The Slave World Abductions

The Slave World Abductions

A Fanfiction

Part Three

by The Preve

Based upon characters and concepts created by Roxy Rex

The Author wishes to convey his thanks to Roxy Rex for his permission in writing this story.

From Hermes'/Baedeker Guide to Extradimensional Realms.

The

Confederation of the Tartarum, Servo Orbis,

colloquially referred by the name

Slave World,

is a sub-realm located within the confines of

Svartalfheim.

A loose alliance of clans, tribes, provinces, duchies, and kingdoms, populated by various shadow races, Underworld groups, and dark entities, Slave World operates as Svartalfheim's main commercial center and trading hub.

As the name implies, its main economic activity is sentient trafficking, with an emphasis on young female humanoids (albeit many young males are also trafficked), mainly for sexual or other erotic purposes. Major criminal vices, such as weapons smuggling, drug trafficking, black market dealing, trade in outlawed magic, and soul theft are also represented.

The

Compact of Tir Na Nog,

instituted after the

Interrealm War

necessitated the distancing of the Realms from Midgard, closed many realms, including the aforementioned Midgard. Trade, illicit or otherwise, was and is strictly forbidden. Violations are common however.

The Department of Interdictions and Interdimensional Law Enforcement was created to police the Realms.

Slave World, as a hub of criminality, sees heavy activity, both from magistrates, and illicit visitors. Most visitors are present to conduct commerce or partake of the sentient product.

Treaties and alliances among the Realms, including Svartalfheim, preclude attempts by the Department to shut down Slave World completely. However, expeditions and raids by the Department are common.

Casual visitors are advised to exercise extreme caution, and are warned they travel to Slave World at their own risk.

****

In case some poor idiot might stumble across that long-winded Hermes/Baedeker guide, I'll talk about Slave World myself.

It's the Wild West. The really, really Wild West; mixed with the nastiest parts of Dungeons and Dragons, and Lord of the Rings with heavy emphasis on Mordor.

It's got dark elves, it's got orcs, it's got trolls. It's got ogres, goblins, demons, dark sorcerers, revenants, ghosts, and dragons. Every black evil creature you've dreamed about in your worst nightmares, or not, lives here. Welcome to Svartalfheim, or its largest, wealthiest province. Which is not saying much.

The H/B guide probably mentioned the main trade is slaves, mostly elves and humans. Most of the merchandise are women. Bear in mind, men are traded too, and not just for labor. Lots of people in the Realms swing both ways, Svartalfheim included.

There's not a lot of technology here past the fourteenth century. Many residents here are ignorant of the modern stuff, but it doesn't make ops here any less difficult. Svartalfheim is saturated with magic; very powerful, very dark. Slave World has quite bit of it.

The Alfheim States and the other modern realms could have dealt with this place. They had better technologies, but weaker magic. It wasn't pretty the last time they tried. It almost started another interrealm war. So a new amendment was added creating the Department.

The Department deals with violations through raids, rescues, and ruin. The three R's we call it.

Early on, The Department discovered nice guys sent to this place finish last... before they're raped, gutted, eaten, or sold. So they started sending not nice guys... like me. Mainly because I'm human.

The Light Elves who run the Department tend to shy away from the dirty work. They assume humans enjoy this kind of thing. Some do. I'd say I do too, but under certain circumstances.

The impulse of an amateur, on arrival, is to go to the

Goblin Market,

where the slaves are sold. Big mistake, usually. Best thing to do first is get the lay of the land, suss out the current politics, find if any new purchases caused some waves. In other words,

The Gutted Pig.

The Gutted Pig is the diviest dive in the history of all the dives across the Realms. It's also an information sponge. The closest this shithole has to the Internet.

Of course, in dumps like these, info sets you back a little, unless you know the right people. Plus, a person who asks for info, and isn't discreet in doing so, gets marked by the patrons, and often gets dead soon after.

No one really took notice as I walked the streets of

Umbra City,

Slave World's capital, and synonymous with it. It's a trade hub after all, and I was just another traveler.

You have to make sure, though, to project an aura of subtle menace, marking yourself as not the kind of meat to eat.

The Gutted Pig was located, conveniently, just a few blocks from the market. Good for ease of supply, and watering down patrons just in from the marketplace.

The hitching posts held the usual array of pack, travel, and war animals. The number of giant boars meant the presence of lots of orcs. Horses and unicorns were usually kept in public stalls.

I strode through the doors. The smoky interior held a full house; orcs and dark elves, minotaurs, some goblins, a few humans, the rare light elf. Most sat at the tables, drinking gambling, eating. A large bull spit roasted in the fireplace. At least it wasn't human. They do that sometimes.

A few glanced up at my entry, curious, sized me up, and went back to their business. I looked at everyone and no one. You never look at orcs or minotaurs directly. They see it as a challenge.

The bar held a few patrons, drinking ale or mead. If I remembered this place, both drinks tasted like piss as usual. Only newbies and strangers were dumb enough to tell the proprietor to her face. You had to known or accepted for that privilege.

She was big, tall, and built like a brick shithouse, combining the best of her orc and light elf heritage; slightly more light elf, with some human in the distant past. She didn't have orc's tusks. If not for her past as one of Slave World's deadliest gladiators, people around her would be less careful.

I strode to the bar and waited until she noticed me. She walked up with a smirk. "What's your poison?"

"You still serving that piss they call short grain ale?"

Some patrons went quiet at that.

"We're out of that shit. Got a new batch of dark bitter in the cellar though."

"Hmmph, I'm looking to buy a keg for an equinox celebration in Broke Tooth. I was hoping for short grain."

She looked me over, licked her lips, and smiled. "Would you like to come to the cellar to sample the supply?"

I smiled back with a touch of leer. "I wouldn't mind a little taste."

The others observed the brief back and forth. A few snickers rose from the room. They figured, as I followed her down, she'd probably kill me for my presumption, or fuck my brains out and then kill me. Few came back from her cellar sessions.

In the cellar she locked the door, uttered a shielding spell, and faced me, arms crossed with a cocked eyebrow.

"Agent Grant."

"Agent Agnesdottir," I answered, putting down my gear. Did I mention she's one of the best deep cover agents in the field? She knows anything and everything going on in Slave World.

"So I take it you're back because of some recent market purchases I'm hearing whispers about?"

"Straight, to the point. So what do you know?"

"They're trying to keep it quiet. I think it's related to some election issues on the Council though."

"Go on."

"There was a brief intercity war recently. A bunch got killed, including several Councilors. So the

Black Council

has open positions. Some of the

Quality

are looking to raise revenue for bribes and campaigns with slave raids."

"And Midgard was picked because as a closed realm, its product would fetch a higher price." It explained a lot.

"Most of the new slaves came from open realms, but some rumors came in about six off-the-books purchases."

"Not exactly off the books. These snatch jobs smell of a single contractor. If he, or she's, an aspiring Councilor, the culprit would score a lot of money. The broker handling the sales would have to write it in a ledger, or face tax liens for poor record keeping."

"Why not multiple agents?"

"Too expensive Ann. They'd all need to be bribed to look the other way. No, this is one person. Someone who could afford a shaman to select the women, and slavers to acquire them."

"Why not use his own fortune to fund his campaign?"

"His or her own finances are probably strained, most likely by the recent war you mentioned. It's cheaper to hire slavers to find merchandise. This work was a roll of the dice. Can you do me a favor and see if you can get a list? Wealthy high Quality who've taken financial hits in the past two years, and are vying for the Black Council."

"Got it. What are you going to do?"

"Well first I need a room. Then I'm going to the Market."

"The

Black Unicorn Inn.

It's right next to the Market, and it's good for discreet guests. Plus, it's off season for gladiators so there should be vacancies."

"The Black Unicorn it is."

At that stage, I was beginning to suffer from extra-dimensional time lag. I'd been up since early morning on Midgard. Alfheim had been late morning. I'd arrived on Slave World at mid-afternoon. Given the hours it took to do business on all three worlds, I'd been up roughly twenty-two hours.

We came back from the cellar. I made sure to make a show of giving Annelise (Agnesdottir) a gentlemanly kiss on the hand. Some of the patrons looked shocked, but not all. I even got a thumbs up from a few. Yes, thumbs up is an affirmative on Svartalfheim too.

I made straight for the Black Unicorn. I wanted to get a room, and my security wards and concealment spells set up before I dropped. Plus, in cities like this, it's best to get in a protected room before night sets in. It's not just thieves, murderers, rapists, press gangs, and slavers running about. Night creatures like to skulk the alleyways, soon as it gets dark.

True to Ann's info, the Black Unicorn had vacancies. It was well built and well kept in dark elf fashion. The innkeeper asked no questions of course. I paid a gold sovereign for two nights in a second floor single, with a window to the street, and a "No, I do not want a wench or lad for the evening thank you."

I made the necessary inspections. No hidden doors for the innkeeper or other cutthroat to sneak in, steal my stuff and, well, cut my throat. No parasites or bedbugs in the pillows or mattress (I gave both a heat blast just to be sure). Up to date wardings on the walls and doors to keep nightgaunts, ghosts, and other pesky entities out. I set up my shields and concealment spells.

As per request, a wench came by with some venison stew, a loaf of rye, and a tankard of mead. I made sure of no poison or drug, ate and drank, stripped and plopped on the bed, and was asleep a second later.

The Librarian

Kim walked the aisles of the Duchess' library. Dust had settled in her hair and on her body, but it bothered her little. She could wash it off easily; dust and a pair of slippers were all she wore these days. Her mistress preferred her nude. Nudity was one of the many passions Kim could indulge in this place. Her other passions were books.

The Duchess' assigned Kim the task of organizing and cataloging her vast library. Kim was overjoyed. It gave her the best of both worlds: pain and pleasure under her mistress, and an ocean of books, many older than the Duchess, to read, translate, and put in order.

One tour of the library revealed greater problems than disorganization. Kim, uncharacteristically, was candid. The entire library needed remodeling. "It's a fire trap Mistress. It endangers the Manor, and there's potential for huge amounts of knowledge to be lost. There are also far too few shelves for the amount of books in your possession. And no cataloging system. And you need proper chairs and tables to read and examine the books. The aesthetics of the library are all wrong for the Manor. Plus there's inadequate lighting."

The Duchess could easily have punished Kim for presumption, a prospect not undesired, but she was very open to her suggestions. Plus, the Duchess was very, very rich. Her new thrall was placed in charge of the project. Between the organizing, and overseeing the reconstruction during the day, and the nights in her mistress' bed, Kim's life was exceptionally busy.

Her thoughts strayed to last night. The Duchess used her tail again, as she did often. Kim's pussy moistened. Her mistress had penetrated deep into Kim's back tunnel. The memory of the pain, and pleasure of her rectal walls stretched to their limits, almost made the Librarian cum.

The Duchess also taught Kim pleasure from the front, grinding her clit against the Librarian's to match the back penetration.

The shock of Kim's abduction long since had worn off. Sure, she'd felt terror those first moments; the darkness, the strong, rough, hard hands which grabbed and molested her body.

The next second found her outside the gates of the city, held by some "man" like a twisted satyr out of nightmare (she'd later learn he was a tiefling).

Other nightmares surrounded them. They leered and watched the laughing tiefling strip off her clothes and plunge his fingers into her pussy.

"Hur hurr," he snarked, "This one will be easy. She's wet already."

She hadn't noticed. Kim was aroused as much by fear as pain but rarely had opportunities to experience the former. Even so, those first few days seemed more erotic hallucination than reality. Every experience up to her branding, like a continuous dream of her deepest, darkest fantasies.

The slavers were near overjoyed to find their latest capture to be a complete submissive, and a masochist. They had a word for it.

"Painluster! Rare and exquisite. She'll fetch a great price."

They tested her body to its limits to be sure. They gave her to wargs and orcs, minotaurs and werewolves, beasts and beastmen.

"Take care not to break her body," her seller warned the Trainer. "Do it and I'll take you to Law."

Kim's complete submissiveness, her compliant, flexible mind, brought her through the orientations (gang bangs) with flying colors. The rating agent gave her his highest marks. The price she fetched at auction would be the talk of the Market for years. The Duchess was one of the wealthiest, most powerful on Slave World.

The irony of her current life brought a smile to Kim's face. Back home, her life was hell, only able to indulge her passions in secret, unable to confide in, or practice on, her friends or family. Now, in this "hell" she'd found the love of her life; a life living her passions.

Kim forced her mind away from her mistress. The Duchess was away at a Council meeting, and wouldn't be back for a day or so. The Librarian's own slate was full: overseeing the installation of new floors, the dismantling of old shelves, book storage, meeting with the engineer regarding the fire protection system (figuring how to build one in a medieval setting was a challenge), and figuring a proper category for the original copy of "Betelgeuse's Treatise On Transmigrational Sorcery."

She turned the corner, making a mental note to ask Mistress for a facial mask, to deal with the dust.

****

The Goblin Market is the trading hub of Slave World. Everything and everyone gets bought and sold at the Market. You name it, it's there. The caveat: let the buyer, and seller, beware. The suckers could just as easily buy a stone, log, or demon masked by glamour, or get paid in faerie gold. Instead of gold sovereigns they get a bag full of leaves. The more unfortunate wind up on the auction block themselves.

Some word of advice if you find yourself at the Market: if a seller offers to throw in something for free, don't take it. It's called "gifting" and it'll jam you up real quick.

I made sure to gear up before I left the unicorn. I left the rifle behind and, after some thought, the S&W. I took the katana, knives, and grenades.

A visitor arriving at the Market will come under immediate assault. It's noise, mostly; loud vendors hawking everything from dragon meat to cobwebs to time. Yes, time itself is a commodity.

Plus, there's the cutpurses and pickpockets. A wise visitor keeps his money close, in warded purses or, in my case, ammo belts. Didn't keep a few from trying, albeit the attempts stopped after seeing several comrades scurry away nursing singed hands.

The Goblin Market was laid out in a circular pattern on the city's edge. There were nine circles and a center. The slave pens and dungeons were in the Center. The auction blocks on the Ninth, and brokerages on the Eighth. Overall, the whole layout was the size of Manhattan.

Cross streets and grids divided the Market into quarters. The streets contained the eateries, taverns, and meat stall vendors. Brokers and slavers needed to eat.

I hired a rickshaw to take me to the Eighth. The taverns would have info on the more discreet brokers. I picked the Dead Rabbit, an innocuous tavern just a block from the Eighth.

It's easy to get information from these dives. None are reputable; this is Svartalfheim, after all. All one needs is coin and discretion. You can't be seen to ask too many questions. That means you're not here for business and, therefore, suspicious.

The tavern contained the usual types, not much different from the Gutted Pig. A few looked at me curious but kept to their business; travelers cycled in and out all the time.

I went for the bar, a thirsty traveler just in for trade. The barkeep, a tiefling, came over.

"What's your poison?"

"Mead, dark, large tankard."

"We offer free refills."

"No thanks. I'll pay."

I didn't miss the slight look of disappointment on the tiefling's face as he drew the mead.

Nice try.

"So, you're new here?"

"Not quite. I just don't visit often." I took a sip. I'll say this, it was good.

"So you're here for purchase?"

"Something like that. I'm brokering for some minor baron in the northeast provinces (remote, scattered farms and villages. A few country estates)."

"Not much money comes out of there."

"Ah, he came into some money from a such and such uncle. Look, maybe you can help me out," I leaned in and lowered my voice, "I'm looking to sub-contract. You know any brokers 'round here who do off-the-books purchases?"

"How off the books?"

"Exotic girls, the more exotic, the better."

"Pretty expensive for a country baron," the tiefling was suspicious.

"The baron wants a girl for bragging rights, mostly to his brothers (like a hillbilly with a shiny new car)."

The tiefling thought. "Well, I know of..."

"Wait," I took out some money, "Name a price."

It cost me a gold sovereign and silver crown to get the names of five prospects.

The Coriandros brothers in the Eastern Arc only traded in elves.

Jeremus Krag, of the Southern Arc, dealt in humans but only from the open realms. He deemed closed realms too dangerous for the expense, and got out of the business.

I found him in the Western Arc. Muck Muck, a goblin.

I wasn't surprised. A venal little thing, four feet tall, colored a sickly grayish-green, bald with big ears, a big nose, and an oversized mouth.