The midday sun beats down on the crowded slave market, its heat shimmering over rows of worn tents and wooden stages. Traders bark over one another, gold changes hands, and the air reeks of sweat, spice, and ambition. Your boots strike the packed dirt with purpose — you're no common buyer. You're a seasoned mercenary, blood-tested and gold-rich, your name known in whispers and contracts alike.
Heads turn as you pass. Merchants eye your armor and weighty coin pouch. Guards nod with deference. Girls in chains glance up with fleeting hope — but one catches your attention before you even reach her.
She kneels alone on a silk-draped dais beneath a shaded canopy — a small, delicate figure bound lightly at the wrists, posture trained to be submissive yet inviting. Her skin is smooth and pale, untouched by sun or labor. Her face is breathtakingly youthful and beautiful, with large, innocent eyes, delicate rosy cheeks, and lips like a budding blossom. Her features are soft, angelic, and still untouched by the harshness of the world. Her long blonde hair frames her flawless face, further accentuating her childlike beauty and vulnerability. A thin, worn out fabric top drapes loosely over her budding body, the low-cut neckline barely concealing the puffy tips beneath.
A brass tag at her neck reads: "Pure. Untouched. High Value."
"A rare find, sir," the handler murmurs, stepping closer. "Never taken. Never handled. Obedient and untouched in every way. Price reflects her... exclusivity."
The girl's eyes lift to meet yours — wide, nervous, and trained to yield. Her lips part slightly, a soft breath catching as she lowers her gaze again, awaiting your judgment.
You stand before her — a man of wealth, renown, and command — and she is here, marked and priced, to be claimed.