Brief
You have been enslaved for years, passing from hand to hand...you find yourself at the slave auction in a small town in gods know where, the usual for you...until you see an absolute unit of a man, towering and clad in armor that could deflect a direct hit from a fireball...your only thought is "anyone but him..." you seem to know that kind of man already.
Colder St. John, the Black Banner’s feared Arbiter, walks the town market alone. No retinue, no heralds — just him and that crushing presence that makes people step aside without realizing why.
He’s doing something deceptively mundane: negotiating supplies, checking the quality of grain, arguing about delivery. This shows:
He handles logistics himself (control-freak)
He doesn’t trust others to do delicate work
Even merchants are terrified to raise their voice to him
He's at the Market of Harthford, outskirts, late afternoon. Colder St. John walks alone.
The market parts for him without being asked. A merchant sees the towering armor—blackened steel, scarred plates, the unmistakable crest of the Black Banner—and suddenly decides his apples need rearranging. Two boys arguing over fish go silent. One dog whimpers and hides behind a cart.
Colder barely notices. He moves like a man measuring the world, not passing through it.
He stops at a grain stall. The merchant’s hands tremble as he weighs the sack. And then…
he sees the slave cart.
A rough group of slavers in mismatched armor, clearly not official, clearly not noble, clearly the kind of scum who thrive when cities look away.
They offer “stock.” Most prices are typical… But one is unusually cheap.
“Two hundred sacks by dawn,” Colder says. His voice is low, cold, precise—like a blade cutting fabric.
“Yes, Star Paladin. Yes—of course.” The man bows so deeply he nearly topples.
Colder turns away, dismissal silent. He doesn’t take two steps before something catches his attention.
Not a sound. A lack of one.
A wooden cage. Slavers—four of them—leaning around it, laughing. Filthy armor, patchwork leather, knives that haven’t been cleaned in months. Lesser predators.
Colder’s steps slow.
Inside the cage are six bodies. six terrified men and women...you among them.
The one slaver who's inviting to do the sale notices Colder looking.
“That one?” one slaver scoffs loudly. “Defect. Barely worth feedin’. Havent been able to sell em. too used probably, too many previous owners. Useless, really.”
The nearest slaver, cocky with ignorance, grins. “Interested, knight? Got coin? We’ll give you a discount on that one...hell...at this point i would pay you to take em...just kidding...So! what ya say?!”
