It’s been brought to my attention that certain SL players have issue with certain content on this blog, so I wanted to make these statements:
Foremost, if any reader has an issue, please reach out directly. I’m a writer, not a monster, and will be happy to discuss concerns. I make it a point to be considerate and polite in my communication.
Also, this blog strives to be an accurate account, albeit a subjective one, of the roleplay I’m involved in. If any of that roleplay is voided, contact me so that I might consent to the voiding and subsequently adjust the blog content.
Lastly but most importantly, this blog is meant to be fun, primarily for the fellow players involved in my roleplay. It’s a lens to see your actions through. I don’t judge anyone for their IC actions. The beauty of roleplay is to express oneself without judgement; it is the diversity of voices. I should hope that even those who affect my character negatively understand that ultimately, it is all for entertainment. As one of my readers recently put it, the best reaction to reading my work should be “lol.”))
Literally and figuratively, I’m lost. A traveler, “the Courier” he calls himself, took me from the Tavern of Brundisium to the recent dance festival in Genesian Port. I was excited to go, as I’ve heard that our cities share a close enough bond that kajirae like me can visit for special events in the company of the Free.
It was a rare exception to serving my Tavern and, like most recent tragedies, it started so well and with such promise. The festival itself was called The Spring Fling, and as anyone who knows me would know, I do love assonance. It featured, among other compelling activities, an exhibition of dance from across Gor.
And the Man who brought me there, gave me stories from across Gor and beyond. He’s a veteran of one of the mysterious acquisition ships that sail to Counter Earth to get “barbarian girls right from the source” as he put it. He told me tales of Enclaves and RNA, and of weapon-wielding women still worthy of romance.
The dance exhibition was similarly fascinating. Many of the performers won awards and deservedly so. The performances by a girl named Shadow and a boy named Maynad were particularly interesting in how exotic they were. I found myself hoping to one day join the ranks on that stage.
Yet hopes were soon dashed. The Courier took me to a place, I believe it to be an Inn, and then told me to serve a Free Woman. Though the woman seemed pleased by my service initially, she ran off.
I was left without direction in a foreign port. A familiar safe harbor arrived in the form of the Scribe from Ar who had used me several times before. He asked me why I was so happy to see Him.
How best to explain that? I suppose it’s that, after the experience being punished and pilloried, I feel like I am a pariah in my home port of Brundisium. Yes, the Ubar had been exceptionally favorable and positive about my future, and yes, the former Ubara had stepped in on many occasions to assist me, but I can’t stifle the suspicions I have that the slave girls who castigated me were correct in how I’m viewed.
Above all, any true slave will want to be good. More than wisdom, wit, determination, honesty and attractiveness, we want to be good. And when we’re told that we are bad, it is more than a mere criticism. It’s a challenge to our very sense of self and place.
The Scribe has always seen me as good or as worthy of correction. I put that good behavior on full display last night in Genesian Port, acting as a pedestal for Him to put His boot on while he discussed mead production with a northerner Free Woman. After, He took me to a rather rickety Tavern and used me. It was then that I did something that kajira whisper about together and sing themselves to sleep with.
I begged Him to own me. I like to think I did a capable job of it. Every word came naturally. He is all I would want in a Master. He treats me as a slave of worth, and that is all I wish to be. And He comports Himself with dignity and intelligence and invincible drive, as though He were both Master of Himself and of the world He walks. How could a good girl not want to be dragged by her hair behind such a Man?
Understandably, He said He wouldn’t answer me right away. He is a person of incalculable value and I am only a slave that He’s been with a handful of times. Yet I explained to Him that I felt that everything had been taken from me - my dignity, my station, my reputation, even my place - so that I could be His.
I await Him where He left me. It cannot be otherwise. I am His whether He elects to own me or not. I am certain that unless He places me otherwise, I will continue to be what I am this very moment: a nobody nowhere at all.
