Disclaimer- Don't own Spirit Animals.
Author's Note- Third to post on Spirit Animals. So proud (not really).
It was night time of course, they risked too much by doing this in pure daylight. Well, he was risking almost everything by just showing up, but he needed the money to support his desperate family. He had come upon the flyer a few days ago. A piece of expensive parchment nailed on the wall of the local tavern. He had hardly given it a glance until he saw the reward. It offered a several thousand coins and a place of high position if the war was won if you joined the Conquerors and took a swig of something called the Bile. It sounded like the Nectar, almost. He remembered when he had tasted the Nectar and nothing happened. His only opportunity to at least aid his family had utterly failed.
"What's ya name, laddie?" asked one of the thugs messing with some cages in the back. He must be Euran, he thought to himself. Calling me laddie. I've probably done worse things than that guy.
"Viktor," he mumbled. He tried not to be too conspicuous.
"What are ya here for? You should know better not to mess with 'em and their things. I heard one lad got 'emself killed."
"I am not here to play. I want my money and I want it now." Viktor hissed in a commanding tone. The thug backed off and muttered something unrepeatable.
"And you'll have your money." said a smooth voice that might just have been a serpent's.
Viktor swiveled around and faced this new soul to torment, but didn't notice the thugs' frightened expression. "Who are you and what do you want?"
"I'm Zerif. I admire your courage. Though that's because you don't know me. If you had even heard of my reputation, you would be cowering and begging for mercy." He stepped out of the shadows and gave an amused smile.
"And if you would have known my reputation, you would be the one scared." Viktor shot back. There was no way this strange guy could make him be afraid.
"I've heard of you. Was the Lone Horse fiasco truth or merely a rumor?" Zerif's face gave away no insight.
Viktor glared at him. "That's none of your business. I want my money."
"First things first," Zerif replied. "You need to pledge your loyalty to the Conquerors. Then you shall have your money for your family."
Viktor struggled to conceal the shock from his face, while Zerif watched intently. "The money is mine. It's not for my family." Viktor tried not to make the lie so obvious.
"Really?" Zerif was playing with him; he knew it.
"Let's just get this over with." Viktor remarked flatly. "I pledge my loyalty to the Conquerors." He tried not to roll his eyes as he said it.
"That's not the way it goes. You need to drink this." Zerif issued a quiet command to the thugs, then turned to Viktor again and waved a dark-colored flask.
The thugs set one cage aside and waited patiently. "Fine," Viktor said, no trace of fear in his voice. There had been many drinking contests at the tavern and he could hold a drink.
Zerif smiled and handed the bottle over. Viktor took a quick gulp and dropped the container on the grass. A burning sensation enfulged his throat and tears welled in his eyes. He clawed at his throat, thinking that this was the feeling of drinking liquid fire mixed with poison. It had a bitter and rotting taste that had made him gag, but he felt different. Not strange, but more like powerful. Viktor staggered to his feet. There was a feline howl and the tarp over the singled out cage had been removed. A pair of glittering eyes stared back at him.
"Looks like you chose Ferathon," Zerif commented. "He's yours now."
A pure white tiger stepped out of the cage, its hide smooth and flawless. Viktor glanced at it a saw something: anger, shame, pity, flash in the tiger's blue eyes. It padded towards him and obediently sat next to him. As soon as he saw the tiger's robotic movements, he knew he had done something wrong. This beautiful creature had been enslaved to him, and he could do nothing about it.