Taken

In the wee morning hours in most cities of Gor, the roads are silent. Kaiilas are stalled, the blacksmith’s fires are dormant, and the only activity might be the occasional raucous, late table at a local tavern. It is not so in Port Kar, where the alleyways, streets, and docks seem alive at all times, its shadows never resting. Melisande pulled a dark, blue cloak around her shoulders as she stood in the entrance of the library. The calligrapher standing next to her was a raven-haired, sharp eyed lady of slight stature who had worked in the employ of the scribes for many years. She had often been contracted to create the signage for festivals of the cities, announcements, invitations, decrees, and such with the Chief Scribe, they had collaborated on many projects. The evening was a joyous occasion as they engaged in the creation of invitations for the feast that would celebrate the companioning of Melisande to Roberto, the Ubar of Cos. She held the final draft of the scroll in her hand and stood with Elsa as they waited on Pax to escort them home. It had been over two ahn since Melisande had sent the messenger to fetch her red caste protector, and the gaiety over the completion of the beautiful template for the scrolls was becoming a tenuous concern as she gazed out the door, looking to the left and right.

“I do not know what is taking so long. I apologize. He is normally on time,” she smiled, chuckling, a tinge of unease in her voice, “It’s certainly not like Pax Canning to be late.”

Elsa was still beaming. “I’m surprised he left you alone to even do this. Since the news has gone out, you know…” her voice trailed off as she fidgeted. Melisande knew. The talk had grown into a fast and burning rumor that seemed to consume the conversation around the fountain. The words “traitor” and “heroine” had both been used, and a great deal of confusion surrounded those who concerned themselves with the politics of the two cities of Telnus and Port Kar. No less confused seemed to be those closest to her. Yes, Pax had left her alone. In many ways, he had. He had no desire to be part of the organization of an event that would ultimately plunge her in the most danger she’d ever been in. So conflicted was he, but still dedicated. As she glanced sidelong out the door to the Merchant Bank of Port Kar, she was genuinely surprised not to see him standing there waiting, the way he always had, even when he’d said he would give her some space. Her throat constricted. Something was not right.

A rustling from behind. Melisande chided herself. Elsa needed to get home as well, and it was dangerous these days being a friend of Melisande. She hated that she had put her closest associates in danger simply by being near them. In recent hands, she had been attacked twice by assassins for unknown reasons, her home had been ransacked, she had received three death threats, and The Afterglow had been torched, the fire contained quickly, but not before she had lost three crates of black wine beans. She sighed, turning, “Elsa, I will call for Sie. I hate to wake up him and Eve…” She swallowed, looking around furtively, her head whipping around as her body followed.

Elsa had disappeared.

“No…” Melisande whispered.

She raced out of the library as fast as she could, not caring about the danger that lurked in the shadows of the alleys of Port Kar. She would have to rely on the she-urts and thieves who sometimes had sworn their allegiance, but she knew that only went as far as the coin she had spent for it. There were those who would pay more, she knew, and had never entrusted her personal safety to those who honored gold above all. She cursed softly beneath her breath at the heavy robes that seemed to crowd her legs as her boots flew across the stone, her race not nearly as fast as she had hoped. In a blind dash to the crowded house in the En’Var Estates that she called home, she rounded the corner, colliding with a figure whose large hands gripped her shoulders. From the depths of his cloak, he smiled, and it was not a face she recognized.

“Let me g…” she hissed, her demand cut off by a shove from the back as she tumbled further into the arms of her captor. Not a word was spoken as a cloth gag was shoved roughly between her lips, and she was escorted with two firm hands around her arms, flanked by not less than four cloaked figures who walked her directly to her home. The door opened from within where stood the messenger she had sent for Pax earlier in the evening.

The hearth fire had been doused with water some time ago, and the house was cold, but not empty. She heard footsteps up the stairs, and a large trunk being dragged. Heavy footfalls started down the stairs, and the figure who appeared in his descent stood before her.

A wave of nausea swept over her. Betrayal, thick and cloying in her mouth. A scream died in her throat as her eyes widened.

He reached out and removed her gag.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. She knew he would not hurt her.

He patted her shoulder and smiled, sliding his hand down her arm until he reached the parchment that was now crumpled in her fist. He smoothed it out, reading it. Then, he held it up and tore it several times, casting it on the dead hearth. “I do not think,” he said, “that I approve of this.”

She wrenched away from one of the hands that held her when they were sure she was prevented from fleeing. “There are better ways of informing me of your wishes than to have me frightened. I have always respected you. I would have listened to you,” she said evenly, her voice careful.

He chuckled, “Is that why you had the she-urt watching for me? Why you had one of my couriers robbed, in your curiosity? Let’s see if I can remember exactly what Destus said when we questioned him…” he thought for a moment, looking up and tapping his chin with his finger.

She turned ghostly pale, “You have Destus?”

He smiled. “Of course we have Destus. Oh yes, I remember. He said, ‘She knows you do not approve. She knows you will try to stop it. She still thinks you might change your mind.’” He walked closer, genuine concern in his eyes as he shook his head, “Dear, did you really think I would allow you to companion this man? I know you feel like you are doing something necessary. I know of your conversations with the Commander. I know what you think your duty is.”

“Pax told you?” she said, her voice incredulous.

“You did not think,” he chuckled, “that Pax was really loyal to you, did you? What a fine Ubara you would have made. You do not even know those closest to you.”

She stared at him, her mouth falling open. It had to be a lie. She could not ever disbelieve the loyalty of the Commander. And she knew how manipulative Primus Moisant could be. The larma did not fall far from the tree, so to speak.

“Father, please,” she said.

“No, and it’s done,” said he.

“What’s done?” she asked, her heart stopping for a moment. “What have you done? Tell me what you’ve done.”

“I haven’t done anything, Melisande, but you have. You have been very busy. Too busy. It’s time you rested. I’ve taken the liberty of packing your things.”

She laughed, then. “You cannot possibly be serious. I am the Chief Scribe. I can’t simply leave. I have duties to attend to. People will come looking for me. At least allow me to send word.”

He put a finger to her lips, “The Captain will have you replaced tomorrow. Everyone is expendable. You’re done. You’re coming with me until I am very sure you understand some simple concepts that seem to have eluded you, not the least of which being that a daughter of Primus of Port Kar will not, in any way whatsoever, be affiliated with Cos. Until you understand that, my dear, you will not see the light of day. You will not drink ta-wine. You will not own a single thing. You will not work. You will not plan, or plot, or have any designs on being a Ubara. I have let this go on long enough.”

In a ihn, she drew a deep breath and began to scream. It was cut short by a heavy hand holding a rep cloth saturated with capture scent.

One of the cloaked figures looked out her window in the direction of the house a few doors over. “Nothing,” he said.

“Good. She’s down, won’t be up for awhile. We have to get her out of here before Pax figures it out,” said Primus. “Let’s see that tunic.”

A red tunic with the crest of Telnus was held up, fringes exposed from being torn. It was tossed in the corner.

“Now,” he said, “We fly.”

Ubara To Be

Melisande Moisant had been holding her breath a bit, and exhales, her eyes glancing up to the cylinder. She had not returned here since…. a lump in her throat constricts, knowing she must, “Yes, of course. Of course, lead the way.” Dia Cortes leans to the other side to observe the Mistress’ refined dress though eyes quickly descend to her shoes and winces at the pointed toes.

Roberto Hoyer nods, “Very well. Mind your step, the stairs are quite tricky.” Pax Canning looks around after bumping and stumbling his way up the stairs, muttering obscenities under his breath the whole time. Roberto Hoyer: Sit, please, or admire the view first if you like. Melisande Moisant sucks in a breath as she ascends to the top, looking around. This scene in many nightmares for her. This place. She glances at the Ubar, grateful for the concealment of her veils, clasping her hands behind her back. “Of course,” she says, quite calmly, and sits.

Roberto Hoyer: Aida, serve. Dia Cortes perks then scrambles over on hands and knees. “Wine, Master?” Roberto Hoyer: For me, yes, our guests first.

Pax Canning looks at the Lady, a question in his eyes, remembering an incident not that long ago. Dia Cortes moves over to the commander’s side, pointedly avoiding his gaze. “What may I get for you, Master?”

Roberto Hoyer looks across to Melisande “I assume you have another draft ready?” not being one for much pleasantries, he asked right away. 

Pax Canning smiles to himself, looking at the girl, reaching his hand over to tip her chin up, “An ale, girl, in a tankard” He smiles, as he releases her. Melisande Moisant ignores Pax’s look, her demeanor cooling. Many years of practiced obfuscation of emotion give aid as she smooths out her skirt, folding her hands neatly, “I do, sir,” and withdraws it, handing it to him, “I have not changed anything you sent. Under legal counsel, however, I had neglected to add some language that seems prudent – an issue we had not discussed, and I added it to the bottom, for your review.”

Dia Cortes nods to the commander, meeting his gaze briefly before averting eyes downward, a sudden flush of warmness overwhelms her. “Yes, Master,” she utters faintly then looks around for the storage crates. Dia Cortes pushes the crate top open and withdraws a tankard. Perhaps this place did need a woman’s touch, things randomly dispersed throughout the cylinder. An errant strand was brushed out of her face as she dug through the next crate for a bottle of ale. Surely it tasted different than that in a barrel but for now would have to do.

Roberto Hoyer nodded as his eyes drifted to the bottom of the lenghty scroll, he sighed a little “more for me to study then, it seems” he scratched his head, a little annoyed. 

Dia Cortes maneuvers her way around the opening of the floor, ending the path at the commander’s cushion and splaying knees around it. The cork was promptly removed and the ale poured into the tankard. He seemed much nicer this time, she thought and sat the bottle aside, taking up the tankard to plant a kiss. “Your ale, Master,” the slave proffered and dropped head between extended arms.

Melisande Moisant tilts her head, watching him, smiling a bit, “Such issues are prudent to take time with…. But I believe I have exhausted any thought on the issue. This is my final revision, save for your…” she looks up, “Well, Tal, Giselle!”

Giselle Aeghin climbs up the stairs with a heavy packet of parchments and files under her arm. She’s staring at them and reading and mumbles, “Tal, Ubar. I need your signa…” Pax Canning takes the tankard offered by the girl, ignoring her for the moment, “Tal Lady Giselle” He smiles as he greets her. Roberto Hoyer smiles as Giselle came up “Tal, Lady Giselle, we have company, as you see.” Giselle Aeghin blinks and snaps the packet closed. Her head bows graciously while eyebrows rise. “Well. I see that. Tal, warrior. Caste sister.” Dia Cortes feels hands lighten when freed of the tankard, squeezing behind the commander and prays her plump behind doesn’t send the room screen tumbling into the depths below. Roberto Hoyer: Please sit, Lady We are about to have a drink. Dia Cortes begins to offer then snaps knees closed with a loud clap and smiles. “Is there anything I may get for you, Mistress?” she asks and drifts eyes over the woman’s features.

Melisande Moisant smiles quietly at the Ubar and then back up at Giselle, “I am so glad I did not travel all the way here without having the chance to see you, Giselle. I hope you’re well.” Giselle Aeghin raises a brow and nods, “I don’t wish to intrude on any administrative negotiations, Ubar.” she murmurs, blue eyes narrowing into suspicious, icy slits. Roberto Hoyer shakes his head a little “no no, please sit, Lady Melisande handed me a contract, i merely need to review it.”

Giselle Aeghin turns a more pleasant expression toward Melisande while taking a cushion, “It is nice to see you, Lady. Though surprising. Had I known you planned a visit I would have arranged for tea.” Pax Canning quietly drinks his ale, his gaze on the Lady Giselle as she is obviously uncomfortable. “Yes, please join us, Lady” Melisande Moisant turns to the slave girl and smiles, her eyes moving over her features quietly. She says, “I’ll have wine, girl.”

Melisande Moisant chuckles a bit, “You know, with the schedule lately, I have not known when I’d be able to make a trip. I certainly didn’t mean to surprise. But business seems to be expedient of late.” Dia Cortes gives a slight nod of the head, moving back from the table. To be more productive in such a gathering, Aida moves to the Mistress garbed in blue, leaning to whisper. “And for you, Mistress?” she inquires lowly.

Roberto Hoyer eyes glance over the contract once more, reading the last passage he looked at Giselle “As one of the Scribes, Lady Giselle, let me ask you a question.” Giselle Aeghin glance at Aida and for a moment there’s a hint of irritation and pain in her eyes, quickly glazed over when she looks *past* the kajira rather then at her. “If Melisande is having ta-wine, I shall as well.” she answers before turning to the Ubar. Roberto Hoyer inhales deeply before speaking and reads out loud “During the courtship, both parties will be exclusive towards each other. In other words, they will not pursue or have relationships with other Free persons,” and exhales, then speaks “Is such a stipulation common in this sort of contract?” Dia Cortes hears her Master’s words and glances immediately to the commander. Then which sudden realization she had done so, Aida stumbles off to gather wine…..and her thoughts.

Giselle Aeghin blinks, then turns toward the warrior and scribe from Kar. “Oh! You two are going to companion! How wonderful.” She shrugs at the question from the Ubar, “I’ve never heard of any contract which addresses the time prior to a signing. It is some sort of pre contract contract?” Pax Canning looks at Lady Melisande, his eyes dark, his jaw clinched tightly. Melisande Moisant clears her throat, “I was advised under legal counsel, that this would be prudent in the contract. However… it is of smaller importance than the preceding stipulations, and I would agree to its removal.”

Giselle Aeghin smiles behind her veils and leans a little further, “It was kind of Rob to offer legal assistance, Lady. But I think the Ubar would be the first to admit he has not a great deal of legal background and specialized training. Were there no legal scribes available in Kar?” Dia Cortes bent over the crate to gather a tray, wiping it with the camisk’s edge. Holding it up, she could see the reflection of the free behind her, watching them like a silver televsion before resting it atop the crates. Aida moved quickly to gather three goblets, cleaning them of their dust. A bottle of wine is popped open, the cork rolling until it disappears over the edge. Ah, well. The slave pours the goblets full and return to the small circle.

Pax Canning looks at his tankard, taking a drink, his mind racing. Looking up at the Lady Giselle’s words, he seeks to clarify, “The Lady Melisande and I are NOT companioning. I do not know where you got that idea, Lady Giselle.” Melisande Moisant glances at Pax, hoping his obvious disease will abate. She lowered her chin just slightly, hoping he would see her calm. She turns to Giselle, simply smiling, and chuckles, a bit embarassed for her. “Ahh… mm.” Roberto Hoyer looks over to Melisande, he surpressed a chuckle “This is a stipulation that pertains to the time leading up to the actual companionship, but, I am not in the habit of chasing after Free Women much, so, I will gladly agree to it.” as he glanced to Pax, hearing the tone of his voice, the man was not pleased, then turned to GIselle “No indeed, he is not.”

Dia Cortes lowers the trays onto the fur, grasping one goblet and extending the vessel to the Mistress on her left. “Your wine, Mistress,” the slave whispered. 

Melisande Moisant takes it from the girl feeling incredibly… giddy for just a moment as she watches Giselle process the revelation. Licking her lips, trying desperately to hide the joy that breaks forth upon her face, she sips lightly. Dia Cortes picks up one of the two remaining goblets and lifts it to the Mistress on her right. Timing always sucked and especially now given the information just revealed. “Your….wine…Mistress?” she asked, the contents of the goblet shaking, hands trembling.

Giselle Aeghin looks from Pax to Melisande and back over to the Ubar. There’s a minute *blink* of her eyes beneath the veils, though her manner remains calm and reserved. She takes the goblet from Aida’s hand without seeming to notice the girl and inquires softly, “Well, Melisande. My congratulations. Just *who* is the lucky man?” Dia Cortes repeats ‘oh dear’ over and over inside her head, then grunting having to walk all the way around the opening just to get to her Master’s side.

Melisande Moisant looks at Giselle for a long moment with warmth and then glances over at the Ubar pointedly, nodding her head in his direction, “Ahh… Well, Giselle…” She looks at Rob, wondering if he will jump in, to clarify. Dia Cortes sets the tray with the lone goblet of wine down. Aida took a brief moment to consider if the Mistress of Telnus was right or left handed, should the goblet go flying. Abandoning that thought for a moment, the last goblet was lifted to her Master. “Here’s a little something for you, Master,” she leans and whispers, “You goin to need it,” she starts coughing and resumes position to offer the goblet.

Roberto Hoyer glances to Giselle, measuring her a little to see if she really had not understood or if, but just to make clear he explained “The lucky man, Lady, is your Ubar, me,” as he took the wine from aida, drinking it halfway down right away, nodding to aida as if to say ‘you could be right ‘. Dia Cortes picks up the tray at both sides, it could be used as a shield. She still awaited the reaction of the Mistress nearest her. In small scoots, Aida worked herself to move behind her Master. Better him than her.

Giselle Aeghin grips her goblet in her gloved fingers, tapping them ever-so-lightly against its surface as she digests this news and the more important underlying fact that she didn’t previously know it. Her eyes come finally to rest upon her Ubar and in her softest, most courteous and professional scribe’s voice she lifts a toast, “To the Ubar in his new companionship. May it be profitable for Telnus.”

Pax Canning concentrates pointedly on his ale, although the strenghth with which his jaw is clenched might just break a tooth at any moment. He would like nothing better than to snap the Ubar’s neck right now, especially after the self-satisfied way he just made that declaration. He dared not look at Lady Melisande just now.

Melisande Moisant smiles brightly, looking quite pleased and satisfied, and raises her glass, nodding to Giselle and sipping again, “To the Ubar.” Roberto Hoyer’s eyes grew wide hearing Giselle speak, he lifted his glas in turn “I will drink to that!” Pax Canning mumbles something that could possibly be construed to be “to the Ubar” and takes a very long drink of ale. Roberto Hoyer looks across the table, a satisfied look on his face, some concern about the man to his right was there, he could almost hear the grinding of his teeth “Melisande, Ubara of Telnus, i must say, it has a good ring to it, no?” Dia Cortes flicks eyes to the commander, a smile tugging at the righ side of her lips. A shadow of a dimple appeared as she watched him then dropping eyes to his boots.

Pax Canning looks up, some measure of control returned to his features, “Yes, it does sound ……nice” Melisande Moisant glances at Giselle and then back to Roberto, “It has a very nice ring to it, sir,” her finger twirling the stem.

Giselle Aeghin is sitting very, very still. Her extra veils shield more then just the features of her face now and it takes her some time to find her voice. When she does, its that same exceedingly soft, professional and clipped. “I’m sure the High Council will be very..excited to hear this news, Ubar. May I ask…how did such….an….unique…event come to pass?” Dia Cortes leans to peek over her Master at the scroll. The air was thicker than even the highest of free womens’ robes and it nearly smothered the conversation. “Would anyone like a refill, Masters or Mistresses?”

Melisande Moisant holds out her hand, “None for me.” She gathers the tone in Giselle’s voice and clears her throat, “I’m looking forward to the ending of the negotiations, Ubar. Hopefully these last revisions will not be a problem.”

Roberto Hoyer thinks back to the times that had passed “I think, we met first when i visited Kar when I was Ambassador still, oh, but there might have been a time before that, I do not recall well” his mind drifted a moment “Then here, during the feast of your Companionship, we met again, I approached her then in Port Kar, not courting yet, but the idea had formed already, we eschanged pleasantries and some gifts, untill some time ago we spoke in Lady Melisande’s office, where we discussed the benefit of such an arrangement for both our Cities, and agreed to start negotiating contracts, we have been doing that so far, and it seems today that comes to an end.” Roberto Hoyer looks back to aida, he winks at her while no one sees “refill my glass, aida.”

Pax Canning looks up quickly at the Ubar at those words, then over at the Lady Melisande, “an end?” he repeats quietly. Dia Cortes gets up and runs over to the crate to retrieve the corkless bottle then jogs back over. She skidded to a halt, bunchng the furs beneath her feet then promptly refills his goblet. Melisande Moisant smiles quietly, glancing at Pax, her eyes somewhat sad for a moment. She straightens, nodding curtly, “Yes, today,” in final agreement, “If the Ubar finds the latest revision acceptable…” she sounds, hopeful. Roberto Hoyer nodded to Pax “yes, negotiation of contracts come to an end within one day, is what i mean.”

Giselle Aeghin glances at the Ubar with some hint of alarm, undisguised by her veils, “I trust the Caste of Scribes will be reviewing this documentation prior to signing, UbaR?” Roberto Hoyer nods “yes, you shall have it for review today.” Pax Canning sets his empty tankard down on the table in front of him, somewhat harder than he should have, making a resounding slam. He clears his throat, “Well then, I guess that is that” He steadfastly avoids her eyes now, looking at the slave instead, his eyes cold. Roberto Hoyer glanced to Pax again, making mental notes to watch him carefully as he was going to see him more often he nipped a little more of his wine nodding.

Roberto Hoyer: So far, my part of the Cylinder has been quite barren, i shall arrange for it to be more, well, accomodating, do you have wishes in that direction, Lady Melisande?

Giselle Aeghin looks over her wine at Pax across the table, tapping the goblet again thoughtfully. Her lips purse and she murmurs something to herself. Melisande Moisant runs her hands over her lips and looks around, “Ahh yes… well…” she chuckles, “I will be bringing escort to find a small apartment here for a few hands while we go over those sorts of details, if it is not a problem….” Dia Cortes looks up from the floor, meeting the cold gaze of the commander then glances back down. To be sure, she lifts eyes again and murmurs lowly. “More ale, Master?” she hopes that’s what he indicates by his eyes.

Roberto Hoyer: Oh, that shall not be a problem, Lady Melisande. Giselle Aeghin tsks at the Lady’s question. “An apartment in the lower city, caste sister? For our future Ubara? Nonsense. You must take quarters in the Cylinder of Scribes.” Pax Canning picks up the tankard and hands it to the girl, “No, I’m quite finished with the ale”. Melisande Moisant feels her throat tighten as she glances at Giselle. The cylinder of Scribes. She remembered it well. “Well, how very… hospitable, Giselle. I should have thought of that. How appropriate.” Dia Cortes takes the tankard from his hand and places it onto the tray. “Yes, Master…” the words barely slip from the full lips while she watches him. It wouldn’t be such a good idea to taunt him, she recalls the lasts visit vividly.

Pax Canning clears his throat, hearing the talk, “Ubar, I will be expecting to have access to any areas the Lady will be frequenting here, and for a select few of my men that may be escorting her while she is in Telnus.” Giselle Aeghin whips her head to *stare* at Pax so quickly its a wonder her veils don’t go flying right off the cylinder and down to the city below. She makes an angry, half-strangled sound behind her veil, barely audible – but one sure to bode *much* for what gets said behind Council walls later. Roberto Hoyer looked at him, stunned “you are referring to the period before the ceremony, Commander?”

Melisande Moisant raises her hand, “This is all in the contract,” glancing between Pax and Giselle, “Nothing more than what is appropriate…” She glances to Pax. He was going to blow it if he didn’t stop. Pax Canning looks at the Ubar evenly, “Why, not only before, but after as well.” He pushes his luck as far as he can, not giving an inch on the Lady’s safety, and certainly not trusting the warriors of this city to protect her. Giselle Aeghin looks across the table and though her veils hide it, her tone is one of obviously gritted teeth, “I *trust* that Sie of Port Kar is not one of the men of whom you speak.”

Melisande Moisant clears her throat, “The High Commander is certainly very busy, Caste Sister. I can’t imagine he’d be pulled away to do this.”

Roberto Hoyer shrugged “It will be as stipulated, Commander, as you know, this part of the City is probably the best guarded and safest place in the whole of Gor, double walled, on a hill, heavily gated, very few make it past the first wall, even less past the second, there is no reason for concern.” Giselle Aeghin rises, suddenly and angrily. Her professional attitude has flown and she’s all irate free woman when she speaks again. “If you will excuse me, Ubar. I think that my father would enjoy a visit from Argus and Vivana. I’ll speak to my companion about the arrangements.” Turning to the others, she formally adds, ‘I wish you well.” Roberto Hoyer nods “Of course Lady Giselle, i wish you well, i shall leave the contract on your desk.”

Pax Canning looks over the table at the Lady Giselle, “I wish you well, Lady” then turns back to the Ubar. “If you like, I will draw up a list of my most trusted lieutenants, who would possibly be involved.” 

Melisande Moisant glances to Pax, then to Giselle, then to Roberto. She turns, looking at Giselle and, with merriment in her voice, says, “Adios, Giselle.” Melisande Moisant clears her throat, “I mean… I wish you well, Lady.” Pax Canning gives Lady Melisande a glance mixed of amusement and disgust.

Giselle Aeghin stiffens further at the thought of Karian Lieutenants walking freely amongst the good people of Telnus. Her fury is obvious in the sway of her skirts and veils as she starts to head down the stairs, then hears the term that she had only heard previously from her missing garden boy. She stops on the stairs and looks back, “What was that, Melisande?”

Melisande Moisant calls out, “A day most! A day most pleasant… Lady! I hope you have…. and…. ” she pauses, grinning widely, “Well wishes.” Giselle Aeghin frowns, the nods back at the Lady. “Well wishes to you as well.” She strides down the stairs with determination, no doubt on her way to begin…fixing this mess.

Roberto Hoyer met the eyes of the Commander, he stared at him while he spoke “I have no need of such lists Commander, most times you will find the Lady under the protection of the Cosian Red Caste, who are quite capable of handling such matters” then he chuckled “Oh, juan, of course, he will be coming here as well then” laughing after remembering meeting the boy. Pax Canning continues to look at the Ubar, his anger simmering at the obvious dismissal. He would need to find a way around this, and he would…..just a matter of how to do it. 

Melisande Moisant takes a deep breath, looking across the table. “Well, I suppose… I will wait to hear from you then Ubar?” She glances to the place where Giselle had just stormed off, “I trust the Caste of Scribes will not find anything lacking in the document. It is sound.” Roberto Hoyer smiles “I doubt that they will have much quarrel over it, i shall make an effort to deliver it tomorrow.” Pax Canning looks between the two of them, something he figures he might be doing alot of in the near future, “And have you thought of when this is going to take place yet?” 

Melisande Moisant wonders at the Ubar for a moment, how his demeanor was so easy. She thought of Giselle, the way her voice sounded as she had departed and cast a blanket over her suspicion for the moment, genuinely believing Rob would be able to deal with her. The thought blessed her face with a smile, and she glanced to Pax, knowing she must get him out of Cos soon, “We can discuss that after tomorrow….” Pax Canning gets to his feet, “Well then, we should be returning to Port Kar, Lady. Ubar, your hospitality is appreciated.” 

Roberto Hoyer looked at the Commander with a wide smile “Dates will be set soon. I have seen you look at my slave her a few times, do you wish me to send her to you later this day for a day or two?” as he also stood to his feet. Dia Cortes leans to the side. “I hope the return journey is a steady one…” her words clipping when she hears her Master. Roberto Hoyer added with another smile “she is quite, enjoyable.” Pax Canning looks at the Ubar, a slow smile spreading across his face, “That would be very gracious of you. I would like that very much” Melisande Moisant glances to the slave girl, then over to Pax, and back to the girl. She tilts her head for a moment, the small blossom of a thought beginning. She stands a bit straighter and replies, “Yes. Let us go.”

Roberto Hoyer inclined his head “So it will be then, she will be sent there later today, follow me please, i will lead the way.” Pax Canning nods, “I wish you well” then looks at the girl once more before heading down the stairs. Dia Cortes glances back to the commander, shifting on her knees. Pax Canning: I wish you well, Rob. I will see you soon. Roberto Hoyer: A most pleasant visit, i wish you well. Melisande Moisant: Thank you again for your hospitality, Ubar. I hope to see you in Port Kar very soon.

Nonfiction – What About the Home Stone?

I’m listening to some sultry, alluring bluegrass music right now that takes me back to a hillside in West Virginia, down in Mingo County where we’d go every year on Memorial Day to decorate the grave of my grandfather who died when my mother was only nine. Mmmm, I could spin around forever in that sea of whimsy dead daffodils floating in the summer breeze. Yellow jackets were the only thing you had to worry about. They liked your hot dogs just as much as you, and I was allergic to them, so I stayed far away from the chained up metal trash cans next to the picnic awnings.

Song was too short. I had to play it again.

Open arms, warm smiles, love. All that. My family is wonderful. They created within me a deep appreciation for community. When I’d go traipsing all over the country years later as a young adult woman when I was Lost and Undone, (a.k.a. puking my guts up in a Mexican bathroom, swearing to God and Country that I would find my way back somehow, join the rodeo, and never, ever go south of the border again, if the good Lord above would just let me not be sick anymore and keep the room from spinning and the bathroom attendant from stealing my money) I could hear my mother’s voice, filled with a wisdom beyond her years, “Heather, honey, you got a good family. You don’t find family like that just anywhere. We’re all really blessed to have a family like we got. You don’t take it for granted.”

Is it insanity to do the same thing over and over again? Okay, I won’t play that song again, then. Three times in a row, that’d just be silly. I’ll play… mmm…. Darkest Hour instead. I love Nickel Creek.

Of course, I had to leave all that behind when I was Lost and Undone, because I never take anyone’s word for anything. I always wanted to be one of those folks that listen to the wise people and do everything they’re supposed to right the first time. Much as I’ve tried to change that about myself, mourned over the fact that it’ll never happen, I’m still the same as I’ve ever been. I will push the envelope just about as far as it’ll go until I screw it up so bad, I have to nod my head ruefully and admit, “Yep, they were right.”

So here I am, on the other side, still chasing what I’d given up for the Mexican toilet.

At one point, I thought I’d found it. I thought it was my “feminine discovery.” In 1999, I was so excited to find Gor. I remember it like it was yesterday. Something clicked. There was a rightness about it for me as a submissive woman, a creative writer, and a person who had fun with roleplaying games. I mean, for people like us, Gor is like the trifecta, right? I started getting to know people online about 8 years ago that were fans of the books, some lifestylers, some SCA people who got together with ugly, naked women in silk bathrobes that “sparred” with rattans and spent their days writing long forum posts arguing about Gorean qualifiers. And then there were the roleplayers. Back then, they didn’t mix. It was like the Jim Crowe Days of Gor. The lifestylers didn’t talk to the RPers. Well, okay, the lifestylers let girls type out serves. That was allowed. Too, there were BDSMers who saw Gor as basically a “no limits” version of BDSM. Now, there’s neko Gor, Gor evolved, BTB Gor, Disney Gor, Pew Pew Gor, and… all kinds of other labels. I feel lost. A lot.

Lately, I’ve started putting a finger on what it was within John Norman’s world that drew me. I used to think it was the clearly expressed roles of natural dominance and submission, the romance – John Norman was such a romantic, at his core, more than a man philosophizing, more than an anthropologist. But for me, it was the notion of “community” that drew me.

A group of people.

The men are strong and protective, have integrity, and lead. The women work together to nurture children, make homes, and give purpose to the lives of their counterparts. The social rules are clearly defined, and there is much gravity placed on the concepts of loyalty, honor, and the home.

And once again, I see group after group of communities tear apart from within. I’ve watched one very well known, prominent, “authoritative” Gorean community, over and over again, go through this process. The men are “experts” at dominance and theorizing on “what it means to be a slave,” and creating written works on a doctorate level of understanding on the dynamics between men and women. And, in the end, they forsake the community due to their own personal pride or arrogance, or, sadly, because they have behaved in a way inconsistent with integrity or what they claim is a qualifier for truly living ones life by those principles outlined in the Gor books.

Where is Marlenus?

Where is the men that sacrifice all to protect their home? Is there anyone left who bothers with the concept of Home Stone?

The roleplayers are just as bad. They are drawn to Gor like moths to a flame, soaking up the dynamics, the story. They say they’re there just for roleplay, but those undeniable truths burn within them when they are touched by them. Women and men begin to live as they truly would, not as they have to, and it is freeing in a way that doesn’t come with any other type of roleplay. Little pieces of their heart are laid bare and given away to complete strangers because the core of who they are on the inside is exposed, sometimes for the first time in their lives. One cannot simply “roleplay” with the truth. When it is held in the hand, looked at, breathed in, and applied to ones life, it is transforming.

And because a simple, underlying, but so important and powerful foundation of these truths is ignored or glossed over – the Home Stone – everything falls apart.

I have witnessed more communities falling apart because of this lack of understanding in the last few months than I have ever seen. It is agonizing for me to see, friends ripped apart, misunderstandings, lost women, men in the mask of arrogance wandering off outside of society, somehow rationalizing it under the concept of “that’s what my character would do.”

I grow weary of watching the Home Stone neglected. No, I’m not talking about a specific Home Stone, or a certain group of people in particular. I’m speaking of community. The group that is “us.” Those of us that are drawn to the concepts of Gor enough to spend many hours each day or each week investing our emotions, our time, our minds – our life – into this community. When will we finally recognize the basic truth of Home Stone? Of loyalty and community? Of the kind of grace for one another that exists because we never have the notion of community abandonment, because, should all the romance, the dominance, the submission, the sex, and the glory of battle be gone away – we would still have the Home Stone – and one another.

I’m still searching.

The Warrior’s Feast

Melisande stood at the entrance, her hair elaborately coiffed, draped with a head veil. She wore long, scarlet, many layered robes and was grateful for them, the cold meandering its way through the diaphanous folds of fabric covering her face. Already, some had started filing in, and she glanced to the Commander of the Arsenal who had asked her to accompany him. The men saluted him as he walked through the entrance of the hall. She could tell he held their allegiance, and she smiled. He was a man to be admired.

Much had change since the evening she had first met Pax so long ago. She had decided to move out of the cloistered study in the basement of the library on the suggestion of a friend, to socialize. Her family had often taken center stage in a number of social events throughout the years, but a forced companionship had not fit well within her plans. She had, during those tenuous years, taken to study, biding her time until the subject had passed. “Melisande,” Minu had said, “You cannot walk only to the library and home again. It’s simply not healthy.” Her friend had been right of course, and Melisande knew it. Her brother had accompanied her for a time into the city to mingle around the fountain until she had retained an agreement of protection from a trusted family friend. And that is when she had seen Pax for the first time.

He had walked, helmeted, into the courtyard on his shift, guarding the gate. Apparently it was the custom for the guards of Port Kar to take a trip near the fountain where the ladies often gathered and engage in a ritual that secretly piqued the interest of the scribe. She watched as he reached up, removing his helmet, the sun glinting off the surface, and leaned forward, splashing water up from the fountain onto his neck. Tiny rivulets wandered their way down the curves of his muscles, and he stood then, hooking the helmet on the looped belt behind his back as he waited for his reinforcement. The red-haired slave of the Admiral had run up then and fetched his helm, begging to get him a refreshment while he slowly surveyed the square, stopping as he reached Melisande’s eyes, giving her a broad grin.

And in the many months following that day, she had watched quietly as the men had addressed him differently, as Warrior, as Sergeant, as Lieutenant, as the Second Sword, and now, as the Commander of the Arsenal Guard. Pax was a very private man, a paradox of sorts. While he was unswervingly dedicated and disciplined in his work for the red caste, he took little thought to his appearance, especially when it came to eating and drinking. He wore as much food as he ingested, so much that Melisande had to look away most of the time when he was dining anywhere near her. As she had also risen in the caste, he had escorted her to a few of the regional meetings, and it never failed that the company in which they found themselves would stop and stare as he drank his beverage with gusto, the contents often dripping down the sides of his mouth and onto his shirt. It was that same embarrassing, endearing quality that drew her, and everyone else, to him. Pax did everything with complete dedication and commitment, the best he possibly could, not caring what it looked like to others. She could not help but smile as she watched him rise from the banquet table and begin announcing the promotions within the caste.

While his speech progressed, in walked a man who wore a scarlet tunic. Melisande turned her head to watch the somehow familiar gait of the warrior. She knew the men of Port Kar, could name them easily, those that were of the Warriors. Where had she seen the one that arrived just now? The chains of the girls he brought with him decorated the air with their clanking music. It seemed everyone was distracted in that moment, save for the High Commander, Sie, who had fallen into his cups early, having given both tankards slave girl names, partaking of each with an intoxicated, mumbling appreciation. She caught sight of the First Captain leaning over to whisper to his companion. Melisande tried to remember where she had seen the man, and why, exactly she was having a physical reaction to his presence in the room.

The First Captain gathered his cloak and walked to the center of the room after the applause had ended and began a speech regarding the welcoming of one who had left our ranks some time ago. Melisande knew who the warrior was then. She first felt ringing in her ears, then numbness wash over her skin as she looked over the banquet table and realized she was beholding the face of Icarus, of Cos. And he was bearing the emblem of Port Kar.

She fluttered her eyes closed, swallowing, as she was transported back in time, held fast in the grip of terror, when she fled through the city as the forces of Tetrapoli, Axe Fjord, and Telnus had scaled the walls of Port Kar, thus ensuing a seige that ended with Melisande naked, veiled, and shivering at the feet of Icarus as he had directed her to the mad man, Servine of Tetrapoli, Captain of the Tarnsmen. She had memorized the sneer on Icarus’s face, the sweeping gesture of his hand as he had laughed, watching the women of Port Kar meet their fate. She had thankfully been rescued by Port Kar and Rovere a few days later, gratefully having only been led outside her cell a few times for food while captive. She had spit on the feet of Servine of Tetrapoli after he, in that thick, northern accent, had demanded she serve him stew. He had reached back with his large hand and let it fly, white bursts of pain filling her vision. The angry, spewing hatred of the Torvaldslander raged as he stood, towering above her. He’d had his fill of celebratory ale, and in his eyes was the determined look of a man who wished to enjoy his conquest.

“Ye are the spoils of war,” he had said.

“I know,” Melisande replied, simply, a trickle of blood making its way from the base of her nose toward her upper lip.

“So then, serve me, wench!”

“No,” she had said, trembling, her eyes raising to meet his. “The men of Port Kar will come for me.”

“Ye have spunk, I like that, lass. But ye don’t know who I am, do ye? Ye don’t know the alliances I have, that new Salarian Confederation,” snorting with laughter, madness fringing on the outside of his eyes, “I have them too, ye didn’t know that, did ye?”

“I do not care,” she said, looking away, her elbows propped on the floor as she scooted further from him, his imposing figure over her.

He growled, bellowing, “Ye WILL care. Ye will serve me, or ye will DIE. Ye will WANT to serve me.” He pulled the mewling kajira kneeling next to him by the collar. She was blonde and fair, a beautiful girl, and Melisande had noticed her right away, the way she had carried herself in stunning display, a northern girl with honey colored hair and dressed in a kirtle. He grabbed the bond maid by the hair and shoved her down into Melisande’s face. “Just like her, ye will be!”

Melisande fought back the tears then. She had hoped to be traded, to retain some measure of dignity, but it seemed this insane man was going to have his way with her. She thought, then, of the men of Port Kar who lay dying on the shores of Tetrapoli in their attempts to wrest back the captives – she being one – and anger flashed behind her eyes. She thought of the library that she had holed up in for so many years, only to finally venture out, and this is what that bravery had rewarded her with. She thought of the when she might find herself companioned to a man of rank and caste, whom she could convince somewhat enough to allow her to remain free and continue the work that so fulfilled her. Rage bubbled inside her. She contorted her mouth, jutted her chin at him, and spit squarely on his feet. “I will not serve you, Servine of Tetrapoli. You can kill me first.”

Shouts then, fists upon the door, and the Captain of Tarnsmen of Tetrapoli threw his goblet across the room, cursing, “Put her back in the cell, now!” as he ran to the door of his celebrated, so-called impenetrable fortress.

The red caste of Port Kar was alive. And that day, Melisande was captive no more.

Too, on that day, Melisande’s innocence began to slowly be replaced by one small resolution after another. She would see Servine of Tetrapoli dead. He, and Icarus, of Cos, who had sent her there, laughing as he watched her be led away.

At the Warrior’s feast, she glanced at Icarus, now of Port Kar, and remembered these things she had locked away in her heart.

The traitor.

The raid.

The capture.

The tarnsman.

The resolution.

A funeral pyre on the docks of Axe Fjord for the Tarnsman of Tetrapoli.

I do not do anything halfway, she thought to herself as gazed across the feast table. There is one yet unfinished piece of business that must be conducted.

Better Homes and Cobblestones, Article #42

Tips on Welcoming Your Returning Warrior – a guide for free companions

10. Do not let him in the door until he’s removed his filthy clothing, lest it soil the expensive furs from the Tahari your mother gifted the family with last year. That is what the stool outside the door is for. Remind him to use it. He will thank you for it later when he isn’t embarrassed when the next ambassador of that little city-state somewhere comes a-callin’.

9. Make certain to ask him at least casually about the extent of his injuries, so not to completely shatter his fragile ego before inquiring about what items with the characteristic of “bling” he has retrieved upon his successful raiding. If he was *not* successful, be certain and skip that first part of #9, and go straight to the interrogation of what bodily violations he might have had to endure, so you can hold it against him later privately to extract promises of future agreements involving the disbursement of the bling he should have required in a successful venture.

8. Be sure not to rehash all the vague details of the other men who have clamored for your attention. Or whatever bling they may have offered. That tends not to sit well with men who are wounded, hungry, and fatigued from war.

7. Stock your home with plenty of P-A-G-A (paralyzing anti-sex ghastly alcohol) so there is a very good chance he will drink up on P-A-G-A for his celebratory trip home and pass out on the furs upstairs before inquiring as to whether you are available for any “activity.”

6. Tell Juan, the garden boy, to make himself scarce. *wink* Love that accent.

5. Make sure all receipts of purchases you’ve made to the markets in Ar and Hellenos have been stowed away somewhere privately. The melee has ended. No need to bring it home. You can tell him about that exquisite silver-threaded caste sash later, when he’s settled in. Tonight is about *him*, not you.

4. Reluctantly, you will have to endure his lascivious beasts for the evening. Make sure you’re all appearing like you are getting along like one big, happy family. If this is particularly troubling to you, just remember, if the P-A-G-A doesn’t work, throw a kajira in front of him. That will save your bacon every time.

3. DO NOT clean his swords this time. The furniture polish only works on wood. You aren’t a kajira. Let the girls do their thing. Yes, they’re filthy, and not nearly as “bling” when they’re caked with the blood of Cosians. Again. That’s what the stool outside is for.

2. Every conquering man will want to come home and find his lovely free companion waiting to kiss him. It is my advice to you to learn the art of not breathing while you move your lips, so you do not have to inhale the questionable scent of days and nights trudging through swamp and delta, bosk dung and sleen pit on his way home. We really don’t know how long it’s been since he’s bathed, either. Juan, the garden boy, can help you develop this skill. Refer to Better Homes and Cobblestones full-color layout in the Camerius issue, page #42.

1. Milk it for all it’s worth. Delphine of Lydius will be ridiculously jealous when she sees the conquering hero on your arm. Schedule a fete, wear your bling, and work the crowd! Your notoriety is paramount here, let’s not forget.

The Outlaw

His eyes moved from mine.  That was the first moment I knew he was lying.

Daved restlessly stalked back and forth in his dark cell beneath the warrior’s hall in Port Kar, a hand perched atop crossed arms, cupping his chin as he paced.  He paused before he answered.  I can only guess he was trying to think about what he would say next, which was the next indication.  ”It was a mistake, Mel.” 

I remember the first time I’d ever seen Daved fight.  He was laughing, taunting the warriors of the red caste in the arena.  He’d newly arrived in Port Kar, avoiding questions about his vague past with the Wraith Outlaws in Semris Valley, a broad, boyish grin ever on his features.  He’d jumped over the stone wall, landing between all of them, hair covering his eyes, a bow pulled out in a matter of two ihn before the dust around his feet had settled.  No one knew what to think of him that day in the arena as he took them down, one challenge after another, but by the end of the first hand of his arrival, no one doubted for a moment that this was a man who could indeed back up his talk with fighting and a ridiculous amount of energy.

Needless to say, it was difficult for me to believe his attack upon me had been a mistake.

He gestured with his hands, “No!  Really… I meant to hit the guard!”  he said, restless, raising his voice to call out to the warrior that was standing by his cell in their constant back and forth bickering.

I stood there in the damp, dark basement of the building looking at him, wincing as the taffeta of my robes slipped across the wound bandage on my back.  As endearing as Daved’s gregarious personality was, I couldn’t seem to find a reason to be happy to see him.  In fact, I could hardly believe he’d stowed away on the same ship I’d come back on for the purposes of harming me in front of the citizenry – almost surely another ploy in his campaign of terrorism he was attempting to unleash on the city:  a fulfillment of his promise.  Still, it had become personal.  

I had done nothing to harm Daved.  In fact, what I didn’t tell him was that earlier the same day I had gone to Heimdal to talk to him.  To try and work something out, listen to him, entertain his concerns in an attempt to bring him safely home and back to his tavern, singing that infernal song of his.  Now, it was a different matter entirely as I stood on the side of freedom looking at a caged man who had betrayed his home.  It should have been no surprise.  Daved had claimed his outlaw status with relish the day I’d met him.  Though he had sworn to the Home Stone, I wondered if his words had been true.  Now, as he stood before me, the pitch in his voice changing, raising his eyebrows, I knew he would never really belong.  Not here.  Not in Heimdal.  Not anywhere.

I turned on my heel and walked out of the dark prison and into the grey light, the death of autumn that lay like a blanket on the town square, and walked to the library in search of Daved’s citizenship papers, his estate deeds, his tavern tax records, and those of his employees.   Daved is an outlaw.  A free spirit.  Only the mountains and rivers might understand his honor.  So then, perhaps they would welcome him back.

Shouts rose from the square, and I exhaled loudly, slamming the file cabinet shut.  I already knew what had happened, but had hoped to at least have enough time to shove the parchment in his face so that he’d know without a doubt the results of his unfortunate actions.  The warrior came running into the library and up the stairs, out of breath, calling out, “Lady Melisande!  Daved…”

Curling my hand into a fist, stalking down the stairs, I answered, irritation filling my voice, “… I know, Amer.  He’s gone, isn’t he!?  Just like that!” snapping my fingers in front of his eyes, brushing past him like the wind and slamming the door shut.  A raging torrent of anger overtook me as I walked back to the warrior’s hall, raising my arm, throwing the deeds and parchment across the swinging door of the empty cell that had only moments ago held the outlaw.  They littered the ground, falling in silence like small feathers near the feet of the guardsmen who were speechless.  Shaking my head, through tight lips, I said simply, “This cannot be.  This is the last time.”

Shadows From Behind

The trip to Heimdal had been unproductive, regretfully.  Me and my unlikely escort, a warrior from Telnus, had barely made eye contact the entire journey, and more than a few carefully veiled barbs were exchanged in our conversation.  I could not help but notice the similarities between the deeply embittered warriors of my home and this man – the way he held his carriage, his professionalism and regard to the job at hand, his dedication to the mission regardless of complications.  He had seen me safely to the city in the north during my fruitless search for Daved, the tavern master, and had never left my side, until the time we parted when he delivered me to the small round ship that would take me ashore, near the docks.  I stood on the landing dock of Port Kar shivering, my dark boots still bearing the swirling, white stains of salt spray from the sea, my toes practically numb.  Looking forward to the moment when I could finally shed the prison of frosted, stiff wool and lay by the fire in my small, cramped house, I stepped down the stairs, reaching for the bosun who had risen to give me a hand.  

I heard the whirring sound of a bow before I felt the assault, almost numb in shock, my legs failing from the blinding, crippling pain that gripped the entire back half of my body.  A second jolt, and with it, accompanying terror that fueled an instantaneous response as I rose, pushing myself up.  I could hear him drawing again, the leather in his coat contracting as he reached behind his back, pulling for another arrow.  I pressed up hard on my thigh, panting and wincing, and begin hobbling in a half-run into the city admit shouts from the bosun, the boatman, and the first mate who had run up to apprehend the man.  The scarlet tunics that darted past me were a blur as I sought, ironically, safety in the dark shadows of the dregs.  Finally collapsing there, the Second Sword found me and with him came two others.  

Laying on my stomach on the gurney in the infirmary, I awoke, stiff and in pain.  It was then that I considered that moment of instant decision upon the docks.  Like a theater production, the scene kept playing and replaying in my mind.

The stretching draw of the bow.

The whir of the arrow.

The blossom of pain.

The wood against my face as I fell.

The moment I rose to my feet and fled.

There are times when I am fragile, breakable, in the hands of those that control the freedom of my home.  My freedom.  It is with deference they regard me, and it is with respect to them that I keep myself hidden  behind the veil, far removed from violence, perched on a demure pedestal.  While I spin slowly, betimes I think to myself what measure of woman lies within.  Who is the woman that would save herself?  Would hold up the walls of her societal prison with an unknown strength?  What would she look like if she crumbled?  How glorious would it be if she did not?

And again, the scene played on.

The stretching draw of the bow.

The whir of the arrow.

The blossom of pain.

The wood against my face as I fell.

The moment I rose to my feet and fled.

Delicate, feminine hands brushed against the small rise of my back, bare to her touch.  She hesitated, and I could feel a sharpness angle into my skin.  I cried in anguish.  

“She will need to be put to sleep,” the physician said.

A tall, thin slave girl with blonde hair shuffled her feet in front of me and dropped to her knees, raising the tea, laced with tassa powder.  I just shook my head, knowing the headache that would await me later, but gratefully sipped it from her hands, a warm drop kissing my bottom lip and then running down my chin.  Shadows fell as I pondered my prison and whether I had held the walls up myself or had merely fallen to weakness as I darted through the docks, running into the darkness.  And then there was quiet.