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Amora was in her element. She strode along, chain in hand, chin raised and shoulders back. Or at least, she thought she was. Truth be told, she wasn't really sure what exactly her element should be. This was honestly something new to her, but she was determined not to let that show. The slack on the chain disappeared and tugged her in the opposite direction, and she gave it a jerk irritably, glancing back with a small scowl. These demons she's captured were not at all convenient. She was wondering if she should have troubled herself to claim them in the first place. She'd found them in a bad way, not long after the demon hordes had disappated. The male had been injured, and the female distraught, so they'd been an easy catch.

Oh, they'd tried to tell her they weren't demons at all, but what else could they be? Horns, tails, hooves. To AMora's mind, there was nothing else walking on two legs that could be so close to demons without being them. Still, doubts had niggled her. They certainly didn't act like the epitimy of evil, nor did vile things pour from their notably un-fanged mouths. But when assailed by such doubts, she resolutely set her jaw in characteristic stubbornness and hardened her heart. Demons they were, so in chains they stayed. It never quite occured to her that regardless of how unusually strong she might be, two chained demons would have given her infinitely more trouble than these two had.

The male still limped badly, so their pace here had been slow. The female tended to look as if she'd like to tear Amora's arms off, but never made such a move. Instead she tended the male tenderly and with much vehemant insistance that they slow down, or that they rest, or that she have something to wrap his mangled leg with. Amora had allowed some of this, but also tended to push them on faster than the female perferred. Well, now they were in the city, nearly to the slave portion of the market, and she'd be rid of them with a bit of gold jingling in her pocket.

Male slaves for menial labor were first. Musclebound and most looking rather bored, they held no interest for him. He spotted a ragged tent full of curvy female slaves, lounging about on cushions, but resisted the urge. Now was not the time to obtain a pleasure-slave, if he ever even actually did so. The rest were motley crews of slaves of all ages, sizes, and purposes. Some looked positively miserable, others pleased. Really, there was the entire gambit of emotions on the faces of these beings. Not all were humans, either.

How one voice, raised among so many others, happened to catch his attention, he'd never know. It was hidden behind a row of makeshift stalls, though, so he slipped between two and into a back area clearly not meant for customers to enter. It had sleeping pallets and bits of clothings scattered about, but the only current occupants of it were one pudgy man and a small boy. The contrast between the two was stark.

The master was pasty white, balding, and was quite red in the face as he physically shook the small frame of the child. He was overweight, and had an unhealthy look about him, as if he'd been fatter once, but was now slowly melting it away by necessity. His skin sagged in places, making him look older than he likely was. He hunched his shoulders and bent his spine as one used to giving deference to others, but a nasty look etched on his face from much bitterness and resentment. His hands were large and blocky, gripping the shild's arms roughly.

The child, on the other hand, was everything his master was not. His skin was dark bronze, as of a desert nomad. He had thick black hair that was knotted together in untidy braids, tangled together into one lumpy tail. His frame was thin and wiry, but not without muscle. Any unpampered slave child would have to be used to hard work, and it showed along his arms and legs, both of which were bared by the scrawny tunic of burlap he wore. He had on a heavy metal collar around his neck as well, which chafed at his collarbone, leaving angry red marks visible beneath it. But most remarkable of all was the boy's eyes. Despite the evident fury of his master, laughter danced there, gleaming up unrepentatnly at the portly man. They were dark green and full of mischief and good humor.

"You useless whelp!" the man was shouting. "You demon-spawn! You are determined to cost me my twelve silver I paid for you, aren't you?" His face was contorted into a snarl as he shook the cihld to emphasize his woords. "At this rate I won't be able to sell you but for a silver's profit, if I"m lucky! You drive them away with your murmurs of being possessed!"

Arc stifled his amusement. Clever boy to use such a ruse to put off any buyers he'd dislike. But this was not the full extent of the child's cleverness.

Teeth rattling together, he spoke up amidst a chortle, "But master, I cost you fourteen silver... one for each year! Even if you sold me for thirteen, you'd be out a whole silver still!" How his eyes crinkled in merriment! Arc couldn't know why this amused the child, but clearly he was not concerned for his own fate much.

With an inarticulate roar at this mocking insubordination, heaping coals upon his rage, the master snatched up the nearest thing at hand, which happened to be a long section of reed, and swung it for the boy's face. It was then that Arc stepped in, bearing the brunt of the swing in the palm of his hand. He grimaced at the sting, but held the reed fast, giving the rotund master a steady, unfathomable look.

"You wish to sell this boy?" he asked without preamble. The startled man merely nodded, still holding the end of the reed in one hand and the child by the shoulder with the other. After a few blinks he let go of the reed and drew the boy to him. The gesture was orchestrated to both keep his property close but also to make it appear that the child was dear to him. Arc stifled a frown.

"Why yes, yes I am, I'm afraid," the seller recovered enough of his wits to begin his wheedling. "I hate to part with him, dear boy that he is." He patted the boy's braids awkwardly, pretending to peer down at him benevolently. "He's my dead sister's child, one of the family you know, but in these hard times, there's naught else I can do." He spread one hand and shrugged his shoulders expansively while pasting on an expression of woe and helplessness. The other hand, however, was clamped painfully tight on the boy's shoulders, dirty fingernails sinking into what little flesh was there to give way.

Arc pulled out his pouch of coins, their number clinking mysteriously within. "What say you to fifteen silver for him," he brusquely offered, glancing away intentionally to show how bored he was already with the man's tale, but also to try to indicate how little he wanted the child. The dealer's eyes sharpened on the bag, and his lips curved greedily.

"Oh, what a generous offer from the gentleman," he smiled, "but I promised his mother I'd let him go to someone I knew had the means to care for him properly," he went on. "And of course the only way to do so is to ensure someone can afford what he must have." It was a weak piece of logic, but Arc cared not. His hand was in the pouch, fingering his coins thoughtfully. "I could accept no less than twnety."

The boy meanwhile was looking from one to the other of them, and Arc suspected he might soon begin his routine of pretending possession by some unclean spirit, and didn't wish to endure the further haggling caused by it. However, his pouch only contained at best sixteen silver. Plenty enough for eating and perhaps a little shopping, but not nearly enough for convincing this man to seel him the child. He bit hislip in resignation and wished mightilyhe'd otained more. In that moment, his pouch became noticably heavier. Instead of sixteen coins nestled in the leather pouch, he could now feel many more. It accompanied a surge that moved through him like a heatwave, leaving him sweating and weary. It was a strange sensation, but he did not pause to dwell on it. "Twenty it is," he announced, shocking both the slave dealer and the boy into giving him round-eyed looks. He fished out twenty silver pieces from his pouch, slapped them into the outstretched palm of the fat man, then siezed the other shoulder of the boy, pulling him from his master's grasp and turning to march him towards the spot he'd entered at. He moved swiftly so as not to give the man time to rethink his required price. Moments later, they were out in the busy aisle between tents and stalls, blending into the many others present.

He'd just signaled the serving girl for a second plate for Hatim when he caught sight of something outside. He hissed a sharp breath inwards, surging to his feet and earning a wary stare from the boy. Holding a hand up to him, Arc said hurriedly, "Stay here. Don't move." He began to move forward, glanced back and added, "But keep eating!" Then he turned and was out of the tent as swiftly as he could.


Amora swaggered down the aisle, peering this way and that, looking for where to best situate herself to sell her 'demons'. Two things happened in one moment then. Firstly, she caught sight of the demon market. It was full of cages of screeching, clawing, snarling creatures, all very clearly not what she had chained and shackled behind her. She stopped and stared in dumb-founded amazement. What then did she have?

At the same moment, there was a shout from behind them. "Raja! Raja!!" The satyr turned awkwardly to look back and see, to his heartbreak, his master. With what might have been a choked sob or merely a grunt of effort, Raja pivoted completely around and lunged forward towards Arctang, jerking against the chain held in the woman's hand.

Amora turned as it was jerked nearly out of her fingers, just in time to catch sight of a man nearly flinging himself at the male 'demon', wrapping his arms about the large creature like a long lost brother. Rissa took the opportunity to jerk once more on the chain, this time hauling it out of the lanky woman's grip. Amora gave a shout of prostest and ran to sieze it once more, but came up short upon meeting two very angry glares and one pair of curious and quickly frowning eyes.

"What have you been doing with my most treasured servant?" Arc demanded, drawing himself up and letting the persona of godling to settle over him. His small wings flexed, dripping fragments of plasma in swirling fractal patterns. His pale green eyes gleamed, and though his small frame was unlikely to intimidate the tall woman, his demeanor of power just might have. He gestured to the chains about the legs of the two satyrs. "What do you mean by this?"

Not to be cowed by the diminutive man, no matter his power, Amora bared her teeth. "They are mine, I captured them." She did not, however, claim them demons any longer. To be within sight of the real thing made such a claim ridiculous. "You may buy them if you choose, but my price goes up now that you've manhandled them." She lifted her chin and looked down her nose at the bit of a man, hardly more than a boy.

Arc shortly found himself quite furious. "Not bloody likely," he said between gritted teeth, and bent to examine the shackles. "Key," he growled, standing back up and meeting her lofty gaze with his own cold one. "Give it to me." He was not surprised that she refused, but he very shortly had the length of chain she'd been leading them with. "Then so be it. Go play slave driver with someone else's servants. Leave mine alone."

Leaving her sputtering in rage, he spun on his heel and began to stalk away. He was brought up short, though, as the slack in the chain ran out almost immediately. Startled, he turned to see Raja leaning heavily on Rissa and hobbling slowly. He suppressed a groan of distress and went to help Rissa support his friend. Eventually they made it to the food tent, pursued the entire way by the vehemantly protesting Amora. Arc staunchly ignored her and led the two satyrs to the table he'd shared with the boy. Hatim watched with big eyes, but said nothing. Arc wedged in next to his newest servant and kept ignoring the ranting woman, who stood belligerantly over them. Something was going to have to be done about this, but at the moment, he couldn't think of what.

Arc looked up in surprise as a fairy came wading into the tent, shoving and blasting people aside in his fervor to reach... Raja's side? He blinked a bit in surprise. This was unexpected. Course, not much was expected at this point, he supposed. He watched in bemusement as the furious woman got thrown to the side like so much refuse. He would have been alarmed that the stranger immediatley began doing something to his friend if the fae did not have such a look of concerned rage on his face. No, there was no harm being done there. So he turned instead to look for the woman, and caught sight of Saljin coming in the fairy's wake. He had barely enough time to share a nod with the shapeshifter before the woman re-asserted herself. Rather dramatically, in fact.

A platter of mugs flew across the distance the fairy had created, careening over his head and rebounding off the top of their table. Poor Hatim, used to dodging blows, managed to duck fast enough not to be clobbered by the tumbling tray and its assortment of mugs and taknards, though they all were liberally splashed with alcohol. Rissa stood bolt upright and would have charged the woman, but was brought up short by the tangled chain at her feet. She feel flat on the other side of the bench she shared with Raja, landing her in a sprawl beside the fairy. Hatim stayed beneath the table, and Arc rose to his feet as well, though unencumbered by a chain. He balled his fists, feeling terribly incapable and helpless to stop the assult on those he cared about. Something had to change. He must learn better how to defend himself!

"Thief!" she shrieked after throwing the platter she'd snatched from the fearful serving wench. "You steal my goods and do not pay! They were mine by right! I caught them, they are mine to do with as I please!" She'd entirely lost control of herself, and turned to seize a staff from a startled patron. She spun back to them, lifting it, her eyes pinned on Arc, though the fairy was crouched between them, tending to Raja.

Arc gulped a breath and moved to either dive in front of the fairy or jerk him out of the way, for there was no doubt the woman was intent on bodily harm, one way or another.

Raja had been rather dully shocked by all the ruckus, but was even more shocked upon seeing Puck kneeling next to him, healing magic flowing into the satyr and easing his pains. How long he had hurt! It felt so good to have them ebbing away that he nearly closed his eyes and sagged with relief. When the healing stopped, and a huge clatter exploded off their table, he sat up again, looking about to see his previous 'mistress' with fury written on every feature. He did not flinch, but turned hopefully to his true master for rescue.

Lo and behold, though, his rescue came from another entirely. Puck rose from beside him in a righteous explosion of reprimand. Next thing he knew, a thin, almost thread-like chain was put into his hands by his old acquaintance. He stared at the fluttering, squawking mockingbird at the end of the chain. This... this didn't seem right! But he had heard Puck's words; the fairy had given her an out, should she mend her ways. He considered the options to her not being captured this way. She might go and enslave some other unfortunate soul, or do something equally distasteful. Resigned, he had to finally agree with the choice to bind her this way. He grasped the chain more firmly and scooped the bird into his other hand. "Come now, calm yourself. There is no undoing it, now that it is done." His words were stern but gentle to the frantic bird. He caught her wings, folded them to her trembling body, and tucked her into one palm before turning to the others.

"Very neatly done, friend," Arc praised admiringly. "That is a nifty bit of magic, to be sure!" He rose to shake the fairy's hand. "I am very glad to make your acquaintance, Puck of the Labyrinth. May I introduce myself and those with me." He gestured to Raja first. "I assume you have met Rajakhrev before. Perhaps he is from your world?" He glanced inquiringly at Raja, realizing with some shame that he'd never asked about the satyr's past. A nod confirmed this, so he moved on to Rissa, but Raja beat him to it.

"This is my mate, Rissa," Raja cut in, with a fond smile and an outreached hand to the female. She almost blushed, smiling back at him softly and taking his hand in hers tenderly. Arc raised his brows and gave a short bark of a laugh. How delightful!

"This is," he began, turning to where Hatim had been sitting, only to discover him not there. Uncertainly, afraid the boy had run from him after all, not trusting to the implied good intentions of Arctang. However, the boy's head popped up from beneath the table just then.

"Here I am, master!" The boy's good nature had returned with the situation back under control. His grin was bright against his bronze skin, though his braids had gotten a bit helterskelter.

"Ah, there you are. This is Hatim, the newest addition to our little family." He smiled at the boy, thinking how nice it was to have this group as his family. Family was those you cared most about, and they certainly were a good portion of those. "And as for me, I am Arctang the Pie Bird, diety of Numbers reborn." His manner was not commanding or lordly as he announced his identity, but merely matter of fact. It was who he was, not something to be forced on others.

"We are most grateful for your timely arrival," he continued, bowing to the both of them. "We are in your debt." The outcome was rather unexpected, but beneficial for all, when one looked at it practically.