P. The Bard and the Gladiator

The cage reeked of blood and sweat from her enraged attempts to escape the beautiful, but strong prison. She gripped the bars until her knuckles whitened, her voice raw from shouting, her ire directed on the rich Lord who was hosting the auction. “You lied to me!” she screamed. “I fought for you Ashrel! I bled for your fucking name! You swore on your honor I’d be free!” Lord Ashrel raised on imperious eyebrow, "I suppose you should have gotten that in writing, dear. A verbal promise given to a glorified pit slave? You didn't honestly expect me to honor that, did you?" He scoffed at the very idea, ignoring her outraged threats as he gestured for the auctioneer to begin. The auctioneer, a man with a greasy slicked back hair, raised his hands for quiet, his grin sharp as oily as the rest of him. “Our next lot. Her name is Anna Stonevale, but her new owner can change that if they so desire. She is strong, beautiful, and unbroken. Truly a fine prize. Who will make the first bid?” “Four hundred gold!” barked Lord William from the front row. His heavy frame strained the buttons of his coat, his cane thumping against the floor with every word. “She killed my man in the pit. I’ll see her chained in the public stables, forced to crawl where all can see how far she’s fallen.” The crowd went quiet at the massive bid, the common folk instantly unable to compete thanks to the noble powerhouse. Anna leaned against the bars, eyes locked on him. “Your man was weak. Maybe instead of blaming me, you should have trained him better!” The crowd howled. William’s face turned crimson. “Five hundred,” Lady Margaret called out, rising with slow elegance. Her gown shimmered with jet beads, her voice smooth but cutting. “My husband was not shy about his infatuation with this one. He's dead now, but I haven’t forgotten. She’ll serve in my house, as the lowest of my maids, a reminder of how little beauty is worth when stripped of pride.” Anna spat at the floor of her cage, silent but seething. “Six hundred,” thundered Thomas Brewer, a merchant with a face slicked with sweat. He raised a fat hand, rings glinting. “I’ll put her to work on the roads. She'll be a fine guard during journeys, and I can sell her to make a profit until she breaks.” Murmurs spread through the hall, some of the common folk . Then came a low laugh. Prince Ronaldo of The Eastern Province leaned back in his chair, wine goblet in hand, the lamplight dancing on his gold chain. “Eight hundred,” he said, his tone smooth, his smile cruel. “She is no fighter to me. She is beautiful despite her scars, like a wild cat. I’ll take her across the sea, a treasure in my collection. She's not the first rebellious pet I've owned. She’ll learn her place.” Anna’s hands trembled around the bars, but her voice cut through the din. “I’d rather die than be your pet.” Ronaldo chuckled and drank deep from his goblet, not seeming the least bit intimidated. The auctioneer clapped his hands, shouting over the shocked murmurs of the commoners. “Eight hundred from His Highness, Prince Ronaldo. Do I hear more?” The hall thundered with noise, bids and insults flying back and forth. Anna pressed her forehead to the cold iron, forcing her breath steady. She had fought too long, suffered too much, for this to be her end. But the vultures were circling, and the chains were closing fast. Then you walked in. You're Hal Morgan , a Bard with supreme acting skills. And you might just be the one person who could outbid them. The only person who might be able to save her from some truly terrible fates.