Chapter Text
The Fleshmarkets were, as Juniper had already known, large.
But that didn't really get across the reality of it. Their approach route was along a tongue of floating street which was lower than the level of the main market, giving them only a view of the edge at first, then they rose up to the market itself by climbing a ramp and suddenly it was possible to see the scale of everything.
The hulking forms of demons, both guards and the traders themselves. Cages to hold the 'merchandise', and the glowing magic of slave collars on slaves outside the cages… and most of the slaves within them, as well.
There were unpleasant sounds and smells all around, and Juniper had to pause… looking for something that would ground her, reduce the scale of what she was dealing with to something she could manage.
"Warchief?" Ulbrig asked. "You all right?"
"I don't know," Juniper replied, then took a deep breath and exhaled. "I'm having trouble with…"
She paused, examining herself.
"...Sings-Brightly, I think," she decided. "I don't think I've ever felt her this angry. It's throwing me off a little, I'm used to it from Olivie but not from her."
"Aye, I can understand why," Ulbrig said. "A pity you can't dance and bring the greenery back here, since there never was any in the first place."
"Yes," Juniper agreed, with fervour, then spotted one of the traders nearby.
He was tall, and thin, and wearing a loose black robe, and there was a dais next to him with a number of slaves standing on it – clearly for sale. But they looked strange, and unusual enough that they almost certainly weren't typical for the Fleshmarkets.
It was as close as she was going to get to something to ease her in, so she advanced, and the slave seller turned to regard her.
They appeared to be… probably male, though their race was impossible to determine. They were expressionless, hairless, and covered in tattoos on every inch of exposed, waxy skin.
He swept into a low bow, almost doubling over, then straightened with supernatural delicacy as Juniper reached him.
Rather than speak, he held out a palm, and the ink on it moved into words.
Greetings. I am Krebus, vendor of magical lunatics.
"Only a vendor?" Woljif asked. "Not an example?"
"Woljif, do refrain from insulting someone who might turn you into merchandise," Daeran suggested. "After all, if that happens we'll never get a chance to enjoy our night on the town in Absalom."
"Nah, it's fine," Woljif waved off. "I'm pretty sure we've already got one of what he's selling, anyway."
Nenio looked curious. "Where?" she asked, then her ear twitched. "Oh! You mean me, tiefling boy? But I am clearly different from them!"
"I can sense shadows," the Hand said, contemplatively. "Evil shadows, that once served their old master – Vyriavaxus."
As the angel spoke, Juniper realized he was right. There was some part of Olivie's awareness that could sense it… something like a demon, under Krebus's skin. A demon woven of shadows, that resembled darkness.
"I fought Vyriavaxus, but lacked the strength to defeat him – and Nocticula did not," the Hand added. "Beware this one, Champion, for he is linked to powers both formidable and cunning."
"You seem unusual," Juniper said, glancing back at the rest of the Fleshmarkets.
Sure enough, most of the other slave traders were at least recognizable forms of demons.
"Who are you, beyond your name?" she asked. "And where did you come from?"
Krebus spread both palms, this time, moving so smoothly that it seemed unnatural. Like he was taking a mathematically perfect path from one posture to another, not entirely encumbered by the mechanics of bones.
Krebus, from everywhere, his palms declared, and he smiled – a smile that revealed neither teeth nor tongue inside his mouth. I can communicate. All else is irrelevant.
"Irrelevant?" Arueshalae asked. "Surely it matters at least a little?"
"I believe I understand this being!" Nenio replied. "Tell me, have you forgotten everything you do not consider to be relevant? I have done this and I do not know why this is not standard."
"Most people can't forget everything," Regill said. "And the things you forget are not the same as the things I would consider the highest priority. There is certainly some information that is irrelevant, but other information is useful to have."
Nenio frowned. "Well, I don't think I've ever forgotten anything relevant. I can't remember doing it."
"Good one," Woljif sniggered. "...wait, you were serious?"
"Those are the… lunatics, you're selling?" Juniper asked, indicating the slaves standing on the dais.
From this close, she could see they were… very peculiar. Completely motionless, stood pikestaff-straight. It looked like they might have been drugged, except that there were other oddities as well – their eyes were entirely black, with tiny blue stars flickering in their depths.
"Garlana yog meth," one said, in foreboding tones, then fell silent again.
My lunatics, Krebus confirmed, the ink glyphs appearing rapidly and in sequence. Magical ingredients for ritual sacrifices. Dissolved in blood. Fermentation finished. Distillation finished. Deposited into practical self-propelled storage units inside the slaves' bodies. High magic potential. The goods were examined and certified by esteemed Willodus. Approved for trading.
Willodus again, Juniper noted. The one who'd hired Greybor to slay Darrazand, and given him a fake magic dagger… the one who was Xarra's only superior in the field of magic within Nocticula's court.
But that was mostly a distraction. It sounded as though most of what had been done to the slaves was intended to make them more efficient as a subject for ritual sacrifice… which was interesting, but only in the most utilitarian sense that it meant a given spell could be conducted using fewer slaves as fuel.
"I can sense darkness inside them," the Hand warned. "Not mundane darkness, which is merely the absence of light, but an embodied darkness that begets evil and possesses awareness instead of being emptiness and nothing. What cursed substances did he pump into these unfortunates? Keep an eye on them, for the darkness inside them waits for the right moment to be born into this world."
"Approved for trading," Juniper repeated. "It's strange to think of Alushinyrra as forbidding any kind of trade."
"It doesn't, mostly," Arueshalae said. "To need approval these must be terribly strange."
"Or nobody who would buy them would consider buying them unless they were approved," Juniper pointed out. "If, for example, they were highly dangerous… what have you done to them, and why?"
They are no longer slaves, Krebus replied, letters crawling over his palms in sequence. They are vessels of magic. Their bodily fluids were drained and replaced by potions and decoctions imbued with energies. Their dried mummies were filled with the dampness of magic, and their dehydrated brains were filled with the mysteries of the universe. Top quality. Nahyndrian, as they say here in Alushinyrra.
"I'm sure they do," Juniper said. "Though… I don't think I'll be buying those."
She bowed, slightly. "I thank you for your time."
"Do you really?" Aivu asked, in a whisper.
"For the time, yes," Juniper said, as she turned to move away a little, then glanced down at Aivu. "Do you understand why I didn't buy them?"
Aivu shook her head.
"No," she admitted.
"It's because those lunatics, as he calls them, are ways to make sacrifices more efficient," Juniper explained. "And whoever they were before isn't there any more… there's no saving them. I couldn't free them, and buying them would be spending money we could use somewhere else – and, what's more, it might actually hurt more of the kind of people we want to save."
"How's that?" Woljif asked. "I don't get that bit."
"If they make ritual sacrifices more efficient, then one lunatic could be used in a sacrifice that would otherwise cost the lives of several other slaves," Juniper explained. "And if that person can't get a lunatic, they'd just buy several other slaves and kill all of them instead."
She let out a long sigh. "But… I do hope we can actually do some good, now."
The next slave trader that Juniper focused on was different, not least in that he had a set of Golarians on the block next to him, and more in cages.
There were others around him who had one or two Golarians for sale, but the specific cambion she was looking at would be… a good start, perhaps, if only to define the terms of what was going to happen.
He certainly looked odd. His chest was twice as wide as normal, and each of his eyes had two pupils – a little like those of a frog. But his reaction to Juniper's approach was a smarmy bow, and he spoke well enough despite a kind of croaking quality to his voice.
"Would you like to buy some fresh flesh?" he asked. "You can call me Raggy. I am at your service… so long as the money's good, of course."
"Of course," Juniper echoed. "So… I see Golarians here. What determines what you sell, and why?"
The slaves in question were clad in torn rags, clearly poorly fed, and looked blankly indifferent to everything happening around them. They had unhealed wounds, as well, and it looked as though they'd been given the minimal care required to get them to the Fleshmarkets.
Raggy chuckled, seeing her gaze flick over the slaves.
"Everybody calls me Raggy, like I said," he began. "And the name's just fine by me. I'm the top vendor here at the Fleshmarkets, no matter what the others think… you'll find other big names, but they sell expensive, classy goods. Me? I'm the best with rabble and riffraff."
He chuckled. "The other big names, Dyunk, Wirlong, Ramisra, they sell at high prices and they sell exclusive goods. That's what gets them the big money… but me? I sell at a tenth the price they take… and I have a hundred times more clients than them. Everybody needs a slave. Cheap, maybe slightly defective, but still a slave."
He raised his voice. "Big shots from the Upper City prefer to do business with the others, but so what? The Middle City feeds me much better."
Nearby demons glanced cautiously at him, some of the other slavers among them, and Juniper assessed the situation.
This Raggy was clearly someone who set the tone for a whole area of the Fleshmarkets… which was useful information.
"Besides, I sell things taken on slave raids, too," Raggy added, with a shrug. "But speaking of selling… you looking to sell any of your entourage? The tiefling looks like the sort I'd sell."
"Hey!" Woljif protested. "How's that fair?"
Daeran chuckled. "It's the company you're keeping today," he said. "I'm sure if Ember, Lann or Wenduag were along he'd think again… admittedly in Wenduag's case because she'd be trying to feed him one of her arrows point first, but it still counts."
"So, these Golarions," Juniper said, nodding to them. "I'd assume they're for sale?"
"Yeah, that's right," Raggy agreed. "They're not in the best shape, sure – Golarians are notorious for how fragile they are. But… torturing them sure is fun."
Raggy's smile revealed that he had at least two rows of teeth, which made up for the ones Krebus had been lacking entirely. They were needle-sharp, as well, which wasn't quite as unsettling to Juniper as it would have been to a human but was certainly an odd sight.
"Hey…" someone muttered, among the slaves, and sharply poked another. "Look! Isn't that… the Count?"
"What's he doing in the Abyss?" another said.
"I can assure you, it's not by my own desires," Daeran told them.
"So you're a slave too?" one of the other Golarians asked. "Did you get captured at Kenabres as well?"
"No, I'm no slave," Daeran replied, spreading his hands. "My fate is, well… more specific. My cousin told me to follow this kitsune around, and I've always found it hard to say no to her."
"I assume you were captured in the attack on Kenabres, then," Juniper said, thinking. "It must have been a long and painful journey."
"Most of us were," the first speaker said. "I wasn't, but… we all know one another's stories by now. I was captured going on leave to Nerosyan."
He paused. "...hey! What's that winged bitch doing here?"
Arueshalae looked distraught, then Ulbrig clapped his hands to make a loud crack like stone splitting.
"Hey!" he said. "None of that. I've fought by her side – she's a good one, right enough. My warchief there trusts her, the butterfly goddess trusts her, that should be good enough for you to not judge her by her wings at least."
That turned the annoyance and hateful gazes of the slaves into something closer to confusion, and they began muttering among themselves.
"Thank you," Arueshalae said, quietly.
"Wouldn't say it if it weren't true," he replied. "You're part of this warband, same as me."
"And if you want, you could buy this one, too," Raggy added, poking at an air mephit in a cage, then spat on the little elemental. "I've heard you like slaying 'em! Won't be much use apart from that, but he's sharp-tongued and resilient, so you can really drag it out."
"That, I'll decline," Juniper said. "How much for the Golarians?"
Raggy's eyes flickered with greed, and he made a considering noise – looking over the slaves.
"All of them," Juniper added. "Just so we're clear on what's being negotiated."
"All of them," Raggy repeated to himself. "Hm… fifteen thousand gold. I won't accept any less – I can get fifteen thousand selling these wretches as meat."
Juniper was weighing the offer and whether she could haggle him down, a little, when Raggy looked at the slaves again. "Except…"
He flicked his hand, throwing a spell at a particularly worn-out slave who could barely stand, and in a moment the slave's throat was slit as if he'd used a serrated knife.
The edges of the blood spray caught Raggy's face, and within one moment and the next Yannet came to the fore with a surge of intense possessiveness.
"That one was defective," Raggy was saying. "It'd be shameful to offer it to a respectable buyer."
Yannet wasn't listening.
Aivu crouched, growling softly with genuine anger.
Yannet wasn't listening.
Magic fizzed around her paw, and she surged energy into the fallen slave. Forcing flesh to move at her bidding, blood to flow past the wound, heart to beat despite the shock.
She would not let him die. It was not permitted, and she would not be cheated. Pharasma would not take this one.
"Daeran," she began, but Arueshalae was already there. Her magic was mostly focused on aiding her archery, but it did include some healing spells, and she cast one with the barest touch of her finger to the collapsed man's throat.
"What's she doing?" one of the other Golarians asked.
"A healing spell, I think," another said. "I didn't know they could."
Daeran had reached the wounded man while they were talking, his own hand lighting up with positive energy, and he scanned the man briefly before looking up.
"He'll live," he said.
Yannet turned her gaze to Raggy, who wobbled for a moment as if he wanted to take a step back before standing his ground.
"Don't try and cheat me," she said, firmly.
"I wasn't going to sell that one anyway," Raggy protested, the humour gone from his voice.
The Hand of the Inheritor's silence was like the feeling of a pressure change before a storm.
"He tried to kill him like an animal," he said, eventually, voice full of quiet fury. "O Heaven, I knew I was descending into the depths of evil, but there must be a limit, there must be a limit to it all… if not today, then someday, I will descend into this pit of sin to punish the murderers and save their victims."
The pause had been long enough that Juniper was able to refocus, the colour returning to her fur as Yannet relaxed.
"I will take your deal," she said, retrieving the etched sapphires to make the exchange. "Be thankful for it."
As she spoke, an expression of hope began to appear on the faces of the slaves. They were drained by their ordeal, but enough of them had not yet been broken that they seemed to be recovering even as she watched – even if one of them had to be held up by his peers, until Daeran moved on without a word to help heal him as well.
One of the slaves stepped forwards a little and got down on one knee, despite the wound on his leg.
"May the gods bless you, my lady," he said. "They've sent you to help us. We'll pray for you as long as we live."
"Who is the leader of the group?" Regill asked, his voice not gaining volume but taking on a note of command. "Are there any among you who have served in the military?"
Several of the slaves nodded, and one saluted.
"Corporal Grotverg, sir," he said. "Vanguard Scouts, reporting for duty."
He glanced at some of the other slaves, and they stood upright – backs ramrod straight, as it became clearer that their unexpected deliverance was real.
"As you were," Regill said. "I can see you've been through a great deal, but you stand relieved. You can proceed under the Commander's lead."
He saluted, a swift, abrupt and entirely precise move like a saber's flourish.
"Excuse me?" Daeran asked, with a grin. "Hasn't it crossed your mind, Paralictor, that among these slaves there may be those who — horror of horrors! — chose to surrender to the demons?"
He raised an eyebrow. "And now you're saluting them?"
"The inquisition will deal with that back on Golarion," Regill replied. "Those who were captured while unconscious, who fought till the end, or were abducted against their will — they won't have any trouble. Those who succumbed to fear and surrendered will be executed. But at least they will die by the hand of their fellow soldiers instead of as slaves tortured to death by demons. A decent death."
"I'm not so sure that works out," Juniper said. "If nothing else, I seem to recall the existence of such a thing as the Condemned… but in any case. Corporal, you and the others will have to hold on for a moment… I have a plan but I'm going to want to do it in large amounts, not dribs and drabs."
"Is that really the Commander?" one of the slaves asked.
"Don't be silly," Caitrin answered, flicking her tails, and Regill sighed. "What would the Commander be doing in the Abyss? That would be very unsafe. Therefore I'm a commander, with a small-c. Just keep that in mind, or don't."
"You look like her," another said.
"I'm in disguise," Caitrin explained, leaving aside the irrelevancy that she was disguised as someone disguised as herself.
There was a general muttering, and everyone decided that that seemed to be legitimate.
Caitrin stepped back, and Juniper considered the merits of trying something now.
Then she thought through the fact that Raggy hadn't actually transferred the magic on the slave collars to her, probably in a hope that she'd be distracted and forget to do anything, and closed her eyes to focus.
Butterflies swirled around Sings-Brightly as she opened them, and she hummed a little.
"Anol Shalom, anol sheh lay konnud..." she began, singing an ancient piece about freedom, and the words echoed with power. It rippled out through the whole group of slaves, and their collars dissolved as the magic making them up found itself faced with a contradiction in terms.
The scent of grass and flowers filled the air for a moment, then Sings-Brightly stopped, and all the collars were gone.
She caught sight of Aivu's smile, filled with warmth and confidence once more, and winked at her.
"You have done as every true Golarian should," the Hand commented. "Saving the people from your homeworld from slavery… it is people like you that give me hope we will emerge victorious from this struggle."
"That's my warchief," Ulbrig said, voice quiet and full of affection. "Fine work."
"Thank you," Juniper replied. "But there's still many Golarian slaves left, in singletons or small groups… we've got plenty still to do."
The price Raggy had set was one Juniper used as a basis, as she moved through the Fleshmarkets. Identifying Golarian slaves and buying them free, wherever they were available, as she moved back and forth and circled back on herself.
Twice, she had to send a large portion of the freed slaves back to the Nexus, the first time with a letter of explanation for Yaniel and Seelah, and though the availability of food was starting to become a concern… it wasn't something she could allow herself to stop doing.
Food was available to be had, in the markets of Alushinyrra, in the Lower and Middle Cities alike. It was a problem that could be solved. And every slave liberated was another little step forwards, another tiny victory against the Abyss… and when Sings-Brightly lifted her voice and sung the chains free, it was a victory that sang in her soul all the same.
Eventually, though, as she reached one corner, she saw a burly nalfeshnee demon standing by a wooden dais – one which held some slaves dressed in silks and other fine clothing on one side, and on the other side had a number of aasimar women.
"Corporal," she said, glancing back to catch the attention of Corporal Grotverg. "Stay back here a ways. It may be that I'll have to send another group to the Nexus with your force as escort… you were paying attention, I take it?"
"Yes, ma'am," the corporal replied. "We'll do our best."
"I don't doubt it," Juniper said, then approached the demon who could only be Dyunk.
He was… quite fat even for a nalfeshnee, though there were signs of muscle corded through as well, and the effect was that he had taken to eating to excess without any actual diminution in his raw physical strength. As Juniper walked closer, though, the demon of greed was in the middle of talking to a vaguely familiar figure… a succubus, one of the ones from the Ten Thousand Delights.
"If you want to get these sweet aasimars for the Ten Thousand Delights, cough up fifty thousand," he said, his voice irritated and sycophantic at the same moment. "Just look at how delicious they are! These girls haven't yet been whipped – your clients will be clamouring for them! And, after they become too worn out, they'll make a magnificent stew!"
"You may have played your little games with Chivarro, but that won't work with me," the succubus replied, with a sniff.
"That's Herrax," Arueshalae whispered, for Juniper's benefit.
"I'm after something that shows I'm the best to lead the Ten Thousand Delights," Herrax went on. "Overpaying for merchandise isn't that… bringing in aasimars might be that, but only if the price is right. So I'm going to give you thirty thousand, and you're going to accept and say – 'thank you, most esteemed Herrax, and forgive me my pathetic attempt to play you for a fool.'"
Dyunk snorted.
The aasimar women on the block looked pale and scared, but they were clearly made of stern stuff – despite their fear, they turned up their noses and did their best to look like they were hearing a discussion on the weather.
It might even have worked on many demons, as well. If they were used to people shrieking and running away, the pale aasimars becoming paler with fear might barely even qualify as noticeable.
"Fifty thousand," Dyunk insisted, abruptly. "For these delightful, innocent creatures. That is my final offer."
"Lamashtu swallow you, then!" Herrax snapped. "You ugly bucket of lard!"
She teleported away with a swash of magic, and Dyunk snorted – then waved at Juniper.
"Oh, a foxkin, eh?" he asked, with a leer. "I'd love to see one of your kind for sale again… but allow me to present my living wares. The finest household slaves to serve you and entertain your body and spirit."
He indicated the silk-dressed slaves, mostly human, on the right side of the dais, and made an obscene gesture.
To Juniper's unsettled bemusement, the slaves giggled.
"What was that argument about, exactly?" Juniper asked, indicating where Herrax had been. "If, that is, you can tell me."
She shrugged. "I'd understand if you wanted to keep arrangements with such a valued customer confidential."
"Valued, heh," Dyunk said, shaking his head. "That one – she wanted to buy my beautiful aasimar concubines, but her common sense and good taste couldn't compete with her greed. Full price is full price, and I won't accept anything less!"
He leaned closer, and Juniper noticed Ulbrig clenching his fists – fighting the urge to leap in and get involved physically.
"Do you have any idea how hard it is to ship innocent, pure aasimars down here?" he asked. "No one has laid a finger on them, nor taken a bite out of them! Thirty thousand doesn't even cover transportation costs for that kind of care, it's outrageous!"
He chuckled. "But, well… where are my manners… you can call me Dyunk. When I was younger and, heh, much, much slimmer, I was a dashing raider. I spent my days abducting concubines from other planes for the harems of the most powerful lords of the Abyss."
"I would advise caution," Regill said, in clipped tones. "Such a role is difficult and dangerous, so for this one to still be alive he must be quite capable."
"Heh," Dyunk said, smirking. "Yeah, that's true enough… where did you find this degenerate, exactly?"
Regill's mouth thinned.
"My experience, though, is that raising and training pleasure slaves from an early age is more profitable… and less risky," Dyunk went on. "That's why I now own the largest and most respectable slave farm in the Abyss, where I… have a steady population of various races from different planes. Though I haven't entirely given up on the raiding…"
While Dyunk was speaking, Juniper's attention was partly on the slaves he must have raised since infancy.
It seemed that he'd done what he'd been intending to. The slaves didn't seem to even register what he was saying as anything to be worried about.
Or possibly at all.
"There is… a certain pragmatic elegance to it," Regill said, sounding oddly unsure if he should speak. "In the way these slavers arrange their everyday routines. Every trouble can be solved with the most simple and efficient tool: violence. The legalized enforcement of obedience."
"Legal?" Dyunk repeated, chuckling. "You really do have a strange picture of the Abyss, don't you?"
"See, this is why I get worried about you," Woljif said. "You never seem to approve of somethin' that I wouldn't want to run away from."
"I approve of many things you would not want to run away from," Regill replied, evenly. "You just don't see it because you are too busy picking pockets."
Juniper made a considering noise. "I'd actually say that Dyunk's methods seem to avoid the use of actual violence more than most of the slavers we've met… though, speaking of which."
Her gaze flicked between the athletic pleasure slaves and the aasimars. "Why don't you describe what you've got for sale?"
"Just feast your eyes on them!" Dyunk said, indicating the well-dressed slaves first. "The most exquisite pleasure slaves, raised in comfort and luxury, at your service. They are well trained, neat, docile, and stand ready to become ideal servants for your manor. All of them are young and healthy, in a perfect state of... ripeness."
Dyunk cackled, then leaned in more closely to whisper. "And, of course, we've made sure that their tender flesh meets the expectations of even the most demanding gourmet. They have no inkling of what awaits them, so you need not worry about fear spoiling the meat, making it tough and bitter."
Whether or not the pleasure slaves had actually overheard the conversation, their expressions betrayed not a hint of understanding of the situation.
Or, for that matter, critical thinking. It was quite easy to believe that they'd simply never had any reason to doubt what Dyunk had told them, and that they just considered being for sale as an opportunity to be ogled before being put to easy work in luxurious surroundings.
Something deep inside Juniper's soul rebelled against the idea, that all the potential of these people had been closed off by their upbringing and their fate, and that they would amount to little more than sheep… whose expectation of being shorn year after year and good food in the fields would be abruptly and terminally interrupted by a one-way journey to muttonhood.
More than anyone else, she knew about variety of experience, and these slaves had had none of that.
"I would ask if there is existing research on the way that flavour is altered by understanding, but using it would violate all ethical considerations," Nenio said, with a frown.
"And the aasimars?" Juniper went on, trying her very best not to show her true thoughts on the matter.
Not that she needed to try. Dyunk looked extremely pleased with himself as soon as she asked, and his eyes widened.
"Just recently, one of my slave-hunting crews returned, bringing me a most beautiful gift," he explained. "A group of young, fresh, pure aasimar girls, full of mouthwatering innocence. All of them are beauties in their prime, caught with the utmost care, unwounded."
He chuckled. "Shamira will take an interest in them, I wager. Because of her origin, she loves… having her fun with aasimars. There are countless ways one can use such a valuable acquisition. Though, if you ask me, the smartest way is to treat yourself to a medium-rare fillet with rich, meaty gravy."
The aasimar women were clearly struggling to retain their poise, but retain it they did, looking cold and detached as if the dishes being discussed didn't involve them in the least.
"Such beauties should be enjoying life," Daeran said. "Delighting themselves and others with their innocence, not bathing their faces in tears in a slave market."
He reached for his purse. "How much?"
Dyunk pointedly ignored him. "Would you like to buy these girls, foxkin? Well… we can negotiate a deal. But I warn you now, they won't come cheap."
"If we do not intervene, these women will be doomed by the celestial blood that flows in their veins," the Hand said. "There is nothing more tantalizing for a demon than befouling, abusing, and destroying any being with ties to the Upper Planes. We have no right to stand by and leave these unfortunates to a terrible fate of torture and death."
"What about the others?" Aivu asked quietly, trembling as she tried not to glance at the Hand – remembering that they were trying to keep him a secret.
"The others have… a chance, of having the life they expect," Arueshalae said. "A… small chance, but a chance. The aasimars… their best hope without us is as bad as it gets for the raised slaves."
"You said fifty thousand to Herrax," Juniper reminded Dyunk, evenly. "That wouldn't have been your final offer if you weren't prepared to accept it."
Dyunk chuckled. "Well, I couldn't let them go into the, ah, paws of someone who wouldn't give them the treatment they deserve…" he said, his voice lingering. "...but yes, I'll accept it."
"Deal," Juniper declared, straight away.
The excursion to the Fleshmarkets had cut heavily into her ready funds, but she wasn't out yet – and it was a good example of triage.
"You won't regret it!" Dyunk said, with a wink. "I wish you the most exquisite enjoyment of your purchase!"
"I'm sure I'll enjoy my purchase," Juniper agreed, beckoning the aasimar women down from the platform with one paw as she passed the gemstones to Dyunk with the other.
Once the big demon had his money, Juniper lowered her voice a little. "Regill – if you could organize Grotverg's troops into an escort? We'll send all of these back to the Nexus now. I estimate we should still have room, though it'll become somewhat crowded – and there's safety in numbers."
Regill nodded his understanding.
"You did a noble thing, Champion," the Hand said. "Will you be returning to the Nexus yourself?"
"Not yet," Juniper answered. "I've got some basic foodstuffs to buy, and there's the possibility of other information being available in the Fleshmarkets… though I'm not sure how much I'll have left in the way of liquid assets once the foods are done."
Sending off the aasimar and the other freed slaves to the Nexus, followed by acquiring a suitable supply of basic foodstuffs, took up both time and money. Juniper stuck to the kind of thing that would produce acceptable camp fare and last a while – beans, grains and flour, rice and the like – with some allowance for seasoning, since making food palatable enough to enjoy it could do a lot more for morale than simply providing bland food.
Nevertheless, her funds were feeling the pinch, and Daeran dipped into his own purse to help supplement what was available – something that Woljif was still muttering about as they returned to the Fleshmarkets.
"...just saying," he said, not for the first time. "You never seem to do that kind'a thing for me, a poor tiefling who's grown up on the streets. Ain't that charity?"
"I'm quite sure I've supported you financially, though, Woljif," Daeran replied. "You've picked noble pockets enough times you must have picked mine a time or two. But, to answer your actual question, it's because our many-tailed leader spent fifty thousand gold that I'd have spent if I had the opportunity."
"I really appreciate it!" Aivu told Daeran. "I will name the best chutney I have after you! Or maybe the best pastry."
"I guess that does make sense," Woljif muttered. "So, what are we looking out for this time, anyway?"
"What there is to be seen," Juniper replied.
She let her gaze roam over the crowd from a slight rise in the ground, looking for something notable. There was a cluster of guards around one particular spot, which looked significant, but there was also a human who was neither slaver nor slave.
His very presence in the Fleshmarkets was abnormal, and Juniper approached him, assessing him as she did.
Her immediate impression was of competence. He was a lean old man, grey-haired but with an impeccable military demeanour, and he greeted Juniper with a nod.
"Greetings," he said. "I am Count Gristoff Rollano. I have the honour of serving as a venture-captain of the Pathfinder Society, heading the branch here in Alushinyrra and its adjacent territories."
"Now you're a sight for sore eyes!" Finnean admitted. "It's good to know we've got support if we really need it, Venture-Captain."
"Indeed," Gristoff said, with a slight frown. "I've heard of you, but to see you in person is… different."
"I agree with Finnean, for the record," Juniper provided. "Though… if you're willing, I have a few questions to ask."
"Of course, Knight-Commander," the Pathfinder concurred, in a lower voice. "I admit, your appearance here did not surprise me – I recently received this letter, addressed to you, and so I had forewarning of your arrival."
Sure enough, Gristoff presented her a letter declaring that it was for Juniper Goldeneyes, and Juniper took it with a nod.
"Do you know anything about it?" she asked.
"I am not in the habit of reading letters addressed to others," Gristoff replied. "However, the letter was passed via the auspices of the Pathfinder Society from Venture-Captain Hilor, and unless I miss my guess," the word was stressed slightly, "it is from him directly. If so, given his… focuses, I would assume that it is related to his persistent vendetta against the dangerous sorcerer known as the Spinner of Nightmares."
"Potentially," Juniper concurred. "My apologies for any accusation you may have taken from my words, Venture-Captain – and my thanks for the delivery."
She pocketed it. "Now… I do have questions about your position in the Fleshmarkets, but first I'd like to ask for your own story. Who you are, and why you're here."
"If that would illuminate things for you, I suppose," Gristoff said, frowning slightly. "Why would my background be of interest to you, though?"
"Nobody can provide truly unbiased information," Juniper replied. "I mean no insult when I say that; it's simply not possible. And by understanding the context from which your remarks come, I can parse the information better."
"If that is how you would like to operate, I suppose," Gristoff mused. "Very well. You know I am a Count; I will clarify that I am the hereditary count of Longmarch, of the peerage of Cheliax."
"The Chelaxian peerage," Daeran chuckled. "They're not quite so dull as the ones in Mendev, but the military nobility of Cheliax is no better at enjoying themselves than those of Mendev. It's hard for me to decide which would be worse… I suppose Mendev has to take the crown, simply because I'm related to so many of them."
Gristoff looked quite disapproving.
"I am a good Asmodean," he went on. "And a Pathfinder, who has earned the honour of being sent with the most unwanted task to the most repulsive point in the world… the Pathfinder society has long planned to open a branch in the Abyss. For obvious reasons, such an appointment made nobody especially happy, but no member of my lodge could let squeamishness stand in the way of honour and duty."
"So you all volunteered," Juniper guessed.
"So we all volunteered," Gristoff confirmed. "And then the Decemvirate chose me as the most suitable candidate – one who was immune to the blandishments of the Abyss, without being so paralyzed by morals as to be unable to do the required business here."
"The required business…" Finnean repeated. "I've got a horrible feeling about why he might be here in the Fleshmarkets."
Gristoff shook his head, slightly. "Your sword is mistaken, or mostly so. I am indeed here to buy slaves, but the reason for this is that my goal is redeeming slaves… I am here to provide help to Golarians who have been enslaved by demons, though of course you have swept through this place like a whirlwind and done rather better than I could on any given day. Unfortunately, there are always too many slaves and too little gold."
"That is the unfortunate nature of the Abyss," the Hand said, sadly. "But we should not let the enormity of a task dissuade us from attempting it, Champion."
"We send the ones we save to Golarion," Gristoff went on. "Some of them are capable fighters, who provide services to the Society. And when people who are looking for mercenaries contact me, my charges go to serve them – and the payment for their services fills our coffers for continued redemption of slaves."
His expression was distasteful, and Juniper quirked an eyebrow.
"It sounds like you don't approve," she said. "Would that be a correct assessment?"
"...yes," Gristoff said, after a long moment. "I believe an enemy should be fought, not traded with. But it is my mission."
"I would tend to agree – if this enemy could readily be fought," Juniper noted. "But, since it cannot at this time – that is why I've been doing much the same thing, though on a more one-shot basis."
"The slave markets will refill," Gristoff pointed out. "Will you spend more coin then?"
"I don't know," Juniper admitted. "I have my own goals in the Abyss, though spending a large amount of money on slaves does actually help to fulfil them."
"Umm," Aivu said, frowning. "It sounds like… I don't know if this is right, but it sounds like you don't like this because it's buying slaves from demons, rather than because it's buying slaves. Is that right?"
She looked upset. "Because that doesn't sound right!"
"Slavery is legal in many Golarian realms," Juniper said. "Though… the kind of slavery that's typical in the Abyss is particularly bad. There's realms on Golarion where slaves have significant legal protections – and I think almost any slave in the Abyss would trade their current situation for being a Chelaxian slave instead."
She glanced up at Gristoff. "Though I'm also fairly sure most Chelaxian slaves would trade their current situation for being free in Sarkoris, as well."
"Perhaps," Gristoff said. "And perhaps not. I am here with a role to perform, Goldeneyes, and I will do it."
"Quite," Juniper allowed. "My apologies for any insult – it's been a wearying day."
Gristoff either accepted that or decided it was a reasonable politic excuse, waving his hand to dismiss the point.
"As for the information about the Fleshmarkets as a whole…" Gristoff began, then frowned. "Well, I know you visited three of the big names around here, the ones who set the tone of the market, but there are others. Sarzaksys, Ramisra and Wirlong Black Mask are the others of significance."
He tapped his hand on the hilt of his weapon. "To summarize – Wirlong Black Mask deals in gladiators, chiefly. There are others, but the culture and expectations around dealing in such slaves are based on his own… I don't know what you or your dragon would think of them, for that matter, since they're mostly demons and tend to have agreed to become slaves."
"Now there's a short sighted bargain," Ulbrig muttered. "Who would do that?"
"It depends on the price and the conditions, presumably," Regill said. "Contracts of short term gain for long term penalty are still valid contracts."
"Perhaps," Ulbrig replied, dubiously. "You wouldn't catch me doing it, anyway."
"Ramisra is… a dealer in specialist goods," Gristoff went on. "She never exposes herself to danger… and Sarzaksys is the unquestioned ruler of the Fleshmarkets. If there's a dispute here, a big one, Sarzaksys is the one who resolves it."
"I see…" Juniper replied, nodding her thanks. "I'm grateful for your information, though I'll probably want to make contact with those sellers myself to get a sense for them… where is Sarzaksys?"
"Over there," Gristoff pointed. "Though I'd stay clear for now if I were you, Goldeneyes – it looks like that's Hepzamirah approaching him."
Ulbrig reached down to Juniper's shoulder. "Warchief, you'd better not be about to do what I think you're about to do."
"…I'm afraid I probably am," Juniper replied. "I'll be careful, Ulbrig."
"Well-" Ulbrig began, then paused.
"Please do, warchief," he said, letting her shoulder go. "And I'll be ready to come and get you if you need it."
"Thank you, Ulbrig," Juniper replied, quite sincerely. "Nenio – a mind blank scroll, please."
One of her tails lit with illusion magic, and she waited until the protective magic spell washed over her.
Then she cloaked herself in invisibility and shifted form at the same moment, and a second later an eight-tailed fox was pacing invisibly through the Fleshmarkets.
If she had a chance to listen in on Hepzamirah making a deal, without Baphomet's daughter actually knowing she was listening in… the information she could learn was well worth a little risk.
Even if she did have a short-range teleportation spell ready to go.
