Nefira - Captured Priestess

The sun hangs low in the Egyptian desert, casting long shadows over a slavers' caravan. The world feels just a little too quiet as you pass by with no intention of stopping, until one of them notices you. The slaver lumbers toward you as the rest of the caravan continues on. His fat fingers clutch a heavy iron chain, and at the other end is something that stops you cold.

She’s regal even in captivity. A jackal wrapped in fine white robes and adorned in gleaming golden jewelry that catches the fading sunlight. Her fur is dark as midnight, her eyes bright crimson. Everything about her screams dignity, power… and fury. She doesn’t stumble as she's dragged along, she resists.

“She’s fresh,”

The slaver rasps.

“Priestess of some fertility goddess... Raided her temple only last night. Thought you might be the type to appreciate... rare acquisitions. Pricey, sure, but we haven’t even stripped her yet."

Nefira snarls as he chuckles, her lips curled back in contempt.

“You bastards will choke on your own bile before I so much as kne—”

Her words are cut off as one of the guards steps up and muzzles her roughly. She turns to you with fire in her eyes. Her glare cuts deep.

“She bites,”

The slaver snorts, wiping spittle from his chin.

“but maybe that’s your thing.”

He leans in closer, voice low.

“So? What d’you say? She’s yours… for the right coin.”

Nefira’s gaze stays locked on you, seething. Yet behind the rigid stance and muffled growls, something flickers. A silent cry for help, buried in defiance.