Ball and Chain (Closed)

Rohaan Ja'aisen's wrist burned as though someone had clinched a searing brand over it, squeezing with the force of a smithy's vise. In truth, the blue-tinged shackle around his left wrist was snug (though not squeezing) and it was quite cool to the touch to his handlers; big, girthy men with trunk- like hands and sagging pectorals. Each one brandished a sword or axe in case one of their "products" became insubordinate. Rohaan could see many people around him with missing toes, ears, or fingers, which were sordid and harrowing reminders of "correction" and was also a way to show which slaves were more submissive. Rohaan felt pity for them. Few had the resolve to stand for themselves and they likely would die soon at the hands of greedy masters.

The caravan stepped up to a platform where they began to sell the slaves off in auction. Rohaan squirmed the whole time. He was a strong man and it was not his first time in captivity, as a host of steel rings through his ears showed, but the magic of his shackle was too strong for comfort. More than once, the shape shifter considered cutting away his own hand to free himself of the binding pain that racked his whole body. He'd heard stories of his own kind killing themselves to end the pain, but it wasn't to that point yet.
Yet.

"And now, folks, we have a rare specimen!" The auctioneer called, his tone like a storyteller, mystical and theatrical. "A beast from a far off land, a vicious creature that some call the Captain of Thieves..." He let that simmer for a moment as a mourner spread through his audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Rohaan Ja'aisen, in captivity!" Rohaan was shoved forward onto the platform and he snarled briefly at his handler before standing quietly in front of the gaping crowd. Over the years, he'd accumulated a reputation for being one of the craftiest thieves among thieves, and he was rumored to be immortal, but that was a flagrant lie--one that he himself liked to laugh at often. His face was recognizable to many, and in some parts of the land, it had become something of a contest to see how many times any one ruler could apprehend him. He, like all Vokurians, were elusive and hard to keep captive, but Rohaan had a desperation and years of experience that made him a more difficult catch. At any rate, seeing him in chains was a rare sight indeed, and the crowd was not disappointed.

"This creature has been properly restrained," he said, thwacking his shackled wrist with something akin to a billy club. "Fear you not. If I were you, I'd keep a close eye on this one, and discipline it regularly!"
It. It.
His father would have rolled over in his grave if he would have ever heard that term applied to a Ja'aisen, living or dead. His blood roiled within him. He needed an opportunity, just one little opportunity and he'd crack open that man's skull for saying such things. But there was no shifting, not unless he could chop off his hand where he stood, and he had no weapons on hand. Brute force nor stealth would help him here. He needed chance, and a little bit of cunning to get him out, for he would suffer no master. If anyone thought otherwise, they would be gravely mistaken.

"Let's begin the bidding, shall we?"

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