Kelzson Sen looked rather out of place sitting at a desk pushing papers. The large, grizzled man dipped his oversized white feather into the black ink bottle for the thousandth time and continued to sign off on what seemed to be a never-ending stack of paperwork. Contracts to sign, receipts to be accounted for; the endless paperwork was the part of job he hated most. Well, not so much the receipts. Those all translated into coin to fill his pocket.
Kelzson decided he was done for a while, as the hot, sticky room was starting to get to him. Wiping sweat from his brow, the tall man stepped away from his desk and wandered out into the street. It was only a touch better outdoors, as the light breeze did little to cool the air, which was surprisingly warm this early in the day.
With wild, long brown hair and a thick wiry beard to match, he looked every part the slaver. A long, faded scar traveling from his forehead clear down the side of his cheek was the reason for his black velvet eye patch. He was not a man that resembled a paper pusher by almost any measure. Nonetheless, Kelzson was a business man, and what had to be done had to be done. Being the head slaver certainly had its perks as well.
The large man strolled past the cages set up alongside his building, cages containing cargo he bought as he traveled from town to town. They were given the appearance of carnival cages, set up on high wheels and painted various bright colors. The wood trim beamed with various shades of green, red and yellow. That the variety of bright colors helped make the little prisons appear more festive was no accident. It added a sort of innocence to the trade—an illusion, to be sure.
He strolled past them, tauntingly slapping at the bars with every step. The men inside the cages were frightened, of course, and Kelzson liked to torment them before their assigned arena tournaments. Putting a sword and shield in the hands of a petty thief did not make him a warrior.
Of course, that made no difference once you were convicted and sold. From there on you were property, used to make profit. Kelzson had deals with arenas all over Tarmerria for his traveling show. He was a shrewd businessman and usually came out on top as far as his business ventures went. Having virtually no competition didn’t hurt either.
Of course, the biggest venue was here in Taron, where he stood to make the most profit. He would arrange the fights and get a cut of the door. The Queen hated the games but couldn’t do anything about them. Those contracts were left exclusively in the hands of Kelzson and the arena owners. But besides that, even she couldn’t deny the taxes received from the shows went a long way to supporting Taron.
He stopped by one cage in particular as he made his rounds. The man here was the only one who didn’t share his sanctuary with anyone else. Kelzson stared into the cage for a moment before banging on the bars. “Wake up, maggot!” he called out as he continued banging away. “How is my prized pet this morning?” The huge man in the cage remained motionless, lying down at the far side of the cage with his back turned to Kelzson. “Hey, slave! Just because you make me money doesn’t mean you can igno—”
With frightening speed, the man lunged at Kelzson from across the cage. He leaped straight back as the huge arm fired through the bars, missing him by mere inches. The man had gone from lying down, facing away from him, to almost grabbing his shirt in less than a second. Kelzson panted hard as he tried to compose himself. “I’ll have you whipped, dog!” he growled in a shaky voice.
With his arm still hanging through the bar, swinging back and forth in a taunting fashion, the warrior smiled through his thick black beard. “I almost had you that time, friend. How do you think that would have ended...hmmmmmm?” The warrior kept his gaze on Kelzson for a long time. The slaver wasn’t sure what unsettled him more. The fact that this...animal...had almost killed him due to his own carelessness or those unnatural green eyes staring through him like some kind of beast.