• Chapter One: A Slave’s Story Begins

    Azrael, a homunculus, had just stood up in the wreck of a barn his master called a slave house. He was one of many but he was an outcast to the other slaves who’d been his friends when he was a child. He’d heard the stories. Homunculi weren’t human. They had no feelings. They were supposed to be dead before their lives even began. In reality, Homunculi were the unborn that were brought to life through unnatural means and given powers from the dark lords. Azrael’s special power from the dark lords was that he could change the animal he looked like. He normally took the appearance of a Siberian husky since he had heterochromia. The thin boy had black hair, one brown eye, one blue eye, and black and white fur covering his body. He also had a brand mark on his back and scars lacing his body from whippings.

    Azrael sighed softly as he got up to piss. He only had one shirt he ever wore. It was a long black nightshirt that made him seem younger and more innocent than he was. He knew how babies were made. He’d walked in on his master and one of the slaves as they were doing it. His master had the guards tie him down and watch. After he’d finished, his master had stripped him naked and whipped him. At first, it had hurt to do anything but he knew he’d be whipped in front of every last one of the slaves if he hadn’t worked. Their master hated the non-workers.

    As he relieved himself in the bushes out behind the barn, Azrael couldn’t help but wonder if this’d be his whole life. Just as he was finishing up, his master came around and dragged him by the ear to the front of the barn. “Ow! Master, why are you dragging me? I wasn’t done pissing.” Azrael said as he was dragged. His master stripped Azrael of his only and favorite shirt and tied Azrael’s hands behind his back. “What are you doing? I didn’t do anything wrong!” He said starting to get frustrated. “You’ve gotten too comfortable and there’s been talk of revolt. I’m going to use you as an example.” His master said as he hung Azrael up on a hook by his hands.

    The master called out the other slaves. “Let Azrael be an example to those who try to run away.” The whip cracked. Pain shot through Azrael’s back. Azrael wouldn’t let his master have the satisfaction of hearing him scream. His master started whipping Azrael’s sides. Not getting anything out of Azrael, he whipped Azrael’s chest. Azrael finally let out a yelp, then fainted from pain. The other two Homunculi slaves rushed to Azrael and took him off the hook then freed his hands. They communicated with one another, taking large strips of cloth from here and there to form bandages that would be covered by Azrael’s nightshirt.

    Azrael wakes in a cold sweat on his cot. He knew then that his master would have to be killed if he ever wanted to leave the plantation. He was too weak to kill his master but he would work today. He always did. “How did I get here?” He asked, knowing no one was around to answer. He had not known about the other Homunculi slaves because each Homunculus had a different power. He sighed softly to himself and stood up. He almost collapsed back onto his cot from pain. He set foot outside to go to work, ignoring the pain that burst through his body with each step.

    The next few days were a blur to Azrael. He’d gone through each day as he normally would. Five days had passed when Azrael saw his master collapse. Stormheart, another slave and, unbeknownst to Azrael, a Homunculus, ha talked about putting a curse on the master. Holy s**t, Azrael thought, he actually did it. Stormheart actually killed our master through a curse. He knew the place he had to go to start a new life. He had to go to Hailsborough. Hailsborough was a quaint town in the middle of the country of Caercia, however, it was horribly full of crime, making it a run-down, chaotic place to live. Little had he known in those days, but he’d face many hardships in that town.

    Azrael and the other slaves that had survived the journey, including Stormheart, arrived in Hailsborough. Azrael immediately went to an empty home. He’d looted the master’s home and had enough money to get by for a few weeks after dividing it evenly among the other slaves. “Alright, you all go buy houses. Our funds will last us about three weeks after we buy houses so we’ll need to find jobs.” He told the group before they had split to go their separate ways. He knew that he’d try starting off as a merchant but first he needed to get clean. He pays for the house then goes upstairs.

    He filled the tub then removed the bandages lacing his body. “Ah, the scars of an ex-slave, they are haunting memories.” He said as he entered the tub. “Well, I best get clean so I look presentable.” Half an hour later, he walked out of the house looking decent. He had given himself a haircut and, for the first time, brushed his teeth. He walked to the shop he would be working at, the shop assigned to him by the governmental office. As he walked to the shop, he passed beggars, harlots, drunks, orphans, and more than he wanted to think of. Just as he was a block away, the sound of a fight filled his ears. He turned to see a beggar getting beaten by a guard of the city.

    There were many times Azrael would have let this pass when he was a slave but now he was a free man. He changed his appearance to that of a wolf. As the guard was going to kick the beggar in the ribs for a third time, Azrael grabbed the guard, picked him up by the throat with one hand and slammed him onto the ground. The guard let out a cry of pain. “If you think that was painful, I want you to think again. Now you can either get out of my sight, or I can rip your throat open with my teeth. Which one is it going to be?” Azrael asked as he stared at the guard. The guard ran away after Azrael let him up. Azrael took the appearance of a Siberian husky again and turned to the beggar. “Take some coin and go get yourself healed.” He said as he handed the man a few gold pieces. The beggar smiled and thanked him then headed off to the healer.

    Azrael’s interview had gone excellently. He would start selling on the twenty-eighth of Black Storm, just a week away. As he was walking home, Azrael noticed the many horrors of sinners being committed in the city. He continued walking home until he was stopped by a guard. “Can I help you sir,” Azrael asked the guard as he tried to step around the guard. The guard started wrapping his wrists together with rope after spinning Azrael around and looking at the brand on his back. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Mikael Shadowhammer, although you may know him as your deceased master. We already have your friend, Stormheart in custody.” Azrael sighed as he was taken to the dungeon and stripped of all his belongings. “If the court finds you innocent, you’ll get your possessions back and you’ll be a free man. However, if the court finds you guilty, you’ll be sentenced to death by hanging.” The guard told Azrael as he slammed the cell door shut behind Azrael. Azrael had been stripped of his nightshirt and instead, given a pair of ragged trousers.