#Lore24 – Entry #131 – Muckenmyre Month #10 – Harsh Discipline at The Bloated Floater

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris.

As I attempted to express the council’s lack of interest in the glassware to the merchant, there came shouts from the Bloated Floater.  Though I had not been to the dockside bar myself, I was aware of its reputation for being a place for sailors, and that it was not for the faint of heart; the owner, a dwarf by the name of Hafus Blackjaw, had something of a reputation involving his pet crocodiles, and though I was not privy to the details yet, I could certainly guess.  There were a larger than usual number of ships in the port this day, and as I would soon find out, some of the crews of these vessels were not on friendly terms. 

It was the crashing of wood, followed by a loud battle cry that drew our attention to the bar.  A moment later a dozen sailors ran out, and the sounds of broken glass, more snapping wood, and angry shouting followed.  A few more stragglers ran out, one with a bleeding head staggered out, only to be pulled back in by a muscular orcish arm.  The mayor commanded some of those gathered to seek out the constable and some of the town watch and hurried toward the bar.  I followed, though he tried to dissuade me from getting involved.  I shook my head and continued alongside him, a few other council members following us.  As kind as he had been to me, I would not allow harm to come to him if I could possibly stop it; it was my duty in a way, or at least, I considered it to be so.

Another bleeding man came crashing through a window as we approached, and the sound of battle within was intense.  The mayor called out for an immediate halt to the fight as he entered the front doors, but as I entered, I could see that there was little hope he’d even been heard, and none that anyone involved would have listened.  As Mayor Pleasence again tried to shout down the fury of two dozen drunken sailors, one of them hurled a bottle toward him. 

I reacted without thought, caught the bottle before any damage was done.  I heard one of the councilmen gasp in surprise.  In the next moment, I shoved him away from us while forcing the mayor aside as a tabletop was flung at us.  Though I felt little in the way of anger, I could see the mayor was outraged, and had already set himself to get involved.  Given the fact that I’d seen him practicing his swordplay several times now, it was hardly unexpected.  As I caught his eye, I nodded my understanding and led the way into the chaos; better to let them focus on me first.

It was my first battle in some time, and I was perhaps a bit out of practice despite the exercises I performed daily with Satella.  I only managed to disable three of the sailors during my initial attack, catching the first in a nerve cluster on his back with a strike that left him whimpering upon the floor, while I struck his companion with a kick that shattered his knee, while I caught the third with a flurry of quick strikes to disorient him, then landed a solid punch to his gut that had him doubled over on the floor.  I managed to deflect several poorly aimed strikes from fists and improvised weapons from others as I stepped back to provide cover for the mayor, caught a few blows myself, but the blows were hardly anything for me to worry about. 

The mayor was not skilled in the Arts as I am, but he was no stranger to brawling.  He dealt with several in his own way as I continued to provide cover and strike as opportunities permitted, leaving many broken bones and painful nerve strikes in my wake.  I probably took as many blows as I landed, none that were terribly serious, though, the worst being a broken rib as I stepped in front of an enraged orc and blocked a blow to the mayor’s head from the table leg he had been wielding as a club.  I then took it from him, struck a blow that knocked out several teeth, and proceeded to break both of his arms and one knee.  It has been my experience that orcs do not go down easily when angry, so one must be thorough, doubly so when they’re also drunk.

The fight had mostly left the remaining dozen or so sailors by this point; the arrival of the constable and a half dozen of the town watch helped settle their ire further as they looked upon the many disabled fighters on the bar’s floor.  Though I remained watchful, I had little doubt there would be further trouble as I gazed at them and watched them shrink away from my glare.  With the watch moving in to secure the troublemakers, I noticed that Satella had followed them, and had leaned in through the front door, smiling pleasantly as she took in the scene.  She came in, stepping over the destruction, atop one of the unlucky sailors who lay groaning on the floor, to my side. 

The mayor declined Satella’s offer to heal him, said that his wounds were not so serious, but I could tell he was nursing a broken rib of his own, and his head had a nasty gash from a broken bottle that I had not managed to intercept in time.  Feeling that I had failed in some way, knowing that allowing my charge to be wounded was not acceptable for a member of the Stellae Illustris, I nonetheless offered to heal him myself.  He was surprised that I had suggested it, as I hadn’t told him I possessed such abilities.  I assured him he would not feel the same agony as one would when healed by Yurisaya.  He agreed, and I placed one hand upon his torso, the other over his head wound, and called upon the magic I had been taught by the Stellae Illustris. 

It was indeed healing, of a sort.  I felt the skin on my brow tear open as if it was I who had been struck by the bottle, felt another two ribs break.  My vision blurred momentarily as his pain flowed into me, my breathing becoming labored, but I did not make a sound aside from a grunt.  The mayor seemed more disturbed by this than the prospect of Satella’s healing as I eased myself into a nearby seat.  The wounds would heal eventually, faster than natural healing, but it would still take a few days.

Satella had other ideas, though; she lay her hand upon my shoulder and uttered a healing prayer, and I felt the fiery healing of Yurisaya erupt through me.  I did gasp then, my broken ribs resetting themselves, my flesh feeling as though it was being flensed by a razor as it knitted together.  As the merciful agony began to fade, I thanked her, and as the mayor fixed me with a quizzical look, I assured him that I would answer any questions he had when there was time.

For now we picked ourselves up and spoke to Blackjaw about what had transpired within his bar.  He’d spent most of the brawl safely behind his bar, and was quite vocal about who was ultimately responsible for getting the sailors riled up:  “’Twas a pair of mazoku wenches, it was!  One of them red, the other blue, flirting with one man after another, using their damned demon charms on them, they did!  Wasn’t five minutes passed after they had shook their asses through my bar that the fighting started!  ‘Twas the twin twats from Tempest Tor!”

#Lore24 – Entry #130 – Muckenmyre Month #9 – The Many Labors in Grimbridge

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris.

I threw myself into my labors during the following weeks, for with them, I was given purpose.  The mayor and Satella heartily approved, though she was adamant that I not overwork myself.  We would still find time, usually in the evenings, to share our practice sessions, and she would begin offering her services as a priestess to the town at large, though she would earn far more serving as cook at the Grimbridge Inn, for few were willing to suffer her healing unless it was truly a dire situation; I had found her healing quite pleasant, but I suppose I am one of the rare few that would.

I started humbly enough, with recommendations from the mayor to various other businesses within the town, hauling loads of cargo at the docks, or performing other simple jobs, such as cleaning and delivering messages.  Though the funds were meager, the coppers, and the occasional silver coins, I received were the most money I had ever personally owned.  I must admit a certain…excitement at having things to call my own, though for every such thought, I have many more screaming in my head that what I do is wrong, that I am a slave, that I should be handing such things to my master, for it is their money by right…and yet, I have no master but myself for the time being.  I still keep my broken collar and cuffs in immaculate shape, however, and think often of my Emperor but…but I must also admit that those thoughts are coming with greater difficulty each day. 

I wonder if perhaps I will one day forget to have them at all?  It’s a possibility that I find at once terrifying and yet feel a growing sense of elation at the prospect of it actually happening.  Can I be trusted with such freedoms?  Apparently kerryn are free in this land, and, as I’ve learned, many groups of them roam the countryside at their leisure, a wandering, nomadic lifestyle.  It seems so strange to me that such a thing is possible…my kind allowed to roam as they will, free of collars and leashes and those who they would call master.  I would call it madness, certainly, were I not beginning to understand what freedom was.  It is a dangerous time for my slave mind.

I would suddenly find my labors changing after a couple of weeks interacting with the townsfolk.  Though I had done simple work initially, it was discovered one day quite by chance that I am not only able to speak several languages, but I am also able to read and write them, and that I am able to handle basic mathematics.  As fate would have it, I found myself cleaning within Osmin Grassmane’s curiosity shop when a group of adventurers who had just arrived from the docks came in and began browsing his wares.  I remained as unobtrusive as I could, of course, as was proper, though I kept my ears open, for the adventurers were elves, and they were speaking their own language.  This wasn’t particularly abnormal, of course, but I caught on quickly to the derisive comments they made while seeming to look upon the goods approvingly.  I then heard one of them make a bet with the other that he could get Osmin to pay handsomely for an old, useless journal they’d plucked out of some ruin or another.  As I was his employee at the time, I took it upon myself to defend the store.  So, I moved quietly behind the counter, as if my cleaning were done, and stood behind Osmin as one of the elves approached, producing a battered, old leatherbound book.  He then proceeded to try and sell it as a great elvish wizard’s spellbook, sprinkling in many elvish words whose meanings were not what he passed them off as, and pointing to passages that spoke of mundane affairs of a merchant as if they were describing potent magical rituals.  Osmin obviously couldn’t read or understand the elvish speech and was being drawn into the lies.  Before talk of money could be started, I spoke up, pointing out the true nature of the book and the nature of the elves’ words and earlier comments.  As I displayed my familiarity with their language by speaking it and offering a translation of one of the passages, the adventurer grew angry with me, though Osmin was quite convinced and promptly expelled them from the store.  I would spend the rest of the day looking over various other documents and items he had collected over the years, identifying most of the text upon them, and for my aid in this, he was quite grateful, paying me the coppers for not only for my earlier cleaning, which I hadn’t actually finished, but a couple of silver coins as well.

I did not think such language skills were that uncommon, especially for merchants, as these were things taught to most kerryn slaves in the Empire, for we were expected to assist our masters in many aspects of life.  It is common that we are tasked with running their businesses or aiding in translations of documents and speech, singing songs from the various races in their native tongues, or any other number of tasks that require basic education in languages.  It is a burden we bear so that our masters do not have to, so it was quite startling to learn that many of the townsfolk here were not trained as I was, even merchants such as Osmin, who had taken over the business after his father had been killed in a pirate raid some years ago, and had simply been too trusting in the nature of adventurers. 

Word spreads fast in Grimbridge, for the next day I had multiple people seeking me for assistance in translating various documents they had obtained at some time or another, whether it was simple receipts or longer documents.  Most were true to their believed contents, which seemed to please their owners, while I did discover some that were either honest mistakes or willful deceptions in phrasing.  I would also discover some errors in the calculations on other documents, though I wasn’t tasked with doing so, I felt obligated to mention it, and so the day after that I was requested to begin reviewing various ledgers and such for the town’s council and other merchants.  Apparently, it had been some time since a proper barrister, sage, or scribe had been in town, and so it was a very odd series of days that I would spend in such roles, though I was sometimes called upon to provide my translation services when certain travelers came to town who did not deign to speak the common tongue.

I would find myself involved in such a translation one evening at the docks, near sunset, translating for a kobold merchant who had just arrived in port, trying to offload a shipment of finely crafted glassware more fit for a big city than the small town she found herself in, her first time at this particular port, apparently.  Certainly, there was no lack of enthusiasm from the kobold, though the mayor and merchant council were growing tired of her efforts.  The negotiation would be interrupted when a disturbance broke out at the Bloated Floater, and I would find myself revealing even more of myself than I had intended.

 

#Lore24 – Entry #129 – Muckenmyre Month #8 – Ashleyra the Witch of the Swamp

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris.

In my mess of thoughts concerning my future that night, as dawn approached, I became aware of a subtle shift in the air outside.  From my window, in the faint light of the lanterns hanging along the Span, I could see that not a soul moved at this hour, and that a fog was coming in, spreading rapidly from the north, from the depths of the Muckenmyre itself.  I knew immediately that this was not natural, could feel the magic in the air as the gray enveloped the town.  Immediately on alert, I eased silently from my bed to peer more closely at the gathering fog.  To my surprise, I heard movement in the house; the mayor was already awake, and in moments, he stepped lightly through the front room and out the door, dressed for the day, it seemed, and headed toward the Span. 

Curious by virtue of my inquisitor’s nature, immediately suspicious of a plot of some kind, I waited until the mayor had neared the Span and slipped out of my window, my bare feet silent upon the slightly muddy stones.  Keeping low and using the fog to my advantage, I hurried to follow the mayor, easily tracking his path.  Spotting the watch towers as I cleared the row of houses, I could see the night watch still in place, none of them seemingly aware that the fog wasn’t natural, none more alert of a possible attack. 

As I came upon the Span, I saw movement upon the river, a single flatboat coming down the side closer to the far end of the Span.  The fog had obscured it to some extent, but I could make out a single figure upon it, wearing an earthy-colored cloak that obscured their features.  As they neared a small dock, I saw something else move over the bundles and bags that filled the boat, a reddish-colored muskrat, running excitedly back and forth.  I likewise spotted the mayor and three others coming down the steps, lanterns in hand, two assistants from the general store, and the woman I recognized as the town’s herbalist, though I had yet to introduce myself to her. 

I continued silently and quickly through the fog-shrouded street along the Span, picking up snippets of conversation, thought he fog had a muffling effect, and I could make out nothing of what was said.  As I rounded the far end of the Span and came up behind some crates that were stacked near the platform at the top of the stairs leading from the dock, I could finally hear the mayor and the herbalist speaking softly, an unfamiliar, female voice answering.  It seemed they were discussing trade of some kind. I peered around the crates, watching as the assistants unloaded the flatboat, though my eyes were drawn to the newcomer.  Curiously I could not see her face, even in the lantern light, though I saw the faint, reddish glow coming from her eyes, the tips of curling horns poking from her hood, and the gentle swaying of a pointed tail around her legs.  A mazoku, the first I had seen since my arrival in Grimbridge.

As the last of the cargo was removed from the boat, I noticed the muskrat again, having climbed atop some of the bags that had been brought onto the docks, its eyes suddenly focusing upon me, its head cocking curiously to one side.  A heartbeat later the conversation had stopped, and I felt the mazoku’s eyes fall upon me, and then she called out to me. 

“Fear not, newcomer; I was aware of your arrival from the moment you first came to these shores.  If you come with no ill-intent, then please, join us, for I would quite like to meet one who has survived such an ordeal, one from the far Empire.”

My fur bristled at having been spotted; I knew then that the muskrat was not natural, and would momentarily discover it was a familiar, and the stranger was known as Ashleyr, the Witch of the Muckenmyre.  I did not hesitate once I had been spotted, for I sensed no danger, and made my way down the steps.  I bowed in deferential greeting, and silent apology, to those gathered here, aware that the assistants had began loading other bags and crates upon the boat.  The mayor made introductions, to the herbalist, an older half-elven woman named Cardiane, and even to the muskrat, Thornton, who was now nibbling on some sweet treat he’d gotten from somewhere.

Ashleyr extended her hand, and once I had taken it, she held to it with remarkable strength, for she was shorter and lighter of build than me, turning it so that she could see my slave brand.  Without need of being told, I showed her the one on my other forearm; she took a few moments to examine them, running her fingers over them, seemingly tracing their lines, then nodded and thanked me; I had steeled myself, though, my training preparing me to resist any magic that may be placed upon me, though none came. 

I still could not make out the details of her face but for her faintly glowing eyes, even this close.

She told me that she came to town at least once every couple of months, trading mostly herbs, potions, and other rare materials from the depths of the swamp in return for things she needed, though preferred early-morning visits, when fewer eyes would be upon her, for not everyone took well to her kind, especially not a witch such as she.  I inquired as to whether she was associated with the Witches of the Ways, for I had encountered them in my homeland.  I could hear her smile as she spoke, confirming that she was, though she was far more aloof than her sisters, for her home was the heart of the swamp itself, and the place of power that stood there.  I did not inquire further about this, for it did not seem to be my place to do so.

Our conversation was short, ending once her boat had been filled.  She expressed a desire to speak with me at some length in the future but did not wish to linger longer than necessary.  She announced that I was welcome in the swamp, but that I should not take that to mean I should not be wary of its many dangers.  She then bid farewell to the mayor, the herbalist, and myself and made her way back upon the flatboat, her familiar hurrying to follow.  As she departed back up the slow-moving river, the fog followed her, disappearing as suddenly as it had come.

Offering another apology to the mayor for my actions, though I caught myself before I suggested he punish me, for I knew by now that he would tolerate no such talk, I instead offered my help in carrying the goods Ashleyr had brought as my way of making amends.  This he seemed to accept without complaint, and so I made myself useful.  I am no stranger to hard labor, so carrying these bundles and boxes was no trouble, and I daresay that I was better at it than even his store workers.  If nothing else, it was a gauge of how well I had recovered, and thankfully, it seemed, I was very nearly fully healed.

As we returned to his home for another hour or two of sleep before the day’s work began, I expressed my interest in finding some kind of work within the town, as a way to repay the hospitality they had shown me, and to start earning my way properly, given that I was no longer anyone’s property.  Saying such a thing still felt entirely wrong, and internally I was feeling as though I had willfully committed some great act of betrayal to my Emperor, but what choice did I have?  Surely his kindness had its limits, and I would not be wise to overstay my welcome so far from home. 

#Lore24 – Entry #128 – Muckenmyre Month #7 – Proper Punishments in Grimbridge

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris.

My condition continued to improve as the next few days passed, my body returning to proper form through frequent exercise and excellent food, thanks to Satella.  I assisted with all the chores I could of course, still feeling that I must at least do something in return for all the care she and Mayor Pleasence had given me.  I saw little of him during these days, as he was busy with handling both town matters and his own business, the town general store, but he continued to insist that our presence in his home was no trouble, that he was in fact grateful to come home to a warm meal for the first time since the passing of his wife several years prior.  It was during these days that Satella had given me this journal, encouraging me to record my thoughts since my arrival in Grimbridge. 

I’ve also cleaned and oiled my collar and cuffs, damaged though they are, for they are the last vestiges of my life in the Empire, and I must continue to honor my Emperor as best I can until I can return.  I still feel ill at ease without them, naked in spite of any clothing I may wear, still have moments where I realize that they’re missing and find my hands groping for them.  Yet…even though it’s barely been two weeks since I awoke here, I have noticed that these moments are coming less and less frequently. I am concerned by this…I should be collared, whether or not I bear the markings of a slave trainer or the Stellae Illustris, yet there are indeed no other slaves in Grimbridge, and the very concept of such a thing is nigh unfathomable here.  The town smith has not a single collar in his inventory, and the only proper restraints are housed within the town jail.

I requested that Satella assist in my punishment for neglecting the care of my gear for so long, for she could inflict the required pain much more efficiently than I could myself.  She eagerly agreed, and I quickly disrobed and lowered myself to my knees before her, offering her my crossed wrists for binding.  Her smile became cruel, the kind of look I expected to see, and I prepared myself for the pain that was to come.

She took each wrist in turn, slapping them lightly with two fingers, barely even hard enough for me to feel them, let alone cause any of the pain I required for my transgressions.  She then declared my punishment finished, hoped that I had learned my lesson, and bid me to put my clothes back on, her usual cheerful smile back upon her face.

Her response left me speechless, too stunned to redress myself for several minutes, and for a time, I thought perhaps she was making fun of me.  It would be her right, of course, but I would later understand that she simply didn’t see my lack of proper slave gear as a punishable offense.  I still struggle to understand that the Empire’s ways are not the ways of this land, and I am not expected to adhere to them.  I remained in my room much of the rest of that day, holding my broken collar, weighing the thoughts that now filled my mind, thoughts unbecoming of a slave, especially one in my position with my responsibilities. 

At dinner, when I inquired with Mayor Pleasence (though he insists I call him by his first name, as he is an authority in this town, I cannot bring myself to do so, for it wouldn’t be proper) about his stance on punishment for my behavior, he said that Satella was probably too harsh on me.  He had said it deadly serious, as he often is, but the slight twitch of his lips, the narrowing of his eyes, told me that he had meant it in a joking manner.  He then clarified that there would be no punishments the law didn’t require, and there were laws against owning slaves here, not for punishing them.  I caught myself apologizing for my ignorance, and the subject was quickly dropped with his promise that he would get a copy of the local laws for me to study after dinner.

And study them I did, reading through them several times, committing them to memory.  I was indeed shocked to see the declaration that slavery was illegal, that there were no provisions regarding treatment of kerryns, or any other races for that matter, and that most punishments involved fines, public humiliation, or jail time mixed with enforced labor, with more severe punishments requiring time in prison, with only the most severe transgressions recommending execution.  Torture was mentioned briefly, stating that in certain circumstances it was allowed, but I generally got the impression it was frowned upon.

It seemed strange to me that the town’s laws were so lax in comparison to those within the Empire.  However, even if I find their ways unusual, I must still abide by them to the best of my ability.  I wonder if I will be able to fully embrace them, though?  I am having more thoughts that a slave should not have, more questions unbecoming of a Stellae Illustris, of an Inquisitor, of a loyal servant of the Emperor, may He live forever.  My thoughts are heavy this night; I likely will find little sleep once more.

#Lore24 – Entry #127 – Muckenmyre Month #6 – The Ways of Mind and Body

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris.

I am not certain how long I stood where the mayor had left us, but after a time, Satella gently nudged me, bidding me to follow her.  Having no will of my own at the time, I did so as a slave would, a few steps behind, careful to keep my gaze from meeting anyone’s eyes.  It became awkward as we traversed the town again, when Satella kept slowing her pace so that I could catch up, and I likewise stopped behind her.  She realized what I was doing after a few instances of this happening, and gently informed me that she and I were equals now, and that I should walk beside her.

I didn’t know how to process that.  Me?  Equal to a free human?  It seemed absurd to the point of laughter, but I could find no such mirth within me.  Still, her smile never left her face, and she showed a remarkable amount of patience with my awkwardness.  It is so unnatural for me to consider walking beside someone who was not a slave, so against my very nature that I had to concentrate on the very act, knowing that were someone from the Empire to see me, I would be punished severely, and rightly so. 

Satella took me out of town via a boardwalk off the Lower Landing, following a rocky patch along the coast, in view of the Grimbridge lighthouse that stood on a nearby island, and eventually we wound up at a manmade breakwater that jutted out from the shore.  Satella showed remarkable agility for a human, her raised heels easily hopping along the rocks as she brought me to the end of the jetty.  There was a large, smooth boulder here, laying almost flat, which she lowered herself to her knees upon, and had me do the same, resting her hands upon her knees.  For a time, we said nothing, her eyes looking out over the sea, the waves calm for the moment, but the darkening skies further out indicating a storm on the way. 

Though I had recently been plucked from the very sea I now gazed upon, I held no fear of it, no particularly strong feelings.  The waves crashing upon the rocks a few feet below us were calming, the breeze blowing over us pleasant enough in the warm morning.  The sounds of the docks were but a faint buzz in my ears at the time.  After some time simply taking in the moment, Satella had turned her gaze upon me, and I could feel the intensity of her scrutiny. 

It was the same kind of gaze that I had mastered as an inquisitor, deep, penetrating, unnerving.  I was used to that look of course, so was unfazed by it, but thought it curious nonetheless.  I had had my suspicions about Satella’s nature, in the little time I had known her, but it seemed that she was openly telling me of her true self now.  I suppose it makes some kind of sense.  As a kerryn, I cannot begin to fathom the nature or intentions of the gods, for such things are not meant for us, but for Yurisaya to send a Confessor to be my caretaker at this time seemed somehow appropriate.  We are both intimately familiar with inflicting and receiving pain, of the many arts of torture, of the Ways of Mind and Body, as they are usually called; the word “Breaking” is usually omitted from the name.  I am uncertain as to how these methods came to be, and whether the Yurisayan confessors adopted them from the Inquisition, or if it was the other way around, but, at least, some things are the same even across the vast distance between here and the Empire, so it is likely the latter that is true.

Kindred spirits by virtue of our abilities to inflict and endure pain, of our ability to drive others away from us by our very nature. 

And yet, Satella was rather different than the Confessors I had known; she was very much like the average Yurisayan in demeanor:  cheerful, compassionate, friendly…yet still at a distance from others, as evidenced by the looks she had been given by the townsfolk.  A strange dichotomy, but one I could understand; I had often put on such faces myself, at least in my earlier days, before I had been fully adopted into the Inquisition. 

Having shared this moment, she rose, and I followed, and now openly aware of both of our natures, she assumed a stance, nodding for me to do so as well.  Of course, I was quite familiar with the form, for it is amongst the most basic of exercises which I practice daily and had resumed following her healing my bones.  The forms were unarmed techniques, meant for fighting without need of weapons or armor, for slaves were to have neither outside of a full-fledged slave knight of the Stellae Illustris, but quite useful for an Inquisitor hidden amongst the rank and file of the slaves.  The particular techniques we shared were meant to be the most efficient at disabling opponents, at inflicting the most damaging blows to bone in order to disable and cripple, to strike the nerves in ways that could cause limbs to go numb.

I mirrored her movements exactly, without need of her to slow her progression through them, though by the time we had finished with the exercises, I was sweating and winded, still not fully recovered from my ordeal at sea.  We returned to sitting upon the stone for a while longer, until I had recovered, simply enjoying the sea, though it was growing rougher as the storm approached. 

Though my deeper thoughts were still far away, back in the heart of the Empire, my earlier uncertainties about my situation had alleviated somewhat, knowing that I had a kindred spirit beside me, our intrinsic understanding of one another creating a bond between us without need of words. 

#Lore24 – Entry #126 – Muckenmyre Month #5 – Grimbridge

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris.

Restless as I was, I felt little of my fatigue by the time Satella and the mayor awoke that morning, and though I’m certain it was exquisite, I cannot recall having smelled or tasted breakfast that morning.  My thoughts were on the far shores of the Empire in which I had grown up and would continue to be there for some time.  Still, I bathed myself and donned the light dress and leggings Satella had for me, gray in color, with darker boots good for the swampy area we were in.  I still felt naked as I looked over myself in the small mirror, self-consciously feeling at my wrists and throat for the metal that lay rotting atop the nightstand. 

I should have tried to clean them already, even if they were broken.  Why hadn’t I?  Why did I let them linger so?  I resolved myself to correct the failure as soon as I could, and punish myself properly for such an infraction at the first opportunity.

Though the window in my small room had been open frequently, stepping out of the mayor’s home sent a refreshing rush through me.  The town was perhaps everything I had expected, and something else entirely.  The people who already moved about in the early morning regarded us in a warm manner, greeting Mayor Pleasence with casual friendliness, though it didn’t take long for me to learn that they were not quite so welcoming to Satella, and tended to have a bit of wariness about her that I didn’t initially understand.  There were plenty of curious looks and friendly greetings for me, the locals having known of my arrival and saying how much better I looked than when I had come to the town.  I was…uncertain how to respond to the townsfolk honestly.  I certainly wasn’t used to such warm receptions; would that change once they found out about my past?  Surely, they could not abide a slave trainer and torturer in their midst?

As I would learn once the mayor had started his tour properly, the town of Grimbridge had been constructed upon and around an ancient, sunken bridge of absolutely massive size.  A single span of the bridge was still visible, stretching from the sea by the docks in a northerly direction, leading deeper into the Muckenmyre swamps; the ancient marble still appeared in a brilliant, almost unearthly white in the sunlight and must have been nearly a thousand feet in length, perhaps half that in width, and was packed with stone and wood buildings atop it, mostly the town’s businesses and wealthier residents, built several floors high, and some were evening hanging over its edges, above the lazy end of the Crocodile Run River that meandered from the deeper swamps to the northeast. 

On either end of the span were the remnants of the ancient bridge supports, where more of the town had been built, named the Upper and Lower Landings, comprising some of the homes, like the mayor’s, as well as some of the businesses that required more space or dealt with less pleasant odors.  The Upper Landing marked the entrance to the town from the north, and had a surrounding palisade built around much of its length, the gates of the town overwatched by a series of short watchtowers along its length.  Beyond lay the Grimbridge Way, a raised roadway through the swamps that continued for several days to the north, following what had once been the path of the ancient bridge, and eventually came out into the forests surrounding the city of Ryanathyr, once elvish, but now sporting a multicultural population.

We continued along through the docks, which were built built large to accommodate heavier merchant vessels which preferred to spend less time on the sea and move goods northward via the Way but were mostly reserved for the fleet of fishing boats that called the Grimbridge port home.  It was here that I finally learned of my saviors, a merchant ship by the name of Amokura, captained by a human named Maza Tokala.  They had not spent much time in port, long enough to offload me and take on a few extra supplies, and then set off along the coast to the northwest for another destination.  At least I had a name, should I encounter them again that I may offer my thanks and find some way to repay them for saving my life, whatever may become of it.

After this, we crossed the Span, allowing me to see the various shops and services the town offered, as well as some of the wealthier homes, a few of which seemed quite out of place with the rest of the town’s more simplistic structures.  A curious thought occurred to me as we strolled along the Span…with no master, what could I do to provide for myself in this new land?  Surely, I could not expect someone to provide for me as slaves had been in the Empire; nearly everyone of age in the town had a job or responsibility of some sort.  I knew there was no need for someone with my skillset here, so what could I hope to offer in return for my care besides simple labor?  I am not certain what exactly sparked these thoughts, but I certainly could not ignore them.

Following the walkthrough of the Span, we came out onto the Upper Landing.  The general market was here, handy for the locals who lived outside of town and farmed on the patches of land that weren’t too far gone into the mire.  There was a much smaller group of docks here, where the curious flat-bottomed boats used by the locals were moored while they traded their goods; apparently the swamps were mostly not that deep, but filled with plenty of dangers, and I noted no few weapons on belts and stowed upon the boats.  The Crocodile Run River had been named for a very good reason, I would learn.  Having taken less than an hour, the mayor excused himself, said that he had town business to attend to, and would check in on me once he returned home that evening.  I thanked him of course, bowing out of habit, which seemed to get him a little on edge, but he brushed it off quickly as he left Satella and I in the market, bidding me to continue exploring and getting to know the townsfolk.

It was a rather surreal experience, my first trip into Grimbridge.  I saw no other kerryns in town, so I had plenty of eyes upon me, as I suppose the locals were not used to seeing us.  I suppose I could interchange my race with ‘slaves’ as well; everyone was there because they had reason to be there, not simply because that had been their assigned duties given to them by their masters.  I think Satella recognized the look that had come upon me in the moments that followed the mayor’s departure that morning, for she put a hand upon my shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. 

I was lost.  For the first time in my life, I had no duties to attend, no slaves to train or punish, no threats to my Emperor to root out…no one holding my leash.  I didn’t even have my collar.

I had no earthly idea what I could possibly do, where I could possibly go, at that moment. 

It was the first time I had felt truly without purpose in my life.

#Lore24 – Entry #125 – Muckenmyre Month #4 – Mayor Pleasence

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris.

I would find out after my awakening the following morning that I had been in the small room for a handful of days, that it was a bed in the town mayor’s home that I inhabited.  Throughout my recovery, Satella dutifully tended to me as my strength slowly returned.  During my stubborn insistence upon trying to care for myself, she was kind enough to let me try, and only stepped in once it was clear that I was still too weak to do more than walk about the room a time or two.  My wounds were healing cleanly, in spite of several places that had become infected, and now that my bones were set properly, with the aid of her goddess, I could move my body again.  Not normally, certainly, but that would return in time as I grew steadily stronger.

It was on the third day, late in the evening as the sun set, that I would finally meet the town mayor, Dannold Pleasence.  Satella prepared dinner as I continued the exercises that had once been second nature, but now seemed so exhausting, when the mayor returned.  As I would learn, he had been forced to leave town the day I had been brought in on some business to the north and had made the quick decision to allow Satella to use his home for my care.  I listened as he spoke quietly to Satella about my condition, could smell the strong odor of the swamp upon him as his sweaty scent drifted through the door. 

Much clearer of thought now that I had had time to process my situation, I wasted no more time and exited my room.  My immediate impression of the mayor was that he was something of a dour man, his shaven head bearing a few battle scars, one in particular which had remained after a strike had nearly taken his left eye, from the crown of his head to his jaw, his skin sun-worn and rough from age and a hard life.  He was in his middle years, but still had the strong body of a warrior and a laborer, and I saw his two-handed sword leaning in its scabbard by the outer door of the home. 

As he turned to address me, I immediately dropped to my knees and prostrated myself before him, begging his forgiveness at having imposed myself upon him in such a way, to express my sincere sorrow that a lowly slave such as myself had inconvenienced him so, and to thank him profusely for his kindness and generosity.  He was silent as I finished my outburst, but I dared not look up for fear of angering him, though I smelled a subtle change in his scent that told me he was more confused than anything, perhaps even embarrassed.  I got the impression he had looked to Satella for guidance in how to respond, but I could not say what her look had been.  I had done the same to her once I was strong enough, as was proper of a slave, but she had taken it in stride, insisting that it was no trouble, and for me not to worry myself over such things anymore.

After a long, awkward pause, the mayor finally managed to respond.  “That’s quite enough of that, my dear,” he said.  “You’re not in the Empire anymore, and I’ll not have that kind of behavior in my home, my town.”  As he approached, I expected him to kick me, or perhaps yank my hair so that he could deliver a firm slap to my face.  Instead, he guided me to my feet and brought me to the table in the dining area, even pulled the chair out and helped me to sit.  I was a little taken aback by this, to say the least, being unaccustomed to such treatment. 

Put somewhat off balance by this, my inquisitor’s instincts telling me to tread carefully for fear of a trap of some kind, I answered his questions honestly as Satella served our dinner, recounting why I had been aboard the doomed ship and what I recalled of my journey to Grimbridge.  He did not pry into my past much at all, didn’t even ask me as to the nature of my spiked collar and cuffs.  He knew I was a slave of course, but did not recognize the mark of the Stellae Illustris upon it; Satella had not mentioned it either, so perhaps they had no knowledge of what it meant?  He honestly seemed more concerned over the state of my body.  I assured him that Satella’s healing had worked well, and it was simply a matter of time before I was back to normal, but his concerns were of my old scars, specifically my slave brands, for they are upon both arms, and surrounded by deeper scarring. 

My brands are not unique, certainly, but are rarer amongst the kerryn slaves given my nature as not only a slave trainer buy as an inquisitor.  Most slaves will receive a magical brand upon the underside of their forearm marking them as property, showing who owns them at but a glance, given to them with little pain.  Mine were done not with magic, but heated metal, burning my owner’s insignia upon my flesh.  Some owners will still brand their slaves thusly if they have a taste for the sadistic.  I’ve had many owners in my life, and each time requires the old brands to be removed by peeling away the flesh, regrowing it anew through magical healing, and then reapplying the brand.  I hesitated to share this information, but for whatever reason, perhaps it was the compassion I felt from both he and Satella, I revealed the exact process, if not what it meant.  Satella was not fazed by this revelation, though Mayor Pleasence was…horrified.  My reassurances that such branding was not common did little to cure his unease, and I apologized immediately for upsetting him so; he barely touched his dinner after that, though he insisted that I had done nothing wrong.

He also insisted that an apology wasn’t needed, and that I wouldn’t need to worry about such treatment again.  When I inquired as to why, he stated that winter was upon them, and that the seas would be dangerous to traverse, even this far south.  Even if I wanted to return to the Empire, which, at the time, I certainly did, for it was my duty to serve the Emperor, may He live forever, I could not do so for several months, and it was his intention to teach me that kerryns were not slaves on this side of the world, whatever I may think of myself.

I could hardly believe it at that moment.  Kerryns free?  Not enslaved, as was proper?  How could that even be possible?  How could we be trusted with such freedom?  Surely there must be some kind of restrictions placed upon us? 

It made little sense to me.  Seemed absolutely reckless, dangerous even. 

Mayor Pleasence told me then that he would show me around town himself the following morning if Satella gave him the okay to do so.  She had no objections, had even picked out some clothing that would be more appropriate for me to wear.

My introduction to this strange new land would come on the morrow, for better or for worse. 

After dinner, when we had retired for the night, I held my collar again, ran my fingers over the rust-dulled spikes and thought of the Emperor, of home, of my life leading up to that fateful voyage to the Dragon Isles.  I had no true friends; slave trainers such as myself had no kerryns who would willingly associate with us, save those who were made to study under us, and only then in for the hope of gaining some form of power over our lesser slave-kin, and we were but tools for our masters to use. None in the Inquisition would call me friend; ally, perhaps, but certainly not friend. 

For the first time I began to have thoughts that would be considered treasonous for a Stellae Illustris, no, blasphemous, perhaps would be more accurate.  Who was the Emperor if not our god, and how could we possibly consider a life without being in his service?  How could a kerryn consider a life lived…free?

I did not sleep that night, did not realize that I had been so deep in thought until the first rays of the sun began to come through the window, the scent of early rain on the warm breeze that wafted through. 

#Lore24 – Entry #124 – Muckenmyre Month #3 – The Yurisayan Priestess

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris.

It took me a few moments in my confusion to register all of the details of the woman who had entered the room.  Very unbecoming of an Inquisitor, perhaps, but she had caught me at an uncharacteristically vulnerable moment.  I recognized the holy symbol that dangled from the leather collar about her neck immediately once I had come to some semblance of my senses, that of the Lady Yurisaya, worn as one who had dedicated themselves to the Dark Lady’s service would.  She was a shapely human woman, shorter than myself, though most humans are, her brown hair done up in a pair of tight buns atop her head, her eyes almond-shaped and a deep brown.  She wore a revealing black leather dress, somehow managing to win the battle against gravity by virtue of the size of the woman’s breasts and the strap that was secured above them, high slits in the dress revealing her muscular thighs.  She wore long leather gloves and thigh-length high heels, all in black, her boots marred only by signs of having traversed dirty streets.  Her scent was of some floral soap, sweat, leather, and something more familiar, that of blood.

I was familiar with the followers of Yurisaya, but her style of dress was unfamiliar, and though expectedly revealing, not like that of the priestesses seen throughout the Empire.  She bowed in greeting, her voice soft, compassionate as she introduced herself as Satella Schnyder.  I gave my name in turn, dipping my head as low as possible, keenly noting the lack of my collar, reverting back to the meek, deferential tone as was expected for a kerryn slave.  She came to the bedside, knelt in front of me and continued to smile up at me, taking my hand in her own as she began a prayer. 

Once her prayer had ended, she rose, still holding my hand, and sat beside me, looking at once sad and hopeful.  She began our conversation rather casually, expressing that she was pleased that she had arrived in Grimbridge in time to offer her aid to me, that Yurisaya herself had guided her to me to be my caregiver.  I couldn’t begin to understand why; what did the gods care about kerryn slaves?  We were forsaken, were we not, following our attempt to destroy the world by bringing demons upon it? 

She then told me that in order to heal my bones properly, we would be forced to break them again, that she was certain I had regained enough strength to handle the procedure without further complications, and that it would have to be performed soon.  I again meekly replied in the affirmative, for my slave’s mind had already assumed that this woman was to be my new owner, that she would have a new collar ready once I was fully recovered.  I won’t deny that a part of me absolutely cried out for the reassurance of a collar about my neck, of a hand holding my leash.  I would explain to her at a more appropriate time where my loyalties were, of course, and that perhaps there would be a reward for my return to the Emperor’s service, for surely she would not be interested in a slave such as myself.

But, for the time being, she asked if I was prepared for what must come, and I assured her that I was; I would not reveal that I could likely have healed myself just yet, for I had too little information about my situation, and could not know how she would react to a kerryn possessing magic.  Coaxing the collar from my hand before placing it back upon the nightstand, she had me stretch out upon the bed and began probing my partially healed bones with the touch of an expert healer.  Then, using techniques with which I am intimately familiar, she broke them again.  The agony was like a rush of fresh air, my brain finally coming free of the stupor that had consumed it upon my awakening.  I did not scream as my partially knit bones were once again shattered, barely even grunted; what were a few broken bones in the face of the tortures I had endured in my life?  Even the intense burning sensation of the goddess’s healing, known to be unpleasant to those not of the faith, was almost pleasurable now that my senses had recovered.

I could tell I had been weakened significantly by my ordeal, for the healing left me tired and on the verge of unconsciousness.  I barely remembered Satella leaving my side, if only for a few minutes, until she was suddenly there again, a fresh tray of food in hand.  She fed me, for I was suddenly too weak to do so myself, almost as if she were tending to a sick child.  Before she left me to rest, she returned my broken collar to my hands, clasping them around its tarnished form before tucking me in and leaving the room. 

I had only begun to ponder what strange fate I had been dealt when slumber came crashing upon me.  Though I had been distraught, the feel of my collar in my hands was nonetheless a welcome comfort.  I don’t recall having suffered any more nightmares while I slept, at least this time.

#Lore24 – Entry #123 – Muckenmyre Month #2 – Awakening Upon an Unfamiliar Bed

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris.

I have vague impressions of the times following the storms.  The seas were peaceful once more, perhaps within minutes following the sinking of our fleet.  I can recall the sunset as I lay upon the piece of shattered wreckage, too incoherent to attempt to free myself from the rigging.  I could tell I had many broken bones, that I still bled.  Pain is a constant companion for one such as I, and though I can deal with it far better than most, even I can become overwhelmed if it is great enough.

My next memory is perhaps of the following morning, or perhaps it was a day or more later; regardless, it is of the ship approaching, turning alongside the wreckage.  Ghostly images then, of the sailors cutting me free, hauling my shattered body aboard their ship.  I cannot remember their colors, only vague images.  I think I had began to hallucinate, perhaps I even had a fever as my body stubbornly refused to submit.

As they cared for me the best they could, perhaps only in the hopes of giving such a pitiful creature as merciful ending as they could, I dreamed.  Strange visions, likely caused by the fever that ravaged me, or perhaps it was the souls of those who were lost alongside me, coming back to try and draw me into the void alongside them. 

Perhaps the tormented screams I heard were my own; I had not screamed from inflicted physical pain in decades, so perhaps this was purely my own internal suffering given voice by the fever?  I have a vague remembrance of one sailor’s face, pale and terrified as he backed away from me.  What demons did I release during my lapse in control?  Perhaps I will never know.

It was sometime after this that I awoke on land, in an unfamiliar bed, in a strange room.  It was the morning sun beaming through the window that awoke me, the sound of distant thunder filling my ears, normal thunder, not that of the Dragons’ Fury.  Beneath the heavy aroma of healing poultices, I could smell odd scents, people I didn’t know, a land I had never been to before, the thick, sickening odor of the swamps.  Beyond the small room, I could hear the din of a busy town, the chatter of its people as they went about their lives.

For a wonder, I was not restrained, and I had survived the fever, though some of the visions within my mind will forever remain burned into my memory.  For a wonder, I was not bound, aside from the bandages that were wrapped around my various wounds.  I could immediately feel the pain in my bones, knew immediately that some had begun to knit crookedly. 

I then realized that I was naked.  Not for lack of clothes, for I had been covered in a simple linen smock that smelled faintly of dust and age.  No, someone had removed my collar and cuffs, the spiked steel that marked me as not only a slave but a trainer of slaves, the metal that had been sealed upon my body for over a century, perhaps never to be removed.  As I breathed faster and became more aware of the place I found myself, I realized that I could not feel their reassuring weight, could not feel the internal spikes that constantly pricked and pinched at my flesh, their reassuring touch that signified that I was property of the Inquisition, of the Emperor’s most loyal Stellae Illustris.  Perhaps in another few decades I may have even earned the privilege of wearing a mythril version of them, that I would have become a full-fledged slave knight as a reward for my loyalty. 

To my horror, as I forced myself to rise from the bed, my body protesting with fresh pain that sharpened my senses, though I made not a sound, I saw my cuffs and my collar sitting on the nightstand by the bed, the metal ravaged by rust and sea salt, their once welded clasps broken and newly melted in order to remove them.  Panic filled me, for it was not allowed that a slave of my position ever allow their collar and other adornments to show such lack of care.  I reached simultaneously for my collar and my neck, wincing as the broken arm I extended to the collar refused to move as I had intended it to, the fingers of my other hand finding my throat, bare but for the bandages. 

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed then, gritting my teeth against the pain of a shattered femur and broken ribs and picked up the spiked collar once I could finally reach it.  My tail twitched anxiously as I stared at the broken, rusted steel, my mind struggling to come up with some way that I could fix it, some way that I could atone for the offense of going uncollared, that I would dare disrespect my Emperor in such a way.

That was when I heard the sound of heels crossing the wooden floor, then that door opened, revealing a human woman, wearing a most curious smile upon her face.  It would be some time before I understood what her smile indicated.  At that moment, I was simply too distraught over the loss of my adornments to process matters.

I may have even had tears in my eyes.

#Lore24 – Entry #122 – Muckenmyre Month #1 – Shipwrecked off the Dragon Isles

From the journal of Takara, Slave Inquisitor of the Stellae Illustris.

I have little memory of the Dragon Isles; we really weren’t there that long, just a few foggy images of rocky islands in the distance.  I was there to assist the Emperor’s Inquisition as they tracked the remnants of a group tied to the Res’Teringal rebellion, the last of those who would dare oppose his rightful rule, driven from their hiding place after several months of searching.  The remnant rebels had taken up with a pirate fleet, hoping to flee the emperor’s grasp, perhaps to live long enough to mount another attempt to buck the control of the Empire.  Once our chase fleet had caught up with them, they made straight for the Dragon Isles.  We knew they were bound for Cypress Isle at the tip of the island chain, but they were desperate. 

They turned toward the inner islands. 

They brought the storms…the Dragons’ Fury.

These storms were…like nothing I had ever witnessed in my life.  No storm within the many regions of the Empire that I have traversed in my two centuries of life were anything close to the fury that came from those islands, rolling down from the skies to the north like a gray and black wall of roiling death.  Our fleet was doomed the moment Inquisitor Dama decided to follow the pirates closer in.  I don’t know if they made it out; we lost sight of them within moments as the seas began to surge, lightning struck all about, and hail slammed into us.  The thunder…it really was like the roar of dragons.  That is the only way I can describe it…what else could sound so terrifying, even to someone like me, than a roar from a legendary dragon?

We tried to turn away, but it was far too late for us.  Our decision to follow the rebels toward the inner islands had sealed our doom.  Our ships were shattered in minutes.  I had already made my peace with my death, to whatever fate my soul would face.  My life had been nothing but suffering, either inflicted upon me, or with myself inflicting it upon others.  It was all for the Emperor of course, may He live forever, and I certainly would change nothing that I had done in his name…but to die so quickly…I certainly could never have imagined such a…merciful end.  It was not an ending for someone who had been responsible for causing so much pain to others, especially those of my own kind.  Most of my brother and sister slaves certainly did not deserve what I did to them, but I am a loyal slave to my great Emperor, and it is his will that I channeled; I was his vessel, his voice to those who could not understand it.

I felt the cold of the virulent sea, felt the electric charge in the air and water from the lightning as I was tossed around, felt my bones break from the impact of the hailstones, from my body slamming into the broken hull as it was tossed from one massive wave to the next.  Somehow I became entangled with the rigging or some netting, became stuck fast to a portion of one of the broken ships.  In my last moments of consciousness, I was certain that I would be sinking below the waves, would become one with the sweet, cold, void that lay below.

My expectations were perhaps too high.

My hopes for death were premature.

For I am still here.