A sharp tug on Tarlaka's leash had the line moving out the door and down the street. Darkness had descended, leaving the streets empty and the bars full. He took the back streets, heading for the city's western gate.
As they walked Nage shifted his form, in a dark alley with no one possibly watching, into a tall man with a long scar down one cheek. He fixed the permanent scowl that the man, Tor, always wore. He was a nice enough fellow, Tor, a goon for the Dread Army who was going to play an important role in the plan, one where he actually got to live.
He watched her through the back of his head as they walked, or more specifically through the eyes of a beetle clinging to the back of his head. She was trying to cover herself, naturally, and was doing a pretty good job of the top half, though her hair seemed to want to curl around her nipples instead of cover them. Her stance was a problem, too proud for a slave. Well, too proud for all but a new slave.
Plans could only account for so much before they had to be altered on the go.
As they approached the gate Nage didn't slow his pace, he only tugged on the leash to make Tarlaka stumble and walked, scowling, towards the guard. He spoke in Tor's gruff accent.
"'Ey dere mate."
The guard looked him up and down, taking stock. "Hello," came the tight reply, "And what business do you have leaving the city at this hour mr....?"
"Tor," came the grunted reply, "Tor Al'Sheef. An' I be takin' these 'ere slaves up Arca way fer me boss. 'E wants 'em dere quick like, so 'ere I yam, middle o the fuckin' night." He grunted for good measure, looking angry.
The guard seemed unimpressed.
"If you're taking them north then why not take the north gate hmm?"
"Bandits. Too many of 'em these days on de main road fer me alone te risk it."
The guard paused. "Yes very well. I trust you have papers?"
"Course course," he muttered, fumbling about in his pockets and producing a single scroll. He handed to the guardsman, who unfurled it and looked it over. The guard counted them, checking each of their rears for the brand and then returned to stand in front of Nage and hand him his paper back. "Very well, all looks in order," he paused, causing Nage to think they were done and start moving off until he continued, "This one at the front, what's her story?"
For a moment, Nage though he was in trouble. Then he saw where the guard was looking, his eyes scanning from her crotch to her chest. Nage let a grin touch his scowl.
"This un? She's new. Jus' caught. Wood elf ah thin'. Dunno. Gunna be a pleasure slave fer de boss." Tugging her leash roughly, Nage brushed her hair over her back to expose her breasts, cupping one in a hand. "I can see why eh? Nice big pair o titties." The guard laughed, satisfied with the answer and waved them on, turning away to hide the growth in his pants.
Nage turned to face away from the city, pulling the slave train along with him. They walked until they reached the river, along the road where it was still paved. Where the road bent to go northward Nage stopped, blocked from the view of the city by distance and a copse in the elbow of the road.
Out of the trees the real Tor emerged, pulling behind him a blonde haired elf girl dressed in the clothes Tarlaka would have been wearing had she not refused them. Nage shifted back to his own form, smiling at Tor. "Get her out of that," he ordered, "They have to be identical."
Tor merely grunted and began undressing his girl, who didn't resist. Once her skirt was gone and her top turned around, they could easily take her as the slave the guard might describe. "Don't forget to shave her muff off before you get going, this one keeps hers nice and bald. Maybe she knew she'd be showing it to the world eh?" Tor laughed, a grunting laugh. He wasn't the brightest fellow, which is why he was perfect.
Nage unhooked Tarlaka from the group, letting Tor hook on his girl before pulling out a knife and squatting. He ignored it, turning away and pulling Tarlaka towards the river, using the large blind spot from any sentry watching.
He led her down to the edge, over the sandy bank. The water was barely flowing, just a trickle really, running into a much larger river. It was only ten or so paces across, and never deep enough for her to go in any further than her neck. Still, he pushed her forward, into the cold water and said, "Swim, swim forward. I will be watching."