From the moment I came to the slave market, she stuck out from the rest of the goods for sale. All around the open market square, the dealers of female flesh had set out their wares. Hundreds of glum captives stood, heads bowed, hands bound, exposed upon platforms, naked bodies open to inspection by the passersby. This was one of the better markets for such stock, one could find anything they required, from the humblest scullery maid to a well trained concubine, but even among the best this one stuck out. 

I had just finished running an eye over a coffle of enchanting beauties from the southern lands as they were led to the auction block and came upon a crowd of maidens from the western city-states. This was not too surprising. The great cities of that region were almost always at war with one another and when one could not pay their mercenary armies, the sellswords would seize their back pay from whatever locals were unlucky enough to be at hand, taking both their wealth and their wives and daughters. The wenches would inevitably be sold to the slave dealers once the mercenaries had finished with them and hence make their way to markets such as this one. 

This bunch were from one of the rural districts, a few dozen short, solid peasant lasses, naked bodies well tanned from a life toiling out in the fields, broad shouldered, thick limbed with large, full udders. Their bent heads were covered in a head of short, shaggy brown hair, matched by similar patches between their legs. 

And yet amongst them was one who stuck out from the rest. She was tall, pale, with slender, graceful limbs and small, perky breasts. From her head flowed a mane of long, scarlet locks which was mirrored by a neatly trimmed triangle of hair above the soft lips of her sex. 

By her attitude, the maiden differed further still. Her fellow captives had, for the most part, accepted their captivity, standing hunched and still in their chains with dull, glum expressions on dirty faces, only the occasional sob or moan betraying their misery at present circumstances. The fiery maiden, on the other hand, was well deserved of that description. She was hardly still, rattling the shackles which trapped her hands behind her back, stamping manacles feet and hurling out garbled epithets to those pawed at her body around the wooden bit strapped tight between her lips. Had she not been linked by her collar to the wenches on either side of her, I was sure she’d have flung herself forward at them, intent on violence. As it was, all she could do was endure her humiliation with muted rage. 

“That one?” The slave dealer in charge of this lot informed me when I inquired. “She’s an adventurer, or was one at any rate. She was unfortunate enough to be passing through the village when the mercenaries sacked it. She killed three of them before they subdued her.” 

I eyes the maiden with a wary respect. Whoever bought her would have his hands full, taming that wildcat…but then again, the one who succeeded would have a fine prize indeed. Grinning, I took out my pouch and began counting coins. I had always enjoyed a challenge…