BrigandRansom/SlaveGirlPhoebe
Phoebe the Slave Girl
http://home.comcast.net/~brigandransom/Scan_of_Phoebe_sketch.jpg
My story does not begin with my birth, or even the death of my mother and father. I'd be hard pressed to tell that story, I was so young and the experience so painful that I have no desire to remember any of it.
Nor does my story begin with my capture and slavery. Still I was young (only 4 years old), and the tale of a slave is one that most people at least know of, be it from the perspective of the slaver or the one in chains. I'll not bore you with that.
Nor will I disgust you with the stories of Tepet Milo, the Dragon Blooded who purchased me as a housepet... No, I have to tell you at least a little bit of that, so you can understand why I went out into the desert to die.
Tepet Milo is a Hedonist. The Immaculate Order have censured him numerous times, which only increases the allure of the forbidden. He's a pedophile, a masochist, and a sadist. None of his other housepets lived as long as I did, simply because when my life was in danger I would fight back with a ferocity that occasionally caused him a bloody nose or even on one occasion a broken arm. And he liked that.
One night, I heard Milo speaking with a man named Rena, one of the few remaining warlords of House Tepet.Apparently I was to be given to Rena as a Gift. Since I was nearly seventeen, he had begun to show less and less interest in me.
At first, I was joyous. Finally I would be free of this disgusting heap of fat, drooling flesh. My joy lasted only until the morning, when I heard rumors of Tepet Rena. No "Personal Slave" of his had ever lived longer than three months.
So I ran. I gathered a little food, a skin of water, stole a horse and ran as fast as I could. I had no where to go, so I just went south. I crossed the dunes and foothills south of Chiaroscuro, and continued to run, trying not to think of anything except my next step.
It was maybe a week before the horse died. Still I kept moving south. By this point, I think I had come to accept that I had come here to die. Though dehydration is a harsh death, at least it would be on my own terms. I remember wondering if I should have just laid my wrists open instead of delaying the inevitable with my foolish journey.
Still I ran south.
I had not slept, eaten or had a swallow of water in days, and my running had slowed to a walk, then a lurch. My body was burned all over from the sun, my feet blistered from the scorching sands. Finally I fell to the ground, unable to will my feet to move me any farther.
I remember rolling over, some instinct telling me not to inhale sand. Apparently some of my brain had not come to grips with my Imminent death. I remember looking skyward, seeing the sun high above me. The sun that always rises, even through the darkest of nights.
My memory gets a bit hazy here. I remember the feeling of being swallowed, sand in my mouth and nose. Cool, cool darkness enveloping me. I thought I had died, and was finally at peace.
When I awoke, I was not nearly as dead as I had assumed.
I was inside an immense mausoleum. All around me were tapestries that appeared to be formed from the rocks themselves, frescoes illustrating the Anathema and the Wonders of the First Age. There were at least a dozen archways, and I wandered from room to room and corridor to corridor wondering if this was the land of the dead.
I finally came to a room that had no exits save the one I entered through. In the center of this room was a statue; a Monolithic image of an Anathema in Full Regalia. I touched the base of the statue, hoping that the sand had not eroded the name of the person in the statue.
Sometimes I wonder if my memory has been twisted by what happened next. I was wracked with agony, like a red-hot iron spike had been driven into my temple. I hadn't even time to gasp before I was assaulted with visions. I saw the beauty of the First Age laid out before me, but moving too fast to make any real sense. I saw places that I knew from my own life which looked remarkably different than they do now, and things that to this day make no sense to me. But it was beautiful. Never before or since that moment have I seen anything as beautiful as those sights that flashed through my mind.
When I awoke again, I was still next to the statue. My eyes opened, and I saw the name on the plate at the base of the statue.
- Amun Lear.
The name resonated through my mind, bringing back disconnected images of the vision that I had. I put my hand to my head, trying to think through the wonderful sights that flashed by too fast to appreciate. I tried to determine where I was...
A vision slowed down, almost enough for me to find some sense in it. I the vision sped away, but I grasped a single concept from the fleeting Image. It was dangerous to be here unless one knew the traps and the layout. I should leave.
I stood, and noted that my feet were not stinging against the cool floor. My once-pale skin, the flesh of a Housepet that rarely had the full light of sun upon it, had grown bright red to peeling in the desert, but was now an even, golden tan. The blisters were gone.
I walked through the hallways of the Crypt, never quite knowing which way to go but never getting lost, until I came across large, round disk set into the wall. Thick marble, thicker than a handlength and taller than a man, ribboned with Orichalcum. An ancient strip of Rice Paper was taped across the disk, bearing marks that seemed familiar but nonsensical. Following the impulses that the visions had left in my mind, I ran my finger beneath the strip of paper and Broke it.
Fresh Air whisked out of the space between the wall and the Disk, and is slowly rolled to the side. Within was a small chamber, with a leather backpack, several skins of water, and a wad of Animal Hide. Not a speck of dust sullied this room, and the air itself smelled like the deep forests of my youth; not the Hot dry mettalic air of the Desert. The pack contained traveling rations (which appeared to have been prepared only a day ago), and the water in the skins was crisp like the runoff from the [Some major mountain in the North].
The animal hides drew my attention, and closer inspection reveald that they were only a wrapping. Within the skins were a pair of Bracers, Highly polished Orichalcum that went from Wrist to Elbow. At first they seemd like they would be too big for me, but they seemed to shrink as my arm entered. From the Top of the Bracers, directly behind the Wrist sprouted a pair of blades. They slowly arched forward, each blade nearly as long as a man's arm. A third blade of a similar length and shape came off of the side, backwards towards and past the Elbow. They felt like they had been forged just for me.
Quickly I gathered up the pack, the water, and placed the bracers back in the Animal hides. I short order I had left the crypt, crawling up through the sinkhole which I had fallen in. As I pulled my legs up I head the scraping of stone, and the crypt sealed itself behind me.
I ran north, the sand no longer burning so badly, the thirst much easier to deal with. I ran with a power and determination that I had never known before, a strength that I knever knew could reside within me. I ran faster, pumping my lungs until they burned. Only one thought was in my mind now, the beautiful visions of the first age forgotten for the moment.
I would have my Revenge.
It was days before I had realized that I was one of the Anathema. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts of vengance that I hadn't noticed I had covered the distance back to Chiaroscuro in a fraction of the time. I stopped as I approached the city and took stock of my situation. I'd have to stop and wait, the Demon's Mark was still on my forehead. I made camp in the sands a few miles outside of Chiaroscuro. It took me little time to build a small, smokeless fire and trap a sand hare. I could feel the Essence of the Anathema inside of me, guiding my hand as I skinned and cleaned the rabbits, something I had never even thought to do before.
Milo would have left Chiaroscuro by now. He followed the flow of court, and had a set schedule that he would follow. A single missing housepet wouldn't be enough reason for him to miss the parties and debauchery that he frequented in the cities outside the blessed isle. Once night fell, I would go into the city and find out how much time had elapsed since I left. Once I knew that, I would know where he was headed. The it would just be a simple matter of finding a ship to follow him in.
Money.
I cursed to myself, realizing that I had nothing to offer anyone for passage. I briefly toyed with the idea of selling myself, actually getting paid for what I had been forced to do for years. In spite of myself, the bile in my throat rose and I could feel the Demon-Mark throb on my forehead. Supposedly it had been the rage of the Anathema that had been their downfall, and I could feel that rage fermenting in my brain. I could not sell myself, not only was it offensive to myself, but to the Spirit of the Sun that had been both my blessing and my damnation.
I ate one of the grilled rabbits and wrapped the other one in a shred of my robes. Night had just fallen, and the Demon-Mark had finally faded. I decided I would dance for a few coins. There were many dancing girls in the bars that the Dynasts frequented, and for the most part they were left alone aside from the eyes that caressed their forms. Once I entered the city it was easy to find a place, I just looked for a bar that wasn't completely full and had no other entertainment. I spoke with the bartender and once we had decided on percentages I went up to the stage and began writhing. There was no music in the bar itself, I had to make do with the muted notes coming from another bar on the strip.
An hour or so later, I had gathered just enough scrip for passage in steerage on a trade ship headed for Kirighast. Milo would be using his opulent wagon train, and would probably not even be in Yane yet. But I would be waiting for him in Kirighast.
I ran to the Docks.
It was the second day on the boat, and I was up on deck snoozing against a mast. I hadn't slept the whole previous night, several of the other steerage passengers had look at me like they were "hungry". I had seen that look before, and I glared at them in a way that suggested that they wouldn't find a single morsel from me.
When I'm almost asleep, I can see those visions again. Waking wipes them away like a dream that was so profound that it carries you through the day though you have no idea why... but when I'm at that place halfway between waking and dreaming It's like the life that I've lived never happened. I have friends in these half-dreams, comrades that I trust with my life and who trust me the same. I even have... a brother?
"PIRATES!!!!"
I tensed and snapped awake. There were crewmembers moving all over the ship, like ants across the the corpse of a dragonfly. Taking down rigging, rolling up sails. I remained in my place, not wanting to get in the way of any of the scrambling crew. I did however remove my backpack and put it in my lap.
A small redheded woman strode onto the deck from below. She wore a full suit of Jade Armor, bright Crimson. The plates were so small and fine, so well overlaid and interlocked that it could be nothing but a relic. She looked out over the railing to the northwest, then grimaced. In the distance, I could hear many voices rise up in a shout. The redheaded Dragon-Blood quickly stepped back from the railing and dropped into a martial arts stance. A massive Crimson-Jade sword appeared in her hands, just as ornate as the armor.
I could feel the Golden Essence that was now a part of me begin to anger. It wanted revenge just as badly as I did, and was willing to destroy any dragon blooded it saw. I reached into my pack and caressed the Orichalcum blades, still wrapped in their simple animal skins.
The last thing I expected was a man to leap onto the deck. It was as if he was shot out of a cannon, the way he slammed into the wooden boards. As quickly as the planks broke he had stepped out of the hole, and was continuing to break boards as he charged for the small redheaded woman with a sword easily as large as herself. The man was Tall, enshrouded in dark clothing the style of which I recognised as being polular in the Skullstone Archipelago. He wore a large wide-brimmed hat, an a massive Red peakock feather arced jauntily back from the bone-beaded trimmings across it. He drew a wicked cutlass from his sheathe, a bloodstained monstrosity that seemed to be carved from a massive animal bone. Jade and bone met with a crackle of essence, and I could feel a surge of emotion from the Ancient Anathema's Soul. Mostly excitement and thrill for battle, mixed with a gleeful desire for vengance and just the slightest hint of revulsion.
The pair of Exalted traded a few blows before they backed off from each other. The readhead still had her helmet clipped to her belt, and made no move to put it on her head. "I am Tepet Rika. Announce yourself that your name may be added to the list of Anathema I have destroyed." The Solar Essence hissed at her, and I could barely keep back the urge to do the same. I began unwrapping the bracers inside of the backpack.
"Names are for children" chuckled the Tall, Dark man. "But if you insist, I am called 'Savage of the Seas.'... and threats of death do not frighten me, girl."
My temple began to throb again, and I could feel the Solar essence filling every pore of my being. Things began to get hazy.
Tepet Rika and Savage Of The Seas traded blows, each one-upping the other in demonstrations of martial prowess. One would riposte, the other would parry that same riposte, then the parry would be coutered. I began to feel ill, and I remember noticing that they both began to smile. I am not a warrior, yet the nausea gnawing at my stomach told me that they are enjoying this; loving it. There were no divisions of Dynast or Anathema, just a pair of skilled warriors testing themselves and each other. I felt a momentary thrill before the nausea became too much to bear. I didn't puke, but I wanted to. Badly.
Tepet Rika put all of her strength behind a blow that should have connected. It was a beautiful, two-handed overhand swing. Even if it had connected it would have splintered the boards beneath this Anathema's boots, but the Demon had somehow moved his blade backwards, made it be where it had been a moment before. Crafty Bastards. The Black and Crimson clad Demon brought his blade down on the back of Rika's, wedging it into the timbers directly below her feet. She snatched a hand away from the handle do break his nose, when something happened that was completely unexpected.
There was a small blonde girl,wearing pilgrim's robes perched upon her blade like a bird. Were she not one of the Chosen of the Dragons, she would have died as the blonde girl lunged toward her throat with a viscious Orichalcon claw. Rika arched her back, catching the viscious pair of blades on the plates of armor protecting her neck.
--- more later =)
