I was sitting just out of the scribery like I do so many times on many occassions, though, Today I had a young man who was traveling with the caravan, he being a paid mercanary, I of corse turned my head from him as he smiled at me. How dare he look apon me with his eyes… he a paid sword, I do not know what caste he was born though he wore black I knew he was no assassin he seemed a bit clumsy with his walk… when I did my best to ignore him he sat next to me, to my horror he smelt of cheap paga and even cheaper women. I placed my fingers to my nose pinching the nostrals closed though as a result of my making my nose thinner my specks apon my face started to slip. Than, he opened his mouth to start talking his breath not only smelt like Sul Paga, it than reeked of pickled fish.
Now, as my eyes water from the stinch of this man and his boldness to start talking to me, I thought to get up and leave til he said something of intrest. He spoke about a murder he herd about and though death was not an uncommon thing it was the oddness of the killing and who was killed that struck me to the core.
Life as we all know is a priceless thing and to be honored.
The Victom in this man’s tale was an unborn child, cut from the womb of it’s mother.
Reason behind the killing was said that a man wished to enslave the woman and those that took her, he stated she was told “The man who wishes to buy you, will not pay if you are with child”….
Now perhaps to me I am thinking on a differant level and perhaps sense I was not man I could not understand. So, after speaking to the man in such shock I left him to dewl on my thoughts and coming up with no understanding I walked over to see two men playing the Game. I looked to them it was a man in Blue with threads of Yellow I knew him to be a slaver and not one of my most likeble people that I would normally see but in this case I felt that this was the man I must speak to he was playing the Game with the local keeper of the Brothal, and perhaps another man that could answer my unsettling thoughts on the matter of the tale I herd.
Why would a man not buy a woman that was with child if it was the woman he wished enslaved?
Responce Slaver: “Seems, foolish to kill a child. I myself pay a copper tarsk or even up to 5 for a good slave baby depending on the child’s sex and the beauty of the mother”
Responce Brothel Keeper: “A Coin is a Coin, you do not distory that you can make a profit from”
I looked to them men and nod to them, they started roaring with laugher as they watched me jump almost out of my boots when I felt the hand of the slaver grope my left cheek of my backend…. once feeling his hand I turned with speed and fury laying a slap across his face. He almost knocking him over he looked at me his cheek redden as he held his hand over the smarted area, his eyes watering from his being fully mused by my reaction. Insulted I stomped off from the men to go speak with my father, of corse not over the slaver’s touching me. Oddly as I walked away I smiled to myself perhaps I was not as unpleasing to the eyes as I had thought before. I shook my head clearing the thought from my mind for I had more important things to see to.
I entered my father’s office, he being pleased to see me smiled broadly. “Have a seat, tell me what Honor it is that my dear cunksi pay visit”… For those that do not know my father is not Savage yet he does use Savage words in honor of Mother due to she loves to flont her heirage. “Ahte, I come for advice” I replied, and I told my father about my cofussion about the tale I was told the words from the men I had spoken to of corse leaving detail out of the groping.
Suggestion: A sickness in mind clearly by the action of those that would rip a unborn from the womb, and such illness in the best intrest for those that committed this act to be layed to rest.
I nod and stood up I gave my ahte a hug and told him how much I loved him and it was a great honor to be his daughter, he than smiled at me and playfully pushed me to the door telling me to leave him be now he had much work to do and he wished to see me after the family had dined this eve…. I of corse leaving my father’s office raised back to the scribery to my little desk kneeling down to write….
