I wasn't always a slave. I never used to almost freeze to death on winter nights trying to keep in the warmth from my body with a collection of animal furs too damaged to use for crafting. I didn't used to eat, work, and sleep in the corner of this pathetic excuse for a workshop attached the back of the store my master owned. My misfortunes all started with a little bit of competition between a bowyer and fletcher in the trader’s district.

I used to live with my mother, father, and three younger brothers. My father was a renowned bowyer and fletcher, and as the oldest son I was expected to follow in my father’s profession. I was lucky because I found not only did I enjoy the work but I was very good at it. My father would claim I would soon learn everything he could teach me and then it would be my turn to start teaching him. My parents paid to have me sent to a local school to learn my letters and numbers, so I could keep track of the family’s finances and read the special orders left by patrons.

I soaked up my schooling like I did bowmaking and fletching. At the age of fifteen, I had learned everything someone in my family’s profession would need to know from the school and worked with my father in his workshop. My very own creations were put on display and were bringing in money to support my family.

All was well until that evening…

I sat down at the dinner table where my brothers were already fighting over the last roll. I quickly ended their squabble by taking it for myself.

My mother came over with another bowl of rolls, hot from the oven, “You headed out to go hunting again this afternoon, Larkin?”

I choked down the piece of roll in my mouth, “Yes, mother. I was hoping to get a hog I spotted over near the river.”

My mother frowned as she sat down next to me, “Please be careful and come back before it gets too dark. This town is just as dangerous at night as the woods by the river.”

I smiled at her, “Yes mom. I am just doing as father taught me. ‘A good bowyer or fletcher knows his craft is of worth’.”

“When he can use it to put supper on the table,” my father finished. He kissed my mother before sitting down at the head of the table.

My father pointed his fork in my direction, a slice of meat already on it, “Larkin, I want you to be extra careful. There have been reports of orcs skirmishes on the border and the duke’s men are hard pressed to keep them in the western grasslands. It’s not unheard of for a few to slip by the patrols.”

My mother looked worried, “Maybe you shouldn't go today.”

His father raised his hand and waved her suggestion away.

My youngest brother excitedly asked, “Can I got too!”

My father frowned, “No, eat.”

My other two brothers also tried their luck only to be rejected as well.

“Last I checked, the three of you have unfinished chores. No one’s doing anything else until they are done.”

My father’s words laid a pall upon my three siblings’ side of the table.

After supper, I grabbed my things and ran out into the busy street.

Flodby’s trade district was always busy, but the shops were all closing up and everyone was heading home for the afternoon. I ran through the town gate and past the guards who didn't even bother to notice me. Past the farms that surrounded the town was the forests.

The only thing Flodby had other than the forests was a river, that ran along the West side of the town. Since Flodby was a border town, the river doubled as a defensive barrier. The town was the first defense against the orcs of the western grasslands. The town had survived numerous sieges by the large green skinned monsters. Those had been before my time and I had yet to see an orc myself.

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Noticing the sun getting lower, I quickly made my way towards where I had last seen the hog.

That evening I returned late with a small hog on my back. Of course the guards gave me a hard time for waking them up to open the gates. I had just turned into the trade district when I noticed something was off. I noticed a bright light up ahead and that's when I smelled the smoke.

Rushing down the street my family’s home and shop was on I could see my house was on fire. Dropping the pig, I ran over to the burning building. Not seeing my family anywhere and I tried to enter the raging inferno. Someone grabbed me from behind and held me back.

“No Larkin, it’s too far gone now. There is nothing you can do.”

Turning I saw Mr. Fletcher, who lived on the other side of the trade district, had been the one to stop me.

“I don't see them, did they make it out!”

Mr. Fletcher shook his head, “No boy, no one has seen anyone in your family until you got back from hunting.”

Looking back, I turned in time to watch the roof collapse. Our home was built far enough away from the other buildings for the fire to spread. One of our neighbors still threw water on the roof of his home.

With the house smoldering I laid there curled up on the ground crying. Mr. Fletcher seemed to have taken it upon himself to watch over me. I was confused as I always thought he hated my father.

It hadn't even been an hour when an official from the city came by to inspect the damage. He began speaking with Mr. Fletcher and that's when someone else showed up.

The man was dressed expensively, but his rough features and sour demeanor told me more about who he was, “Excuse me, are you the official of the city in charge of the Bowyer’s estate?”

The official turned around from where he was speaking with Mr. Fletcher, “Yes, I am the constable in charge tonight.”

The finely dressed rat smiled, “I am Mr. Bates with the Lender’s Guild. I am here about unpaid debts owed by Mr. Bowyer and his family.”

The constable of Flodby looked confused as why a representative of the Lender’s Guild would already be present so soon.

Even in my grief I couldn't remember my father mentioning taking out debts. I had even looked over the family’s finances. It was not just the store’s but the family’s as well. There were no mentions of debts.

I tried protesting it but Mr. Bates moved between myself and the constable and handed the official a stack of papers. From the light of my still burning house, I saw the glint of gold be passed along with the papers.

The official looked over the forms while surreptitiously putting his hand in his pocket, “Seems like everything is here. Does the family have collateral to pay for the debt?”

Mr. Bates shook his head, “There is items to be sold in the shop but they are of such low quality that it is still far from enough.”

I got up and started objecting to calling my father’s work anything less than excellent quality when two men came from behind me and held me to the ground with my hands behind my back. One of them found a dirty rag and shoved it in my mouth so I would quit screaming

Mr. Bates frowned, “Unfortunately, Mr. Bowyer’s son is not old enough to be a recognized craftsman yet, so he can only be expected to provide the most basic of labors. It is my guilds belief he will never be able to pay back his father’s debts as an indentured servant and should be immediately branded as a slave.

The Lender’s Guild was the other arm of the Slaver’s Guild. When someone committed a petty crime, they became an indentured servant of the Duke and served until their sentence was over. When someone committed a serious offense, like murder, they became a slave. The same was with debts. If a man could expect to pay back what was owed through labor, they only became an indentured servant. If the debts were too great then the person became a slave. The difference between a servant and a slave was the difference between a metal collar and two slave marks branded into their cheeks. A servant was temporary while a slave was for life.

The constable looked uncomfortable with this statement but then his hand reached into his pocket, “So be it, Larkin son of Larkin Bowyer, you are unable to pay the debts acquired by your family. As you are unable to be expected to pay back those debts with labor you will here and forever be a slave. You will be immediately branded and sold to the highest bidder to recoup the costs of your debt.”

I remember not believing what I was hearing. I looked around for someone, a neighbor, to come to my defense.

Then, I watched as they heated a branding iron in the still smoldering ruins of my family’s home. I struggled, but the two men held me down. Mr. Bates did the honors and smiled as I screamed through the dirty rag. Intense heat and the smell of burning flesh, two marks now adorned my cheeks. A testament to all of what I now was.

The constable, having witnessed the branding, walked off.

I was still being supported by the two men, when I came too. I had fainted from the pain, yet it was the pain that quickly brought me back.

Looking up, I watched Mr. Fletcher shake hands with Mr. Bates as papers and coin exchanged hands.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Fletcher.”

Mr. Fletcher smiled and turned to look down at me, “Thanks fellas, I will take the slave from here.”