A fortress of Elves and Tieflings is dedicated to training anti-slavery soldiers who go out to seek slavers, and free the slaves. They prefer not to kill, but will if they have to. -- Anon Guest
Assumptions can, have, and will kill thousands. Like, for instance, assuming that an Elf is rich and a Tiefling is only safe once in iron chains. Or that the Elf and the Tiefling aren't working together in a sting operation. Sometimes, it is the Elf in iron chains and the Tiefling as the wealthy purchaser. The script is more or less the same.
A chain of slaves, some fresh-captured and also in stocks and hobbles, walks behind horses and carts. The "rich purchaser" has been secretly tracking one of them for a few miles, and arranged to arrive in the opposite direction.
The coterie glitters. The slavers anticipate a very profitable day. How little they know.
One or more of the duo is a druid who can summon any creature of the Mortal Plane. The gleaming approach of noble, attendants, and guards is the signal to commence.
As soon as negotiation starts, the druid begins humming, or tracing sigils in the air or, in extreme circumstances, runes with a foot.
The fun is about to start.
"What fortuitous circumstance," announced Thesalor the Purple. Ze had every sign of talking down to everyone around hir. "I have been looking for more farmworkers for my estates."
Meanwhile, in the chains, Huntress Wilyfoot scribed an arc in the dirt. Muttering an incantation under their breath. In a minute or three, the real fun would begin.
Huntress was summoning a feroxite swarm. All part of the plan.
"Round up all the strong ones with solar resistance. Not too strong, mind, I have no intent to be sold workers who will immediately break their chains and go running back to you. I know your tricks, damn your eyes."
Another arc with opposite foot and tail. The rune, if translated, was a powerful druidic one. Food here. Metal-eaters welcome.
Feroxites were small, swarming insects usually found in the deepest, darkest caves of the greater world. No larger than a silverfish, and looking much like an earwig, they would eat any iron they found by crumbling it into rust with their oxidising breath.
Huntress took a deep breath, and uttered in her infernal tongue, "Dinner's ready!"
The swarm erupted from the ground. Clouding over every slave, then every armed guardsmen who had been watching until that moment. Chains. Armour. Weapons. All crumbled to dust in heartbeats.
Only weapons and armour covered with incorruptible gold was immune to the swarm. Only nobles were allowed to have arms and armaments like that. Or, if one was truly wealthy, weapons and armour imbued with starmetal.
That was what made the sting so very poetic. As soon as the swarms were done, the slavers were unarmed and outnumbered by a lot of people who had a very good reason for revenge.
Often, the guards that Thesalor bought with hir just had to contain the antagonists until it was all over. Thereafter, they would learn that both Thesalor and Huntress were members of the Order of the Broken Chain, and they welcomed volunteers to assist in the good work. All sponsored by the Thrice-Sworn King, determined to end keeping lives in bondage.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / Orla]
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