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DIR Return to: Munira {SI}
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#Post#: 208--------------------------------------------------
Enter Munira!
DIR By: High Captain Song
Date: August 31, 2023, 1:21 am
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THE SETTING
The Caravansari Market
-- Is within the public slave pens of the Market, where Market
slaves are kenneled, trained, and branded --
THE PLAYERS
High Captain Song, Frode of Skull Island
munira, A Dancing Slave
Frode
Many is the night that the famous Skald of Kassau might be found
playing one tavern or another in the Caravansari. He might also
be found holding court at the cafe. Of late, he might even be
found manning the counter at the shop that he and his Mate now
own.
Today, high as his station might be on Skull Island, he has
fallen back into his old habits as a humble Singer, dressed in
dark green sailor's clothing of a humble aspect. No fine
Captain's Coat or hat. His cittern is safely locked in his shop.
Today, he is carrying a humble drum and pounding out a beat at
the slave auction tent.
It has been some time since I had performed this duty, but when
Marcus Lycus contacted him and said that his usual drummer had
broken his hand after some incident involving a greased tarsk, a
rake and a wager gone awry, I did not ask questions.
As fate would have it, I had no plans for the day and a thrall
to mind the store. It is always a handy thing to have a business
associate owe you a favor. Besides, I have an unrivaled view of
the slaver's latest wares and I enjoy a good show as much as the
next man.
(The next man, in this case, drooling like a starving sleen as
he walks past the naked dancers employed to lure an audience
into the tents for the proper show.)
munira
I listened to the sounds of the music from behind the scenes as
it were.. which in this case was just a curtain hanging from a
circular rod suspended from the ceiling. It would be clear to
anyone familiar with Marcus' shows, that whoever he was having
be his featured dancer for the night was the one in said
enclosure. Anyone that had followed him this latest jaunt might
even know it was me.. The curtain was backlit by some oil lamps,
the leaping flame casting my shadow against creamy off white
linen, that shadow both utterly still and yet the illusion of
movement as that curtain would move with the air each time the
door opened or closed..
-the dancing girls would do their thing.. ringing their bells,
going out to the streets to lure men in, while other girls
poured paga and ale and still others found themselves ravaged on
tables or in alcoves. It was a typical night in a typical
tavern.. or at least typical to most here. Even after all this
time, taverns still rather terrified me.. but that.. was a story
for another time. no tonight.. i had to focus. I knew the dance
he wanted, knew the stake at hand, and the punishment if i did
not satisfy.. and so.. i awaited my cue.-
-after about 20 ehn, it would finally come.. Marcus shouting the
words "THE SA-EELA" and pointing to the musicians playing.. the
curtain dropping dramatically after those words were uttered and
the music began.-
Frode
It has a carnival atmosphere but the interior of the tent is no
tavern. You wouldn't know it the way the wine is flowing,
however. Marcus Lycus is generous when it comes to distrubiting
drinks at his auctions. It tends to make the audiences more
generous once the bidding begins.
I keep the drum beat light as the show goes on inside the tent.
Outside, the block beat must be loud, to attract the crowd and
to enable the girls around the outer stage to hear it from all
around the ring looping the tent. Inside, however, more subtlety
is called for, even with the crowd inside the tent.
As usual, Marcus Lycus has some beauties. He is known about the
Caravansari for being an expert vendor in the flesh of beautiful
women. There is a wide variety, too. A fenzied dark-skinned
beauty from the South. A pale skinned Earth girl whose exotic
tattoos and piercings mark her as an unusual prize here. Many
busty blondes from the North, of course. I have no idea what
Marcus has planned for the finale apart from "a fine dancer,"
but I am watching the stage as raptily as any, as the final
prize for the night is revealed.
munira
And so the curtain dropped to show a woman of diminutive
stature. A single glance would speak of her heritage, the darkly
tanned skin, dark features.. if any had looked upon the men and
women of the Tahari, it would be very apparent in this case. For
now, she was garbed in attire typical of a dancer.. various bina
and bangles on her arms, a diaphanous bit of silk tied into
something akin to a choli style top, leaving arm and belly
bared.. legs covered in a slave garment of the desert, a golden
chalwar, all but transparent and giving a golden sheen to oiled
skin. Black hair spilled in a sensuous cascade to the backs of
shapely thighs.. and she held the typical starting pose for a
dancer.. hands back to back and over the head. head tipped back
with graceful abandon, one leg turned out with the toe pointed,
the light glimmering on the bells that adorned them from leather
cuffs tied about her ankles. -
Movement. That poised leg kicking out, the dancer poised on one
leg.. then running to the edge of the stage to the left,
bringing up hands as if gripping cage bars.. right.. bars.. to
the front of the stage, now facing the audience, desperation in
eyes that were a rare rich green color.. staring out from that
exotic face, meeting the gazes pleadingly.. gripping those
invisible bar, shaking them in vain and crumpling to the
ground.. the first phase of the saeela showing the caged woman..
alone. Bereft.. poised upon knees thrust widely apart, a piteous
writhe of form as hands roam flesh, nails score over clothing..
each motion timed perfectly to the music filling the dancer's
ears.. a lean forward and she pummels the ground with her fists,
a cry of anguish .. a few bangles removed.. tossed in anger into
the audience.. why this cage? It was madness .. it had been so
long.. so long since hands touched.. took.. claimed.. she moved
to her back as her hands roamed the expanse of that lithe form,
feet planted, hips rising in entreating undulations as he
whimpered audibly.. her head tossing in frustrated anguish as he
couldn't push the fantasy far enough in her cage.. now to her
belly, she wiggle across the stage floor of her imaginary cell..
moving to the front, her arm reaching out towards the audience..
the word 'please " silently mouthed, but the plea was clear..
until the music changed again for the next phase.
Frode
After so many years a performer, I am capable of playing
automatically while my eyes observe what is around me and my
mind wanders. This habit has saved my life more than once, for I
sometimes see that which is hidden.
In this case, I watch the show appraisingly. Amusingly, I've
never had much use for the trained professional dancers. To my
mind, the practiced dance often lacks passion. I've always found
the unskilled but enthusiastic dance more alluring and there's
many a Barbarian girl who lacked skill but had heart who found
her happiness with my beats to guide them.
In this case, however, I sense more to the performance than the
usual act most dancers affect. I see those dark eyes and the
pleading in them. The pose of a caged beast. And I am not
certain but....Iquestion if it is an act.
munira
This music was bleak.. notes of discord carrying
disappointment.. despair.. the dancer rolled to her knees a
sneer shot out to the audience.. a prideful air creeping into
the fluid motions. She stands and throws a hand through the air
in a dismissive way, as if to say "fine.. to hell with you all..
i don't need ANY of you.. " but there is a mournful gaze cast
back over one shoulder... as if maybe?...
A long pause of stillness, then a harsh HISS as she spins away,
stalking towards the back of the stage.
it seemed she would walk right off, but she teeters on the edge,
balancing perfectly there, one leg suspended mid-step. hands
coming up to face.. that leg slowly lowering. maybe she wasn't
pretty enough? .. a glance over shoulder, this time filled with
uncertainty.. vulnerability tangible in the air as she turns
around slowly, still perched on that single leg. She moves to
center stage, her hands tracing a frame as if she was looking in
a mirror.. crouching as if to pick something up.. she stays in
that crouch.. one leg extended, hips undulating very minimally
to the music, keeping that flame of desire ever present, ever
moving.. hands moving as if she is now doing her hair.. her
makeup.. the bangles' song intertwining with the music that
filled the area.. a motion of pushing the invisible mirror
aside.. a few steps forward.. a display position assumed.
now in the full lights of the tent, the dancer stood center
stage at the very edge, as if she'd teeter off any moment.. her
hands skim the sides of her thighs, hips..travel the undulating
plane of her belly as it writhed sinously.. nails scoring
flesh.. skimming the sides of pert breasts mockingly contained
in that artfully tied silk.. higher.. higher.. fingers lacing at
the back of her neck.. chin rising high.. haughtily.. as if
demanding.. silently screaming NOTICE ME!!... turning to the
left, eyes downcast as is proper, but not before that flash of
desperate need is glimped.. then very slowly.. the left leg is
turned, that gap in the side of chalwars parting to show the
dina brand there on lean thigh.. the hip rolling up into trapped
pose, a statue of a dancer in real time there on the stage.. but
now.. drumbeats sound like footsteps.. getting closer.. and
closer.. the audience now clapping intead with the beat, the
tension palpable.. a rhythmic pulse in the tent.
Marcus Lycus, for his part, is enthusiastic and starts to lead
the audience in clapping in counterpoint to the beat ast the
next stage begins.
munira
This music was bleak.. notes of discord carrying
disappointment.. despair.. the dancer rolled to her knees a
sneer shot out to the audience.. a prideful air creeping into
the fluid motions. She stands and throws a hand through the air
in a dismissive way, as if to say "fine.. to hell with you all..
i don't need ANY of you.. " but there is a mournful gaze cast
back over one shoulder... as if maybe?...
A long pause of stillness, then a harsh HISS as she spins away,
stalking towards the back of the stage.
it seemed she would walk right off, but she teeters on the edge,
balancing perfectly there, one leg suspended mid-step. hands
coming up to face.. that leg slowly lowering. maybe she wasn't
pretty enough? .. a glance over shoulder, this time filled with
uncertainty.. vulnerability tangible in the air as she turns
around slowly, still perched on that single leg. She moves to
center stage, her hands tracing a frame as if she was looking in
a mirror.. crouching as if to pick something up.. she stays in
that crouch.. one leg extended, hips undulating very minimally
to the music, keeping that flame of desire ever present, ever
moving.. hands moving as if she is now doing her hair.. her
makeup.. the bangles' song intertwining with the music that
filled the area.. a motion of pushing the invisible mirror
aside.. a few steps forward.. a display position assumed.
now in the full lights of the tent, the dancer stood center
stage at the very edge, as if she'd teeter off any moment.. her
hands skim the sides of her thighs, hips..travel the undulating
plane of her belly as it writhed sinously.. nails scoring
flesh.. skimming the sides of pert breasts mockingly contained
in that artfully tied silk.. higher.. higher.. fingers lacing at
the back of her neck.. chin rising high.. haughtily.. as if
demanding.. silently screaming NOTICE ME!!... turning to the
left, eyes downcast as is proper, but not before that flash of
desperate need is glimped.. then very slowly.. the left leg is
turned, that gap in the side of chalwars parting to show the
dina brand there on lean thigh.. the hip rolling up into trapped
pose, a statue of a dancer in real time there on the stage.. but
now.. drumbeats sound like footsteps.. getting closer.. and
closer.. the audience now clapping intead with the beat, the
tension palpable.. a rhythmic pulse in the tent.
Frode
Marcus Lycus steps forward at that moment, taking a slight bow
as if it were he who had earned the applause. Of course it is
his right as the Master of Ceremonies and the Auction, but it is
stolen valor of a kind. He comes to stand above the slight girl,
looking even larger and fatter by comparison. "A fine dance, I
think you'll agree!" he shouts before his fat fingers reach for
the ties of her garments. "Yet it is said that only a fool buys
a clothed slave and I think too highly of you all to think any
here fools. So let us see how this slut looks shorn of her
finery, aye?"
munira
that display held while Marcus removed the dancing silks.. and
then a sudden spin away, a cry of fear.. as the dance moved to
the next and final phases.. her bangles flung off this way and
that.. her dance carrying her as if hands were grabbing..
pulling.. tugging... panted breath hanging heavy in the air..
and then a perfect stage fall as she lands on all fours on the
floor of the tent now.. leaving the stage behind entirely..
where actual hands could grope and slap.. the scent of cinnamon
tinged sweat wafting off the dancer.. Marcus would crack his
whip occasionally during this part of the dance, and each time
she'd cry out, her body jolting as if struck.. all but flinging
herself into the lap of this man or that, falling jut shy of
actually landing, actually touching.. meeting the gaze of each
she neared.. until she was in the center of the tent, some of
the crowd moving to create a circle that put her with her back
to the musicians.. another cry tearing from lips as arms snapped
up into the air, crossing as if bound.. head snapping back as if
hair had been yanked demandingly.. and she'd stay poised like
that.. thighs sliding wide apart..
Those undulations grew desperate; wild and uncontrolled.. bared
breasts bobbing into the air hungrily.. the lithe plane of belly
twisting and grinding.. those serpentine undulations moving up
along the dancer's torso as she reveled in her invisible
bonds... only that holding collar about her neck, Turian in
design.. both loose and absolute.. the brand on her flesh
marking her boldly as exactly what she was, a writhing mass of
flesh put on this world for the pleaure of the men that
watched..
Marcus walked over and made a slicing motion with his hand, and
the girl fell into obeisance before him, her body still
writhing.. lower.. lower.. to her belly.. laying flat, her hips
grinding against the floor in desperation.. a nudge of his foot
and she was on her back.. one hand going to her face, fingers
suckled into lush lips as the other travelled searing flesh. arm
pushing under breasts, offering them up to the crowd.. thoe hips
continuing their wanton dance.. a clap of Marcus' hands.. and
she moved again.. to her knees.. balancing a moment on all
fours, her head hanging as her panted she-sleen breaths hung in
the air.. and then the music kept up the raise of tempo.. she
moving with it the entire time until it ended on an abrupt drum
beat, the girl snapping back into a Gorean bow, one hand reached
out entreatingly to the audience, letting her eyes close as the
dance finished for the time being..
Frode
says to - The Dancing Lotus -.. : There is much slapping of
shoulders at the display and whistles and cheers from the more
passionate of the men assembled. One might think restraint would
be called for in a high class auction such as this, but it is
not in the nature of a Gorean man to show restraint in matters
of passion.
From the group of musicians, I continue to watch appraisingly.
Marcus Lycus is not the sort to punish a slave needlessly and I
recognize that his whipping is just for show. Such is his skill
that he did not come close to touching your flesh. It was quite
impressive, I must say, as a showman, for the slaver is a
showman in his way and he loves to play to his audience.
"Aye, this she-sleen is just barely restrained and tamed, as you
can see. But perhaps one of you bold fellows might be the one to
manage it? We shall start the bidding at 10 silver tarsks! Who
shall say 10?" The bid is quickly made and begins to climb. Most
eyes turn to Marcus at this point, but I continue to watch the
slave closely, looking for signs that her struggle might not be
an act.
munira
There was a variety of emotions that coursed through me as the
bidding started.. i didn't move from that pose, as it had not
yet been commanded.. since he was distracted and with my
proxmity to you, you could see the unguarded thoughts dance over
my face. I was clearly schooled in dance.. but perhaps not as
much in the coquetticishness that most slaves had, that way of
guarding their thoughts and emotions on the face.. at the start
of 10 silver tarsks.. there was something akin to glee.. perhap
even spite as my gaze shot to a some of his other girls.. one of
which openly hissed at me as i met her gaze. there might have
even been a satisfied smirk before i caught myself.. so there
was certainly some sense of pride at starting outide of
coppers.. then as the bidding began.. there was an amalgamation
of things.. fear.. excitement.. but under all of that.. was that
tiny thread being rapidly buried.. that vulnerability from my
dance.. that want for something more... real.. something less
superficial than all this pomp and show going on around me..
Frode
Seeing that face, I see something I can't resist even more than
a good dancer - a damsel in distress. It had been remarked more
than once that my playing the hero would likely get me killed
someday. But today would not be that day. Probably. Of ocurse if
I threw down another two gold for a dancer as I had once before,
Malora may kill me upon my homecoming. On the other hand, her
father is trying to get a tavern started and he did say he'd
have need of a dancer or two.
My hand shoots up and I call out as the bid gets to 70 silver
tarsks. If any object to a Singer in the band biding, their
objections are lost in the calls of the crowd as the auction
heats up.
munira
-after the bid out of nowhere from the drummer, a lot of the
more ardent bidders started to back off as the bidding drew near
to a gold now.. that girl that had hissed at me rolled her eyes
and then got yanked up by one of the bidders and dragged off for
him to vent his rage at being outbid.. she shot me a smug smirk
but then fully realized how much had just been bid and left with
a dumbfounded expression.. Marcus would give the going once..
twice.. just to see if he'd get anything else.. otherwise, it
seemed i'd become the property of a drummer-
Frode
Going... going... gone. And with that, the dancer is sold to
the drummer.
Well, not just ANY drummer. In truth he is a drummer. But he is
also a Slald of the North. And a Captain. And, unbeknownst to
most, the ruler of a small island known to only a few.
I offer Marcus Lycus an almost apologetic grin. Perhaps if I had
not jumped in he might have driven the price up a bit? But he
cannot be too upset. He knows I am good for it and he does owe
me for agreeing to play this day. Still, there will be time
enough to settle up later. For now, it is enough to taste
victory.
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