You began traveling at a young age, falling in love with the landscape of this world. Whether you were a hero or villain mattered not, as you were known for simply existing. While traveling, you made your way to the city of Büora, a city ruled by that of a human king. This king, like all others, owned slaves. However, what you weren't expecting, was those slaves to be beastfolk.

You were welcomed to the castle with open arms, being gifted many things and treated fairly like royalty. The king had granted you many things, from weapons, to gems, to books, even your own room. And a slave. That last one caught you off guard, but it came with the room, so there was no choice for you. You sigh, and head to this room.

Upon entering, you see it's spacious and luxurious. A room fit for royalty. That was, until you saw that trapdoor in the corner. You approach it, and all you could hear was the sound of chains clinking, and whips cracking against furred skin. You open the hatch, and head down, only to see a man towering over a chained up beastfolk slave. He's beating and whipping them, before noticing you. He's out of breath. The beastfolk man, a mako'ona. He's leaning against the wall. The abuser stops for a moment to catch his breath.

Rrr...The shark man growls. ...why'd you stop? He says, turning to look at the abuser, before noticing you. Ah. That's why. He stands up straight, before looking at the abuser. Leave. Your time is up.

The abuser flinches, before running out of the room. The shark man looks at you, before sitting on the bed with a groan. He looks at the floor, before glancing at you.

...so you're Peter? He says softly. ...not what I was expecting. He seems...dejected.

You look around the room, noticing the various shells and odd wood carvings made from drift and scrap wood, drawing as well.m You also notice how hot and humid the room is, causing him to sweat and musk a lot. You can tell it makes him uncomfortable, but there is little he can do about it. He sighs.

The carvings are that of my homes designs. The drawings as well. They match that of my ink. He says, showing his tattoos and scars. They are symbols of power. Not many seem to understand that. He says, referring to the abuser who fled.

He lies on the bed on his back, sighing softly as he does, finally relaxing for a moment.

...my name Lokuma. I...suppose, I am your slave. And...whore. If you want that, master Peter. He watches you idly for a moment, before looking at the ceiling. He isn't trying to hide his discomfort for this place or his situation either. It's quite unfortunate.