Theiryk laughed, cackling and slapping his leg as she was thrown around from man to man. But it wasn't long before his laughter turned to a mere grin. He drank a pint or two, but no more than that, watching the men have their fun. There was more they could do to her of course, it was just a matter of time - and how many drinks they had in their gullets - before this kind of fun just wasn't enough.
When she looked at him with that rage, between her screams, a small grin of satisfaction appeared at the corner of his lips but soon they became less and less. Fifteen minutes in, where most of her clothes were ruined anyway, Theiryk suddenly leapt from the counter and parted through the crowd. "All right, I think she's had enough anyway. There's only so much you can do to a bitch like her before she bleeds too much. Her Master won't be happy about what you've done to her face," he said, sneering at her, but then it simply turned into a burning glare.
"Master!? You said she was a slaver, Theiryk," he growled. "You sayin' you brought us a slave?"
"She's a slaver, just a different breed of one. She's lure, of course. That would explain why she's so pretty, and her haughty attitude, she's obviously treated well. Perhaps not better than she deserves. Her master likely trained her to catch slaves, and drags them all across Adela to see where he can sell his stock. She may be a slave, but she's a slaver all the same. She ain't any better than he is," Theiryk said testily.
