpitating with fear.

“I-I’m a woodland fairy, not a pixie. I do not serve the elfkin. Please let me go! I do not like being in a jar. Good sir,” she put on her biggest doe eyes hoping to stir sympathy out of the man holding her jar. The goblin had mentioned something about selling her like she was a piece of meat.

“I don’t know if you plan on eating me but I promise I do not taste good. I can offer you some fairy dust in exchange for letting me go?”