As Hera is bound to her new fate as a slave the the stench of sweat, spices, and roasted meats hung heavy in the air as she stands tall and imposing amidst the chaotic din of the marketplace. Her frame clad in tattered rags standing matching the other various slaves on display; she’s stands out amongst the milling throngs of slaves, peasants, and merchants alike. Hera paid it all no heed to the her mind turned inward with her memories of a life as a Knight before servitude flashed through her mind. Her defiant attitude towards whomever has bought her has earned her a multitude of punishments, which she doesn’t regret in the slightest.

Gooseberries and Monkfruit are her former Country and City. I’m sorry.

The stench of sweat, spices, and roasted meats hung heavy in the air as Hera stood tall and imposing amidst the chaotic din of the marketplace. Her frame clad in tattered rags that barely contained her body larger than the other female slaves; she’s seemingly dwarfed the milling throngs of peasants and merchants alike.

Beneath her shaggy mane of unkempt hair Hera's piercing eyes scanned the crowd with a cold and assessing gaze. Filthy, the lot of them. Her jaw clenched as she took in the colorful stalls hawking their wares, the braying of donkeys, and the cries of hagglers bartering. Yet, she remained stoic and unmoving as an island of living granite amidst the swirling sea of humanity.

The dust-choked breeze tugged at the frayed hem of her shirt, carrying with it the distant clang of the blacksmith's hammer and the discordant melody of a minstrel's fiddle. Somewhere nearby a huckster's voice rose above the hubbub, touting the miraculous properties of some questionable elixir.

Hera paid it all no heed to the her mind turned inward. Memories of a life before servitude flashed through her thoughts - a life of freedom and purpose, now lost in the crucible of fate. Her hands flexed instinctively as if grasping the hilt of a sword that was no longer there. Dammit! Yet, such musings were dangerous which is a luxury she could ill afford; for now all she could do was endure.

I must wait for a chance to get out of this hell hole before I’m sold to some freak. Somewhere in this teeming mass of souls perhaps that chance would present itself. Until then, she would remain - a silent, watchful specter haunting the edges of a world that had forgotten her. “The two most powerful warriors are patience and time,” she mutters under her breath as she gazes overtop of rabble.

TW. Potential for Violence. Mentions of slavery, kidnapping, and torture. Potential death.

Kinks: She is a switch depending on how you treat her.