Caveat: My fantasy races may not be exactly the same as what you're used to. Please don't hold that against me.
~~~
Prologue
"This next piece of meat isn't much to look at but he's a healer", the big goblin barked out, "tested him myself. Everyone can use a healer - even an ugly one. Bidding starts at 100 gold."
Half the bidders ignored me because I wasn't a fighter or a laborer. Just as many others held onto their gold because they didn't want a half-breed. Especially an elf; goblins and orcs hate elves. My ears and my eyes gave away my lineage. Most just ignored me but a few scowled at me.
My father (whoever he was) had slept with one of his human servants. She got pregnant. He sent her away, hoping to hide his shame. My magical abilities came from his blood.
My mother could not tell me his name. My father had placed a barrier in her mind that prevented her from remembering his identity. That magical block would remain in place until he died. Given the length of Elven lives, my mother would - most assuredly - be long dead before that spell failed.
My mother cleaned houses and did laundry to earn money. Men with wives, obviously, did not need such services. One of the men my mother cleaned for decided he wanted more - another service from her. She refused. He beat her and dumped her dying body in front of our home. My mother took her last breath before I returned from working at the healing house.
That night, under cover of darkness, I went to his home, tied him to his bed as he slept, and laid my hands on him. My hands healed every day. I was good at it. That night, I perverted the gift my father's blood had given me. I used my abilities to harm instead of help.
My mother's murderer awoke as soon as I sealed his lips together. He began hyperventilating - which only made it easier for me to kill him. I waited until the fear of death filled his eyes, his body gasping for air, and then I sealed off one of his nostrils. The remaining one flared and his chest convulsed as he tried (and failed) to get air into his body. I waited - and watched - monitoring his vitals - until the lack of oxygen caused him to pass out. His breathing slowed then. He might have lived - had I not sealed off the other nostril. I stood there a long time - staring into his wide unseeing eyes - until the body began to chill.
I undid my work, hoping to leave a mystery for the investigators. My plan might have succeeded - if they hadn't come - at that very moment - to question the man about my mother's death.
Knowing there was no answer I could give that would appease their questions, I fled.
It was possible that I would have been exonerated for avenging her - but - when the man was dead without a trace upon his body - they would know that I somehow used magic to kill him. I would lose my job at the least. Healing was the only skill I had. It was the only way I knew how to make money.
These were the thoughts that tumbled through my head as I ran from my victim's house, eluding the authorities. I climbed onto a shed, and up a drain-pipe. I leapt from a roof, to the city wall, jumping to the ground below, and escaped into the woods in the early morning hours of a moonless night.
I could see well enough at night in the woods - another gift from my father - but I was ill-equipped (or dressed) to fight anyone (or anything) that might find me. I headed back to the road, jogging for as long as my legs would carry me, before hiding under the boughs of a tired pine (a tree whose branches grow so thick and hang so low that they touch the ground), and sleeping until I could run again.
I kept on for days, foraging for enough food and water to sustain me, until I passed into the next kingdom. I found a healing house, hired on, and worked, sleeping in the woodshed behind it, until I had enough money to buy a cloak, a canteen, and a pack - then I moved on once more.
I had left the main road two days earlier, venturing north. The dusty track had shrunk from one large enough for two wagons to pass - to a lane barely large enough for one. The surface was cracked and slightly rutted. I had just found a small village - where I thought I could live my days unmolested - when it was overrun by goblins and everyone was taken captive.
Now I was being sold.
Zora
The auctioneer had asked me about my class. I shrugged sullenly. He warned me that classless captives were sold for food - not for their skills. I immediately confessed my ability to heal. He made me prove it, of course. He used me to heal several of the injured captives - thereby (no doubt) increasing the profit he would receive from selling them.
In the end, I was sold for 100 gold coins. The warriors, mages, and archers in front of me sold for almost half - so I guess I should have been happy that I went for as much as I did.
Anybody who didn't have a class went for silvers - instead of gold. According to what the auctioneer had told me, their next meal would, likely, be their last - and they would be the guest of honor.
Some of the prisoners were still bleeding from the wounds they'd taken while being captured. I would have tried to heal them, without being noticed by the guards, but my hands were manacled behind my neck - secured by chains to the iron collar I wore. I'd finally interlaced my fingers just to keep from chafing my wrists against the unforgiving cuffs.
The leg-irons were made to hold someone twice my size. I could barely walk with them on. I tried to avoid moving or swaying. I wouldn't have been able to catch myself if I fell and I'd likely bust my head open on the rough planking that covered the surface of the platform the captured prisoners were made to stand on while they (we) were sold.
Since my purchase-price had been so much higher than average, I hoped that meant I wouldn't be boiled (likely, alive) and eaten. One or two goblin brats had gotten close enough to sniff at me but the slave-market guards had run them off before they could get a taste. I hadn't been able to see who had finally bought me.
The goblin female that appeared at the pay-clerk's desk when I was brought forward was taller than average, didn't smell as bad as most goblins (although I admit that I was more often around males than females), and seemed moderately intelligent.
She had a full head of thick, wavy, well-kept hair that fell to her shoulders. Her hair was such a dark green that it was almost black. Her green eyes were luminous - but cautious. She quickly but carefully studied all those who came near. She was almost as tall as me - taller than most of the other goblin females I had seen. She was dressed for travel and held herself in a way that said she knew how to take care of herself. Her little button nose made her face almost cute. Goblins' lips aren't as full as humans but her mouth was ... nice. The earring in her left ear looked like an expensive heirloom. She wore no gaudy jewels, but her clothes, belt pouch, and shoulder pack were all well-made, if dusty.
She had a bow and a quiver over her shoulder. On her belt was a blade that looked well-used but also well-maintained. Her left arm was fitted with an arm-guard and shows signs of obvious use. Her boots came up to mid-calf. Her skirt went halfway to her knees. Her legs were strong, thin, and flawless - like every other part of her body that I could see.
Once she'd paid for me, we stepped out of line. The guard waited to remove my restraints until she was ready to take ownership of her merchandise. When I saw the coil of rope she intended to bind me with, I thought maybe I'd be able to escape when the right moment came.
Whoever this goblin was, she was good with knots. In minutes, the harsh metal collar, cuffs, and leg-irons had been removed. However, I was hobbled at the knees - and the leash she fashioned to control me left me with no doubt that she could have me on the ground, begging for air, in seconds.
In spite of myself, my cock hardened as she grabbed the back of the waistband of my tattered pants and used that to guide me through the throng of creatures that were gathered to watch the rest of the auction.
