From alt.pub.dragons-inn Mon Jun 20 20:14:44 1994 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:7418 Path: netcom.com!netcomsv!decwrl!news.hal.COM!olivea!spool.mu.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!europa.eng.gtefsd.com!news.uoregon.edu!gaia.ucs.orst.edu!flop.ENGR.ORST.EDU!viper.CS.ORST.EDU!foleye From: foleye@viper.CS.ORST.EDU (Stilt Man) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [AD] Sold! Date: 19 Jun 1994 05:43:13 GMT Organization: Computer Science Department, Oregon State University Lines: 252 Distribution: world Message-ID: <2u0lthINNi7k@flop.ENGR.ORST.EDU> NNTP-Posting-Host: viper.cs.orst.edu [ADMIN: Well, no kudos to be given for help, except perhaps to Corey Venour for offering moral support. The idea for this new thread sort of came to me as I was planning what would be the final stages of the DarkSeed thread (the AD stands for Arcania's initials, of course).] [ADMIN2: Those who were "in" on the planning might have wondered why the plan was changed so that Emrikol would actually beat Arcania, rather than the other way around as originally conceived. First of all, to provide a surprise to those who figured I'd never compromise the "invincibility" of my panultimate villainess, and second, because I had thought of the idea for this story to follow on the heels of Arcania's defeat at his hands. So, without further ado, the first installment . . .] [ADMIN3: Okay, maybe a little more ado . . . This thread is somewhat open, with roles to be established in the future, possibly for other characters that could potentially become Arcania's companions on this adventure. Since Arcania isn't even on Nexus, using regular Inn characters obviously is rather difficult, unless they're based on a "Dark Sun" setting to begin with. Be warned, though, that I'm building a completely different regional setting as well while I'm writing this story.] [ADMIN4: There is no ADMIN4. :) ] Arcania awoke to a rather surprising scene. When she had lost consciousness after being sent to this horrible place by Emrikol of the Bandaged Hands, it had taken a very short time to comprehend where she had gone. Not to the Labyrinth, as he had no doubt intended, but rather to the world of Athas. Either way, she was not entirely pleased. Moreover, she felt very weak. She was only barely able to take to her feet. She did not even want to hazard a spell at this time. She did not feel thirsty -- which was confusing, considering where she was. A yoke of obsidian was fastened around her neck with some form of rope that looked like very tough hide. She looked down and realized with some shock that she wore absolutely nothing. It occured to her that it had been unwitting foresight that she had passed off the precious Necklace, the masterwork of her career as a spellweaver, to one of the Balroqs ere confronting Emrikol . . . and getting sent here. She became conscious of other men and women, as well as a few insectoid creatures that stood fully upright, that were bound in similar manner to herself. She effected a vacant stare, reasoning that it would most certainly be better to appear weak and unthreatening while she was still in this weakened state. She saw several of the other slaves staring at her in a less than toward manner, and blushed meekly. "Ah, me beauty," cackled a voice that obviously had sounded much better ere its owner had turned to some form of intoxicating drink or another. "I see yer fin'ly 'wake." "Where am I?" she asked, wide-eyed and oblivious. Her answer was a lash of the whip on her muscled shoulder. "That's none of yer concern, wench! Wer yer goin', yer st'l in de same sitiation, so shut yer lip and ye'll come outta dis widout no trouble." He came into her view. For a slaver, she thought, he was very formidable in his appearance. Corded thews covered his arms, and only a slight gut appeared under a rock-solid chest. He still had both eyes, and was very dark-skinned. He ran a lustful eye over her features ere he continued, "Methinks ye'll fetch a hefty price from King Althinas, girl, if it be any hint to ye." She widened her eyes and giggled in what she hoped sounded like delight. She had only marginal knowledge of the sorcerer-kings of Athas, so many of them there were. So long as he still looked human, she supposed, it could potentially work out well. As the slaver turned away, she put a hand on her shoulder, where the whip had struck. To feel pain from such a meager weapon as a whip lash . . . she had some recuperating to do, such was clear. \/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/ The city-state of Zaroia looked quite ramshackle by the standards of the slave girl who had been found on the roads leading there by her new master. Arcania, who had given them her real name, looked at the walls of rock, cracked and extremely dry, and blanched at the bleakness of the world around her in general. To a person born here, she supposed, it would not appear to be out of the ordinary, and might even seem rather rich, for a small grove of trees were left untouched by the magic of defilers. The trees had many thorns, and looked quite unfriendly to go near. As she watched, a large centipede-like creature, which she understood to be called a kank, stepped near the tree, and found itself bristling with the thorns a second later. The kank screamed in pain for a few seconds before lying still. The trees looked rather pretty, but they had not survived by looking pretty, Arcania reflected. The sun had darkened her skin during the trip here, she reflected as she passed within the walls. The guards of the caravan had darkened her attitude as well with their eyes, which raked her nakedness as if she were a mare in the auction barns back on her homeworld, perhaps even a brood mare. She was unaccustomed to such disrespect, but she bore it for now. On Arghan she would have reduced them to a discolorment on the ground; here and now, she had not the strength to do even this, let alone to avoid certain death at the hands of the other guards, not to mention the royal guards that now joined the group as they were escorted to the palace of the sorcerer-king Althinas. "Templars," she heard them referred to, though she had little idea what the term referred to. It suggested some form of religious significance. All of this she simply took in with the same unaware stare which plainly told all around her that her mind was far from being equal to her appearance. The palace was a large and marvelous structure of obsidian, which brought a vacant-eyed smile which actually touched the eyes of Arcania, in memory of another such edifice. Arcania and four other women were selected from the coffle and released from their yokes. Her hands itched to strangle the man who bound her with the others, allowing his hands to touch far more of her skin than was truly necessary. She squirmed a little, but made no resistance. She looked at the others through the corner of her eye. They were beautiful all -- nothing short of the best for a sorcerer-king, she mused bitterly -- and all nearly as muscular as she. However, none of them received quite the same lewd treatment that she did, though they were mishandled in turn. As they were tied together again by the necks and brought within the palace, the eyes of the templars who did not bother to conceal the stares were for her alone. How bad could the sorcerer-king be, she wondered. If he is known for buying such slaves, perhaps he is at least somewhat gentle with them. However, she reminded herself of what sort of beings had been responsible for the destruction of this world as it had once been. Even in her early years of mystical study, the world of Athas was being made an example in her teachings as the sort of thing which results of callousness in how one's studies affected the world. Athas has already been partially reduced to a wasteland in those days, though it had not been so long so that other worlds did not have at least a few of the elven races who had lived long enough to remember this place when it had been green and lush. That had been before the first discoveries of defiler magic, which made it much easier to gain the heights of power. They had been blind to the consequences. After all, the world was such a huge place -- how could mortal men possibly destroy it all? Man was so tiny and the world so large and grand. Surely a better way would be found, or perhaps a method of reversing the damage which the defilers wreaked upon the environs. Arcania took a last look up into the sickly grey skies of Athas before she was ushered into the palace. The audience chamber was well furnished, with several chairs made of bone with hide pillows to soften the seats. The slavers sat in these chairs while awaiting the arrival of the king. Arcania appeared bored, though tinged with excitement that she might actually find her way into a sorcerer-king's harem, the slavers thought. Here was one who had long been a slave, they could see, and who cared naught so long as her cage be gilded. Their templar escorts suddenly bowed, and the guards did so as well. The slavers slid from their seats and did likewise, along with the slaves, including Arcania herself. She was the last to rise back to her feet with the other women. Althinas stood fully a head taller than any of them, to the amazement of Arcania. His hair was black with stripes of grey adorning the temples. His eyes were deep brown, and gazed upon the women with slightly more respect than the others. Though, Arcania reflected, he merely appeared as a connoisseur of fine beasts, rather than as a rank layman who would rut with any he could find willing. His arms were thickly muscled, and no fat appeared anywhere upon his frame which was neither bulky nor slender for his height, but was merely well-proportioned for a man of this huge size. He was gentle as he turned up the chins of each woman in turn. Kindness to a slave was the ultimate cruelty, Arcania reflected, for it made them feel as though they were worth something when in truth they were truly nothing, and might well be sold, beaten, or killed the next day did they not please their owner. His eyes fixed on her for a while. She let no sign of the intellect or the knowledge of magic show through the facade of blankness. A certain old foe of hers would have been proud to be flattered with the imitation, she thought with some amusement. The slaver noted the interest of the monarch, and spoke up. "She's me best, Yer Majesty," said the slaver. "Name's Arcania, found her on th' road comin' here from Sable. Figgered she wuz prob'ly an escaped slave anyhow, stole some gold from a former massa, from the look of th' purse she had n'her, and wuz tryin' to make it here fer her escape. P'r lass run outta water, din't fin' none on her. She sh'ld be grateful to us fer her life, let alone th' chance to be a sorcerer-king's harem girl." "Indeed," said the deep voice of Althinas. "She does not seem to have much betwixt the ears, however . . . just as women should be." Arcania restrained herself only with a great effort of will. Her temper, she quickly came to the realization, needed to be kept under rein whilst she recovered from her ordeal, or she could well meet her death here. "Nay," said the slaver cheerfully. "Ye'll get no fight from this 'un. And think of th' pleas'r of such beauty in cert'n places." Althinas nodded, looking at her with a most unholy light in his eyes. Arcania suddenly found herself hoping the the pleasure they spoke of was in what she thought it was, rather than in some rite by which he might drain her life away for the dragon magic. She knew a bit of how the mightier magicks worked on this world: the style of magic worked upon drawing life forces from things. Normal sorcerers drew their power from plants, some more than others. However, the sorcerer kings had the use of dragon magic, which drew the life from animals as well as plants. This was a part of the process by which they transformed themselves from humans into dragons. Althinas was clearly not far along in the transformation process, for he still appeared quite human. The sorcerer-king said something to the slaver that she could not hear, as the guards released her from the yoke. The slaver, his guards, and Althinas' templars left her alone with the sorcerer-king. "This way, my dear," he said, that look still not gone from his eyes. She looked about as though all of this was quite fascinating to her, and perhaps was not entirely feigning it. Indeed, knowledge of this place might well aid her in her escape . . . when she came to that. Althinas led her into what was clearly a sleeping chamber. So, she thought, the merchandise was to be sampled no sooner than the purchaser came home with it. Well, she sighed, she could think of worse things to have to do as a slave than pleasuring a sorcerer-king. He was not unpleasant in his appearances, at least, and she was hardly overly selective about the lovers she took to her own bed in such a manner, beyond their appearances. Arcania watched as he undressed, inwardly relieved that what he had in mind was obvious enough, and then set to producing sounds from him that came utterly unbidden to his lips. She would enjoy this for a time, she thought, taking what pleasure she could from this. At least until she had figured out how she would kill him for subjecting her to this indignity. +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+ + The exile of Arcania Dorval + +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+ + . . . scribed by the Stilt Man, + + foleye@xanth.cs.orst.edu + +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+