Qismat was going over his ledgers when a breathless spearman came calling--with the news that, apparently, someone had completely destroyed the homes of several of his slaves in an unrelated altercation. Immediately, Qismat jerked up from his work, the first question out of his mouth being, "Is anyone hurt?" and, when it was confirmed that there were no injuries...
Sigh. Time to go survey the damage.
It was a short walk away, though Qismat wasn't really dressed for the day. He wore just a simple, comfortable kilt and sandals and hadn't even bothered to line his eyes with kohl or don his usual jewellery, the sorts of things that would mark him as a merchant prince, as he had planned on spending a quiet day indoors. But, alas, peace and quiet was hard to come by when you were important!
When he saw the wreckage, he winced and rubbed at his temples. How on earth...? And when his eyes fell on the little man currently cornered by the guards, a fresh mark gleaming in his shoulder.
A mark Qismat instantly recognized.
They intended to sell the foreigner off at market.
He had no idea how that man had managed to cause so much damage--he was pocket-sized--but he knew that damage or not, a small guy like him would be eaten alive at the slave market. His red hair and pale skin instantly marked him as a foreigner, as a curiosity, and if he wasn't sold to fight and die for laughs in the Colosseum, chances were he'd wind up someone's pet.
Stepping up to the group, the guards quickly recognized him and stood down, though they kept close to Ellis in case he decided to try anything funny.
"You're the one who caused this mess?" Qismat said, shooting a look over the havoc. "How on earth did you manage such a thing?"