A Savior In Black

It was not the sort of man you'd expect to see in the gardens. Sitting on a bench with scrolls of rence in front of his face. Other girls about had noticed him as well; ones from the city, no doubt, that knew who he was. They fawned and preened in want for his attention, which he seemed oblivious of. I must have looked totally out of place with my tunic of buckskin, beaded leather pouches and the ever present flute. It was for this reason that he summoned me to his feet. I had been warned before of the city people and their questionings, and since I was not permitted to speak any but the language of the village, that made it even more difficult to communicate.

I was commanded to speak Gorean, though he seemed to understand much of my broken words. Many questions were asked, most of which I was uncertain of how to answer. It was a confusing, awkward position to be in, to say the least. How does a slave explain a life as the one I lived? It seems he did not want explanations. He wanted an answer to only one question, and even that I found myself unable to give a suitable reply.

During the time of his speaking to me, a woman came to join him. Given the looks shared between them, and the words, it is my understanding that they are companioned. She is a beautiful woman from what I can see, and unlike with most free women, I did not detect anything cold or cruel in her eyes. As aggravated as he had become, I was thankful she arrived. She seemed to bring a calming to him. I understood her name to be Taijen.

The last thing I expected was for him to react. Given I had thown myself down at his feet in obesience for having annoyed him so, I expected him to dismiss me and go on with the rest of his evening. But he didn't.

I cannot finger exactly what it is, or any certain reason why, but there is something very different about this man. There was an intensity in the weight of his gaze that stirred something inside of me. Something I'd not felt in a very long time. I had all but given up hope on so many things. But there he was, my savior. Even for what short time I have been with him, he has drawn something out of me: a desire to please. Actually please. The desire to be the slave I used to be and the slave he will demand me to be.

More than all, he has given me a gift that he is unaware of. That gift being the reason why I want, and will, be worthy of his collar. He has closed the door on the ghosts, silencing the voices that once haunted me.

For the first time I can say with pride: I am a slave. I am owned by Deimos Noire.
I can call him "my Master" because he is. While it all may sound so selfish in written words, the meaning is truly so different. For the first time in many years, I am owned. I am wanted. He found me enough to be pleasing and worthy enough to be his. This is all a simple kajira could ever dream for.

My Master has breathed life back into me, reaching inside of me and taking bits and pieces as he wishes. He is an answer to a long pleaded prayer.

Into The City

For many years, I lived life being passed from one to another until my grief had overwhelmed me. I went seeking solace, even forgiveness, by going to the lands of which I felt would make peace with my ghost that haunted me for so very long. Rivers of tears, I cried. Words of pleading, I prayed. I struggled for years to find forgiveness, and yes, to forgive myself. After the realizing that there was nothing I could have done; I am but simply a slave, I finally was able to forgive myself. One of the last journal entries I made was that it was time to stop the grieving, since obviously, it was never going to come. The joys I once had in serving had faded, with my actions being more from habit and routine than out of the joy itself of serving. I had become what I had vowed to myself long ago, that I would never be. An empty shell of a slave. Little did I realize at the time that the passage left in that journal had a deeper meaning. Perhaps it was my way of saying goodbye. I couldn't live under the yoke and grief anymore.

It was time to move on with my life, though I wasn't sure how. After the years I had spent serving the village, there seemed little more I could do. I decided that maybe begging one of the riders, when one would head into a city for trading, would do some good for me. Get me back into a better frame of mind and lift my spirits. I waited hands for word that one would be taking a trip into the city, but once word had reached me, I begged of him to allow me to go with him. It took plenty of pleading, but he finally gave in.

It happened that I was in an extremely uplifted mood that day, so the ride to the city was one that I enjoyed, even if being laid across and tied down to the kaiila isn't the most comfortable position for such a lengthy journey. He had gone into a city, though which one, I did not ask. It didn't matter. I was too thrilled with the idea of roaming around and seeing the sights of beauty that are not common around the village.

He dropped me off so he could go conduct business, and I found myself, as usual, drawn to a place of beauty. A stoned garden. I had forgotten how intoxicating the aroma of a garden like that could be, so I entered inside, in the mind of plucking a few of the flowers to dry and make something of later, and of practicing a song I have been putting together on the flute.

There he was. Dressed in all black, yet it was apparent he was no assassin. He was dressed finer than any merchant I've ever seen, and his very carriage was nothing short of regal. I have never met a Ubar that carried himself so completely in that manner. Even though for a long time, he was silent, his presence was felt with an intensity of power. I was utterly intrigued given how his very aura radiated eloquent supremacy.

I had no idea, from a chance meeting in a stoned garden would mark a new path in my life; in my slavery.