Bastion was quiet, on the whole. Occasionally a scream or a curse split the night, the odd sound of revelry or violence, the taps of moving feet. Things stood out, against the darkness. The streets were lit with torches, but the hundreds of alleys weaving between buildings were sheltered even from Selene's bright gaze. Only the gods knew what occurred in those shadowed corners of the city.

Nicos kept his sword close to his side as he walked, but went largely uncontested. The few people he saw on the open streets seemed entirely uninterested in his presence. The boy was perfectly capable of defending himself, and it seemed that they recognized this fact. His trip through the city was not an eventful one.

The entrance to the slave market was almost completely unguarded. Nicos strolled into the area without a single question being asked of him, quietly walking past a pair of mercenary guards who were clearly dozing at their post. Further in, the streets were poorly lit. The enormous pens containing slaves were almost entirely in shadow. A single torch, every hundred paces or so, were the only light they were given. They huddled together, eyes peering past iron bars out into the darkness. Huge groups of slaves, clustered like herd animals. Like prey.

Nicos eyed the paddocks with distaste. He could cut them, he knew. The bars were thick, and sturdy, but his sword would cleave through them like water. The problem came after. The slaves would not flee. That had been Eurya's evaluation of them. They were broken, some irreparably. They would not run, they would not fight. Some might even call for their captors, and bring trouble down upon him. The boy wanted to understand why.

He glanced across the clustered bodies, searching for signs of life. Frightened eyes, beaten faces, broken gazes, all peered back at him. It was eerie in a way that he'd never really experienced before. Sort of like drowning in despair; a misery so thick you could bathe in it. Nicos disliked the feeling. But he did not find what he was looking for, and so he moved forward.

The slave market was massive and sprawling. Nicos walked its length, without haste, keeping his eyes on the shattered creatures contained within. The majority were humans, with skin lighter than the boy was used to seeing, though clearly weathered. He saw a few knife-eared men who appeared frail and weak. Nicos had never seen an elf before, though he had heard stories. The Red Barrens held little of the greenery that they preferred. The harsh conditions of Bastion clearly did not favor them. They looked to be on death's door.

He saw a single kobold, shivering and afraid, nestled against a group of humans. It was a surprising find. The boy hadn't realized that they lived anywhere beyond the Barrens. Nicos watched the creature, and it shied away from his gaze. One of its human companions stepped between the two of them, blocking Nicos' sight even as the slave kept his own eyes pointed firmly at the ground. Nicos shook his head, and continued forward.

There were a dozen or so orcs, scattered across the pens. His father had described them as a hot-tempered race, prone to violence, but unshakably loyal. Each specimen was isolated from their fellow orcs, massively muscled, and in decent health. Their thick, bronze skin probably could not even register the roughness of the ground they slept upon. Their eyes matched his for more than a few moments, when he passed them by. A good sign. Not all spirits were broken, then. Nicos noted their positions, and demeanor, then moved on.

He reached the end of the market without being stopped a single time. He encountered no guards of any kind, save at the entrance and exit, and they all appeared to be dozing the night away. Nicos simply couldn't fathom the level of arrogance it took to leave almost five hundred slaves completely unattended. It spoke volumes about the confidence that Bastion slavers held in their obedience methods.

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What was worse, is that their confidence seemed justified. These were not, as Nicos had secretly hoped, headstrong beings, looking for freedom. Many of them barely qualified as sapient, anymore. They were more akin to automatons, like the clockwork soldiers of Cydonia. They were too broken to be much else. Others were simply afraid, too beaten down to contemplate any real rebellion. The few that remained, those who could still look Nicos in the eye without cringing away, lacked both the strength and the opportunity to escape.

Nicos was forced to admit the truth to himself. This was not a problem he could solve in his current state. He had hoped to find a foe that he could face head on, to jump right in with blade drawn, and accomplish something worthwhile. Something clear and correct, something right. This was something else entirely, something well beyond the reach of a boy and his wooden sword. He could not even begin to plot out how to solve this particular issue.

It was... frustrating. He had hoped a victory here could be a balm on his soul, to ease the sting of failure that he still felt at the loss of Urz. The only solace the boy could take was that he was earnestly following the command of Durz. He would not overestimate himself, again. He would recognize his own limitations, no matter how infuriating they were. He needed more strength, and more information. Nicos would not be in the city long enough for either.

What, then, could he accomplish here?

He turned back to the cages, pondering on those few beings with life left inside them. They needed strength, and an opportunity. The boy could not offer the former, but the latter, perhaps, was coming soon. If his master was correct (and experience suggested she would be) then the remnants of the slave caravan would be returning to the city, soon. Once word of Vaughn Cardin's death reached the Grand Arena, all hell would break loose.

It would be chaos in the city. An opportunity might be found, for slaves seeking freedom. Nicos could offer nothing more than information. The rest would be up to the individuals. It was his best course of action, both practically, and for himself. Should the slaves succeed in freeing themselves, any accomplishments they made later in life would be firmly tied to the Memory of Nicos. As the source of their freedom, their very lives, he would inevitably gain the dragon's share of power. All in exchange for a few words, and information that was of no use to him anyway. It was an eminently practical way of garnering power.

Nicos despised the very idea of it. Tying his strength to the perception of others, the thought curdled his stomach.

But this was all purely speculation. The future could not be predicted. All Nicos could do was act, and hope for the best. He would start with the orcs. They still had fight inside them, hardy spirits that had not yet been broken. They were not defiant, none of the slaves truly were, but acceptance of their situation was not the same as satisfaction. They were most likely destined for the fighting pits, but Nicos could change their fate.

Nicos made for the nearest cage, and rattled the bars with his sword. The slaves jerked awake, muttering in fear and obeisance. They clustered together, a press of bodies, seeking safety. Only a few did not cringe away. Only one stood strong, and unafraid. Nicos eyed the massive orc within the paddock, who stood apart from the herd of his fellow slaves.

The boy gestured to him. "Come here."

The orc's eyes narrowed, but he grunted his assent. Nicos knew he would not disobey. Even the most headstrong of slaves knew better than that. There was no point to it.

The massive creature padded to the edge of the cage, and bowed his head. There was no submission in the act, more formality. It was a dangerous choice. Nicos suspected the more cruel Bastioners would have punished the orc for such a brazen display.

"From where do you hail?" Nicos asked.

The orc raised his head, and spoke, "This one was chieftain of the Garzhul tribe, from beyond the fertile lands to the east."

"You were taken as a battle prize?" Nicos asked.

A nod, from the slave.

"And where are you bound, from here?" Nicos continued.

"The masters say this one will be a gladiator, should none else buy my collar," the orc replied neutrally. "Fated to bleed out on the stone floor of the fighting pits."

Nicos cocked his head. "And you are at peace with this?"

The orc's eyes narrowed, but dipped before any real rebellion could form. "It is the best this one can hope for."

The boy considered the giant creature. He drummed his fingers against the hilt of his sword. Then, he smiled. "But what if it wasn't?"

If this was all he could do, so be it. He'd plant the seed of rebellion, and let come what may.