Chapter 11 - The Scantily-Clad Woman and Human-form

[Discourse #4]

I suppose I should tell you now, my guest, about the second time I came close to death when I was a human. It occurred when I was just fourteen years old and, as usual, full of curiosity about the world. It was an incident involving a slave.

My father, who had become quite an established merchant in the years after my mother's death, had gained a not-so-insignificant reputation for trading. He was, I suppose, regarded as reliable by customers and sometimes highborn patrons.

Venturing on one of his numerous trading routes, we arrived at the outpost known as Milgard, located near the northern edge of the kingdom of Shail. It was a small kingdom near the unexplored southern part of the central area of the continent, way to the west.

By that, I mean the western boundary of the kingdom of Shail bordered the ocean, while its southern boundary was adjacent to a small desert. Not needing to be vigilant against its southern and western flanks, the kingdom had most of its outposts in the north and the east. Milgard was one of the kingdom's finest and largest outposts in the north.

I think you will recognize these names, my guest, since we are not so far from there.

The kingdom of Shail, in addition to being small, was also quite crude compared to its well-established neighbors in the southern parts of the continent. Still, this was the kingdom I was born in. Well then, “my guest,” I believe that is enough background information for some relevance.

Continuing with my tale, my father had undertaken a contract with a noble of the kingdom to deliver weapons and other miscellaneous items for the outpost. This noble's name is not very important anymore, at least, not to me. I am a dragon now, after all, I said, looking at my guest with my piercing emerald eyes. The reaction of my guest was quite amusing, as I could almost taste the fear emanating from him.

Thus, my father and I, along with a few trusted guards we hired and our chain of caravans, arrived at this outpost called Milgard. We were astride our horses, as we did not feel like staying inside a carriage. From my vantage point, I looked around at this novel place with curious blue eyes, taking in everything noteworthy.

Among my observations of this outpost, I noted three observation towers facing north and two more facing east. They were all spread out evenly and were about fifteen feet tall. What impressed me the most was that this place was a misnomer. It did not deserve to be called an outpost; instead, it was more like a fort and a medium-sized town combined, forming a sprawling mass of various people. Judging from the relatively unmarked ten-foot walls surrounding the perimeter of the outpost, I could tell that this place was safe from attacks.

A call from my father snapped me out of my observational trance.

“Come on now, son. We can't dawdle here forever, waiting for you,” he said. It was a soft rebuke, lessened by the smile on his pepper-bearded face. Even after fourteen years since my mother's death, the smile still held vestiges of sadness.

A small part of me felt a twinge upon seeing this. I knew I was the cause of the death of the love of his life, but I could not feel much sympathy or sadness no matter how hard I tried. I would have felt distraught at my emotional impairment had I any capacity to do so, but since I did not, I could not.

“Coming, father,” I replied simply, giving a smile in return. Looking within myself, I suppose I did feel some form of affection for my father. It was not enough to develop into love, but nonetheless, it was something. In the end, the only lover, mother, father, and best friend I had was my indifferent curiosity.

Along with our helpers and guards, I followed my father to the front of the outpost's entrance, which consisted of twin doors reinforced with steel. There were two people on each side of the entrance, totaling four, all of them males. On the left side stood a scribe wearing a simple white robe, who was listing the names and businesses of the people in front of us. I could see that among those people, some looked like they were half-starved peasants.

Being the poor bastards they were, the peasants had most likely come here to enlist. At least then, they would be fed, sheltered, and given just months of training before being sent as fodder to defend against the raiding parties of small monsters. Such was the way of life for the downtrodden and poor peasants everywhere, not just in this kingdom. It was a universal truth, and what could I say except that life was a cruel mistress for the unlucky?

“State your names and your business,” the guard on the left side said, his voice brisk and short. I could tell by his dissatisfied and annoyed expression that he did not want to be here under this hot weather doing such menial tasks.

“My name is Falin Mead,” my father said. He gestured with his thumb to the few covered wagons behind us, filled to the brim with swords, axes, and various other weapons. There were also some miscellaneous items. “And this is my group. We are here to deliver weapons from Baron Serle.” Reaching into his personal leather satchel, my father pulled out the writ the baron had given him and handed it to the guard.

The guard barely gave the writ a cursory glance before he returned it to my father and waved us in, while the scribe silently jotted down my father's name and business. As quickly as he had taken out the writ, my father put it back into his satchel. The guard then saw me, and his lips curled in distaste as he muttered under his breath that I was a fucking good-looking bastard. No one heard it except me, as I was the one closest to him. I gave no sign that I had noticed, being quite indifferent to things like this. By the way, just in case you were wondering, that guard was pretty average: a little taller than the usual height, average looks, dark brown eyes, and squat shoulders.

An amusing thing I had noticed about my father's leather satchel, which he had ordered with specific directions to a leather-smith, was that most people looked down on it. I had seen only a few rare merchants with leather satchels. Most people tended to stick to coin purses hanging from their small belts, as if they were asking to be robbed by displaying their money openly. The few wise people attached a small bag to their belts for their coin purses, but that was still quite laughable, as a quick slash of a knife could easily create a hole large enough for an experienced thief to steal it quickly. I did not blame their unwariness, however, as most people with coin purses were grown adults who could take care of themselves, and thefts were infrequent.

Unlike my father, I tended to use a coin purse and was wise enough to hide it under the folds of my clothing, which always had a secret pocket inside. Had I not done so, I would have been robbed or perhaps even killed countless times during the many towns and cities my father traded in. After all, a wandering young child with a fat purse full of coins was a very easy target.

My father would have hired a trusted bodyguard to follow me around as a child, but I had denied him, telling him not to worry. It would have only made me an easier target, as it would obviously show that I was fairly rich to the somewhat trained eyes of experienced thieves.

Inside the outpost, my father turned back and nodded at me. “I shall not be long, Alan. I just need to report to one of Baron Serle's men. The name of our inn is The Sleeping Bear. If I am not there before you, just tell whoever is in charge there my name.”

My father knew that I was going to wander around the outpost, taking in the new sights, so he just told me the name of the inn we would rest at for the night. He had resigned himself to the fact that I could take care of myself years ago when I was just a child of ten.

After saying farewell to my father, I wandered around inside the outpost. I could see that some areas of the ground were cobbled with stone, but most were just cleared of obstacles, leaving only hard earthen ground, suitable for the comings and goings of a military outpost.

I observed that almost half of the population of the outpost were soldiers, while the other half comprised commoners and tradesmen, such as blacksmiths—all the essentials for a military place.

There were also brothels, ranging from cheap to ordinary to expensive, judging from the buildings and the few women and girls at the front trying to attract men. One of them even had a sign that said in bold letters: “Almost Free.” It was amusing, to say the least.

A scantily clad woman showed off her entire leg from a balcony, teasing the men below. Her pale thighs ended with dainty toes adorned with scarlet nail polish.

A few of the men on the streets even stood still for a while, staring hungrily at her, and some even bumped into each other, desire making them lose themselves. It was amusing to see such reactions among the men whenever I frequently observed these types of places.

That beautiful woman with lips as red as blood on the balcony of that expensive-looking brothel continued to tease the men below mercilessly, her soft brown eyes twinkling with mirth and amusement. She gave the ground below her a cursory glance, and then her soft brown eyes stopped on someone.

It was me. She had caught me looking at her with my strangely curious yet indifferent expression, as this look of mine had been described many times by the targets of my observations. Most men thought I looked like a cold, motherless bastard, just to name one of the many less savory names I had been called as a child. Some women and girls my age—fourteen, as I was at that time—even looked at me lovingly, likening me to a lovely and pitiable pet they would like to take care of. Those were some of the strangest and most intriguing conversations I had had, leading me to the conclusion that women are strange creatures.

The soft brown eyes of the woman on the balcony stared into my own twin blue eyes, almost like an insect caught in honey. Then she snapped out of her reverie and gave me a small, sensuous smile, which earned me the ire of many of the male passersby who had stopped to look at her. She arched her back like a lithe creature, and her eyes looked invitingly at me.

This is quite strange, I thought to myself as I looked at her indifferently. I should have been dressed in durable, but not very expensive attire, yet this woman from the expensive brothel had invited me in with her seductive, painted eyes.

I was a little intrigued, but not so much that I felt the need to go inside that expensive-looking brothel. I attributed this woman’s curious invitation to my face and the fact that I looked older than my real age of fourteen. Thus, I ignored her, turning around and going back the way I had come from. I did not know it then, but it would not be until I turned sixteen that I would take the final step with a woman. But that is another discourse best saved for later.

Having left that particular area of this medium town-like outpost, I ventured to another area, except this time my curiosity pulled at me. This particular region of the outpost looked dubious, perhaps even disreputable. I could almost sense it in the air and by the way the few men walked, as if they carried an air of secrecy about them. It was like shame or perhaps embarrassment.

Those few clandestine men had emerged from an extremely large building. It was large, not in height, but in length, and its color was a shade of dark brown and white with a lighter brown roof. This whole region of the town-like outpost had been devoted to this building.

I went inside the building to find out the cause of this furtive atmosphere. To my surprise, I found myself in a plain white room. In its center sat a man of perhaps thirty, dressed in an expensive-looking tunic made of soft material. I believed it was silk, but I was not very sure. I also cannot describe the man's face well, as my memories become a little hazy regarding that building, but I do remember that he was wearing a tall black hat. Behind that man, a few feet away, was a plain black wooden door.

When I first entered, the man looked at me in distaste, his eyes looking down on me the moment he saw my cheap attire. From his haughty, distasteful look, I could tell that I would perhaps need to show him my coin purse. Cold, motherless bastard that I may look like to most men, I was also a rich bastard. I dug into the secret pocket of my cheap black tunic, grabbed my heavy coin purse, and opened it slightly to show the coins, most of which were gold, with some silver. There were barely any coppers.

And in case you were wondering, “my guest,” this was my own money, not my father's. My years of traveling with my father were not wasted. I had become a somewhat experienced merchant, learning a few things here and there from him and other people I met.

Almost instantly after I showed him the coins, the man in the center of the room, sitting on a plain wooden chair behind a plain wooden desk, accorded me a slick smile. “Welcome, my good sir. Just write your name down on this sheet, and you can browse around after going through the door behind me.” The man pointed a thumb behind him at the door. He pondered for a moment after looking at my clothing, then back to my face, his nondescript eyes resting on me for a little while before returning to my clothing (I neither remember his eyes nor his face). “If you do not know how to write your name, then I shall do so for you.”

I nodded indifferently at his words, walking up to the table. I took the quill resting beside the parchment of paper with various names—of which I also do not remember—and wrote my name down. I was fairly educated, as my father had more money than he knew what to do with, so some of it trickled down toward my education in learning how to write and read.

The black-hatted man nodded, apparently satisfied that I had written my name in good style, and told me that I could go inside. Having gained his permission, so to speak, I opened the door and felt a strange spark as I touched the knob. Ignoring this little curiosity, I went inside, and while I was watching the strange spectacle in front of me, the door softly closed itself behind me with a soft thud.

In front of me were dozens upon dozens of cages with many various creatures and beings trapped inside. Some of them looked half-starved while a few others looked emaciated. Those cages were all lined up in neat rows behind the transparent doors and there were signs in front of each door. From my left to my right, the signs read; Ferocious and Loyal Soldiers, Sex Slaves (Male and Female), Fetishes, Preserved Dead, M Slaves, Wife Material, Husband Material, and Other Miscellaneous.

I felt a little surprised as my suspicions of this dubious place was not unfounded. I also felt intrigued as I looked at the few clandestine men and the rare women browsing around behind the door that read Sex Slaves. From my position here, just a few feet away from that door, I could make out humans of various skin colors ranging from black to brown to pale white.

I look behind the door that read Fetishes and found that I could make out creatures that look like humans except for their various animal ears and tails attached to their humanoid bodies; most of them were naked. That was truly interesting to me. I had heard a few spells and tales from hunters that there were strange humanoids, which looked a bit like animals, living in the unexplored deep central and northern part of this continent, but I had never believed it until now.

And curious enough, I could hear the moaning sounds and sounds of what I believed to be whips coming from behind the M Slaves door. I went closer to the door and saw a more-than-a-little fat, rich-looking man holding a whip, looking dominantly at the humanoid, female monster inside the cage in front of him.