Youngbuffdumbledore
Planetoid
- Joined
- May 8, 2023
Leutheros: the gateway to a new world. For the past six hundred years, since the signing of the Pact of Vinculus, the Kabbadian people alone—the only non-signatory—provided slaves of their own people to nations of the old world. While the four kingdoms no longer exist, their pledge remained intact and continued to forbid enslavement of old world peoples. But then, a lost Kabbadian ship happened upon Leutheros Island the Kabbadians, quickly conquering the isolated city, discovered continents nobody had ever heard of, introducing them to unknown peoples and exotic goods. Most importantly, these newfound lands offered fresh sources for slaves that could be sent back to the old world. For over a century, nine out of ten slaves sailed down the great canal, heading for a new life in the old world. It is in this bustling metropolis where many stories begin.
What is this? This is a request thread looking for partners to explore a low fantasy world with a focus on slavery, sexual or otherwise.
Who is this for? This request is for pretty much anyone, and is open to almost any kink, so long as it fits into this world. As well, this is not a single request but a multi-request, there are many tales of slavery to explore.
This is very much an open request, I don't have any specific characters in mind and I am quite happy to RP storylines and themes you create. That being said I am certainly better at some genres than others. Psychological Torment and Slow Corruption are two that I excel at. I seem to be weak at Romance at the moment but I use RP to practice my writing anyway.
How do you write? I tend to prefer writing 1-3 paragraphs on average, with introduction and world building being longer up to many paragraphs and the steamy parts being shorter, sometimes only a few sentences. I also tend to respond fairly regularly, normally multiple times per week, but I am fine if someone wants to go a bit slower. I am also open to just writing from direction. Tell me how you want a story to go and I'll just write up the next chapter. I am usually on 9-5 Eastern Time.
Below this you will find a description of the world thus far, an F-list, and a list of stories that are already in progress.
F-List: This F-list is for this request. The only thing to really pay attention to is the "no" category. So long as it fits the theme of the world, I am generally happy playing characters in it. Even the "no's" might be negotiable.
www.f-list.net
Writing Samples:
These writing samples are also open for anyone who wants to continue them.
Before we begin, there are two housekeeping matters I like to take care of
So what do you do from here? As I said already, I am very open to ideas. You can almost treat this as ordering from a drive thru. "Ya, I would like Akkabadian slave taken to Leutheros to be trained in a pleasure school on her way to a Bacchanalia in the Eastern Dulan Empire. Extra anal, light beastiality, hold the pain". While this is a sexual roleplay, non-sexual rp is also open. I do also have Discord, if you would rather RP there.
What is this? This is a request thread looking for partners to explore a low fantasy world with a focus on slavery, sexual or otherwise.
Who is this for? This request is for pretty much anyone, and is open to almost any kink, so long as it fits into this world. As well, this is not a single request but a multi-request, there are many tales of slavery to explore.
This is very much an open request, I don't have any specific characters in mind and I am quite happy to RP storylines and themes you create. That being said I am certainly better at some genres than others. Psychological Torment and Slow Corruption are two that I excel at. I seem to be weak at Romance at the moment but I use RP to practice my writing anyway.
How do you write? I tend to prefer writing 1-3 paragraphs on average, with introduction and world building being longer up to many paragraphs and the steamy parts being shorter, sometimes only a few sentences. I also tend to respond fairly regularly, normally multiple times per week, but I am fine if someone wants to go a bit slower. I am also open to just writing from direction. Tell me how you want a story to go and I'll just write up the next chapter. I am usually on 9-5 Eastern Time.
Below this you will find a description of the world thus far, an F-list, and a list of stories that are already in progress.
The world Itself:
The world these stories take place in is low fantasy. So no Elves, Orks, etc. Some fantasy creatures do exist though. I think Werewolves, Vampires, and other traditional beasts fit just fine, and this list is non-exhaustive. Magic does exist in this world but it is very limited and rare with Alchemy being the main focus. Sorcerers are like the witches in hamlet. Curses, clairvoyance, and illusions are their powers. Sorry, no fireballs.
The world also vaguely exists in the middle ages, but elements can be drawn from the roman period all the way up to the enlightenment, with Dulae and Brigantia being the two ends of the spectrum.
BTW ignore the scale bar on the map, I forgot to adjust it, the distances are much bigger.
The world these stories take place in is low fantasy. So no Elves, Orks, etc. Some fantasy creatures do exist though. I think Werewolves, Vampires, and other traditional beasts fit just fine, and this list is non-exhaustive. Magic does exist in this world but it is very limited and rare with Alchemy being the main focus. Sorcerers are like the witches in hamlet. Curses, clairvoyance, and illusions are their powers. Sorry, no fireballs.
The world also vaguely exists in the middle ages, but elements can be drawn from the roman period all the way up to the enlightenment, with Dulae and Brigantia being the two ends of the spectrum.
BTW ignore the scale bar on the map, I forgot to adjust it, the distances are much bigger.
Alaqbah Caliphate (Arab Analogue): The Alaqbah Caliphate forms a central place in the story as it is the de jure ruler over Leutheros and its Island, and rules over the Kabbadian and Akkabbadian peoples. The caliphate rules weakly and the various vassals act mostly independently from the Caliph. This is partially why the caliphate never signed the pact of Vinculus. As slaves of other cultures were effectively banned, the Kabbadian peoples enslaved their own to fill the slave market’s of the other nations. This has given the Caliphate the most advanced and most general approach to slavery in the old world. The Kabbadians are masters of slave hunting, training, appraisal, and profiteering. Through the use of alchemical creations, mental manipulations, and magical enhancements, the Kabbadians produce slaves in high demand for everything from pleasure to servitude to military service.
Dulae (Roman Analogue): Formally the seat of power for the great Dulan Empire, and the Great Emperor Vinculus, it is still a dominant power in the region. For Dulae, the central focus of slaves is for entertainment. Since the opening of the new world, great coliseums have sprung up to satiate the people of Dulae of their need for bloodsport. For the slaves in the Empire of Dulae, glory means life for to lose is to die, or even worse, be sent to the mines maimed and broken.
Eastern Dulan Empire (Greek Analogue): The nation is not fully fleshed out but will likely focus on Mystery Cults, Bacchanalias, and pleasure filled orgies.
Brigantia (British Analogue): To a Brigantian, a slave is like a great art piece.. Unlike the Kabbadians, who focus more on numbers, Brigantians focus on quality. Wealthy and adventurous Brigantian nobles set forth to the new world, replete with impressive entourages, to go on slave safaris. Tracking, hunting, and capturing the best specimens they can to bring back to Brigantia to put on display on their estates for their guests to gawk at at dinner parties.
The Northern Kingdoms (Viking/Russian analogue): The nations of Sudarklausia, Trovia, Krystad, Kujakimia, and Seberia are all part of the Varl peoples. A people cursed. The Varl rely more on slaves than any other peoples as either through a curse or genetic defect, their women are sterile. Without the fresh influx of new females, these nations would die out. While they all share the same curse, they often deal with it in different ways. The Trovi do not have true slaves, and instead when a slave is purchased they are turned into concubines. As such former slaves in the Kingdom of Trovi enjoy the most freedom and companionship from their “masters”. Though a Trovi concubine should not get too complacent with their freedom as it has always been Trovi tradition to present a visiting dignitary with a prized concubine. Should a Seberian Boyar visit, a concubine may find herself en route to the breeding pens of Seberia, who deal with the curse by treating slaves like cattle. While most of the Varl slaves pass through Leutheros, the Sudarlausian tribes have discovered a northern route and have begun to form their own raids. Even more interesting, several tribes have decided to migrate to the new world itself and have begun to colonize the northern parts.
The nations of Prasaderia (spain), Charnedon (Scotland), Bois (France), Valetland (Germany), and Mokukia (Ethiopia) are not fleshed out and do not yet have any unique traits. however , If you have an idea on how they should act, I would be happy to RP with them and explore the world.
The Nations of Khagangadia (Mongol), Ta Guo (Chinese), and Hundia (Indian) are also not fleshed out but I don’t have any interest in playing them, but if someone wants to steal the idea and write their own stories in my world, please feel free. The Ta Guo also have their own route to the new world sailing around the other side to land in Hirohe (Japanese). Also, I made The chinese analogue the slave takers and the Japanese analogue the slaves if anyone wants to take revenge for the Rape of Nanking. Of course, this can be switched if someone wants to do their own rape of nanking.
Dulae (Roman Analogue): Formally the seat of power for the great Dulan Empire, and the Great Emperor Vinculus, it is still a dominant power in the region. For Dulae, the central focus of slaves is for entertainment. Since the opening of the new world, great coliseums have sprung up to satiate the people of Dulae of their need for bloodsport. For the slaves in the Empire of Dulae, glory means life for to lose is to die, or even worse, be sent to the mines maimed and broken.
Eastern Dulan Empire (Greek Analogue): The nation is not fully fleshed out but will likely focus on Mystery Cults, Bacchanalias, and pleasure filled orgies.
Brigantia (British Analogue): To a Brigantian, a slave is like a great art piece.. Unlike the Kabbadians, who focus more on numbers, Brigantians focus on quality. Wealthy and adventurous Brigantian nobles set forth to the new world, replete with impressive entourages, to go on slave safaris. Tracking, hunting, and capturing the best specimens they can to bring back to Brigantia to put on display on their estates for their guests to gawk at at dinner parties.
The Northern Kingdoms (Viking/Russian analogue): The nations of Sudarklausia, Trovia, Krystad, Kujakimia, and Seberia are all part of the Varl peoples. A people cursed. The Varl rely more on slaves than any other peoples as either through a curse or genetic defect, their women are sterile. Without the fresh influx of new females, these nations would die out. While they all share the same curse, they often deal with it in different ways. The Trovi do not have true slaves, and instead when a slave is purchased they are turned into concubines. As such former slaves in the Kingdom of Trovi enjoy the most freedom and companionship from their “masters”. Though a Trovi concubine should not get too complacent with their freedom as it has always been Trovi tradition to present a visiting dignitary with a prized concubine. Should a Seberian Boyar visit, a concubine may find herself en route to the breeding pens of Seberia, who deal with the curse by treating slaves like cattle. While most of the Varl slaves pass through Leutheros, the Sudarlausian tribes have discovered a northern route and have begun to form their own raids. Even more interesting, several tribes have decided to migrate to the new world itself and have begun to colonize the northern parts.
The nations of Prasaderia (spain), Charnedon (Scotland), Bois (France), Valetland (Germany), and Mokukia (Ethiopia) are not fleshed out and do not yet have any unique traits. however , If you have an idea on how they should act, I would be happy to RP with them and explore the world.
The Nations of Khagangadia (Mongol), Ta Guo (Chinese), and Hundia (Indian) are also not fleshed out but I don’t have any interest in playing them, but if someone wants to steal the idea and write their own stories in my world, please feel free. The Ta Guo also have their own route to the new world sailing around the other side to land in Hirohe (Japanese). Also, I made The chinese analogue the slave takers and the Japanese analogue the slaves if anyone wants to take revenge for the Rape of Nanking. Of course, this can be switched if someone wants to do their own rape of nanking.
Akkabadians: Akkabadians are in effect just Kabbadians but those who have settled in the new world. They are more likely than their old world counterparts to be taken as slaves. They are still nominally under the authority of the Caliphate.
The Malan Tribes (African): The Malan tribes are not any one nation but a collection of various independent tribes. Their defining feature is their white hair which contrasts strongly with their dark black skin. They more so than anyone have felt the encroachment of Akkabadian settlers.
The Tribes of Cers (Irish): The red headed peoples on the Island of Cers are a people under siege. Varl invaders have occupied large parts of their island, leading raids to capture their women and Kabbadian ships prowl their shores.
Taizuncan Theocracy (Aztec): The Taizuncan had been the dominant force in the new world for many years, but now their dominance is threatened. Obsidian knives break on steel armour. And where once they had been the masters of taking captives, they find their own people being hunted.
Queshian Confederacy (North American Indians) and Timikia (Inuit): Not fully fleshed out. As of right now they just make minor appearances.
Hirohe (Japanese): See above, not really interested in playing as them but please feel free to steal.
The Malan Tribes (African): The Malan tribes are not any one nation but a collection of various independent tribes. Their defining feature is their white hair which contrasts strongly with their dark black skin. They more so than anyone have felt the encroachment of Akkabadian settlers.
The Tribes of Cers (Irish): The red headed peoples on the Island of Cers are a people under siege. Varl invaders have occupied large parts of their island, leading raids to capture their women and Kabbadian ships prowl their shores.
Taizuncan Theocracy (Aztec): The Taizuncan had been the dominant force in the new world for many years, but now their dominance is threatened. Obsidian knives break on steel armour. And where once they had been the masters of taking captives, they find their own people being hunted.
Queshian Confederacy (North American Indians) and Timikia (Inuit): Not fully fleshed out. As of right now they just make minor appearances.
Hirohe (Japanese): See above, not really interested in playing as them but please feel free to steal.
F-List: This F-list is for this request. The only thing to really pay attention to is the "no" category. So long as it fits the theme of the world, I am generally happy playing characters in it. Even the "no's" might be negotiable.
F-list - Warning
www.f-list.net
Writing Samples:
These writing samples are also open for anyone who wants to continue them.
I
A snake wound its way through the cracked clay desert. Nearly two hundred paces long from nose to tail, it slithered around rocky outcroppings and flood carved canyons. Instead of a hiss, the sounds the snake made were the harsh deep throated laughter of men, the snort of camels, and the scraping clink of chains dragging through the dust. The slave caravan was still a days out from Albadaaba and the lanteen sailed ship which was waiting in the harbour to make the journey north to Leutheros. A man, middle aged with muscle going to fat, rode near the front. Wearing a deep red robe topped with a striped kaffiyeh bound with wooden toggles marked him as the patron and profiteer. Around him rode the Rakib Rak, the slave riders. They rode black kebad stallions instead of the noisier camels. In near matching fashion they wore black clothed riding gear; loose pants with wrapped calves, slit-thigh tunic, and full face turban. Only their eyes were visible and they never interacted with the slaves nor spoke a word to anyone. Legend held that they had their ears cut off so as they could not be swayed by the pleas of those they had ensnared. The only noise they made was the knocking of the bolas against the scimitars on their hip.
The others were a different story. Dressed in all manner of clothing and riding the camels. The hired Akkabadians. Brought in to do the menial work of chaining, watching, and watering the newly captured slaves. Along with the two chain leaders, they surrounded the double line of men and women with the cruelty and callousness of those paid a fixed rate. They carried wooden staves. The lead slave had seen the cruelty those staves could be put to, and also the swiftness of the Rakib Rak to meet out punishment to those who damaged the goods.
Daughter of the village priest, her past two days had been nothing but the sight of the back of the hired chain leader and the ass end of a camel. Her work tunic ripped and torn from the initial attack hung loosely around her. Her skin was spackled with the clinging dust, a river delta of her true polished skin appeared on her chest carved out by the rivulets of sweat. Her wrists were just starting to redden as the manacles ground the sweat evaporated salt against her flesh.
She felt the hard wooden staff rise up between her legs and press into her groin as a passing hand, looking for some cruel fun, leered at her. A quick look from one of the Rakib Raks, along with the dried blood that dotted her tunic from the last hand to lose his hand, made the Akkabadian decide that there were more interesting things in the barren desert
II
The slave ship rocked gently as it sped northwards through the deep waters of the Shamshir coast. Salt smelling wind pierced through the catholes and deck hatch, bringing much needed relief from the heat to the broken slaves in the hold below. Light broke the darkness in long columns, highlighted by the straw dust milling about in the air, from the various cracks and holes in the hull and deck, casting the hold in a perpetual gloom. She sat, her back against the cold steel bars of the neighbouring cell, on the straw that made her bed, resigned to the irritation the stiff ends caused to her exposed right thigh and bottom, one of the several tears in her white linen tunic and one that had progressed from the hem to her low back, looking about the different cages of the hold.
Three days ago she stood in line by the harbour master's office. The line began at a collapsible table where sat the purser and slave master of the lanteen rigged Wealth and Riches. The purser was a portly man, his fingers stained black from pen ink, with a ledger and reading glass on the table. Accustomed to as much comfort life aboard a ship could provide, which compared to the city scribes still left him a rugged individual. The slave master was another sort altogether, tall, thin and greasy, but with an intense and and appraising stare from merciless green eyes. As each manacled slave stepped forward the process was the same; Those eyes would take in the new livestock from head to toe, and he would call out a number and a hold which the purser would dutifully scrible in his ledger with a silver tipped feather quill, and a surly deck hand would lead the slave down the gangplank into the hold. The slave master's words took on the air of a chant; "twenty three Hold Four" *scritch scritch* "twenty three Hold Four" *scritch scritch* "seven Hold Eight" *scritch scritch* "One Twenty Three Hold Two" *scritch scritch* "Four Hold Eight" *scritch scritch*. Only twice was the chant interrupted as shuffles broke out among the waiting deckhands, the hierarchical battles to determine those would be escorting one of the woman slaves into the ship. An escort that involved a fair bit of light groping. Soon she stood before the slave master. His eyes, bright in contrast to his black beard and turban scanned her dirty and sunburnt body. His eyes briefly rested on her breasts and rear, but there was no lust in those eyes. Those eyes were calculating the price each one of her assets would be worth in the markets of Leutheros, as though weighing each breast on an imaginary scale balanced out with gold coins. "Seventy Two Hold Three" he eventually shouted and a large deck hand grabbed her arm and marched her away. *scritch scritch*.
It was in that very Hold Three that she now sat along with seven others. After all the slaves had been brought into their cells, the slave master came, counted, and a half dozen individuals were shuffled into other holds to balance the numbers. The different holds made a very clear hierarchy and told each of the prisoners what their captors thought of their market value. Holds One and Two, near the bow of the ship, held only four a piece each with its own porthole to allow the fresh sea breeze to clear the musty air and chase away the ever present heat. Three and four held eight each. Seven and Eight were the worst with over a score of prisoners per hold. Many of whom were older or maimed. Otherwise the holds were very similar, musty hay for bedding, steel bars, hint of rust at the joins, and ever damp oak timber floors, walls, and low lying ceiling.
The bars against her back were the ones that divided Holds three and five. A low groan and the shuffling of hay alerted her to the waking of the man who had been sleeping on the other side of the divide. The man was young, fit, muscular, and covered in dried blood. When he finally sat up, even though dried blood obscured much of his face, she recognized him as one of the high post sentries. They made eye contact, he turned his gaze away in shame. She stuck a dirtied hand through the bars and rubbed his unbloodied left shoulder.
"It wasn't your fault," her voice, quiet and soft, "They were the Rakib Rak."
His eyes never leaving the soiled floor, "They killed Fasir….I opened the tower door and there he was…his eyes were open… staring… looking at me…Then I saw the arrow through his head. I tried to reach the bell…to give the alarm. But one was waiting for me. He missed his first hit…I should have just ran to the bell, warned everyone, sacrificed myself, but I tried to fight him instead. I tackled him and then I saw the hilt of his scimitar before everything went black."
She looked at him tearily, the source of the wound on the right side of his head now evident. She squeezed his muscled shoulder. "They knew you were coming, the fight was already lost before you stepped into the tower."
"You counted them," he said looking up. "Twelve, twelve men against a town of a hundred and ten and we had lost before it had even begun."
"They knew everything about us," he continued, "before we even knew we were there. They waited until the men had left to collect dates from the grove, as they did every morning, and the women left to collect water by the river, as they did every morning, they knew when the watchmen changed. They knew where we would be. Someone must have sold our village to them, when I escape, and I will, I will find them and kill them."
"Do not be quick to cast fingers in our time of trial," she answered him calmly, "My father spoke to me of the Rakib Rak. They are known for their patience, days they will spend, hidden in the desert, watching, observing before calling their brethren to strike. Calling only as many as they need. Like a pack, they split us, cut us off from escape, those that broke off to flee merely became a fresh target, until those remaining were captured wholesale. Were were divided and they prevailed."
"Where is Prophet Mephis?" The young man asked. "I have not seen him."
"Three Rakib Rak scaled the north wall while the other nine circled before the south, taunting us out of range of our bows. My father saw them come over the walls, he shouted and charged them…but he was cut down. That was when the village fell."
"I am sure Mephis finds his rest in the Bosom of Alam," he replied sombrely. "Listen I think we can can…"
He was interrupted by one of the sailors banging on the bars offering one of the ever increasingly common deals. As time on the ship passed, more and more the slaves became more resigned to their fate and more desirous of small comforts. Meat, instead of the bland grain meal, alcohol, instead of the sour tasting water, honey sweet confectionery instead of nothing at all. The sailors and deckhands offered these luxuries for services from the slaves. In her own hold, one of the girls had accepted the offer, likely one of the pistachio confectionaries, and got on her knees. The crook legged sailor dropped his flowing white pants revealing a sizable member, which he proffered between the bars. The black haired girl wrapped her small hand around the darkly tanned shaft and, holding it, brought the tip of the cock to her mouth. She bobbed her head up and down on the sailors cock while he moaned words of encouragement. At some point, he whispered something to her, the content of which became clear as with her free hand, she pulled down her dirty blue tunic exposing a large pair of tanned breasts topped with large dark nipples.
They watched the girl pleasuring the sailor for a while, both were aroused by the scene, his arousal more noticeable than hers, but eventually, realizing the sailor was much too distracted to listen to them, turned to her and spoke again. "I think we can get out of here. I remember sailing these waters with my father to negotiate a new price for our dates. In seven days' time, we should stop by a large island to resupply. That will be our chance. Remember seven days."
And with that, he trailed off, the exertion of talking finally being to much for him. He shimmied himself back down onto the dirty straw and fell back into a deep sleep. She watched him for a moment, the slurping sounds of the girl and sailor filling the small hold.
Three days later, he was dead
A snake wound its way through the cracked clay desert. Nearly two hundred paces long from nose to tail, it slithered around rocky outcroppings and flood carved canyons. Instead of a hiss, the sounds the snake made were the harsh deep throated laughter of men, the snort of camels, and the scraping clink of chains dragging through the dust. The slave caravan was still a days out from Albadaaba and the lanteen sailed ship which was waiting in the harbour to make the journey north to Leutheros. A man, middle aged with muscle going to fat, rode near the front. Wearing a deep red robe topped with a striped kaffiyeh bound with wooden toggles marked him as the patron and profiteer. Around him rode the Rakib Rak, the slave riders. They rode black kebad stallions instead of the noisier camels. In near matching fashion they wore black clothed riding gear; loose pants with wrapped calves, slit-thigh tunic, and full face turban. Only their eyes were visible and they never interacted with the slaves nor spoke a word to anyone. Legend held that they had their ears cut off so as they could not be swayed by the pleas of those they had ensnared. The only noise they made was the knocking of the bolas against the scimitars on their hip.
The others were a different story. Dressed in all manner of clothing and riding the camels. The hired Akkabadians. Brought in to do the menial work of chaining, watching, and watering the newly captured slaves. Along with the two chain leaders, they surrounded the double line of men and women with the cruelty and callousness of those paid a fixed rate. They carried wooden staves. The lead slave had seen the cruelty those staves could be put to, and also the swiftness of the Rakib Rak to meet out punishment to those who damaged the goods.
Daughter of the village priest, her past two days had been nothing but the sight of the back of the hired chain leader and the ass end of a camel. Her work tunic ripped and torn from the initial attack hung loosely around her. Her skin was spackled with the clinging dust, a river delta of her true polished skin appeared on her chest carved out by the rivulets of sweat. Her wrists were just starting to redden as the manacles ground the sweat evaporated salt against her flesh.
She felt the hard wooden staff rise up between her legs and press into her groin as a passing hand, looking for some cruel fun, leered at her. A quick look from one of the Rakib Raks, along with the dried blood that dotted her tunic from the last hand to lose his hand, made the Akkabadian decide that there were more interesting things in the barren desert
II
The slave ship rocked gently as it sped northwards through the deep waters of the Shamshir coast. Salt smelling wind pierced through the catholes and deck hatch, bringing much needed relief from the heat to the broken slaves in the hold below. Light broke the darkness in long columns, highlighted by the straw dust milling about in the air, from the various cracks and holes in the hull and deck, casting the hold in a perpetual gloom. She sat, her back against the cold steel bars of the neighbouring cell, on the straw that made her bed, resigned to the irritation the stiff ends caused to her exposed right thigh and bottom, one of the several tears in her white linen tunic and one that had progressed from the hem to her low back, looking about the different cages of the hold.
Three days ago she stood in line by the harbour master's office. The line began at a collapsible table where sat the purser and slave master of the lanteen rigged Wealth and Riches. The purser was a portly man, his fingers stained black from pen ink, with a ledger and reading glass on the table. Accustomed to as much comfort life aboard a ship could provide, which compared to the city scribes still left him a rugged individual. The slave master was another sort altogether, tall, thin and greasy, but with an intense and and appraising stare from merciless green eyes. As each manacled slave stepped forward the process was the same; Those eyes would take in the new livestock from head to toe, and he would call out a number and a hold which the purser would dutifully scrible in his ledger with a silver tipped feather quill, and a surly deck hand would lead the slave down the gangplank into the hold. The slave master's words took on the air of a chant; "twenty three Hold Four" *scritch scritch* "twenty three Hold Four" *scritch scritch* "seven Hold Eight" *scritch scritch* "One Twenty Three Hold Two" *scritch scritch* "Four Hold Eight" *scritch scritch*. Only twice was the chant interrupted as shuffles broke out among the waiting deckhands, the hierarchical battles to determine those would be escorting one of the woman slaves into the ship. An escort that involved a fair bit of light groping. Soon she stood before the slave master. His eyes, bright in contrast to his black beard and turban scanned her dirty and sunburnt body. His eyes briefly rested on her breasts and rear, but there was no lust in those eyes. Those eyes were calculating the price each one of her assets would be worth in the markets of Leutheros, as though weighing each breast on an imaginary scale balanced out with gold coins. "Seventy Two Hold Three" he eventually shouted and a large deck hand grabbed her arm and marched her away. *scritch scritch*.
It was in that very Hold Three that she now sat along with seven others. After all the slaves had been brought into their cells, the slave master came, counted, and a half dozen individuals were shuffled into other holds to balance the numbers. The different holds made a very clear hierarchy and told each of the prisoners what their captors thought of their market value. Holds One and Two, near the bow of the ship, held only four a piece each with its own porthole to allow the fresh sea breeze to clear the musty air and chase away the ever present heat. Three and four held eight each. Seven and Eight were the worst with over a score of prisoners per hold. Many of whom were older or maimed. Otherwise the holds were very similar, musty hay for bedding, steel bars, hint of rust at the joins, and ever damp oak timber floors, walls, and low lying ceiling.
The bars against her back were the ones that divided Holds three and five. A low groan and the shuffling of hay alerted her to the waking of the man who had been sleeping on the other side of the divide. The man was young, fit, muscular, and covered in dried blood. When he finally sat up, even though dried blood obscured much of his face, she recognized him as one of the high post sentries. They made eye contact, he turned his gaze away in shame. She stuck a dirtied hand through the bars and rubbed his unbloodied left shoulder.
"It wasn't your fault," her voice, quiet and soft, "They were the Rakib Rak."
His eyes never leaving the soiled floor, "They killed Fasir….I opened the tower door and there he was…his eyes were open… staring… looking at me…Then I saw the arrow through his head. I tried to reach the bell…to give the alarm. But one was waiting for me. He missed his first hit…I should have just ran to the bell, warned everyone, sacrificed myself, but I tried to fight him instead. I tackled him and then I saw the hilt of his scimitar before everything went black."
She looked at him tearily, the source of the wound on the right side of his head now evident. She squeezed his muscled shoulder. "They knew you were coming, the fight was already lost before you stepped into the tower."
"You counted them," he said looking up. "Twelve, twelve men against a town of a hundred and ten and we had lost before it had even begun."
"They knew everything about us," he continued, "before we even knew we were there. They waited until the men had left to collect dates from the grove, as they did every morning, and the women left to collect water by the river, as they did every morning, they knew when the watchmen changed. They knew where we would be. Someone must have sold our village to them, when I escape, and I will, I will find them and kill them."
"Do not be quick to cast fingers in our time of trial," she answered him calmly, "My father spoke to me of the Rakib Rak. They are known for their patience, days they will spend, hidden in the desert, watching, observing before calling their brethren to strike. Calling only as many as they need. Like a pack, they split us, cut us off from escape, those that broke off to flee merely became a fresh target, until those remaining were captured wholesale. Were were divided and they prevailed."
"Where is Prophet Mephis?" The young man asked. "I have not seen him."
"Three Rakib Rak scaled the north wall while the other nine circled before the south, taunting us out of range of our bows. My father saw them come over the walls, he shouted and charged them…but he was cut down. That was when the village fell."
"I am sure Mephis finds his rest in the Bosom of Alam," he replied sombrely. "Listen I think we can can…"
He was interrupted by one of the sailors banging on the bars offering one of the ever increasingly common deals. As time on the ship passed, more and more the slaves became more resigned to their fate and more desirous of small comforts. Meat, instead of the bland grain meal, alcohol, instead of the sour tasting water, honey sweet confectionery instead of nothing at all. The sailors and deckhands offered these luxuries for services from the slaves. In her own hold, one of the girls had accepted the offer, likely one of the pistachio confectionaries, and got on her knees. The crook legged sailor dropped his flowing white pants revealing a sizable member, which he proffered between the bars. The black haired girl wrapped her small hand around the darkly tanned shaft and, holding it, brought the tip of the cock to her mouth. She bobbed her head up and down on the sailors cock while he moaned words of encouragement. At some point, he whispered something to her, the content of which became clear as with her free hand, she pulled down her dirty blue tunic exposing a large pair of tanned breasts topped with large dark nipples.
They watched the girl pleasuring the sailor for a while, both were aroused by the scene, his arousal more noticeable than hers, but eventually, realizing the sailor was much too distracted to listen to them, turned to her and spoke again. "I think we can get out of here. I remember sailing these waters with my father to negotiate a new price for our dates. In seven days' time, we should stop by a large island to resupply. That will be our chance. Remember seven days."
And with that, he trailed off, the exertion of talking finally being to much for him. He shimmied himself back down onto the dirty straw and fell back into a deep sleep. She watched him for a moment, the slurping sounds of the girl and sailor filling the small hold.
Three days later, he was dead
The white sand was hot against his calloused black feet as he looked around the roaring coliseum. The lower levels were made of white stone while the top levels were built of dark use-polished wood, added to increase the stadium's capacity. The leather wrapped spear felt heavy, unbalanced, in his dark hand as he felt five thousand pairs of eyes look down upon him. Never had he seen so many people. The great battle against the Butsu tribes, when great king Malak called the fighting men of every village seemed small in comparison to the great multitude around him. A battered buckler was strapped to his wrist as he looked out at the eleven other men in the arena. Eight were dressed like him, dressed for war, standing around the edges and the other four were dressed in a white togas. There to break up any fight where a slave could be salvaged.
Kadu knew what to expect. This was not his first arena fight. Since the brown tunicked hunter had sold him he had fought twice. Those fights had been different. Wooden weapons and a small crowd of appraisers instead of spectators. These were the trials. Even the very real fight he found himself in now was a trial, the last trial. Malik had explained it to him. Three fights to weed out the weak from the strong. To separate those who would sweat in the mines and fields and those who would achieve glory in front of the multitudes. He did not know what Malik was; a slave himself forced to be a translator for the other slaves, a turncoat who sold his services for coin. He had never asked. This would be his last fight in Leutheros. In victory, his journey to the great coliseums of Dulan would be his future. Coliseums that dwarfed the already unfathomable one he found himself in now. To fight for even greater glory and possible freedom. At least that is what Malik had said.
The brass horn echoed in the stadium, immediately drowned out by the roar of the crowd as the fight began. Every fighter burst into a sprint, they knew the penalty for standing still. Black armoured archers, whose purpose was made brutally clear in the first round, stood ready around the arena, ready to provide encouragement. The combatants divided themselves into three groups.
Kadu found himself surrounded as the men on either side of him rushed in. The large man to his right bore down on him first. His head was shaved on either side, with a strip of black hair sticking up in the middle decorated with beads and feathers. His deeply tanned body was shorter than Kadu but broader, powerful, and the first strike of the warclub against his buckler made his arm numb. He fell with the shock of the blow onto the burning sand. Kadu saw those almond shaped eyes, filled with fierce determination, approaching to finish the job. Dropping the spear, Kadu grabbed a handful of the sand and threw it at those eyes. The mohawked man reeled back deferring the killing blow.
Looking to his left to grab his fallen spear, he briefly saw across the stadium as an olive skinned Akkabbadian blocked an axe swung at his head, deflecting it with his shield, only to be bisected at the waist by a giant redheaded man with the a massive two handed sword that came up behind him.
His viewing was cut short as he saw the foot of the man that started to his left approaching his head. A quick move turned the kick into a glancing blow and he rolled away from his new opponent. Trying to rise he quickly threw his arm up at the downward slashing shortsword of the attacker's follow up. It clanged off of Kadu's buckler with a ring only for the breath to be sucked from his chest as an incredible kick took advantage of his raised guard. He flew onto his back, trying to suck in air into his empty lungs. The man approached him, sword ready. Kadu looked up at the black haired, sallow skinned man helplesslesly. But looking into the man's black and narrow eyes he saw hesitation. Having landed near his fallen spear, Kadu, wrapping his muscular black hand around the shaft, took advantage of the hesitation, and with a quick move raised the spear and thrust it into the man's chest.
The man had been a fighter, a trained fighter, but he was not a killer, a soldier, and this would not be the life for him. Kadu watched as the life left his eyes.
A battle cry alerted Kadu and he turned just in time to dodge the war mace of the mohawked man now recovered from his blinding. The mace struck the still embedded spear, shattering it in Kadu's hands and dropping the dead man into the sand.
With a high pitched whoop the man came at Kadu again, the club striking his buckler again with bone breaking power. Kadu's arm went numb, but even worse, his buckler shattered under the blow. Without his buckler he could no longer defend himself. Any direct blow would shatter the bones beneath. Kadu looked at the tribal warrior and charged. The red-skinned man swung his club to intercept the tackle, but Kadu was not going for a take-down. The man adjusted his swing as Kadu slipped around the man, who managed to connect with the mace, striking him in the ribs. Although a glancing blow, Kadu cried out in agony at the possible fracture. But still he pushed himself forward to his intended target, the fallen short sword of the dead man.
Kadu heard the war whoop of the man behind him and he lunged for the sword. Grabbing the handle he tucked himself into a roll, coming up onto one knee he spun around. The warrior was charging him, his mace held to the side for a powerful two handed swing. Tucking his feet underneath him, Kadu lunged low, the mace passing an thumb's breadth above his head, a would be killing blow. Kadu swung the sword taking the warrior's leg off below the knee. Blood gushed out staining the white sand red and pink as the warrior tumbled to the ground. Clutching his side, Kadu got up and moved towards the wailing man to deliver the killing blow when an official threw a red cloth over the defeated man. Kadu stepped back, you did not want to disobey the officials. The last man who did was still crucified outside the gladiator barracks. It was amazing how long they had kept him alive on that cross.
This was only an exhibition fight, to see which fighters would be shipped back to the old world for the real fights, for the real glory, and, most importantly for the owners, the real money. The slave masters were not ready to lose their entire investment to the Leutharos Coliseum. The mines and weaving houses were filled with one armed and wooden legged slaves that had failed in the arena.
Kadu turned away and looked around the arena, he saw another black skinned warrior next to a prone form under a red cloak. He was looking at the third fight, between the red headed giant and the olive skinned Akkabadian. The fight ended quickly. As the axe wielding Akkabadian charged, a single swing of the two handed sword bit through the reed and hide shield severing the man's arm. The official standing nearby started to move forward, red cloth in hand, when the giant reversed his grip and with a quick twist decapitated the wounded man. The giant, covered in fresh arterial blood, looked down at the official, more than a head shorter, with a scowl. The official stepped back quickly.
With that the horns sounded again, ending the fight.
(The next chapter of this story was going to be that the three survivors of the fight would gangbang a girl in the middle of the stadium. This story has some interesting directions it can take. Does the redhead become a villain or ally? Does Kadu look for freedom or to become a champion?)
Kadu knew what to expect. This was not his first arena fight. Since the brown tunicked hunter had sold him he had fought twice. Those fights had been different. Wooden weapons and a small crowd of appraisers instead of spectators. These were the trials. Even the very real fight he found himself in now was a trial, the last trial. Malik had explained it to him. Three fights to weed out the weak from the strong. To separate those who would sweat in the mines and fields and those who would achieve glory in front of the multitudes. He did not know what Malik was; a slave himself forced to be a translator for the other slaves, a turncoat who sold his services for coin. He had never asked. This would be his last fight in Leutheros. In victory, his journey to the great coliseums of Dulan would be his future. Coliseums that dwarfed the already unfathomable one he found himself in now. To fight for even greater glory and possible freedom. At least that is what Malik had said.
The brass horn echoed in the stadium, immediately drowned out by the roar of the crowd as the fight began. Every fighter burst into a sprint, they knew the penalty for standing still. Black armoured archers, whose purpose was made brutally clear in the first round, stood ready around the arena, ready to provide encouragement. The combatants divided themselves into three groups.
Kadu found himself surrounded as the men on either side of him rushed in. The large man to his right bore down on him first. His head was shaved on either side, with a strip of black hair sticking up in the middle decorated with beads and feathers. His deeply tanned body was shorter than Kadu but broader, powerful, and the first strike of the warclub against his buckler made his arm numb. He fell with the shock of the blow onto the burning sand. Kadu saw those almond shaped eyes, filled with fierce determination, approaching to finish the job. Dropping the spear, Kadu grabbed a handful of the sand and threw it at those eyes. The mohawked man reeled back deferring the killing blow.
Looking to his left to grab his fallen spear, he briefly saw across the stadium as an olive skinned Akkabbadian blocked an axe swung at his head, deflecting it with his shield, only to be bisected at the waist by a giant redheaded man with the a massive two handed sword that came up behind him.
His viewing was cut short as he saw the foot of the man that started to his left approaching his head. A quick move turned the kick into a glancing blow and he rolled away from his new opponent. Trying to rise he quickly threw his arm up at the downward slashing shortsword of the attacker's follow up. It clanged off of Kadu's buckler with a ring only for the breath to be sucked from his chest as an incredible kick took advantage of his raised guard. He flew onto his back, trying to suck in air into his empty lungs. The man approached him, sword ready. Kadu looked up at the black haired, sallow skinned man helplesslesly. But looking into the man's black and narrow eyes he saw hesitation. Having landed near his fallen spear, Kadu, wrapping his muscular black hand around the shaft, took advantage of the hesitation, and with a quick move raised the spear and thrust it into the man's chest.
The man had been a fighter, a trained fighter, but he was not a killer, a soldier, and this would not be the life for him. Kadu watched as the life left his eyes.
A battle cry alerted Kadu and he turned just in time to dodge the war mace of the mohawked man now recovered from his blinding. The mace struck the still embedded spear, shattering it in Kadu's hands and dropping the dead man into the sand.
With a high pitched whoop the man came at Kadu again, the club striking his buckler again with bone breaking power. Kadu's arm went numb, but even worse, his buckler shattered under the blow. Without his buckler he could no longer defend himself. Any direct blow would shatter the bones beneath. Kadu looked at the tribal warrior and charged. The red-skinned man swung his club to intercept the tackle, but Kadu was not going for a take-down. The man adjusted his swing as Kadu slipped around the man, who managed to connect with the mace, striking him in the ribs. Although a glancing blow, Kadu cried out in agony at the possible fracture. But still he pushed himself forward to his intended target, the fallen short sword of the dead man.
Kadu heard the war whoop of the man behind him and he lunged for the sword. Grabbing the handle he tucked himself into a roll, coming up onto one knee he spun around. The warrior was charging him, his mace held to the side for a powerful two handed swing. Tucking his feet underneath him, Kadu lunged low, the mace passing an thumb's breadth above his head, a would be killing blow. Kadu swung the sword taking the warrior's leg off below the knee. Blood gushed out staining the white sand red and pink as the warrior tumbled to the ground. Clutching his side, Kadu got up and moved towards the wailing man to deliver the killing blow when an official threw a red cloth over the defeated man. Kadu stepped back, you did not want to disobey the officials. The last man who did was still crucified outside the gladiator barracks. It was amazing how long they had kept him alive on that cross.
This was only an exhibition fight, to see which fighters would be shipped back to the old world for the real fights, for the real glory, and, most importantly for the owners, the real money. The slave masters were not ready to lose their entire investment to the Leutharos Coliseum. The mines and weaving houses were filled with one armed and wooden legged slaves that had failed in the arena.
Kadu turned away and looked around the arena, he saw another black skinned warrior next to a prone form under a red cloak. He was looking at the third fight, between the red headed giant and the olive skinned Akkabadian. The fight ended quickly. As the axe wielding Akkabadian charged, a single swing of the two handed sword bit through the reed and hide shield severing the man's arm. The official standing nearby started to move forward, red cloth in hand, when the giant reversed his grip and with a quick twist decapitated the wounded man. The giant, covered in fresh arterial blood, looked down at the official, more than a head shorter, with a scowl. The official stepped back quickly.
With that the horns sounded again, ending the fight.
(The next chapter of this story was going to be that the three survivors of the fight would gangbang a girl in the middle of the stadium. This story has some interesting directions it can take. Does the redhead become a villain or ally? Does Kadu look for freedom or to become a champion?)
A large man, dressed in a simple brown knee-length tunic, stood watching the deeply tanned lascars shifting the passengers' dunnage from the Silver Crown, a large trade galley, packed with shackled rowers, to the more manageable lanteen-rigged dhow. The transfer always took some time. Finding a ship to make the second leg was always the difficult part, and wealth, of which the passengers of the Silver Crown had plenty, didn't expedite the process much, because in Leitheros, there was always someone richer. Many didn't mind the wait, Leutheros was a city with many extravagent delights. The roaring colisseum, the aromatic market, the seedy gambling dens, of which many of his fellow passengers were currently enjoying their hospitality, and the even seedier pleasure dens, of which even more of his fellow passengers were enjoying their hospitality. He had partaken of some of the cities pleasures over the past four sweltering days, but his mind had been elsewhere. He was impatient, meticulous to a fault.
"William!" A mirthful shout and a firm slap on the back came from behind him. "You look like a worried mother hen!"
"Just making sure my chests are carried aboard and stored properly." Replied Sir William Burle, fourth of that name, passively and without turning.
"My dear William, our own knights have watched the ship day and night and do so now, all the luggage is going from a single ship to another single ship. Nothing could be stolen, misplaced, or find its way into another ship headed for the far off lands of the Hanan." Explained the man with a laugh. "And if they drop your luggage into the sea, well me boy, then Mannan has claimed it for himself and there is no point worrying about it. Come now, we are sharing a berth, you can check the luggage in the morning, the tides don't shift until noon, plenty of time for a once over."
"Robert," said william turning his hawk-like yellow eyes to ornately dresses man behind him, "you are much too drunk to speak that much sense."
Sir Robert of Thine smiled broadly, his red cheeks lifting his large, but well kept, salt-and-pepper beard. "But not so drunk that I can't drink some more!" He responded gleefully.
Stepping away from the black wood railing overlooking the bustling wharf, William, a hint of a smile forming at the corner of his mouth, asked, "where to, my good lord?"
.......................................................................................
Sir Robert vomited heavily over the side of the Dhow as the ship sped away from Leutheros, the city falling away to the East with the sun high in the sky, last night's adventures disappearing into the sea foam. Sir William stood beside him, upright and steady.
Sixteen days from Leutheros' decadent drinking establishments, the dhow hove in sight of Akabbad, gateway to the Isle of Tusks. The passenger's of the Dhow crowded around the railing, many of whom for their first glimpse of the new world. The bow became the roost of a flock of tropical birds. Tunics of red, blue, green, and gold with plain coloured squires and lascars courting around them.
"Where is that boy!?" William shouted, standing on the railing, one hand clutching the taut rigging, the other covering his eyes as he tried to make out the spire of the Kabat.
"What is the hurry, William?" The grey haired Robert shouted up at the ape like man. "You've seen the city before and the hunt won't start until four days out, so don't try and tell me you are trying to get the 'lay of the land'."
"I was eight years old last time I was here, Robert, and that was my grandfather's hunt, and all I did was keep after his camel. This is the beginning of my own safari, a chance to start my own collection." William shouted over the roar of the waves and the chatter of the passengers.
"How many stags do you have in your halls, William, how many boars' tusks are mounted on your walls. You are not some inexperienced whelp with a rabbit bow," An exasperated Sir Robert retorted.
"William!" A mirthful shout and a firm slap on the back came from behind him. "You look like a worried mother hen!"
"Just making sure my chests are carried aboard and stored properly." Replied Sir William Burle, fourth of that name, passively and without turning.
"My dear William, our own knights have watched the ship day and night and do so now, all the luggage is going from a single ship to another single ship. Nothing could be stolen, misplaced, or find its way into another ship headed for the far off lands of the Hanan." Explained the man with a laugh. "And if they drop your luggage into the sea, well me boy, then Mannan has claimed it for himself and there is no point worrying about it. Come now, we are sharing a berth, you can check the luggage in the morning, the tides don't shift until noon, plenty of time for a once over."
"Robert," said william turning his hawk-like yellow eyes to ornately dresses man behind him, "you are much too drunk to speak that much sense."
Sir Robert of Thine smiled broadly, his red cheeks lifting his large, but well kept, salt-and-pepper beard. "But not so drunk that I can't drink some more!" He responded gleefully.
Stepping away from the black wood railing overlooking the bustling wharf, William, a hint of a smile forming at the corner of his mouth, asked, "where to, my good lord?"
.......................................................................................
Sir Robert vomited heavily over the side of the Dhow as the ship sped away from Leutheros, the city falling away to the East with the sun high in the sky, last night's adventures disappearing into the sea foam. Sir William stood beside him, upright and steady.
Sixteen days from Leutheros' decadent drinking establishments, the dhow hove in sight of Akabbad, gateway to the Isle of Tusks. The passenger's of the Dhow crowded around the railing, many of whom for their first glimpse of the new world. The bow became the roost of a flock of tropical birds. Tunics of red, blue, green, and gold with plain coloured squires and lascars courting around them.
"Where is that boy!?" William shouted, standing on the railing, one hand clutching the taut rigging, the other covering his eyes as he tried to make out the spire of the Kabat.
"What is the hurry, William?" The grey haired Robert shouted up at the ape like man. "You've seen the city before and the hunt won't start until four days out, so don't try and tell me you are trying to get the 'lay of the land'."
"I was eight years old last time I was here, Robert, and that was my grandfather's hunt, and all I did was keep after his camel. This is the beginning of my own safari, a chance to start my own collection." William shouted over the roar of the waves and the chatter of the passengers.
"How many stags do you have in your halls, William, how many boars' tusks are mounted on your walls. You are not some inexperienced whelp with a rabbit bow," An exasperated Sir Robert retorted.
Before we begin, there are two housekeeping matters I like to take care of
Please let me know your appraoch to OOC chat, I use a 3 level scale
1. Professional: "I really liked that last paragraph, I especially liked the use of double penetration to emphasize the descent into a darker mental state
2. Professional Pervert: "That last paragraph was so damn hot, I got so turned on imagining her take two cocks at once"
3. Pervert: "After reading that last paragraph my pussy was soaked and I couldn't stop fingering myself imagining her taking both those massive cocks"
I personnaly prefer somewhere between two or three depending on my mood, but I am happy with any of them. I just prefer to know at the beginning so there are no missteps and we can relax without worrying about offending the other person.
1. Professional: "I really liked that last paragraph, I especially liked the use of double penetration to emphasize the descent into a darker mental state
2. Professional Pervert: "That last paragraph was so damn hot, I got so turned on imagining her take two cocks at once"
3. Pervert: "After reading that last paragraph my pussy was soaked and I couldn't stop fingering myself imagining her taking both those massive cocks"
I personnaly prefer somewhere between two or three depending on my mood, but I am happy with any of them. I just prefer to know at the beginning so there are no missteps and we can relax without worrying about offending the other person.
This is just how the work and ideas get treated when we go our separate ways and was inspired after getting ghosted after 54,000 words of collaboration. My current default is that any writing or ideas may be used without credit and with all identifying features removed. So for example, I would take a partner's writing or ideas, rewrite it in my own words/style, remove any identifying features (ex. special character names) and treat it as though it was my own. I feel as though most people treat this as the default but I like to have explicit confirmation. Also, this is just the default, if you would rather be credited as a co-author, or to have everything locked away forever, let me know and I will run with that. And this default extends to myself. If you want to take "The Hunt" and use it as your own prompt, you don't have to give credit. Steal Away!
So what do you do from here? As I said already, I am very open to ideas. You can almost treat this as ordering from a drive thru. "Ya, I would like Akkabadian slave taken to Leutheros to be trained in a pleasure school on her way to a Bacchanalia in the Eastern Dulan Empire. Extra anal, light beastiality, hold the pain". While this is a sexual roleplay, non-sexual rp is also open. I do also have Discord, if you would rather RP there.
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