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Description
There was a corpse sitting on his chair, but he paid no attention to it. It always had appeared there around this time of night, when the buildings, or tents, or just people burned.
Many times, the Groscian slave trader would stand out of the makeshift tent they would put up for him as they torched the area and breathe in the scent of burning materials and flesh, but this time he was tired. He had had a long day and, besides, the wind blew the smell into the tent anyway.
He had grown to love the smell of burnt flesh. At the onset of this morbid way of living he had detested it, the image of that greyish white skin bubbling and fizzling burned into his brain. But then one raid he had smelled it alongside a rather lovely smell of burning wood and was soon bearable and even pleasing.
And of course, there was the screaming. Pug was addicted to hearing these creatures scream. One, he suspected, could travel the entire universe and not find a single being whose voice was so clear, resonant, and perfect, that even their screams seemed to the ears like arias.
That's why they sell so well, Pug thought, sipping at a mild Rugki. Yes, Master rolls so well off the Saorean tongue.
Jax'n walked into the tent. "Pug sir, we-"
"Jax'n, my boy," interrupted Pug smoothly, his gravelly voice soft but nothing so soft as a Saorean's, "You've been standing for a long while, sit down. Then tell me."
Jax'n looked surprised. He was about to sit on the floor until Pug gestured to his own chair in the middle of the room, with the burnt corpse still sitting looking accusingly at him.
The young - or old, you could never tell with this asokyn ethnic - ex-monk sat down, having no difficulty in doing so as the body wasn't actually there. It was as if the ghosts of these creatures sent a messenger to haunt Pug each time he did this. Or more likely the smell was giving him a sort of high and he was hallucinating very specifically.
The slave trader didn't care. "Now don't get too comfortable to tell me your news," he frowned down at the asokyn. He took another gulp of Rugki.
"All the Saoreans you picked out are now on board, sir," continued Jax'n. "The robots have torched everything else." The asokyn, who looked to be no more than 17, licked his lips. "No survivors, no runaways."
"Good, good." Pug was at the table with the pitcher of Rugki and offered Jax'n a drink, but the boy shook his head. "What's the matter, boy?" he asked, refilling his own cup. "You seem anxious tonight."
"Yes, sir," replied Jax'n. He lowered his head. "I'll follow your instructions to the letter forever sir, as was my oath when you saved me from the Meglan savages, but..." he now looked up at the slave trader. "I am wondering, sir, why this method of choosing the elite and burning the rest? Why not leave them to breed more that perhaps will be the new elite in ten-twenty years?"
"Because that way just can't be done with how Saoreans work," replied Pug, starting to pace slowly in front of his young squire. "They have genetic memory, you see: strong memories and reflexes are passed down through the DNA and resequenced into their young as their own memories. As of right now, the Saoreans have no extreme hardship programmed into their souls through this condemnable process, and therefore fresh ones are like cattle. If we left but one still living, they could taint the next generation like a stain."
As if for effect, Pug stumbled slightly on the uneven ground and Rugki sloshed from the cup onto his wrist. He looked at it, at the liquid pink enough to be his own blood trickling down his skin and dripping onto the ground. "That's why, Jax'n. The stock must remain fresh." He put the cup down on the table with the pitcher. "I think we'll stay here tonight," he said. "Have the robots set up my cot, ehh, about there." He pointed to the far wall of the tent, opposite the door flap to the next room. "The girl will most likely be crying tonight, and that will start them all singing to comfort her." And that would give him a perfect night's rest.
Jax'n stood up and bowed slightly. "Yes, sir," he said. He walked out of the room.
The corpse, stalwartly Saorean, stalwartly fixed in a glaring, screaming expression of face, was back in his chair. He took up his cup in his hand and, with a biting "drink's on me," he upended it through the apparition onto the chair.

Made in DAZ Studio, postworked in GIMP.

Story and Character are from my Graduates universe, a prequel called Free Indeed.

Description
There was a corpse sitting on his chair, but he paid no attention to it. It always had appeared there around this time of night, when the buildings, or tents, or just people burned.
Many times, the Groscian slave trader would stand out of the makeshift tent they would put up for him as they torched the area and breathe in the scent of burning materials and flesh, but this time he was tired. He had had a long day and, besides, the wind blew the smell into the tent anyway.
He had grown to love the smell of burnt flesh. At the onset of this morbid way of living he had detested it, the image of that greyish white skin bubbling and fizzling burned into his brain. But then one raid he had smelled it alongside a rather lovely smell of burning wood and was soon bearable and even pleasing.
And of course, there was the screaming. Pug was addicted to hearing these creatures scream. One, he suspected, could travel the entire universe and not find a single being whose voice was so clear, resonant, and perfect, that even their screams seemed to the ears like arias.
That's why they sell so well, Pug thought, sipping at a mild Rugki. Yes, Master rolls so well off the Saorean tongue.
Jax'n walked into the tent. "Pug sir, we-"
"Jax'n, my boy," interrupted Pug smoothly, his gravelly voice soft but nothing so soft as a Saorean's, "You've been standing for a long while, sit down. Then tell me."
Jax'n looked surprised. He was about to sit on the floor until Pug gestured to his own chair in the middle of the room, with the burnt corpse still sitting looking accusingly at him.
The young - or old, you could never tell with this asokyn ethnic - ex-monk sat down, having no difficulty in doing so as the body wasn't actually there. It was as if the ghosts of these creatures sent a messenger to haunt Pug each time he did this. Or more likely the smell was giving him a sort of high and he was hallucinating very specifically.
The slave trader didn't care. "Now don't get too comfortable to tell me your news," he frowned down at the asokyn. He took another gulp of Rugki.
"All the Saoreans you picked out are now on board, sir," continued Jax'n. "The robots have torched everything else." The asokyn, who looked to be no more than 17, licked his lips. "No survivors, no runaways."
"Good, good." Pug was at the table with the pitcher of Rugki and offered Jax'n a drink, but the boy shook his head. "What's the matter, boy?" he asked, refilling his own cup. "You seem anxious tonight."
"Yes, sir," replied Jax'n. He lowered his head. "I'll follow your instructions to the letter forever sir, as was my oath when you saved me from the Meglan savages, but..." he now looked up at the slave trader. "I am wondering, sir, why this method of choosing the elite and burning the rest? Why not leave them to breed more that perhaps will be the new elite in ten-twenty years?"
"Because that way just can't be done with how Saoreans work," replied Pug, starting to pace slowly in front of his young squire. "They have genetic memory, you see: strong memories and reflexes are passed down through the DNA and resequenced into their young as their own memories. As of right now, the Saoreans have no extreme hardship programmed into their souls through this condemnable process, and therefore fresh ones are like cattle. If we left but one still living, they could taint the next generation like a stain."
As if for effect, Pug stumbled slightly on the uneven ground and Rugki sloshed from the cup onto his wrist. He looked at it, at the liquid pink enough to be his own blood trickling down his skin and dripping onto the ground. "That's why, Jax'n. The stock must remain fresh." He put the cup down on the table with the pitcher. "I think we'll stay here tonight," he said. "Have the robots set up my cot, ehh, about there." He pointed to the far wall of the tent, opposite the door flap to the next room. "The girl will most likely be crying tonight, and that will start them all singing to comfort her." And that would give him a perfect night's rest.
Jax'n stood up and bowed slightly. "Yes, sir," he said. He walked out of the room.
The corpse, stalwartly Saorean, stalwartly fixed in a glaring, screaming expression of face, was back in his chair. He took up his cup in his hand and, with a biting "drink's on me," he upended it through the apparition onto the chair.

Made in DAZ Studio, postworked in GIMP.

Story and Character are from my Graduates universe, a prequel called Free Indeed.