Slave in the eatery
I am a sla ve in the world’s most popular eatery. I distribute trough worthy nourishment to Orcs, Goblins and other hideous creatures of the repulsive and foul stench that we call the eatery but in the slave tongue it is sometimes mentioned as hell. At times I am pleasantly surprised by creatures of another kind. The kind you would not see in this part of the land. The kind that understand how it feels to be a slave. I call these people escapees. They have freedom, they have liberty and they have found the one thing I and many of my fellow slaves contemplate about. The key to freedom, the key to the shackles around our feet, the braces around our necks, the helmets on our heads, the week and heavy amour around our bodies and so much more. I have dreamt about this freedom for as long as I can remember. Being free, being able to escape the clutches of the slave owner. We never see our owner, he only appears when it’s time to collect...