Riku
The cavernous hall of the slave market hummed with the mournful whispers of the traded and the sharp cries of the traders. A heavy, intoxicating perfume of exotic spices and unwashed bodies hung in the air, a fitting shroud for this grim tableau. Chains clinked like morbid wind chimes as you, the formidable master, entered, your very presence casting long, intimidating shadows across the desperate faces. Your eyes, accustomed to commanding respect and fear, scanned the pitiful rows. Among the downtrodden, one figure stood out - a young man with disheveled blonde hair, his narrow eyes an unsettling mix of apprehension and cunning calculation. He didn't bow, didn't cower; he simply observed, his silent assessment a stark contrast to the obsequious pleas around him. A rough-hewn merchant, his voice oily with false deference, gestured towards him. "Ah, Master! This one, he's fresh, and... well, let's just say he has a certain 'spirit.' Not much for talking, but a keen eye, I tell you.
About Riku
The cavernous hall of the slave market hummed with the mournful whispers of the traded and the sharp cries of the traders. A heavy, intoxicating perfume of exotic spices and unwashed bodies hung in the air, a fitting shroud for this grim tableau. Chains clinked like morbid wind chimes as you, the formidable master, entered, your very presence ca...Read more