he slavemaster cracked his seven tongued whip on each of the backs of the seven slaves he was herding. Today was the annual slave expo, and if he didn’t hurry up there was a large chance his booth would be taken. He had brought his best slaves, not even bothering to bring his bog-slaves. He gave some lesser whippings to passers-by that got in his way; the bustling crowd was growing with each passing magical-second (which is a normal second, but with a touch of magic), and he was almost certain his booth would be gone by now.

Sure enough, he had been cuckolded from his booth by none other than Chad Buffington. The slave master turned away and whipped himself in humiliation as his eyes burned with tears of frustration. This was but one of many times Chad had brought pain into the life of the humble slavemaster. Chad had stolen his wife and made hard love to her five times a day, most of which was done in public. One time, Chad had tricked him into buying a crate of “dark elves” that turned out to be standard bog-slaves painted purple. And yes, Chad had stolen his booth last magical year too. If only I weren’t so limply weak, the slavemaster thought. I would love to show Chad what I think of him, which is not very much at all!

The humble slave master dejectedly whipped his slaves as he tried to peddle them amongst the crowd; however, without the magical powers of a booth, sales were highly unlikely. As he wandered through the procession aimlessly, he came upon a tent for the Divine Ultraviolent Monks of Peace, or as they were commonly referred to around Tamboria, DUMPs. They were known for their powerful blessings, blessings that could turn a man’s entire life around. He passed through the tent flap, explained his situation to the acolyte of DUMP, and asked for one blessing. The monk, Xota, agreed on the condition the slaves were freed into the custody of his monastic order, which the slavemaster hesitatedly consented to. He would give anything to push Chad’s shit in, he thought.

Xota gave him a blessing of peace, charity, and revenge, and dabbed the slave master on each leg with a powerful lotion. “This blessing will imbue your legs with the ability to kick ass”, the monk explained.

Having been blessed by a good DUMP, the slave master skipped his way to Chad, excited to capitulate his revenge fantasy. He began humming some Iron Maiden under his breath, getting himself nice and hyped as he played out the scene in his head. He would walk up to Chad, say, “It’s time I whipped you into shape,” there would be an awesome fight scene, it would look like Chad was going to win, but then the slavemaster would draw upon the power of his blessing, and then backflip kick Chad’s nutsack off.

Xota the monk sat peacefully in the tent, embracing the universe. Suddenly, a legless ghost floated in the tent, and it looked like the ghost had the shit beat out of it severely before it died. The ghost raged and screamed at the Monk, demanding repayment for a faulty blessing. “You cannot be the slavemaster, he was in here but a few minutes ago, fully legged! Begone shyster ghost, and try to fool another man.” Xota dismissed the ghost, as it was not uncommon for ghosts to try to scam people.

“I am the slavemaster, and I will tell you what happened you petulant fool!” As the slavemaster had approached his booth-to-be, he whipped Chad on the face in such a way as to suggest it was time for a fight. Chad’s facial expression didn’t change or even register pain, but he did jump over the booth and immediately put the slavemaster in a double figure four leg lock attack. The slavemaster tried to say uncle, but Chad refused. Remembering his magically anointed legs, he desperately tried to flutter kick out of the hold. This pathetic display made a passing group of wenches laugh, and they all commented on how they would never, ever bang this slavemaster.
Chad then broke both of the slavemaster’s legs clean off, right at the knee. Chad then picked up the broken-off-legs, and began beating the slavemaster’s head with them. At first the hits were random, but then Chad found that if he beat in a figure eight pattern, he could continuously beat the slavemaster’s head. The slavemaster’s head was beaten continuously, and he received no respite. Eventually, Chad grew tired of the monotonous tone, and began playing wicked drum solos on the slavemasters head, which grew quite a crowd as the drum solo was almost too wicked to be believed. After simultaneously drumming on the slavemaster’s head and using his groin as a bass-pedal, the slavemaster whipped himself to death to avoid further embarrassment. He then became a ghost, as is custom, but this meant the end of his slavemastering days, as ghosts are unable to hold a whip.

Xota tried to explain to the slavemaster that blessings didn’t actually do anything, but acted as a powerful placebo effect, or taught people to draw on their own internal strength. The ghostly slavemaster said that was, frankly, bullshit, and he wanted a full refund. Xota was honor bound by his DUMP oath to provide a refund; since the ghost couldn’t whip slaves into service, and the slaves Xota had received in payment were already sent off to the monastery, Xota saw no other choice than to enslave himself to the ghostmaster.
—
A pug with both wizard and barbarian blood in her veins wore a pointy wizard’s hat and a barbarian’s loincloth. She was Grom, and today Grom perused the slave market with a confident stride, followed by four very tired looking bards. She was looking to pick up a slave to cast spells for her, and new the only place to get a high-quality magical non-bog-slave was the annual slave market. Grom felt sure that she would succeed in her errand; the day had an auspicious start with a wicked (but not too wicked for Grom) drum solo greeting her as she had entered the market grounds. She glanced disappointedly at her own drummer bard, who accordingly hung his head in shame.
Grom passed a booth peddling “dark elves” that looked suspiciously like purple bog-slaves, and sauntered beyond an “all you can beat” slave buffet. She inspected a potential slave prospect, but the slave passed out after the first slap she gave them, indicating their constitution was much too weak for the hard work she had planned. She stopped briefly and ate a delicious Cheese Pie before continuing her search for the best, but also cheapest, slave. Her nub-like teeth chewed through the cheese like butter.
After a time Grom came upon an ugly ghost that had the crap beaten out of it. “Hark, ugly ghost, what slaves do you sell? I am in search of a magical slave, preferably a handsome one that look likes a young Santa Claus.” The ghost produced forth a bald-headed slave, dressed in DUMP robes. Grom loved DUMPs, as they foolishly believed in doing good deeds for others for free. “What is the price for this man?”

The ghost slavemaster looked the monk up and down, pretending as if he was making up the cost right on the spot when it was totally clear he had it planned from the beginning. “Maybe 400 druuplings.” As soon as he had finished the sentence, Grom shallowly stabbed the ghost slavemaster in the stomach with a magical knife that could hurt ghosts. She withdrew her knife, and a small amount of ghostblood came out. “200 dr-“, again, the ghost was stabbed shallowly in the stomach, in another place. His face twisted in light pain. Grom stabbed him a third time before he even said anything, because she could tell this ghost was just going to keep being ridiculous.
In between spewing ghost blood out of his mouth, the ghost said, “Fine, 50 druuplings, but you also have to do me a favor. There is a man, named Chad…”
—
Chad had just finished some high-level flexing at his slave booth, when he heard a voice behind him. “Good morning, butt nugget.” Grom said to Chad. Before Chad could turn around, Grom hit his kneecaps with a baseball bat with nails in it. The four bards that followed Grom all whipped out their instruments, and began shredding like no one had ever heard before. “OH MY GOD”, screamed Chad. “WHAT DID I EVEN DO TO Y-“, but it was too late, as Grom had shoved some crusty socks she bought from the local Jizzmage into his mouth to muffle his many, many future screams. The crusty socks softly cut the inside of Chad’s mouth.

“Nice eyes”, Grom said. “Think I’ll take ’em.” Grom then began to viciously eat Chad’s eyes right out of his head, and it was totally crazy. At this point, only a lute-wielding bard was playing, but he was shredding at the speed of sound, so each finger broke the sound barrier and played a lute solo of sonic booms. Eventually, and it took a while because Grom has nubs for teeth, she chewed through Chad’s optic stalks and gobbled his eyes right up. Chad rolled over screaming and crying into the dirt, which could be heard even through the crusty socks. Grom rolled her eyes at how weak and pitiful her opponent was.

Grom started scratching the back of Chad’s neck furiously with her dog claws, and the bard band really kicked it into high gear. With perfect precision she managed not to break the skin but it still really really hurt and left thousands of red marks; and even though it hurt so incredibly bad, because there wasn’t any blood from the scratches, no one gave Chad any sympathy at all.  Finally Grom did a backflip and landed with all four knees on the back of Chad’s head, putting him in a coma forever, but not killing him. Taking care of coma Chad became a super huge burden on his family, including the formerly stolen wife of the slavemaster, but no one would admit that he was a burden, which only drove familial tensions higher. Eventually they would put Chad in a home, and the family would split up, never talking to each other ever again and eventually they would all kill themselves. To really drive the dishonor home, one of the bards pulled out a penny whistle, and made a comedic sliding sound to symbolize Chad’s wife hanging herself.

The ghost slavemaster had been watching, and got so hyped he started giving random people in the crowd high fives. It was everything he had ever hoped for. With his last tether to the physical realm finally severed by the unbelievable beatdown he had just witnessed, he passed on into the next realm.

Grom, having finally set the spirit free from its earthly bonds, laughed a hearty laugh of laughter. Guess who just saved herself 50 druuplings, she thought. Xota began to walk away, but Grom was having none of it. “Where do you think you’re going?”, she inquired. Xota replied, “Since the slavemaster is gone, my debt has been repaid.” “You are as stupid as you are wrong”, said Grom. “The ghost slavemaster indentured you to me; even though he disappeared, I own your undying servitude.” Xota thought of many counter arguments, however, he also valued his eyes; he eventually consented to follow Grom on her journeys. “I don’t really know what purpose you’ll serve”, Grom said. “Maybe just general slave? You can’t cast any spells, and you aren’t smart enough to be a bard…” Grom and her merry band continued into the distance discussing Xota’s future, and after a while they all sat down and ate cheese pies.