The man, who didn’t bother to introduce himself to neither the old man nor rat, ordered the pair for follow him. As they pair did, they navigated many stone corridors, bare legs thumping against worn wooded floors, the surface of which smoothed by what was probably many more who walked these corridors much like them.
Rat kept his head square forward as ordered by the man leading them, yet his eyes darted from wall to wall, looking for an exit. His efforts were in vain; their new “home" apparently didn’t have much in the ways of windows – relying on globes of glass enchanted with some sort of illumination magic you’d often see in the fancier parts of town, or mounted on fancy merchant carriages. Occasionally a narrow grated pipe emerged from a wall and blew in a gust of wind from no-where, or sucked the air out and thus creating circulation.
Several minutes of walking through the eerily quiet dungeon eventually saw them reach a locked wooden door, reinforced with iron strips crisscrossing its surface.
The man, apparently some sort of guard assigned to them for the time being, pulled a keychain from his belt and turned the lock in the door. A loud clank followed, and the door swung open, blinding Rat with the unexpected outside light.
His eyes soon settled, and the guard ordered him and the old man to “Get out, stand with the others, quick and quiet.”
Exiting the doorway in a brisk manner, Rat quickly noticed a group of about 50 people standing in what appeared to be neat rows of 10, facing a wooden platform guarded on both sides by armored men in plate, wielding big two-handed swords whose tip was planted in the earth a few centimeters deep.
Rat imagined that if the people in the lines, all appearing somewhat terrified and malnourished like him and the old man, had any bright ideas and decided to charge the guards – then it’d end up just about the same way a rebellion of wheat ended during harvest.
Another man, wearing leather armor on bare skin and with a similar club at his hip as the guard who led them here, motioned them over to the back of the last row.
Rat and the old man stood one next to the other, the glare of this new guard boring a hole into their backs – there wouldn’t be any talking anytime soon it would appear.
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A few more minutes passed, all the while Rat’s mind ran circles around itself in panic, trying to figure out a way to escape from this new predicament.
Then, one of the leather-clad guards stepped on stage and barked out new orders:
“All of you, Eyes front, Quiet, QUIET! – You will now kneel to the warden!”
As he finished his words, he turned to the right and knelt down.
A few confused seconds passed, and then a group of angry, flush-faced guards clad in leather descended on the group of newly minted slaves, berating them until they knelt down as the guard on stage did.
Once every one was on their knees and quiet, some a few beatings wiser, a man in simple and sophisticated robed stepped on to the wooden platform. His face was old, creases showing a harsh life covering his skin separating in front of steely blue eyes completely bereft of pity and projecting a pure business-like setting.
He reminded Rat of one of those older merchants who occasionally came to negotiate with the matrons for either custody on one of the brighter kids, or supplies and services to the orphanage.
The man looked over each and every single slave, all wearing the same manner of collar, and then spoke.
“You all are here, because you are weak. You are weak, therefore you rely on others.
You rely on them for money to buy food, which you’ve borrowed and failed to return.
You rely on their services for which you’ve failed to compensate them, promises broken and cast aside. Some of you even rely on them as prey, taking from them by force that which you cannot earn for yourself.”
Placing his hand on his chest, he continued.
“My name is Warden. You will address me as warden and nothing but, and only when you are ordered to do so. Your name from now on is slave. You have lost your previous names before coming here as a result of your actions. Blame no one but yourselves.”
“When addressing a guard in this compound, you shall face them at all times, lower your eyes to the floor and never look at theirs, and speak respectfully. Each and every guard here is authorized to execute corrective action as they see fit, and terminate dissident slaves on the spot.”
“Around your neck is a leather collar of Enslavement – its magic binds you and will force your compliance by causing great amounts of pain upon disobeying an order. This pain will intensify until you obey or lose consciousness – multiple repetitions of this will eventually cause your brain to rot from the inside.”
The Warden finished his explanation and straightened his stance, leveling another stare at all the present slaves.
“The purpose of this facility is to turn you into productive slaves who obey their master’s words. Obedience will grant you safety, food and shelter so long as you serve your master’s interests.
Disobedience will see you disposed of. That is all.”