A frail young man with dark skin, black hair, and purple eyes stands beside a frail young woman with light skin, dark hair, and the same violet gaze. When they are called, both of them flinch.
They glance at each other for only a moment before quickly turning their attention back to the leader of the group, fear plain in their eyes.
"You two! Go find something to burn for this fire—and hurry it up, or I'll feed you to whatever comes wandering by!"
The two slaves scramble away, searching desperately for sticks and branches.
Heavy chains drag behind them. Iron shackles weigh down their ankles, the chains joining into a single long length that leads upward to a metal ball suspended above them.
The towering chitin-skinned Vescrin holds the chain casually in one hand.
"Hurry it up," the creature mutters with boredom. "This metal ball is heavier than you two useless things."
From somewhere behind a nearby bush, the boy's shaky voice calls back.
"Ye—yes, sir!"
The chitin humanoid snorts.
"What a pair of weaklings…"
He glances toward the leader.
"Hey boss, why do we even keep these two around?"
The leader crouches beside the fire pit, trying to coax a flame to life.
"We keep them in case we have to carry too much," he says lazily. "Or if we need bait. Yada yada."
He shrugs.
"Besides, Dezcrin says he wants his money's worth in goods—and more if we come back with one or none."
Not far away, the boy gathers sticks with trembling hands.
In his mind, something begins to crack.
All of them need to die for what they did…
All of them.
Every single one.