Gorean Confessions - February 18

Anonymous Assassin

I confess that I have been either the direct murderer, or accomplice to 4 murders in the last five days.

Some of the murders are known to the city, some are not, and never will be, aside from this instance.

I have plotted and conspired with the citizens of the city to do harm to it's other citizens.

I know many of your secrets... and if you think I don't know yours, then its probably you Im talking about.

I will be watching you, my fellow Arians closely, for there is more to come.

***

Anonymous Woman - Don't Cross Me

I've always been the vindictive type. Do not cross me. I will get you, it may not be today, it may not be tomorrow ...it could be years from now. But I will get you.

Yes, my mother told me this was wrong, would poison my soul, whatever.

I am still the vindictive type. And the older I get the better I get at it.

Oh sometimes it's just subtle things. A carefully planted bit of gossip, a stolen moment with someone's companion, a false ego stroke.

But sometimes it is planned...extensively. And as I watch it unfold it is like watching a well orchestrated play upon the stage.

And I of course have my willing accomplice who shares my devious mind in more ways than one. We have always been close and for this particular plot he was more than willing.

You see...I was insulted. I won't go into the details but the accusations were highly unflattering and not something I wish to be public knowledge even though...it was true.

So I have sought to make the family pay...with a virgin. Oh I have picked her out, she is perfect. Absolutely unsuspecting. And he, my co-conspirator, will seduce her ...easily. He will woo her and make her love him. He will promise companionship and children. And once he takes her virginity, and he will, he will dispense with her without second thought. And she will be a blight on that family's good name.

People really shouldn't cross me. The plan is already in motion.

***

Anonymous - The Breaking Point

It's been happening for a while now, but I've been doing the best to control it.

My house..hah. I would prefer unity within it, but I would get more luck not getting blue-flamed for some of my inventions, or having one of the tavern regulars not smack one of the girls when they're displeasing. My companion and her pregnancy are advancing, but she has been withdrawing within herself. The FG..if she thinks she's fooling me with the murderous glares she gives the companion. My final..the blonde gift..she's coming out of her shell, and that pleases me.

What's been disturbing me is when I get the thoughts of fire and of blood. It starts on the Street of Brands and expands out. Everywhere I look, I see fire..I smell the coppery twang of blood. It is reminiscing of the final days of Larl and quite frankly it disturbs me.

I pray..and I do not do much of this..with no belief..I pray to the Kings and to Odin that there is no repeat. I cannot start over again. I refuse to start over again.

Somewhere out there, there's this tree with star-shaped fruit; and the fruit represents an unbreakable connection. So as long as you and your friends carry good luck charms shaped like it, nothing can ever drive you apart. You will always find your way back to each other. - Aqua "Kingdom Hearts - Birth By Sleep"

***

Melisande's Confession

It was maddening waiting for him.

I knew he was going to arrive, because he always did on the nights he told me. This strange, dark man in my employ. He would not be stopped, he would not speak to others, and he would always appear silently beyond the reach of my guards. As I sat at my desk, the lids of my eyes beginning to get heavy, I felt a breath on the back of my neck from his exhalation as his expansive chest grew behind me. I did not turn, as was my first reaction. I merely sat where I was, still, my quill now ceasing from its scratching as I felt the kiss of my own soft scarf upon my neck. He, doubtless, had brought it with him and was holding it up to his face. He brought it every time, so that I might hold it when we spoke. Then, he would take it with him for reasons that should've disturbed me, had I not known the nature of his secret cravings. We are all made from the same dust.

He never acted on those desires, for to do so would be death for him. Death for me. A bringing down of an entire people. I saw him fight against it as, at times, he would simply stare at me during our meetings, saying nothing, but saying everything with his silence. We would have brief exchanges with those long pauses.

“You're reporting on the situation with the Captain of Port Kar, I assume?”

“Yes,” said he. “That is also why I have come.”

“Then tell me, what did you find?”

“Do you use lavender in your scented oils, my lady?” he would then ask, not answering my question.

“It is not for a plainsman to know what a high lady uses in her bodoir.”

“I did speak with him.”

I never could see his face. It was not permitted upon the contract. It was the way of the men of the Paravacii, and of the clansmen who practiced his art. I could see his courage scars, the very tips, red and peeking out near his shadowed eyes. I told myself I only wished to see his face so that I could remember a man long past, the Ubar of Cos, a man of the Kataii, whose breath carried with it the wind whipping across waves of sa-tarna. His dark skin. The flashing, bright smile of a nomad, always roaming. Always at home.

One evening, he beckoned me at the end of our conversation, towards the hearth. I stood, my guard not interrupting us, as was the command, but they would not leave us alone for long. I walked to him and he said, “I thought perhaps the light of the fire would drive out the shadows from within your veil.” He reached up. I did not move. His finger touched the tip of the poison needle, and he stopped, putting his hand down slowly at his side.

“Why?” I said, “Do you wish to see? It will not be good for either of us.”

“Because I want to know if you are as beautiful as I imagined you to be. I want to see your hair, my lady.” He then took my scarf. One does not ask a torturer not to take one's scarf. It is simply given.

I reached slowly for his hand with my left, touching his forearm. His eyes grew wide, and with my right hand, I slipped out of the confines of my robes, quickly, as might the ost, slipping its poison into its prey, a small needle of tassa serum. It went so effortlessly into his thigh muscle that I barely felt the resistance, and with a thud, he fell to the floor.

I let go of the breath that I had been holding, and shuddered with a wave of power that washed over me. I, the Ubara of Treve, standing over this man who had held me in a fearful, yet beautiful bondage simply with his timing, the darkness of his arrivals, and with the holding of my scarf.

I crept down like a she-larl, against the polished marble of my chambers until I was face to face with him. He was paralyzed, wide-eyed, watching me. Slowly, I slipped my fingers into the confines of my darkened veil and removed it. An avalanche of bright, creamy locks came tumbling down over my breast after I removed my hair pin, and my icy gaze regarded him who was powerless before me.

“Now, you have seen me,” said I. “And now, I will see you.”

And with that, my fingers slipped inside his leather mask, taking it from his face and tossing it over next to his head.

I wept at what I saw, so shocked in the revealing of his visage that I could barely speak. The tears that I wept fell from my eyes to drop upon the rivets of the courage scars that still decorated his cheeks. With trembling fingers, I replaced his mask. I stood and turned, repinning my veil, and walked back to my desk. In only a few ehn, he roused with a wrenching cry, refastened his mask, and like a mad man, he left my chambers, never to return.

***

Anonymous Physician

I'm born to the role of a healer, a member of the Caste of Physicians. I've worn green robes all my life, and my training, my education, the research I've conducted, they've all steeped me in the proud medical traditions of our world, and in particular, of glorious Ar.

I administer the Stabilization Serums. I treat wounded Warriors of our city when they return from the field of battle. I care for the old man and the child, the free and the slave. My Caste Brothers and Sisters are some of the few strangers before whom, out of medical necessity and trust in our art, a Free Woman will accept being face-stripped. All of these make me deeply happy, but one of my duties leaves me frustrated and saddened for reasons I can't fully comprehend.

The mixing and distribution of slave wine depresses me. I've had occasion to watch as my nauseating concoctions are given to slave-girls as their Masters watched. Annual doses are, of course, completely unnecessary; two or three doses of it over a slave-girl's serum-extended lifetime would be quite sufficient.

Once, I tried to prepare the stuff so that the taste was actually rather pleasant, to ease a bit of the wretched creatures' sufferings. I had feared the displeasure of their Masters, my customers, but it never came. The slave-girls, oddly, seemed to react to the drink just as miserably as before.

I reflected on this for a while, and concluded that perhaps the misery of a slave-girl in consuming a drink that should freeze her womb was not solely a problem of taste. As a Physician I examine slave-girls on a near-daily basis. I have seen the best the Street of Brands has to offer, and I have seen unparalleled physical beauty, gifts for dancing and training. But I believe that what infuses a truly supreme slave-girl is an elemental need to draw strength, love and life itself from her Master.

So, while I can't conceive of a worthy experiment to test this hypothesis, I suspect that those superb kajirae, those who live for closeness and affection from their Masters, are not solely nauseated by the bitter taste of slave-wine but more so by the bitter loneliness it enforces upon their womanhood.

In my heart, I confess that I see the warmth of a slave-girl's womb, accepting her Master's seed and nurturing it in love, as the deepest connection she can make with him. And in doing so, he plants a part of himself within her, possessing her at the very base of her womanhood. When she drinks slave-wine, a Master- for reasons that may be good and wise- withholds from his slave-girl that truest form of his essence.

But perhaps slave-girls hate only its taste, and perhaps I am a sentimental fool. But when I examine these things of beauty, and return them to their Masters, I'm saddened when I hand them a bottle of slave-wine.

I have not given this drink to my two slave-girls. Nor will I.

***

Curse of the Dark Man - Ice Bradley

I was collared as a working slave when 19

At 21 i had killed more than a dozen people

At 51 i lead an army to battle and war

At 91 2 weeks prior to the birth of my first child i accidentally killed my free companion and the unborn baby.

At 150 years i saw a kur rip my free companion apart before my very eyes.

At the age of 207 I became Ubar

At the age of 209 i let my first born daughter sail down the river in a small basket to the unknown as i didnt want my first heir to be female, same year i killed my companion also.

At the age of nearly 400 years i finally got my first heir when my son was born.

One day i think the tide will change and ill learn to adapt fully to city life, but perhaps my time is running out.

***

Tycho's Confession

It was the ugliest thing I had ever seen in a kennel.

For a man of my background, this is saying something. One who has kept sleen, or even tarks and wild tharlarion in kennels. But this creature was something else altogether ... something quite vile, and horrid.

"As you can see," said the slaver, "I am in need of some assistance."

The slaver was hunched over, on all fours like an animal. It was the only way a man of his considerable size could fit inside such a small space, after all. His meaty fingers clutched at the bars of his tiny cell, as if they might summon the strength to tear the indomitable steel from its hinges.

"I had no idea there was a new kajirus afoot," I told him. "I shall have to update the city records."

"This is no time for levity," he growled.

I stepped back and forth before the kennel, observing him. The gate was fastened shut; he was indeed in quite a predicament. Too, this muscular beast had the look of a captured larl, always more angry than afraid.

I tried my best not to show any external signs of my amusement, which was considerable.

"So, the girls finally managed to overpower you, did they?" I asked him.

"Of course not!" he yelled, clawing at the bars. "I crawled in here all on my own, I'll have you know!"

He lowered his head, almost instantly. This was not something to be particularly proud of either.

"And why," I ventured, "would you do such a thing? Wanting to experience how the sluttier half live, perhaps?"

The slaver did not look at me, but fixed his gaze at a spot on the ground as he spoke, "I was investigating ... some graffiti."

I turned my gaze to the far wall, on the other side of the kennel. There was indeed something written there, some Gorean letters scrawled by unpractised hand of a kajira.

"I had no idea you could read, slaver," I said, squinting towards the text. "I cannot read it from here, though ... what does it say?"

"It reads," he said, "the slaver has a nice arse."

"Well then," I replied, "it was surely worth all this trouble."

Then, without speaking, I went to fetch the master key from the slaver's office. As I unlocked the gate, he practically spilled out of the kennel and into a messy heap on the floor before me.

I helped him to his feet.

"Sir," he said, "let us not speak of this again."

I nodded.

***

The Honey Man

They say a slave has no power, lately I have found that to be so untrue. With the local honey merchant I have discovered I have a lot of power. It started out so innocently, I was passing through the market early one morning after having walked over to the House of the Knot to use the slave baths in the courtyard. When I passed by the honey merchant cart as they were setting up for the day, I could not resist pausing to look over the fresh combs of honey the man had laid out. They looked so succulent, dripping with golden sweet honey.

The man noticed my interest and of course thinking perhaps I might of been out shopping for my Master's house, was really nice in showing off his wares. Told me all about the differences in the combs of honey, how the bees of one kind were fed only the pollen of certain flowers so that the honey had a special taste and color quality. The more he told me about the honey, the more I wanted it. So like a good slave girl, I flirted with him. He ended up offering me a small sampling of his honey to which I took to like a hungry larl cub, putting the comb up to my mouth to suck the sweet golden treasure from its treasure trove of little hexagonal compartments. I even let droplets of the honey escape my lips to drip down my chin to the lush mounds of my breast, all for his enjoyment of just watching.

Needless to say, one thing led to another as things tend to do with unrestricted slave girls who wander around the city at times. And now, I regularly stop by the honey merchants cart on my way to either the slave baths or on my way back and my Master's house is well stocked with the finest honey in all of Ar.

***

From An Anonymous Serving Girl

I confess during the food shortage I poured leftover drink back into pitchers,using a sieve to make sure only the drink went back in, and uneaten rolls were put back into the breadbaskets. I even brushed a few off that fell onto the floor and served them to others, if meat was left, I cut it smaller and used it for soups, it was not in order to harm but to make the food last longer, and it did, not by much but it helped and I spiced the mead a bit more so that it would taste better when I thinned it with honey water.

I worried every day someone would find out and I would be punished, but no one ever noticed.

The Wigs of War

Our winner, Casiopia Twischer. When the edict of the Ubara came out, just a day or so later, Casiopia showed up on the sim sporting this blue wig with the swords, and everyone just had a fit. It was the most creative thing, and suddenly we were all stepping up to the challenge, putting boats, birds, cages, ships, everything you can think of up there. In the end, it was she who carried the number 1 spot in our contest, and rightfully so. Congratulations, Casiopia. You inspired us all! Long live High Mistress of Wigs!

Arianna Sorrowsong was our number 2 winner for the Wigs of War contest. Is that a globe in her hair? What amazing height and beauty!

Xanaphia Yellowknife came in at the number three spot with what looked like a an elegant chandelier nestled in her hair. Gorgeous!

Giada Koba with her gorgeous locks. My question is - how did she get that ship OUT of the bottle?

Ziarre Soleil. Hers was the first wig I saw, and I laughed until I couldn't stand it. Tiered like a wedding cake. Beautiful!

Faythe Rachel with her gravity-defying side cone. This one is worthy of the attention of the builders!

Lady Kait with the birds in her "nest." How glorious, but I wonder how many times a day it had to be washed? Oooo....

Me with my dark roses of black, curly locks. There's nothing more fun than switching up the colors and styles.

Idunn Sabra. Really, did we need something more to make her feel superior?!

Who let this guy in the contest!?! SEXTUS!!!

elipida Nikolaidis with the a 'do that blocks even the sun shining through the cylinders of Ar!

Bella Sloane's Beautiful Blue Wigs of War!! Sporting the Caste Colors!

And of course, one of my personal favorite's, Lady Gretchen's Bird Cage of Brilliance.

The Ubara's edict was that free women could purchase these wigs in support of the war efforts, proceeds going to the military (IC purchases.) They had to be at least one head taller than the woman wearing the wig and could NOT be the same color as her original hair. This could be worn in lieu of the traditional hood part of the veil that is worn, covering a woman's hair. This is not a substitution for the facial or overveils that still must be worn. Congratulations to our Wigs of War contest entries, and this roleplay with the wigs is far from over. Just because the contest has ended does not mean the play with the wigs has. We are going to continue with this fashion trend!

Imperial Art

Issivore (our resident animal herder, beastmaster, what have you) is actually a long-time friend of mine, although I have vowed to keep his identity a secret. And no, it isn't anyone you're thinking. But when I came to Imperial Ar, one of the first things I thought was, "I hope I can get him here, to do some art of this place." Not only is Issivore talented with art, he is just a brilliant person altogether, a hidden gem if you have not yet met him. When he messaged me to let me know he'd actually been lurking for a few weeks and checking us out, and to his surprise, he really loved the roleplay and thought he'd have fun here, I couldn't have been more happy. And look at how he portrays our beloved city. Thank you for this, Issivore. It is just gorgeous.

A Spar at the Stadium of Blades

I've been keeping my distance from the hot, oiled, sweaty, coughgorgeouscough Gladiators the Lady Lucretia has been running in her Gladiator games. But during a search for my Ubar on Sunday, I had no choice but to come watch. I am so excited about these lines of stories in Ar! What fun this will be!

A Night in Fantastica

A gorgeous set created by Fantasia owner Dream Resistance, sponsored by Dream and Sabina. As you can tell, it was an evening of beauty, fun, laughter, and dancing. It does the soul good to just step away from roleplay sometimes and let your hair down with everyone. For our once-a-month OOC dance, we all went out in a grand way, and the night lasted into the wee hours of the morning in its revelry. Here are just a few snapshots of the night.

Ice as the predator, and Idunn as the prey? Are we sure these two picked the right roles?

Hot, hot, hot, a red, dark, and lovely Adelaide.

Bella and her two slaves in sync!

A lovely Dream Resistance. We loved your set. How beautiful – you made the Night of Fantastica gorgeous for us all.

Elle the Famous Blogger, in Fantastica. I think she's pretty fantastic, too ;)

Jaxx, Adira, and Bahira! The naughty trio at it again...

Bear and his wonderland muse.

Cor busting a move... Cor... I had no idea you had it in you!

Victor, the evil dwarf!

And me, dancing the night away, having a glorious time with everyone. I can't remember a night when I've had so much fun.

A Ubarate, Fully Restored

Excerpts from the ceremony

For all of her resolve, Melisande paused, her throat closing. The strength of a woman that had held its tenuous grip on her, like a mantle, that had been suffused with the pride of home stone and caste, opened. “I, Melisande, offer to you, Primus, my companionship. To walk hand in hand.” She reached forward, offering her hand, palm upward. “Breast to breast,” she said, her left hand coming up and placing it upon his chest, “and cheek to cheek.” Leaning forward, her diaphanous outer robes brushed against his cheek and neck before she stood once more.

Primus answered, “I, Primus of the Warriors, accept your offering, and will companion you,” he took her hand in his, pulling her close gently, his breath warm against her veils, as he whispered her name once more, privately between them.

Melisande took another deep breath. It was this moment that would solidify her own hold to the Ubarate, would further propel Imperial Ar into the glory that she could see in its future, and usher her into the personal glory of becoming a free woman in truth, in the procreation of life and of family. She said to him, “I offer you my beauty, Primus.”

Primus had never desired the throne once held by his distant kinsman, but knows that, as capable as this woman is, a Ubar is required to keep the city he loves from descending into civil strife and unrest. Too, there were few who were bred for command, spoonfed leadership, raised on rulership, as those of his house. He was, he supposed, the natural choice “I accept your beauty, and infuse it with my strength.”

Melisande then reached down and slid her hands beneath the drape of blue that had always heralded her as a Scribe. She brought it up and over her head and held it out to Primus, “In becoming one with you, I offer you my livelihood.” Her jaw worked, watching it pass from her shoulders, and she briefly reminisced of the lifetime of work she had done in the Caste of Scribes. She began to feel the pang of loss for an ihn, and then blinked it away, as quickly as it appeared.

Primus takes the sash from her and nods, handing it over to Cor, he of the Scribes. “I accept your offering and in receiving you, I give you my livelihood, Melisande, woman of Ar, woman of the Caste of Warriors.” He then takes his crimson sash and, pulling it over his head, drapes it around the woman he is about to companion.

Melisande bends slightly to the side, reaching down to a small table near them and picks up a goblet of Ka-la-na wine, made from the orchards surrounding the city of Ar. She carefully brushed aside her veils and raised it to her lips, tasting the rich vintage, ripe with sunlight and promise, then proffered it to him I offer you a my wine, Primus. Will you drink with me?

Primus lifts the goblet from her outstretched hands, pausing to appreciate the gravity of this moment, how it will change lives, fortunes and the history of nations, and nods solemnly, “I will.”

Melisande received the cup back from the man who was no her sworn companion, Primus, and placed the cup on the small table. Next to it lay a golden laurel crown that matched her own. She reached for it with both hands. Her voice rose, the low, imperious command of the Ubara rising from her diaphragm, “Primus Silicus Marleneanus, my companion, I crown you Ubar of Ar!” And she laid the crown upon his brow. “Hail Primus! Ubar of Ar!” she cried.”

Primus steps to the rail with his companion and crashes his fist to his chest, saluting the crowd exuberantly “Ave! Ave, civitati Arius!! Hail! Hail, citizens of Ar!!”

Primus calls a tarn with a whistle, and it descends where he gathers the Ubara up into the sky. Some moments later, her layers of veils and robes drift over the city, as they spend the rest of their night together.

Inside the Magic Wardrobe

How did it become Wednesday so fast?!

Perhaps you have experienced this phenomenon of how time passes very, very slowly in Second Life. If something has occurred for a whole week, it feels like a month. A month feels like a half-year. An entire year, maybe 6 or 7 years. You spend three hours on SL, and it feels like you've been there all day. And when the headphones are taken off and you sit back and look at this stack of laundry, realize you must go to the grocery store, and make a dentist appointment, and you spend eight or nine hours doing those things, and it feels as if you've only been away from the game for perhaps an hour or so. Time goes by differently in these realms doesn't it? It's like the Land of Narnia for Peter and Susan. And so here I sit, gazing into that magical wardrobe with a sigh.

Friday, our Legionnaires led by Sarus were triumphant in a long, gruesome battle that began on sea outside of the city of Tentium, on the Isles of Tyros. There were two waves of attacks, the first by Sarus and his group and the second led by Macer and his group. The first group seemed to work from the rear of the city while the second group kept the forefront busy. Arrows sang through the air, and men clashed on the docks and throughout the town with their swords. Many died, and the men of Ar from the second wave had thought they were losing decidedly as the wounded fell to the left and right. When upward, beyond the markets and open shops, they saw flashes of red and their commander standing their, his arm lifted high, sword dripping with the blood of the Tyrosians. They ran to meet eachother in the center of the now conquered city of Tentium and began the bloody business of removing the dead and setting up occupation. Ar was again victorious, though the battle was much closer, and much more hard-fought. Next, they have their eyes on Kasra, and doubtless, the Tyrosian forces are amassing to protect home stone and livelihood as the surge of imperialism threatens to spread.

Saturday, we had an OOC Town Hall Meeting in which all were invited to participate. The minutes are found on the forum for the exact conversations held there, but the main focus of the discussions were the addition of our new Ubar, Primus, and the expansion of our regions to 6 sims. Prithan Parx laid out a mini-model of his plan for building, and everyone oo'd and ahh'd over it as questions were asked. Just an update on this – the Street of Brands sim has officially been connected, and it is being built as this blog is being typed. We have plans to have a roleplay fire in the City of Ar that will force the slavers out of their businesses to finally move to the district, and so we will have this gorgeous sim based off of the themes of the Street of Brands in Ar, the Cerulean, the Iron Pens, the Pleasure Gardens, and so much more – connected right to us.

Saturday evening was the Temple Rededication and the Blessing of Steel. A most honored occasion with FIVE initiates – and these are initiates that regularly play the role, not NPCs or the “occasional alt.” We were very excited to be part of this rarely seen type of roleplay in Gor. Because of you, and thank you as well, Taltos, for arranging it, we are truly getting to play in an immersive environment, with many more elements of the atmosphere of Gor than have ever been seen before. They did a superb job.

Monday was another Home Stone swearing ceremony in which we gained two scribes and a warrior. It was a particularly personal swearing in as Melisande took the oath of her cousin, Cor (Trenzos Dyrssen). A great celebration followed throughout the city as a day of holiday was proclaimed. In the wake of this jubilation, Melisande used the opportunity to make the announcement of the intentions of her and Primus to companion, and for an era of a united Ubarate to commence.

Tuesday was the official day that the Street of Brands sim was connected, and in the late afternoon, Helga, the “lady” from the north, regaled us with an amazing tale of adventure and lore. The interaction and hilarity was at a high point as the ladies sat around sipping their tea and laughing. This continues to be one of our favorite events.

And last but certainly not least, the Wigs of War have taken over the scuttlebutt in Ar. The Ubara has made an edict that the free women of Ar may remove their hoods temporarily and purchase wigs from any merchant that would sell them. The wigs must be a head taller than the head of the free woman wearing it, and it may not be their original hair color. There is currently a “Wigs of War” contest going on OOC that has developed and taken on a life of its own that Giada is arranging, so if you're a free woman, and you're feeling excited about your 'do, take a snapshot and send it to her, full permission. The voting will be beginning soon in the OOC landing!

We have so much coming up. I'm actually quite nervous about my companionship ceremony on Valentine's Day, even though I suppose I shouldn't be. I am very, very excited about some of the stories of roleplay going on throughout the city. The men are making use of the tavern more and more, and we're having some thought-provoking discussions on the forums. We have a new, exciting assassin in town that everyone is talking about, and some new citizens of Ar are showing up that I thought would never come – yet they're here!

It's a glorious time in the imperial city. I hope you are all enjoying it as much as I.

S.P.Q.A.