His eyes were a soft blue, sparkled with grey, like robin eggs, a trait as rare as his long whitish hair. Something many would hope to reap the reward of finding this man for whomever would buy him. The seller placed a round number on him few could pay, he wanted a light number though for the nobles that looked around would only pay so much, no matter the prize they got. And Xander was, he did not come with the usuall tales of being some brave barbarian from another kingdom, or knight caught and sold to the highest bidder. No, no one knew much about him, but the woman whom sold him to the slavers was a well to do woman. She had given him over to these greedy men and women.
Xander had been a soldier in a nearby kingdom, raised in the knighthood and took on their orders ways into his heart. Honorable, virtuous, and selflessness were their core ways. Thus in the war he had done his best, the weaponsmaster son he was, but his mind had been looking in on the world as something that could get better. Thus thinking he would ever be bound to a pole like the other slaves, beyond him to comprehiend. But then his war tale ended the way he thought any good knight would speak of in reverence. He had held off the men killing a village, letting women and children, and most the males get to a safe place, before he fell from the wounds, to his death they thought. Only for him to wake up in the house of a woman, rich as a dutchess, and kind. She had nursed him to health, enjoyed his company, but before her husband came home. And then she sold him, here.
His eyes watched the crowd part, for a woman and man. Infensus, nobles by the way the people noble and others moved to let them up to the stage. Then he would open his eyes at looking at the male, King of this land now that was something. He had fought the mans army not long ago, and now was their lands slave. He would close his eyes, great, if he was found out. But the others, slaves, they were tied as tight as he, both for the inspection, and to hide some of their disabilities. He had known a few of them, talked to them, from his own cell. Servants would look them over, and then, she approached him and asked his name. Something he did not expect, slaves were pets, slave, servant. As he was shown, she might see his tan smooth skin holding a few scars from the wars. Aswell as a thick one on his chest, chisled as was his abs. " Xander De'Hearted, M'lady." He spoke, his eyes not on hers, as not to be punished.