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Capture, lissa's story.
There was a time that lissa was free. The girl before you was not born into slavery. The daughter of a rich merchant of Cos, raised within walled gardens as many freewomen are. There were occasional trips to the markets under the watchful eye of an older, well-trusted guard.
During these trips, lissa would flirt with the young men and of course the strong breezes from Thassa would lift a veil to reveal a hint of a full curving mouth beneath dark eyes that flashed smiles or mock anger at some imagined slight.
lissa expected a free companionship to be arranged sometime in the near future, and as is the way of it, a daughter has no say in these matters and only meets the man on the day of the joining. But, before this, a trip to the Sardar Fairs was planned.
lissa's voice rings with joy, "Oh such excitement" The trip was well planned, passage was arranged, trunks were filled, trusted slaves selected, and extra guards hired for protection. The sea voyage was uneventful, just day after day of gently swelling waves slapping playfully at the sides of the ship and brisk breezes to push against the great sails.
Arrival at the docks was a great flurry of activity, off-loading of trunks, rounding up slaves, counting inventory, shouts of directions. Amidst the din of activity, lissa stood on the decks under the watchful eyes of her
protective guard. Proud and resplendent she stood in her many-colored robes of consealment, a small island of serenity in the midst of the crew that swirls around her as they rush to their tasks under the watchful eye of their captain.
Captain of the guard disembarked to hire a palanquin and tharlarion drivers for the overland trip to the foot of the Sardar Mountians. Curt, the long-trusted leader of the household guard held a leather purse bulging with gold and
silver tarns to finance all the needs of the small caravan.
The draped Palanquin swayed to and fro gently with the steps of the six slaves moving along at a steady pace. lissa was lulled by the slow pace and softness of the silken cushions she lounged upon. Half asleep and certain she was well-protected, lissa did not hear the sound of the tarns that suddenly swooped down upon them.
It was the sound of steel sliding from scabbards that brought the truth into this girl's sleep-lulled brain. The sky grew dark, or seemed to, it was the wings of tarns blocking the sun. The valiant guards surrounded the
Merchant's daughter but to no avail the clash of swords and the smell of blood filled the air.
lissa's voice drops to a whisper, her eyes fill with the images, soft hands move up as if struggling and trying to pull something from her head and neck. All goes black, this girl thinks she has been taken to the Cities of Dust. Rough hands bring her back to the realization that she is captive!
Her hands jerk forward as if pulled by someone. lissa's wrists were tied and soon after, her ankles. Bound! Tossed like a sack of grain! Head turning side to side, blinded by a hood. Muffled oaths, imperious demands, nothing works......
Only raucous laughter answers her struggles. A whooshing sound as a tarn takes flight again... Fingers grasp for any purchase, fear grips and squeezes lissa's heart.... cold steel touches lissa's back, a sword!
lissa will die today! A awful rending sound of heavy material splits her ears, this is it, she closes her eyes..... The rush of cool air touches bare skin... the robes of consealment! opened, cut away cleanly, more
laughter as the rider lunges forward to toss the robes to the winds.
From that day to now, lissa has worn the silks of a slave girl.....
A Myth
There was a time that lissa worked in a tent tavern during the Sardar Fairs. As she worked, a girl had many opportunities to hear war stories, tales of conquest, and myths passed around between Masters. Once as she sat astride a huge blonde barbaric-looking Master's knee, given to him for the price of a bowl of paga. She listened as he related a tale to a fellow at his table.
The huge, bearded blonde, with thighs the size of timbers made a strange sign over his paga bowl before drinking. He held his fist and made a hammer-like motion. This caught the attention of a warrior and his glance was caught by the sharp eye of blonde. "It is the hammer of Thor" he said. The warrior nodded but looked puzzled and shrugged. Usually neither would speak but given the camaraderie of the fairs, they were a little less reserved.
This girl thought the motion was unusual but only listened as she squirmed against him, caught up within the circle of his left arm. The blonde, in an expansive, boastful mood crashed his fist against the table and roared with laughter. "I am of Torvaldsland, we do not hold much reverence for your Priest Kings, Warrior. If you will lend an ear I will tell the origins of the men of Torvaldsland," he rumbled. The warriors eyes scanned the huge man's countenance.
A meaty hand rested upon his sword as the warrior took in the leather breeches, furred boots, and broad axe resting in a sleeve against the Torvaldslander's back. The warrior smiled and took a long sip of his paga and exhaled fumes that almost made this girl faint. "Tell your tale Viking" he said, "I shall listen and be entertained."
The warrior leaned forward and refilled his paga bowl from the bota the two shared, adding a generous squeeze to the blonde man's bowl also. "Idem is my name, Warrior" The men clasped hands over the bota. "Men of Torvaldsland claim to be different than ordinary men," Idem began.
Idem points out arrogantly, "Gods of Torvaldsland, meeting in council, decided to form a slave for themselves, for all were gods, and had no slaves. They took a hoe, an instrument for working the soil, and put it among them. They then sprinkled water upon this implement and rubbed it the sweat from their bodies.
He chuckles and continues, "From this hoe was formed most men. On the other hand, that night, one of the gods, curious, or perhaps careless, or perhaps driven from the hall and angry, threw down upon the ground his own great ax, and upon this ax he poured paga and his own blood, and the ax laughed and leaped up, and ran away.
Idem looks serious, "The god, and all the gods, could not catch it, and it became, it is said, the father of all men of Torvaldsland." Idem sat back and raised eyebrows at the Warrior and says, "Unlike your Priest Kings."
The warrior roared with laughter, pounding his fist to his chest and wiping tears from his eyes as his body shook with gales of merriment. He rocked back in his furs and exclaimed, "By the Priest Kings, I swear! That was the best tale I have ever heard!" With that Idem made one twitch and there was a great crashing sound. lissa looked to see the table had been hewn in two with his great axe! With that, he stood, lissa still in his arm and ambled off to the furs for the night.
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