Chapter 2: Ptensia May

Ptensia didn't quite fit in with her ilk. Despite their mercantile dispositions, they were too trusting and kind. Naïve and honest to a dangerous fault. Most weren't even good merchants, happily leaching off the benevolent few that were. Their reliance was almost pitiful, but she couldn't blame them. No, she blamed the foolishness of the successful and, she especially blamed the chief of them, her father.

Their grand leader, a beacon of pride for the corvid race. The bird that single-wingedly led them to be the undisputed power on Serghia, and, a fool. They could be so much more, if only he let her. She knew she could do it by the very crown she forged when she advanced, leadership was her destiny. But no, he was too content with the flawed system reliant on the few at the top with nary a thought for the weak foundation that'll fall out from under them. And, make no mistake, it will fall.

She much preferred the likes of the pavion. Now they were real merchants. Cunning and guile, none of that sentimentality nonsense - you either provided willingly or unwillingly. There was no doubt within her that they were waiting, waiting for them to inevitably fall to reclaim their rightful throne. For now, her father's ability was simply too unfair, but he was only one. One burdened by their subjects instead of raised, as it should've been.

The day the seed of desire was planted in her heart was still fresh in her mind. A racial gathering of the younger generation, prescribed by her father and endorsed by those seeking his favour, to strengthen the relationship of the free inhabitants. Naturally, they clustered to their own like a winged terrat to fertile land, grounded and territorial. Her kin, slow to the means of the tongue, were oh-so-clumsy in her eyes, bumbling and unworthy. So, she sought companionship elsewhere.

Her options were limited. The slaves were, well, slaves and the armgads weren't much better. Simple and primitive, with a one-hammer-fix-all mindset. Both were less qualified than the former, at least they had the honour of a feathered coat. These were even more lacking, missing the grace of body along with the mind. That left only one more hope and, fortunately, they did not disappoint.

There they stood in a disciplined gaggle, each adorning a masterful mask of civility as they weaved tweets like weapons, each song carrying layered meanings. Majestic in every right, their vibrant plumage matched only by their magnificently patterned tails, larger than even their tall physique.

This was the cutthroat society she dreamt of, how society was meant to be without the outside interference. Eager to join them, she donned her own mask only to be greeted by the unexpected. Eyes concealing scorn and melody filled with mocking ridicule. Of course it wasn't outright, none broke the unspoken law ordaining their conduct. But she knew. This was, after all, where she belonged.

'How dare they dishonour me after I followed their rules.' She felt a bright rage threatening to burst through her mask. And, as quickly as it came, it cooled. 'Their rules.' In her hasty desire, she'd overlooked: what she had in their mannerisms, she lacked in status to be truly from them.

Now she noticed, all held pets of different forms and sizes, most on leads and some not - their obedience and rarity a symbol of power. The nobles of them possessed slaves while the noblest had the newest, and subsequently the rarist slaves - humans. And she shall claim the rarest yet of those, for what befitted her station but the highest symbol of power. A human that comprehended more than the simplest of commands. One that was truly sung to and responded in kind. It will be her's and, then, she will return.

She'd only to convince her father, which had been surprisingly easy. His usual disinclination towards slavery was all but forgotten, replaced by a father's pride for a supportive daughter ready to brave the social barrier between the races that he so despised. In his enthusiasm, he'd promised and so the deal was sealed.

So she anticipated with bated breaths, a crown of flesh concealed by azure feathers decorating her, equally azure, head. The sculpture of an eye lay within her wings, dangling from her grey nape. It was made from ice and laden with cracks, seeming like it would break from a strong gaze, but she knew better. She beheld the human, robed with traditional corvid-wear, concerned. True, it was rare, but could it sing?

Funnelling life essence to her temple, through her crown and cycling back, she commanded, "awaken." And so it did, rising from its awkward slumber similar to the armgads. 'The blessings of arms,' she mused. Such a position would be a struggle for any with wings, though they could not fly.

The moment of truth was upon her. Had her father pulled through or had he fallen short. Not that he'd failed to perform before, it was simply her nature to doubt. A virtue - to mistrust all but oneself. "Sing, what is your name?" She commanded without invoking her control.

Her eyes lit up at the response. Unartistic babble it may have been, but it was still coherent. She cut it off, repeating her order, this time using her ability. With its effectiveness confirmed, she moved onto the essentials - compulsions. The berries and nuts of her abilities.

She started simple, "obey my commands," before moving on to the more complex, two-part, compulsion. "Do not tweet unless I allow it." They weren't perfect, but they'll do. At her current stage they'd need refreshing after a time, however, for now, she was ready.

Doubt crept through her breast as she approached them. Her eyes lingered on their trophies, spotting none of the prior - not a pet nor human in sight. In their place stood the usually-brutal teloph, uncharacteristically pacified and at attention. Maybe she wasn't as ready as she thought she was.

Greeted by their representative, the gifted daughter of their honoured champion, her worries proved unfounded. Her efforts were recognised and company accepted.

She left pleased sometime later, her decision already bearing low hanging fruits. They'd engaged in clever songs and delightful gossip wherein she was informed of the armgad's madness. Offering the ruthless teloph, honed to a mighty blade, for mere humans, as if they were like. It was a steal and, genuine to their merchant demeanours, they'd exploited: each of them now a proud owner of an accomplished gladiator. To think she would've missed it had she stayed with her people.

She looked at her human with a thoughtful glint, watching as the ability-induced dread clamped his tongue. It was useless now, befitting as it may have been for her status symbol. Finding a similar specimen among the dull-witted teloph would be difficult, if not impossible. While understanding language wasn't beyond the sentient creatures, reciprocating the communication was another matter entirely. Still, it wouldn't hurt to ask but, in the meantime, another symbol was required. If a normal human was worth one, then hers would be worth three, so she'll sell him for four. An amount equal to the rest of the group, an appropriate reflection of her power.

Admittedly, she hadn't been looking forward to speaking their crude language, good a deal it might've been. Luckily, she didn't need to. The armgad's representative, Loren, had proven quite exceptional, able to sing corville to an impressive proficiency for his race. Even more luckily, his impressiveness stopped there, although that was to be expected of the simple folk. He'd actually agreed to trade for five, without even an attempt to inspect the goods or haggle.

'I must be better than I thought,' she gloated inwardly as she exchanged the damaged eyeball for a container that should contain five more life cards. Using her talons to confirm everything was in order, she raised it to attach to the now-empty necklace around her nape. One, barely at the first step, for five, at the peak. Profits worthy of a real merchant.