Posted by Moore on March 19, 2004 at 17:06:11:
The author would like to gratefully acknowledge the contributions of Diana B.; from whom the idea of the girl in the cage came from, as did most of the description of Sardana and cage girl's initial meeting.
Hail. My name is Sardana. I am hours away from disembarking from the Foaming Whitcap as I make this journal entry, my first entry in this book. I have the monopoly license from the King for the entire Province of Roussillon. I have spent all of my money to obtain it and the passage here.
The previous monopoly license holder was a mage named Marcil. Despite her ability to hurl balls of flame, she was killed by Orcs when she tried to retake a gold mine from them. Only two of her retainers managed to return to safety. Marcil never even got to the mine; somehow the Orcs knew she was coming. The Orcs used a surprisingly sophisticated strategy for such primitive humanoids. The Orcs used hit and run tactics to determine nature of their foe. Once they determined their primary opponent was a spell caster, they adapted their tactics accordingly. Marcil had fireball spells, and magical shields of energy to turn blows. After testing her with a few small bands of expendable Orcs, and realizing the danger of a direct, massed approach, the Orcs shot arrows from under the cover of trees. The arrows were deflected by her magical wardings. She answered with stinking cloud spells that left the Orcs easy prey for her retainers. But the Orcs managed to defeat her by throwing wasps' nests at her. The dozens of wasps overwhelmed her magical defenses. Marcil was stung repeatedly and could not concentrate to cast spells. They captured her alive, as a brutish sacrifice to their god. They are rumored to be cannibals, although the term cannibal would only really apply if they were consuming their own kind. In any case, they still probably ate her.
I shudder at the thought of such a death, yet it is one I might face. Marcil was probably taken to the nearest shrine of the One-Eyed Orcish god. Her clothing was likely stripped from her and she was then taken to the altar. The junior priests would have put their gray green paws upon her ankles and wrists, while the senior priests took positions at her head and sex. The common Orcs would have squatted on the floor of the shrine to watch. There would be smoke from braziers, and the primitive grunts, chants, and drum beats that mark an Orc ceremony. When the Orcs were in a suitable frenzy, they would have started the sacrifice. If Marcil had fought well earlier, and was judged worthy, the senior priest at her face would have leaned its stinking, pig like, tusk filled face over hers. Its strong paws would have held her face still. It would have put its mouth over one of her eyes, and gouged her eye out with one of its tusks. It would show Marcil's ruined eye to the assembled group to their cheers. Then the foul Orc would likely have eaten it. Then the rest of the priests, in order of seniority, would have started to bite her. The symbolism of consuming your enemies and growing stronger is not new. But the Orcs would have held Marcil down and eaten her - alive. Starting with small bites and gouges with their tusks at first, they would then do deeper wounds for a new level of pain. Even after she had mercifully died, they would continue, even crunching her bones between their powerful jaws.
I had best be careful in the frontier if I am to avoid a similar fate. The rest of my history doesn't really matter. In a few hours, I will have a fresh start, a chance to reinvent myself as anyone I wish.
My first order of business is going to be the organization of barge traffic along the Tet River, between the town of Perpignan and Baroness Snuthree's whaling town, which I have not been able to determine the name of. If there is not a regular ferry service between the two towns, I intend to establish one. The sailors aboard this ship laughed at this idea, and suggested I just throw the people directly into the river to feed the hungry monsters. They seem less then impressed with my lack of martial skill or spell mastery.
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Same day, hours later. This "town" is scarcely a town at all. It has one(!) wooden dock, to which is tied the "Bride's Price," the only whaling ship in Baroness Snuthree's whaling fleet. We barely had room to tie up.
There is a story behind the "Bride's Price." Baroness Snuthree's father was a crafty old man. A local barbarian hero named Therion was interested in his daughter. The Baron had him do the usual things, like kill all the local monsters, and donate gold and cattle to prove his worth. But then the Baron got creative. He had Therion seize a pirate ship as the final task to secure his daughter's hand in marriage. The Baron chose a ship that would sere well as a whaling ship. Therion was successful, and Baroness Snuthree was married aboard the "Bride's Price;" her future improved with the area's new industry.
But that is not the end of the story; it takes a darker turn. All of Baroness Snuthree's husbands have been killed on board. Whaling is dangerous work, but Baroness Snuthree's husbands have been killed in unusual circumstances. Some say the ship is haunted by vengeful pirates. The "Bride's Price" also refers to the shortening of a man's life when he marries the Baroness.
Therion, for example, was killed by a giant squid that had been battling the whale they were trying to catch. Enraged, the squid may have mistaken the "Bride's Price" for the whale when it attacked. Using two of its horrible tentacles to stabilize itself, it tried to grapple and maim the crew with the other eight. Therion rushed to battle it, his battle axe ready. The squid wrapped one of its cold, inhuman tentacles around him, pinning both of his arms. Even Therion's legendary strength could not free him from the grip of the beast. Despite the best efforts of the crew to help him, the beast dragged him down with it to the depths when it retreated.
One can only imagine the horror of such a death. Being alive and strong and newly married on the deck of a ship you have captured from pirates, Therion must have felt invincible. I can only imagine the fear that rushed through him when the first cold, wet tentacle snaked around him and pinned his arms. Despite his incredible strength, he was unable to break free. Did he feel fear then? The crew forced the squid to retreat, but instead of releasing him, it took him with it. To go from the warm, sun filled deck of the "Bride's Price" into the cool water must have been quite a shock. Did the squid put him to its beak and end his suffering quickly? Did the powerful tentacle crush the life out of him before he even went underwater? To hear the sailors tell the tale, Therion fought to the end. Imagine being underwater, wrapped by a cold, rubber tentacle. Therion could have seen the surface recede as the squid dragged him deeper. The squid may have put another tentacle around Therion's legs to stop him from struggling so much. Therion may have fought valiantly, but the squid's powerful, squeezing tentacles surely held him tight as it settled back into the depths. Therion could have watched as some of his air bubbles began heading to the distant surface, and realized he never would. What would it have felt like for Therion, wrapped up by tentacles? At last, Therion would not have been able to hold his breath any longer. Fighting to the very end, he still would eventually have succumbed.
Baroness Snuthree is overseeing the butchering of the recently killed whale, and is unavailable for the next few days. There is nothing in this "town." It seems like a temporary camp with haphazard wooden buildings. Everyone wears weapons, all the time. I have secured lodging at the Restful Arms. The smells from the blubber processing area are indescribable. I saw a rat as long as my forearm. It did not shrink or turn away as I approached.
The inn keeper, Mrs. Goodlove, told me to be careful of them. She freely told me she is a former prostitute. Mrs. Goodlove's looks have faded, but she is still charming and gregarious. She told me Anne's tale while I was moving my sea chest into the room. Anne is a hunter and trapper that works with a pack of dogs. She brought one of her dogs into town with her, and left the rest at her cabin. Anne was on her way to sell the furs when her dog sniffed near the blubber scrap area. A pack of giant rats came out and attacked her dog. When she went to its defense, they attacked her as well. The rats bit her lower legs and knocked her down. When these rats bite, they latch on. Anne is quite a determined young woman, and managed to drag herself away from the main group of rats, dragging four of the attached rats with her. Anne then killed the rats with her dagger. The rats killed and ate the young woman's hunting dog, which seems to pain her more then her own wounds.
Now the locals are understandably afraid to go near the garbage piles. The local adventures, the would be heroes, can't be bothered to help their fellow man for free. They would rather risk their lives fighting creatures that might have gold, or at least silver, and not just disease and fleas. I suppose this makes sense. But why hasn't the Baroness stepped in to protect her citizens? I think someone may have mentioned giant, aggressive seagulls also raid the scraps.
Anne is resting at the Restful Arms as well, living off of the money she got from the sale of some of her pelts. I suspect her invalid status had been taken advantage of, and she was not able to sell the furs for nearly a fair market value. She wept for joy why I offered what I considered a low, but fair value for her remaining furs. Now she should have enough money to convalesce. I want to look into the fur trade as well.
Some old man, a old relic hunter who adventured near Port-Saint-Louis-du-Rhone, and profited from raiding the ruins from the Kingdom of Majorca in his youth, wants to speak with me over dinner.
I am going to continue with my plan, and investigate river commerce for the rest of the day. I need to travel tomorrow to Perpignan anyway, and present the Count with his gift and the monopoly license.
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Same day, late afternoon just before dinner. I got some trading in before dinner. I know the first trade, at least the first public trade, establishes a pattern of behavior. I intend to trade fairly and honestly. I do not intend to use my monopoly to take unfair advantage of others, or lower their prices until they are bankrupt. Nor do I intend to force a craftsman to give me a bribe before I let him work his trade, as some of the previous monopoly holders have done. I am very pleased with the profit I have made. I seem to have chosen goods that are in high demand. The mercenary leader, Bernard Laporte, is based in Perpignan, and I hope to meet with him tomorrow to hire guards to guard my person and my goods.
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Late at night after dinner. I met with Donavan the relic hunter tonight over dinner. He wants to export the relics he found. Marcil would have charged him a sizable fortune to get a excavator's license, plus fifty percent of the relics' value, or he would have had to forfeit all of the relics to her. I must keep an eye on this man, he is very ruthless, but masks himself in a pleasant facade.
I did not know any of this at the time I arrived for dinner. Donavan's manservant greeted me; Donavan himself was not ready yet. Donavan asked to see me and then keeps me waiting. I was in a bit of a foul mood. The manservant lead me to Donavan's living room.
The living room had suits of decorative armor, shield and sword stands, monster heads mounted on the wall, what I thought was a miniature trebuchet, a large aquarium, and a cage. In the cage was a sleek, dark haired, green eyed woman. I have enough intelligence to know when I am being set up.
Perhaps it was the length of the sea voyage, my excitement at starting a new life, all the stories of death and dying, or the beauty and sensuality of the inhabitant of the cage, but I acted very foolishly. I moved up to her cage, putting my arm between the bars. She rubbed her head against my hand and looked up at me. I knelt down alongside her cage and brought her head gently to the bars with my hands, kissing her through the gaps. Her hands found mine and lowered them to her waist. I stroked her through her cage along her back and stomach. She pressed herself to the bars and kissed me harder as my hands moved down, over her ass, pulling her closer to me. After a moment I broke away from her, leaving her gasping at the edge of her cage. My host returned, and saw her in her agitated state. He smiled at me, and walked over to the cage, snapping his fingers. If I was a warrior, I would have slain him for treating her so. She sat on her knees, with her head down. My host opened the door to her cage and placed a collar on her throat with a small chain from it. Donavan brought her to me and placed the chain in my hand and told me, "I think she likes you," and gave me a wink.
Donavan is an older man, perhaps in his sixties or seventies, and moves like an old adventurer; slowly, and with great pain. Only a few tuffs of hair decorate his head, and he is clean shaven. He has a dagger with a large red gem pommel ever present at his waist. A sly grin often flits around his mouth. His house is finer then Baroness Snuthree's, and probably better defended. He is in the "relic recovery business."
Over dinner, Donavan and I discussed many things. I mostly let him tell me stories of his adventuring carrier. The cage girl sat daintily and ate without saying a word. I began to wonder if she could speak. The three of us finished dinner. "Are you ready for the after dinner entertainment?" Donavan asked.
When I indicated that I was, we adjourned to the living room. He had her get in her cage, and then took the leash off of the cage girl. He locked the cage with a large, heavy iron lock. I began to feel uneasy, as if I were the one in the cage.
"Do you like her? Unfortunately, I can not afford to keep her. Marcil wanted to charge me a sizable fortune to get a excavator's license, plus fifty percent of the relics' value, or else I would have had to forfeit all of the relics to her. Under such an arrangement, I can not afford to feed this lovely creature," Donavan said.
He hooked part of what I first mistook for a small trebuchet to the top of the cage. Donavan used a heavy chain to attach the top of the cage to where the sling would normally be on a trebuchet. He put rocks on the other end of the trebuchet's arm. The rocks acted like a counterweight across the fulcrum, and when he had piled on enough, her cage lifted. It was a crane, not a trebuchet. He swiveled her cage over the aquarium, and I began to see his fiendish plot. The aquarium looked large enough to accommodate her entire cage, should he chose to lower her in.
I was in danger now. If I showed any concern for the woman, he had me. He could get any trade concession he wanted. If word got out that I was weak, no one would respect me, and I would be impotent. I knew I should just watch the young woman as impassionately as I could, no matter what Donavan decided to do with her, even if he decided to drown her.
Donavan placed her cage directly over the aquarium, his intent clear now. He checked so see if the cage was aligned properly, making a show of it. She stalked back and forth, clearly agitated, but unsure of what game her master was playing. She was an exemplary slave and did not complain or try to stop her master. "This is a great way to kill cats, human or otherwise," he cackled. Then the disgusting man removed his penis from his pants, right in front of me.
"I don't want any kids at my age. For all I know, she is a virgin. I never had her. I just do this while I watch her," he grunted as he continued to pull his penis.
Donavan lowered her cage, letting the chain go slack. For a moment the cage floated, but the heavy iron bars pulled it under. The cage girl took a last quick gulp of air. Donavan watched closer, and continued making obscene "thwaping" sound as he handled himself. The cage girl calmly tested the lock. Then she began to put on a show.
First, she calmly ran her fingers through her flowing hair as she smiled at me. She ignored Donavan and what he was doing. Then she tilted her head back and blew a small stream of bubbles from her lips playfully several times, each times pausing and seeing if I was paying attention. I stared as though hypnotized. Then she began to run her hands over herself. First her hands touched her arms, then her legs. Then she stroked her face, and ran her hands down her neck, keeping her eyes on me the entire time. Then she cupped her breasts, and pushed them against the bars of the cage. Then she ran her hands down her waist, and then she started grinding her hips against the bars as well, moving in a slow undulating fashion. I watched, captivated by the cage girl's mermaid act. She did not seem frightened being caged underwater or I would have ended it immediately.
It was not until she grabbed her nose and struggled not to breathe in that she broke the trance I was in. She began jerkily struggling and shaking one of the bars of her cage with her free hand. I almost waited too long, but at last I found my voice. "Bring me her slave papers, you can have my permission to sell your relics without a fee for the excavator's license, if you BRING HER UP NOW!"
He had won, and the three of us knew it. He used the crane to lift her cage and put it on the ground. Donavan hobbled off to get her papers. The cage girl took deep heaving breaths as soon as she could, and started shaking and crying. Life is cheap here on the frontier, but profit will not cost someone their life, not while I am in charge. I will not let someone kill an innocent woman in front of me, even if it damns my reputation and ruins my business!
She is with me here now at the Restful Arms. She does speak, she is fertile so we have not been intimate, (or more accurately we have not had sexual intercourse), and her name is Diana, but I am too tired to write more.