The desert night was cloudy and chill, what small camp-fires the guards of the slave-caravan had put up around the area not illuminating nor heating the air for more than a few feet. The stretch of road the caravan was currently resting in had gone through a little village, of which there was no longer anything but ruined walls left, the sand around them continuing on for miles upon miles, no end in sight. All the slaves were sleeping within the wide circle made by the guards fires, encasing the whole village, but then it was a big amount of slaves. Most of whom had been acquired along the caravans journey through numerous kingdoms and nations on their way to the biggest market within the influence of the church. While the slaves may try to escape, they would not get far, their hands and feet bound together by individual chains. The guards cared little for what the merchandise did as long as they didn't try to escape or go against them. In an almost whole house close to the road in the middle of a village a male slave was sitting comfortable despite the chains restraining his hands and feet from making more than small movements. All four walls of the building were still standing, and it made it all but impossible to see that anyone was inside unless you got within a few feet of it. Especially as he didn't make a sound nor had any fire going, not that any of the slaves did. Most sleeping together in big groups to get some amount of warmth. But the man was not in any lack of heat or company at the moment, he was waiting for a few other slaves. Specifically, he was waiting for an interesting mix of individuals. Some humans and some not, some former warriors, others simply born into their positions, but all of them having one thing in common, their undying thirst for revenge. There was the half-dragon, standing out even among the others with his wings and scales covering some of his body, seemingly filled with a deep hatred for everyone around him, though if one looked closer it was the humans that tore at his eyes. One seemed to be a changeling, his raven traits telling of the less, or more, than human heritage, the silver tongue on the young man was working fine even as he was obviously in chains. A strange sight was an elf with a circlet on her head, the guards had given up on trying to get it off though, even as the very human-looking elf didn't seem to even want it there. Another obviously not human slave was a goblin with a cold stare that seemed like she would give an eye for an opportunity to cut others up. But there was another non-human among those awaited slaves, a young woman who looked human enough, but if one was knowledgeable enough about the world, they would know she was not. While those not human would obviously be hateful towards a slave-caravan mostly filled with, and run by, humans. There was also an interesting group of humans supposed to show up. A girl barely an adult yet, who was clearly missing a few parts of her sanity along with another young woman who seemed a bit out of touch as well, though it seemed to be more of a behavior brought forth by something recent than actually being crazy. A noblewoman was also among the ones hopefully coming to gather, she may not seem like it but there was iron in her. There was a man with a look like he would kill you if you gave him a reason, a contrast found in the sickly-looking man looking at everyone as if they were not people, but rather devices and puzzles he wanted to pick apart. Then there was another three men looking like they wanted a fight, one with a metal headband, dirtied to make the guards look it over, the second one with arms that seemed to be nothing much but scar-tissue and a nose that had likely been broken a countless amount of times. The last one looking at the guards with even more hate than the half-dragon, you could practically see the scorn in his eyes. The male slave was waiting for them, because he had told them to come there, with a promise of escape from the lives as slaves, and a chance at revenge. He had been in the caravan since it picked up the first slaves, waiting for interesting people to become part of it, for people with hate in their eyes and the mind to never give in, to never relinquish their revenge. And he thought he had found people that would prove useful for his mistress. Looking at the bloody circle and its intersecting lines and symbols tainting the sand floor of the ruined house he smiled for himself, throwing the human leg he had drawn the last of it with into the heap in the middle, a heap of broken body-parts. Belonging to four other slaves he had tricked there, not worthy of even mentioning, they had simply been a means to a goal, one of them still alive, laying on the top of the others with broken arms and legs, her tongue ripped out if she would wake up and decide to scream for help. The man looked up at the cloudy skies, he would greatly enjoy to finally leave the caravan.