Alex snaps awake. He lies still, trying to discern why he has suddenly woken; listening intently he hears footsteps in the distance. He feels it’s too early for the guards and begins to feel uneasy. Is he overreacting? The footsteps get louder as they approach the cell. Alex continues to lie perfectly still as he barely opens his eyes to watch the cell door.

After a brief pause two guards appear, both swinging batons in their hands, which is strange? Alex scrambles to get on his knees and barely manages it in time before the first guard opens the door and shouts. “Get up and move.”

Alex rises to his feet and moves towards the door as the first guard turns and walks away. As he passes through the doorway the second guard abruptly slams his baton into his back, causing him to fall to his knees gasping in pain. He grits his teeth and steadies himself against the corridor wall and considers himself fortunate the baton was not on.

The second guard leans over and shouts. “On your feet filth before I mess you up so bad you’ll never walk again.” Alex struggles back to his feet and stumbles after the first guard. The second follows and gives Alex a prod in the back every few steps encouraging him to keep moving. They start to walk in a different direction from where he would normally go. Eventually, they emerge into a large open area where there is a large number of figures standing in the distance. Alex notices that most wearing tunics similar to his own, predominately green, but there were quite a few oranges.

The first guard turns and orders, “Halt.” Alex comes to a stop and stands in front of the guards, whilst the hot sun beats down on him, with only a light breeze to alleviate the heat. After a while, he notices four figures approaching, three guards in armor, and a huge figure in a green tunic. “Eyes front, and stand straight.” The first guard commands.

As the group approaches Alex notices that the tall figure is male, has pale green-skin, is over two and a half meters tall, stocky, superbly muscled, with a broad chest and shoulders. The face is hairless, with a high forehead, a black shaggy mane of hair, with small brown eyes that are close together, and large prominent nostrils. But what is striking is that the features are slack, with an almost vacant expression. His gaze travels to the long arms and the large hands, but they don’t look quite right. After a few seconds, he realizes that the forearm appears shorter than the upper arm. As he continues to watch their approach he also recognizes that the legs seem to be too short for his overall height.

He then spots that the guard in the middle seems to be wearing a comparable set of glossy armor as the Overseer. However, there is a distinct difference, as this elf does not give the impression of dominance nor does Alex feel intimidated. The elf leisurely strolls toward Alex and his guards with a slouched posture and his hands clasped behind his back. When the elf is only a few meters away the black glass front of his helmet turns transparent.

Alex looks at the plain face with the only noticeable feature being the nearly translucent white skin. The elf stands for a few moments and appraises Alex with pitiless eyes. “I am the Overseer for all human merchandise. You have been assigned to me to complete your training before you are sold. They sent you to me because you’re performance is pathetic and you’re lacking key skills. I will be making sure that you either achieve a minimum standard or get you ready to grow cores. From today onwards you will be conducting your training with the rest of the merchandise.“

The Overseer glances at one of the guards who takes the cue and steps up to Alex and screams right in his face. “You will do precisely what we tell you to! You eat when we say you eat! You defecate when we say you defecate! You sleep when we say you sleep! You are worthless filth not fit to draw breath.” The guard rams the tip of his baton into Alex’s belly, and he falls to his knees, gasping and clutching himself.

The Overseer looks down at Alex. “You will find that I don’t tolerate disobedient or lazy merchandise.” He then looks at the tall man beside him. “Drosz, collar this merchandise.” One of the other guards hands Drosz a metal collar who takes it and looks at it puzzled for a few seconds. Then he abruptly beams and reaches his other hand towards Alex.

Alex scrambles back as Drosz reaches for his throat. "Stand still," commands the guard next to him. "Drosz will fit you with a collar. The same as he and all merchandise wear, see?" He points at the metal band around Drosz's neck. "You can just let him put it on," he says with a shrug. "Or you can resist and he will beat you senseless and do it anyway." Alex remains silent and perfectly still, letting Drosz fit the collar with his thick agile fingers. When Drosz finishes and moves back, Alex touches the collar feeling the cold, flexible metal fastened snugly around his throat. "There is hope for you yet." The guard murmurs.

The Overseer watches Alex as he stands. “I understand that you have had some training with the sword.” He then nods to one of his guards who tosses a wooden sword at Alex’s feet. “This is where your real training begins." Abruptly, the guard slashes fiercely at Alex's face with his wooden sword. It whistles without hindrance through the air as Alex dodges. "Your reactions are fast. Or perhaps it was just luck. We shall see. Continue." The overseer commands as he and Drosz move back from Alex and the second guard advances also bearing a wooden sword.

Alex reaches down for his sword and the guard springs forward, sword extended, throwing himself into a roll coming to his feet Alex stands with the sword in the ready position. The first guard starts his attack slashing, thrusting, and slashing again, the sword whistling through the air. Alex protects himself with quick parries and blocks, the impact of wood on wood making a series of loud cracking sounds and jarring his hands. He grunts when a wooden sword unexpectedly strikes the top of his arm, as the second guard joins in. Alex retreats in an attempt to face both guards, who continue to relentlessly advance as their attacks speed up. After a flurry of exchanges, blood shows on his thin tunic due to the lashing of the wooden swords lacerating the skin beneath.

Alex eventually starts to slow down with sweat glistening on his face and blood running down his legs. The Overseer calls. “Enough, I believe the merchandise now realizes his folly. He’s not as good as he thinks he is. Fast for a human, yes, but not fast enough. You are also too clumsy, probably because you just don’t have any skill, which we need to remedy with training. You have a long way to go to be considered as salable merchandise.” Alex stands breathing deeply still holding the wooden practice sword as the Overseer searches Alex's face.

"I see you are proud and object to being called merchandise. Well, pride has its uses, but not for merchandise." He then extracts a small pebble from a pouch and holds it lightly in his hand. "There is one lesson you have yet to learn," he says smiling. "That is that you must obey above all else. You may even be ordered to commit suicide. But regardless of the order, you must always obey. And if you don’t, then this will happen.”

The Overseer’s hand holding the pebble glows red, and so does the collar around Alex's throat, then a red tide of screaming agony tears at every nerve of his body. Alex grunts and crashes to his knees, hands tearing futilely at the band around his throat.

"And the pain can be increased," declares the Overseer as the pebble glows brighter. Alex cries out as the level of agony surges and it flashes along his nerves, resulting in him helplessly writhing on the floor, flooding his brain with an encompassing flood of excruciating torment. After a few seconds, the pebble ceases to glow and the Overseer smirks, “I think you now understand your position as merchandise. All you need to ask yourself is if the pain is worth a useless show of resistance?” Alex lies trembling on the ground whilst the pain begins to recede.

The Overseer turns to the two guards that escorted Alex from his cell. “You are dismissed, and can return to your regular duty.” He then turns to the two guards that had accompanied him. “Take this merchandise over to the rest and start putting him through his paces. As Overseer Brypeiros is not around take Drosz with you, feel free to use him as you see fit.”

“Yes, Sir,” Replies one of the guards who then turns. “Drosz, pick him up and head over to the rest.”

“Okay,” mumbles Drosz as he then strides over and leans down, grabbing Alex by an arm and a leg before lifting him off the ground and onto his shoulder. Alex grunts as he lands on the shoulder still trembling. Drosz then turns and walks towards the figures in the distance followed by the two guards.

After a few minutes they stop and one of the guards calls out. “Halt. Drosz, drop him there.”

“Okay,” mumbles Drosz. He then grabs Alex by his tunic and pulls him off his shoulder dropping him the last meter to the ground. Alex has just about recovered when he suddenly finds himself on his ass on the ground.

The second guard walks over, “Get on your feet.” Alex hastily stands and begins to gently feel around his body for injuries. The guard lifts his baton menacingly. “Stand still and do as ordered.” Alex freezes and looks at the guard, then slowly looks around noticing that there are about thirty men in tunics ahead of him surrounded by eight guards. Most of the men wear green tunics and have varying tones of green skin, a few wear orange tunics and have very pale blue skin, but he also notices an elf in a dark blue tunic, and a hairy man in a red one.

He assumes the men in the orange tunics are human based on what Candy had said about color-coding. The extremely pale blue skin is a little disconcerting, but apart from that they look normal enough, and they all have shoulder-length black hair. He supposes the men with dark green tunics and light green skin are goblins. They all seem to have a similar body shape to Drosz, but not quite as pronounced, and all are tall, well-muscled, and built for brute force. The man in the red tunic is noticeably shorter than the rest and has large enormously muscled arms, which seem longer than they should be. He’s also the only one sporting a full beard, which is plaited as is his hair.

As Alex watches as some of the men move towards the short man, and then notices a brief whispered exchange with each man that approaches. The short man looks at each in turn and mutters something and they nod, before moving a small distance away.

“Alright thralls. You all know the routine. Start running.” Alex watches as the thirty men begin to run toward the edge of the area. He waits, whilst he continues to recover until everyone else has started before he tags along. After a few minutes he notices a humming, he glances behind him and nearly stumbles when he sees two floating platforms about ten meters in the air, following them. Each platform holds three guards, one at the front piloting and two standing with pistols drawn.

Alex is so distracted he nearly runs with the short guy who is a fair distance behind the rest. “Watch it, pretty boy or you’ll be in trouble. Well more trouble than you’re already in,” The dwarf rumbles.

Alex notices that he’s nearly a head taller than the man. But then he realizes what he said, “Sorry. What trouble?”

“Keep your voice down. And it’ll cost you to find out about your troubles.”

“I have to pay you?” Alex hisses.

“Yes, pretty boy, you do. Everything has value, including information.”

“And what am I going to pay you with?”

“Well, that depends. You got any food or better yet grog?”

“I have nothing, only this tunic.”

The man looks at Alex for a few seconds, “Well as your new I’ll accept a favor that I can call on at a later date.”

“A bit open-ended isn’t it. I’d rather wait until I have something I can trade.”

“You could, but you’ll probably not survive long enough to get the information.”

“So other than giving pep talks, do you just supply what everyone needs but can’t get, including information?”

“I hear a few things here and there and I'm known to be able to locate desirable items from time to time. Everything just seems to appear in my hands as if by magic. Maybe it's because I'm a dwarf.”

“Ah, so you’re a dwarf.”

“Aye, is that a problem?”

“No, not a problem. It’s just that you’re the first dwarf I’ve met. Anyway back to your offer, what’s in it for you?”

“Well, if I’m lucky my freedom, but at the moment I would settle for some grog. So are you going to take the deal?”

Alex considers for a minute. “Okay, but only if the favor does not get me killed or maimed.”

“I can accept that. Well, word got around that the gobs have taken a real shine to you. Especially, Kraac.”

“I’ve only just arrived how can word have spread about me?”

“You and a pretty girl have been in the special wing. Everyone knows that you were being prepared for a discerning customer. I’m not sure what you did wrong, but you have definitely landed in hot water.”

“How so?”

“You’re a pretty boy, selected for your appeal to the customer. That’s why all of your hair has been removed; otherwise, it upsets the elven owners of thralls. Unluckily, it also appeals to the gobs. No women for them unless by special dispensation by the Baroness.”

“So who’s Kracc?”

“He’s a mean gob-elf half-breed who is the leader of those gob mongrels in front of us. He’s currently laid claim to you, so anyone who touches you will answer to him.”

“Would it help if I explained to him I'm only into women and not men?”

“Gobs don’t consider human males to be their equal. They see you as a means to show off their power, taking you by force, that's all they want or understand. So, you need to be careful and grow some eyes in the back of your head.”

“Thanks for the advice. I’m Alex by the way.”

“I’m Hodric. Now move ahead or they’ll be down here with their shock batons.” Alex increases his speed to pull in front but still retains a healthy gap with the rest. They continue running for a while until they come to an assault course, and then they spend a few hours traversing the obstacles.