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Liberation; Personal Saga
Topic Started: Nov 29 2017, 09:51 PM (167 Views)
Fasha
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Fasha
The story continues following the Quest "A Forgotten Student"...



Prologue

Her army stood at attention. Their malnourished, worked and whipped bodies stood motionless but ready. Their once glazed, empty eyes shone with fire. Whether it was the thought of freedom or the hate of oppression, Fasha did not know, but she liked what she saw.

The body of the Slave Master could not be described as such. What remained of his hulking frame was a head, attached to a torso which could have resembled a man’s trunk. His limbs had been torn from him and the rest of him mangled to a bloody pulp. Inside that crushed chest his heart beat slowly and his lungs desperately expanded against the pressure of his injuries. He fluttered in and out of consciousness, clinging to life like a spider on the shower wall. If he could still speak between his haggard breathing he would probably beg for death. There was no future for him now, his only hope was mercy.

Where was my mercy? She thought, looking at the pathetic wreck of a man.

Outside the purveyors waited for their human wares. That had paid handsomely for these possessions, and they would be growing impatient out there in the cold. There were at least a dozen of these men. They were business owners, running their enterprises off the backs of slaves: from mining to prostitution. This is how money is made.

Fasha regretted her lack of foresight. She had attacked the Slave Master and liberated these people. She had got the information she needed but now she had a small army of slaves, which would draw attention.

There were no people in this city who she knew, let alone harbour escaped slaves from the Founders of the city. She couldn’t take them anywhere, except outside, where they would all surely die. The only place they could spend the night was here, but how long would it be before they were discovered?

A few kilometres away lay the City of Founders. Inside those impenetrable walls lay the people who had settled Ortrok, and began this very slave enterprise. Among them was a man named Akkio, whom she was going to find. If it were just her, and her alone she might have found somewhere quiet to hole up for the night. Maybe she could even scale the walls and slip into the City of Founders, but with these people there was no way they could all sneak inside.

The problem rolled in her mind like the washing in a drier. A light bulb flicked on in her mind, and she had a plan.


Word Count 433/433
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The Pacific -Nominee for RP of the Year 2017
Liberation
The Regime pt. 1
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Fasha
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Fasha
Samson



He awoke from his walking slumber to stare into the eyes of ice. A hooded figure with a gaze so piercing stalked into the room behind his Master. He did not gaze directly at her as she crept forward. A harsh voice holding a whip roared at him to warn his Master. Another voice, a strange voice that sounded familiar urged him to stay still.

She is going to die, and we are going to get in trouble. Warn him!

NO! Let him die.

He cannot die!

HE WILL DIE! Let’s get him.

No, no he will hurt us!

The knife slipped into the Master’s spine and his body went limp, crumpling to the floor. The arms which had beat him and beat him hung limply at his sides. The strong legs which had kicked in his skull were floppy and useless. A smile crept up Samson’s lips.

Memories flooded back. His name was Samson. My name is Samson! He had been a slave for almost a decade. Once he had a family: a wife, a daughter, a farm. He remembered them now, he remembered how much he loved them and missed them. A terrible weight of sadness fell on his face and body, turning his mouth down and dropping his shoulders. He remembered little things, like coming home to the smell of a Sunday roast, or the way his daughter would laugh and giggle when he pretended to be a monster, chasing her down the corridor. He remembered the feel of his Wife’s lips, the last time they kissed. Samson remembered the last time he had seen them, as they were dragged off by men clad in black. Anger flooded into his heart and soul, energy coarsing through every muscle as every ounce of hate he had exploded through his body. The woman with the ice eyes stepped back from the Master. Samson stepped forward, relishing the look of terror in his Slaver’s eyes. The other slaves stepped forward too.

Anger flowed out from their minds and into their hands as they punched, their teeth as they bit and their legs as they stomped. They attacked his lifeless body with the kind of fury that only the broken have. They mutilated him until there was nothing left but a rasping mess, and still their anger flowed. They stepped past their Master to the woman with ice in her eyes.


She regarded them with a cold stare. Her stare was so piercing was almost as if she was looking into each of their mind’s, searching them for something. A glimmer of recognition shone over her eyes as she regarded them, and a smile crept up her lips.

The assassin spoke to them, in a voice like the rasp of steel on stone. She told them what she wanted and soon her smile crept up each of their lips. They each filed out, into the snow and the arms of their new owners.

Word Count 505/938
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The Pacific -Nominee for RP of the Year 2017
Liberation
The Regime pt. 1
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Fasha
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Fasha
Ernin

They walked out of the hall, their heads held low and their shoulders hunched against the withering cold. They wore only rags, remnants of the clothes of the people they used to be. In a place where the sun shone brightly and the only shackles were those of home and work. Ernin had been in the business for three decades. He was one of the first to move here after the Founders started mining. He had heard about it by chance, halfway across the world. Whispers reached him that there was a place full of riches, where there was no law and no rules. A man with money could do anything, own anyone and become rich. When he had heard the rumors he took the first ship to the country at the top of the world, rode a four day train and found himself in the most uninhabitable place on Earth. Ortrok had been his home now for thirty years, and in that time he had become extremely successful. He was now the owner of four hundred slaves, of which he ingeniously leased out to other small companies for the right fee. He paid a sum of money for them, then they would work until they had paid themselves off and made him a small fortune off their backs. Then he would work them some more until they collapsed and he took them to his Hole. Ernin had an eye for investment. He paid particular attention to the health of his purchases, because longevity was the key to profit, and profit was the key to success.

In his former life Ernin had trained as a Physician. He was attracted to the job because of the respect it demanded. The Slaver liked the idea of walking into a room and having the attention on him. The Physician was all powerful, above everybody else and this is what he wanted. His training had put him in good stead for the business of Slaves, because he had an eye for the unhealthy and the sick. He could look at a purchase and tell within the accuracy of a few months how much time they had left to work. Occasionally he would pin it down to the exact day that they would collapse and die. This allowed him to calculate exactly how much to pay for each Slave, to reap the maximum profit.

He had paid for three items today. They were all big, strong men, perfect for work in the mines. He quickly dressed them in warm wool and gave them each a shake. Many slavers treated their investments like dogs, but they didn’t understand the Economics of this business and the basic principles of management. Even baseborn humans require sustenance for maximum output, and maintenance of their core body temperature in order for their muscles to function. Treatment over minor ailments was also essential for increasing efficiency. Medical care always had to be balanced by costs in versus costs out. If there was a minor condition which Ernin could treat himself then he would. If it was something serious he would take them to the Hole.

One of the biggest keys to efficiency was morale. This was always overlooked among other slavers. The cheapest and best way to improve morale was to service his labouring men with other slaves. He could have them work in the brothel and then return to the Labourer’s beds in between shifts. It was a genius system, one which had caused the Slaver to rise to the very top of his profession. Recently Ernin had been invited to supply direct reports to the Founders of Ortrok. Each month he would attend their compound, walking with pride past countless guards and defenses to stand at the end of their great meeting room. He would supply them with reports of the front lines of their enterprises. He would tell them humbly how he achieved so much success with all of his slaves and they rewarded him in kind. One day he would run this place and that would be a happy day indeed.

Word Count 685/1623
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Liberation
The Regime pt. 1
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Fasha
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Fasha
Violet

The night was cold but her bed was warm, but damp with the sweat of men and the blood of her. She huddled into her duvet, grateful to finally have some peace. She had lain there for hours and hours as she worked, trying to block out the grunting and the sweating and the pushing. She was numb, both inside and out. Often as she lay there her mind could drift off to another place with warm sandy beaches and clear blue water. Occasionally she would imagine it was her husband on top of her, but the image of him was fading like sand in the wind.

Her room had the scaled proportions of a shoebox. There was no place to stand except where the door might open. There were no windows, because the clients respected their privacy. The door was always closed because of this so the room filled with the musky scent of unwashed men and it built up more every day. Violet had grew accustomed to the stench each night, but when she returned from her daily meal it would be overpowering to open up that door and lie among those sticky sheets.

The meal was normally the highlight of the day. It was always a nice warm meal, usually a broth of some kind. Occasionally there would be a few meat bones to flavour it and maybe some slices of carrot for nutrition. They were allowed a large bowl of the watery concoction each, and she savoured every spoonful. This was the start of her day, the same as every day for the past ten years. Her body had suffered from the many years of hard work on her back. She used to be young and beautiful and men would pay good money for her. Now she was a sack of meat worth a penny an hour, and so she has fed as such.

That evening as she lay in her tangle of sheets, numb and motionless the door opened. It was Otto, the brothel’s owner.

“Come on love,” he gestured out the door.

“Go where? It’s cold out there ya know!”

“Orders from the top,” he explained. “You and the rest of the girls are to spend your nights with the workers now.

She felt something snap inside. “Now I work both day and night, lying on my back with these savages!”

“Now, now, calm down missy. It won’t be so bad, you’ll see,” he reassured her. “You’re just there to warm their bed is all and cheer them up through these tough times.”

The look in her eyes could have frozen his blood in his veins right then and there. She could see him quiver under her gaze, and it felt good.

“L-look, I don’t want to have to get the boss,” he warned.

The anger disappeared from within her, like a creature in the woods, catching the scent of a hunter. She bent her head and gathered her meagre possessions and followed him out the door.

Word Count 504/2127
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Liberation
The Regime pt. 1
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Fasha
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Fasha
Samson



A soft knock came through the narrow wooden door to his lodgings. He rose from bed, stretching out his stiff muscles. The day’s work had been hard down in the mines. Samson’s job was to clear away rubble from the sides of the large digger. It would pick up tonnes of dirt and stone and heap it into a truck, but there was hundreds of kilos that fell away and could obscure the tunnel if they weren’t cleared. He worked tirelessly, without a break to even have a glass of water. Twice he pissed himself because there was no toilet down there and no time to go. It was so deep in the ground that light could not reach your eyes. All you had was your head torch and the lanterns on the wall. After sixteen hours you would emerge from the chasm to find it just as dark outside.

Because Samson had not seen true light for many hours his body was confused, and he was awake in the dark when the knock came. The light spread out into his room which he shared with several other workers. The Slave Master Ernin walked in. The Master was tall and lean. He had a holllow, pale face, shaved very cleanly, except for a thin pencil moustache on his upper lip. He walked with his back held up and stiff and his arms behind himself. He always wore a fine three-piece suit, complete with a thick woolen coat and leather gloves. His eyes were dark and calculating.They scanned Samson up and down and a smile stretched across his prominent face.

“You men have been working hard,” he began, his voice a whisper. “So I have decided to bring you men a present.”

The other men were waking from their beds now, staring out at the light emanating from the doorway. Eight woman walked in, for eight men.

“They will stay with you each night until morning,” he explained. “They have to work tomorrow too, so please return them in respectable condition.”

Every woman’s head was down and shoulders slouched. Samson said nothing as Ernin regarded him with an expectant smile. The Slave felt as if he was supposed to be thanking the man for providing the men with woman, but all he could do was stand motionless as he imagined those cold eyes of ice stalking up behind his Master and breaking his straight, stiff spine.

After some minutes of awkward silence the smile on the Master’s face faded, replaced by a line in his mouth which looked like a crack in stone. He walked out, slamming the door, returning the slaves to darkness.

The woman moved as if robots, walking to the men’s beds and distributing themselves. Their movements were automatic as they slipped out of their dresses and into the arms of the men. One woman moved towards Samson, her eyes saying no but her body saying yes. A visage of his wife flashed before his eyes, and for a second it was her standing in front of him, about to service another man.

“No thank you,” he said. “You may sleep in my bed if you please.”

He lay down in bed, and her after him. They were in a single bed, and so the only way to fit was to contort their bodies about each other. His manhood was hard, as much as his mind said no, his body said yes.

She reached down to grab him, but he caught her hand.

It was a long night for the Slave, but a small victory against his Master.

Word Count 602/2729
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Liberation
The Regime pt. 1
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Fasha
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Fasha
Ernin

A sharp knock sounded on his office door.

“Come in!”

His second-in-command Briggate stepped into the room. He was a large man, with hulking shoulders, a hair-covered body and long greasy brown hair. Ernin left him to stand to attention while he reviewed his reports. It had been several days since he had instituted his novel idea to improve worker morale. He had been waiting and hoping to see productivity increases across his bottom line. The numbers didn’t reflect that.

Ernin raised his steel gaze to the large man in front of him, “The men are slacking.” He said as a statement, but the tone of it expected an answer.

“Yes sir,” the large man replied. “They seem very happy, but not particularly fond of work. Sometimes I catch them in the dining hall, chatting away like school girls.”

“What are they chatting about, Briggate?”

“They always grow silent when I enter the room,” he answered. “I tried to beat it out of one of them but killed him accidentally.”

Ernin flew out his hands, knocking documents from his table onto the ground, “Well there goes my profit margin!”

“I’m sorry sir, I thought you would want to know…”

“Well I don’t know, do I?” Ernin sneered. “Now pick up those papers.”

“Yes sir,” the brute grumbled as he bent down to pick up the documents.

“I want you to do something for me now, Briggate.”

“Sir?”

“I want you to bring me the Slave named…” Ernin peered down at some papers. “Samson.”

“Okay,” he paused. “But why him he’s just a dirty commoner.”

“Did I ask for your opinion you insolate baboon?” The Master laughed.

“Bring him to me and we will find out what is going on.”

---------------

Thirty minutes later Briggate returned with the Slave named Samson. He was a tall malnourished man, with dark skin and long slender limbs and fingers. He had an athletic body, with sinewy, strong muscles standing out like thick cords among his bones. His eyes were stark white compared to the night of his skin, and they did not blink as they looked at his Master. The slave walked in with not a hint of fear on his face, even though the large officer stood to his side with a nasty serrated knife.

Ernin did not like the look in his eye. “Mr Samson, please kneel.”

Samson did not move, nor did his eyes, fixed on Ernin.

“Kneel.”

Again he did not move. The Master motioned to Briggate who stepped forward, preparing to bring the pommel of his blade down on Samson’s face. Everything happened quickly after that. The slave who was as still as a statue stepped forward and grabbed Briggate’s muscly arm as it was drawn back. Samson looped one long left arm over the Officer’s used his other arm to grab the wrist, just below the blade. He then reached back under the man’s arm to grab his own right wrist. Quick as a snake he used the figure of eight he had formed over the Officer’s arm to leverage the knife into Briggate’s own eye. He roared with pain and let go of the Knife.

Like a long black snake, Samson yanked the knife free and slit Briggate’s throat. He then slowly turned to his Master, eyes wide and white.

“I was a warrior before you took me, Master,” he spoke, his voice hard. “Now I am a Warrior again.”

“Please! I’ve been good to you haven’t I?! What about those girls I brought you? I bet you liked them didn’t you?”

“You brought slaves, slaves and expected us to be grateful?” Samson sneered. “You do not deserve to breath this planet’s air.”

“Please! Please! I will give you anything! You want three meals a day? Okay! Good! Maybe some leave? Your own room? Just put down the knife and we can talk about it.”

The slave’s laugh filled the room like booming thunder, cutting short the desperate man’s pleas. “The only thing I want is my wife. But I will find her afterwards. Come with me.”

“Where? No I want to stay here. I’m not going.” Samson grabbed him ruffly by his hair and threw him on the ground. He put one large knee on the man’s neck as he used the Officer’s cuffs to bind him.

“Come little man, she is waiting.”

“Who!? Who is waiting!?” He screamed as he was dragged out the door.

He was brought into a hall where a slight pale girl sat on a simple wooden stool. It was the Officer’s mess, yet the tables had been moved away and the only Officer’s present were dead ones. The walls were normally grey concrete but now they dripped with red. Ernin felt bile forcing its way up his throat, it erupted from his mouth and he had to double over. His hands still behind his back he couldn’t wipe his face, so the vomit dribbled out of his nose as he looked up. His eyes met ice, and the ice looked at him and through him, unblinking. She stared at him and he knelt frozen. She had a beautiful face, and a beautiful body. He found himself imagining the profits she would reap in one of his houses, being so small and petite. As soon as the thought had entered his mind he felt cold, chilled by the gaze.

Can she read my mind?

He looked around him, looking for familiar faces. He saw people he knew everywhere, but they weren’t so familiar. Their eyes were bright and angry, burning with a fire not often seen in this cold, cold place.

“Good evening Mr. Ernin,” her sharp voice cut through the silence.

The Master thought about making some clever retort but he glimpsed a hand lying separate from a body just behind her and held his tongue.

“I need you to do something for me, sir,” she stated. “It is not a question of if, but on how many hours it will take.”

“What will take?”

“Your full and undying cooperation,” she said, producing a long, curved blade from her belt. She had a smile on her face. On a girl it would look sweet, but with her cold eyes it looked evil. He shivered.

“No need,” he relented. “What would you have me do?”


Word Count 1055
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Liberation
The Regime pt. 1
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Fasha

They sat in the back of the large truck, rumbling along the rough ground as a cold wind roared outside. Ernin sat in the front, driving his way up to the wall of the compound. Fasha sat just behind him, hidden in folds of canvas, he knife point resting constantly against his spine. With every bump it jammed into his vertebrae, causing a yelp and a reminder of what was to come. Further in the back were the slaves he trusted most, and the leader of these slaves, Samson.
They approached the gate, and she could hear the guards inquiring as to what was kept inside the big truck. She pushed her knife slightly deeper and heard Ernin explain about gifts for the Founders, and that if they wanted their balls cut off they could take a look.

The huge gate rolled open and the truck rolled into the compound. Fasha and the slaves poured out of the truck before the gate could even close. Ernin reversed off, out into the night, trying to make a desperate escape. Fasha twirled her Trident and thrust it into the engine block, the truck dying instantly. She then turned to help her slave comrades hold off the soldiers around them.

There were ten guards stationed on the gate, all with automatic weapons and killer instincts. Her men and woman also had automatic guns, taken from the camp and they had the advantage of surprise.

Gunfire erupted, breaking through the howling wind. It was gone as soon as it began and the guards were dead, and the war began.

Outside ten thousand slaves erupted from their hiding places and sprinted towards the open gate. Some of them had guns, some knives from the kitchen or planks of wood, but every single one of them had revenge in their hearts.

They stormed through the city, with the pale eyed woman at their head. They sacked every house they met, stealing weapons and jewels and food. They found men and woman among those massive homes. They dragged them from their large, soft beds and threw them out into the cold. They pushed them together in a large group of a hundred people where the huddled in their silk night clothes, shuddering with cold and fear.

Fasha regarded the men and woman before her. Now out here in the open they looked like frightened children, innocent and hopeless. A small part of her dead soul stirred as she looked on them. But that good part of her stopped and lay still just like she had all those years ago in those dark alleyways with strong men.

I know men.

She levelled her trident at them, her eyes cold as ice. Fire erupted from the point, consuming the men and woman who founded this cold, cold place in a fire so bright it could be seen from space.


Word Count 481
4253
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