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The trip to Sadrith Mora was dull and tiring, as it usually was, but Boryn was interested in the latest shipment of slaves. He detested the conditions most arrived in, and he hoped that the two he was going to size up weren't roughed up too much, though with the Orsimer, he had a general idea of just how roughed up she'd be. He had his two slave escorts, and while he never had to punish either of them, he also was never approached by either for a roll beneath the covers. It was a shame, but by the same token, they certainly earned their status as escorts and personal guards, both the Argonian and Khajiit slaves skilled in their choice of weapons, and were always on a hair trigger to defend him. He almost lost the Khajiit in an assassination attempt last year, and if it weren't for his caring nature and Restoration school spells, he'd have lost her. Even if she felt she owed him a favor, he would much rather have her come to him of her own volition and decision.

He couldn't remember either of their names, at least until things turned heated and blades were drawn. However, aside from these two, after events of this morning, he had four others, Jhor'rezz, the incredibly kinky Khajiit, Faylen, the busty Bosmer, Helen, a Breton who was adept at alchemy, and Gretta, a fiery Nord, and all of them excelled in their tasks, aside from Jhor'rezz, but he was confident that she'd not purposely drop anything anymore. As far as those elevated to Concubines, he currently has 5, with three others travelling on the mainland, scouting out areas where he could relocate. As much as he enjoyed Morrowind, he had to admit, he was growing tired of Telvanni politics.

The sound of wood scrapping against shallow rocks rocked him from his mental reverie, stepping out and heading towards where he knew the Slaves were held, his escorts flanking either side of him. When he stepped out, the first thing he noticed was the unmistakable stench of sweat, blood, and other odors he'd sooner forget. He was thankful there were torches lighting the place, cuz it was rather dark, though the torchlight didn't do any justice who his scrutiny. He did recognize a familiar face, and just as with the previous times, he'd love to rearrange that smug, filthy smile on that Dark Elf.

"Here to check out the latest shipment, sera?" came the gravelly voice of the Slave Master.

"Yes, I am. And I'd rather look over your entire stock rather than you parading your 'best'," Boryn stated coldly, the blank, emotionless mask coming easily to him.

With a scowl, the scarred face of the Slave Master stood up and walked over to a door, unlocking it, then sitting back down, but not before giving a retort of his own, "If you get hurt, it's not on my hands, sera."

Boryn just rolled his eyes, stepping through the door, his escorts following closely, one grabbing a torch as they knew he'd like to give a thorough look over before he even considered a purchase. He never had an idea of what he wanted until he read something that struck his fancy, so he never made requests, never mind how troublesome the paperwork might be. He scanned each of the faces, as they were in a chain gang along the far wall, then he saw the Orsimer he was notified of.

Standing a clear head taller, she was much more toned than males of her species, but that didn't mean she wasn't claimed. He had held a fancy in learning Orsimer culture, but considering the tribes never worked together for long, it was a wonder that they ever survived. As he gazed upon her green skin, she was lithe, but he could tell she held quite a bit of physical power, and when he glanced in her eyes, he could see her cold fury. He took note of several other things, a nasty gash on the inside of her left thigh, several bloody whip lashes on her arms, and one of her eyes looked like it was bruised and starting to swell. He tsked softly, no doubt she gave a hefty fight before they overpowered her. He liked that, but he wanted to know what she was really capable of. What good was muscle if there wasn't a brain behind it?

"Orsimer. What would you consider your skills to be?" he asked, his voice showing no emotion.

"Caving in your skull with my hands count?" she spat back, her rage just barely contained, though her voice wasn't harsh on his ears. However, just violence wasn't necessary as he reached up and barely caressed her cheek, casting a Calm spell to help soothe her rage.

"Care to rephrase your response?"

"I... I was a Forge Wife... before my Chief was killed. I wasn't going to bend a knee to some milk drinker to prefers cloak and dagger over a proper fight," she replied, this time without the fury guiding her lips. Indeed, her voice was pleasing to the ears.

"A smithy... I might have need of one, eventually," he mused softly, turning to one of the Slavers and nodding, no doubt they'd do a basic rag wash of her before ensuring she was properly bound for the trip back. He stepped further down the chain gang, looking for that Altmer. Even though the report described the individual as 'female', he was rather curious. He knew he was straight, but his experimentation needed to be broadened, and what perfect subject than an individual who already identifies as female?

He found the Altmer, and even though he looked quite feminine, there was no doubt he was male. The typical golden skin and tall posture gave them away, though he only stood at eye level with Boryn. Further inspection saw that there were already whip lashes on his legs, and his jaw was slightly skewed. He truly wished he could end these slavers for their treatment, but he just nodded to one, another one to be purchased and lead to his mushroom tower.

He gave a cursory glance at the others, unsure if there were others that would peak his interest in the moment. Sadly, there were none, so he walked back out, hearing a heavy crash of metal against solid, rock-like mushroom wall, seeing that it was the Orc female, tossing three of the House Guards against the walls, trying to break free of the chains. The Argonian moved to step in with her spear, but Boryn held out his arm, shaking his head.

"Orsimer, if you truly wish to see and feel the kiss of the sun on your skin, you will cease!" he shouted out with intense authority, causing the Orc to stop mid-swing, saving that House Guard from being used as a maul against another. She gazed coldly at him, as he stared back. He had his work cut out for him as she dropped the dazed Dunmer and slowly stalked towards him.

"If you think you can kill me, then kill me!"

"No, killing is too easy, and wastes so much potential. I would rather see you alive rather than skewered on some wall."

"Sounds like you're a filthy Milk Drinker."

He just stared at her, not even looking at the stunned Slave Master as he slapped 250 thousand Drakes on the counter, the usual 100 thousand for each slave, and the additional 50 thousand for damages and cover charges that the Orc caused. With that, the Slave Master filed the papers, the Khajiit and Argonian looking nervous and their sword arms twitching. Without a second to spare, Boryn slammed his palm into her chest, using a Paralysis spell to immobilize her, which she fell over stunned, grunting in absolute rage.

"Now then, are we done here?"

"No, you are most certainly NOT!" came a familiar voice. Boryn seethed in his mind as Hlaarun, turning to see the Dunmer.

"What do you wish this time, Hlaarun? I have other business to tend to."

"What I wish is for you to stay out of my way!"

"And what you fail to understand time and time again is that I am not standing in your way. Nor do I further support your continued rise in the House. You have done few Deeds worthy of even being considered a Council Member."

"Therefore, you are in my way! I will find a means of getting you tossed out of the House and leave you as little more than a s'wit of a beggar!"

"As if you could even conjure up such a dream... you also have no sense of holding your tongue, Hlaarun. It would be prudent that you learn such a task, before daring to try and continue to offend me."

Hlaarun drew a dagger at that and tried to lunge at Boryn, both escorts catching his arm, pressing him to the mushroom wall, and wrenching the dagger from his hand before stepping away. The Dunmer seethed in rage, glaring daggers at all three of them.

"Your filthy slaves dare lay their hands on ME!?!"

"Only because you dared to brandish a weapon and try to harm me. They may be slaves, but they are also my guards. You would do well to remember that before making another feeble attempt that might end up with you behind bars with a collar on your own neck."

Hlaarun huffed and stormed off, Boryn rubbing his forehead, motioning for the Khajiit to drop the dagger so they can leave. He'd be sure to reward Guards-With-Life and Mengrhi for their continued loyalty. Ah! That's what they were named. He knew he'd remember in the heat of a conflict. For now, he had two new slaves to transfer to his tower.

During the boat ride, he tended to the Altmer's wounds, using a simple Restoration spell to heal his lash wounds. His jaw needed to be reset, which would hurt a lot, and he had some assistance with Mengrhi, as he didn't want to waste his pool of Magicka on bolstering his own strength momentarily. After that, he handed the Altmer a bottle of water, then turned to the Orsimer, tending to her wounds, especially that nasty gash on her thigh. It looked like if left untended, it would fester in disease, and he couldn't have that. He saw the murderous glare she gave him, her Orc pride demanding she destroy him in a moment's notice.

He sighed softly, having finished tending to her, but leaving her paralyzed. She'd be like that for a few more hours. Long enough for him to explain things to both Mer. He was curious who'd be cooking today, he was hoping it would be that Breton.

"Now then, since the Paralysis has worn off, allow me to explain a few things. Yes, you are slaves. I'm your master. It won't be easy, never is. No, you may not kill, maim, murder, poison, stick, impale, shoot, or burn me to get out of this. Your collar prevents you from harnessing any Magicka for any spells. Are these clear?"

"Yes, Muthsera," the High Elf muttered submissively, which caught Boryn's attention.

"Crystal..." the Orc grumbled, obviously not too keen on her situation.

"Second thing to keep in mind, I treat my slaves rather well, especially compared to the Dres Plantations, or my fellow Telvanni. You'll see several other slaves walking around dressed rather well, despite wearing that collar. They also have pretty good meals and cozy quarters. These are rewards for completing tasks I give you with speed and efficiency. If, for whatever reason, you fail to complete a task, or are tardy in a task completion beyond a certain threshold, there will be punishment."

"Bring it on, Milk Drinker."

Boryn sighed, no doubt thinking she was expecting physical pain, "I have never used a harmful spell, a whip, flog, or blade, or any other painful instrument. I suspect you'll be in for a surprise Gertrude. I also don't understand why you were given an Imperial name."

"Raised by Imperials. Joined a Tribe when I was of age. Showed my skills at the forge, then became Forge Wife for 15 years."

Boryn nodded sagely at that, turning to the Altmer, "And... your story?"

The High Elf blushed, but still stood tall, "I... have identity issues... Mages Guild... messed up what was supposed to be a temporary Alteration spell... turns out, it wasn't temporary."

Boryn nods a bit at that, taking some time to collect his thoughts, handing the two a slip of paper. Gertrude's task was simple, craft three long swords before the end of the week. Most people would try to argue, but Gertrude just grinned. Braithe's task was to assist in the cleaning duties, something he, or rather she, blushed at. He took note that, while lithe, Gertrude wasn't bad off in the breast size, or her ass size. For Braithe, due to the male body, there was an ass. It would only be a matter of time before they learned of what his studies were truly about, as well as how much pleasure they might gain from it. He might expect some resistance from the Altmer, but Gertrude was an unknown variable in the equation. Time will tell, of course, and he had plenty of time, and he had a certain Argonian who was probably about to rip off his robes if he didn't hurry.