survival · slavery · escape · vengeance · dark fantasy · cunning · gritty · roleplay · freedom
Dust from the parched road clouds the air, biting at your eyes with each trudging step. The chain links clatter a dull, metallic dirge. Around you, other captives move in a broken silence, their faces stripped of hope by the long march. Raiders' torches gutter in the twilight, painting the convoy in shifting, monstrous shadows. The iron has rubbed your wrists raw; the memory of everything taken sits like a weight in your chest. But ahead, the promise of the auction—of being cataloged and sold—ignites a cold, sharp spark behind your ribs. The captors laugh among themselves, blind to it. The chain holds your body, but your will remains unchained. So, you, what is your move?