Post by zipp on Apr 17, 2008 18:38:19 GMT -5
(personally I thought this was one of the best introductions to a character I've read, no offense to all the other great writers here at TOTS. Anyways, I thought it deserved a reposting)
The following was written by Slavemaster, as an introduction to his character:
Name?
What is my name?
Now, why would you want to know that, pray? So that you can carve it on a blade or an arrow that will be my undoing? So that you can curse me with your dying breath? I am afraid none of that is likely to happen, my friend. You will never leave this realm again, and even if you do, you are unlikely to ever hold a sword or a bow again, considering the current state of your hands. And as for your dying breath... Well, when that finally comes, even I may be long gone. When we are done with you, what remains will be a part of what guards this forest. You saw them when we travelled here, just by the Giganite pit. Yes, they look like the walking dead, but they are not. They are still alive, for want of a better word, and some of them are quite old. The realm of Ruel has been in existence for a very long time, as has its defenses. Some of the creatures that prowles our forest are believed to have been created by the very first Cener circle! And I assure you, they have nothing left of what they once were, nothing but their pain, and the memories of even more pain. If or when they finally perish, they will not curse anyone. And you will be among them, my friend, yes, in that form you might even outlive me, for who can say what Great Xuzargha has in store for any of us, eh?
But I understand. The question was rethoric. You don't really want to know my name, only to show pointless heroism and try to convice yourself that you are not yet broken. "Tell me thy name, foul fiend" indeed! Well, I admire your stamina and your strength of mind, I really do. Otherwise, you would not have been chosen for this experiment. Oh, I must once again ask you not to try to remove the zesztra maggots from your wound. That was a nasty bite you took from the plague hound, and you would have died from it by now if it weren't for my wriggly little friends there. Yes, they eat away the dead tissue, and their excretions, while painful, are in fact stopping the Filth fever that would otherwise have given you a painful and ignomineous death several days ago, had you managed to escape. Your companion, I am afraid, were not so lucky. I am given to understand she was your wife? Yes, I am truly sorry about that, but plague hounds sometimes do tend to have a mind of their own, especially if newly created and... No, please don't do that, just keep still... Keep still, I said!
That's better. I do apologise. I do not usually stoop to such crude punishment on a good specimen, but it is imperative that you keep still as much as possible. The Bita fever I injected in you are of a new strain I have much hope for, and even I am not sure what it will do, but struggling will only make the disease flow easier through your system, and that will make this test unreliable. And these manacles are of very good quality, I assure you. So you just try to relax. I will sit here by your side and we can talk for a while. It is so seldom I have an opportunity for idle chitchat these days, and anyway I must observe when the first symptoms appear. And I like you. You are not a stupid man. Foolish, certainly, for trying to interfere with the affairs of the Ceners, but not stupid. Otherwise you wouldn't have come so far as you managed to do. I have to say you showed much skill and cunning in tracking down that slave trader that was my contact, may his soul for ever wander the Plain of Despair. He will not be easy to replace. Well done. You have caused us much damage and now it will be some time before I can operate our slave trade in Slovia again. But then you just had to try to release the slaves I had already procured, didn't you? That is the curse of the Gods of Light, that their followers must always act stupid, even if they are in fact quite intelligent. You yourself are living proof of that. Currently living proof.
But of course, there were special circumstances, weren't there? I can just imagine it, you sitting with your wife and the peasant rabble up on that ridge, watching me whip the slaves, thinking something on the lines of 'here is some lowly initiate the ceners have assigned to the dirty and menial task of herding slaves, what threat can he pose?' Am I right? And then you find yourself before a high priest of the Spiral of Disease! Well, I can't say I blame you for that particular misjudgement. Just between you and me, there are those among my brethren who also think that an ordained brother, especially one so close to the Deathlord, should not waste his time with such minor tasks. But they do not realise the importance of slaves, that we can accept only the finest specimens, be it for menial labour, guard duty or simply nourishment for the more, ah, let us say discerning part of our populace. And they certainly do not have any experience or even remote understanding of the finer points in the handling, transporting and treatment of slaves. I have always felt the personal touch is important. Every time I have delegated any of my duties to my subordinates, the death toll among the slaves have risen appallingly! No, I am the Slavemaster of Mogaruith, and I am not above putting in an honest days work. Some find that strange, but is it not so that the very best warrior kings are the ones who personally lead their men into battle? Is it not so that the very best mining engineers are the ones who have toiled behind the shovel and pickaxe themself for several years? And it is very much the same with slave handling. Who better to wield the whip than those who have had their own backs scarred by it? Who better to fasten the manacles than those who have struggled in them? Who better to deliver pain than those who have received it?
Why, is that surprise I notice in what is left of your face? Yes, you and your kind prefer to perceive us as nothing but mindless monsters with not a shred of humanity. Another folly that can only come of being convinced of ones own virtue. Is it so hard to believe that there is a human behind this mask? Or are you just too uncomfortable admitting it, because it might put a stain on your own so-called virtue? And what I do is very human. Can you think of an animal that will go through so much pain, that will put others through so much pain, so that it might one way or another increase its own power? Mindless animals instinctively avoid anything that might cause them harm, pain or disease, and they kill only for nutrition. Only we, only humanity, have learned to embrace those things, to embrace pain, terror, disease, even death, to draw power from it! Even the blasted herbalish understand as much, even if their conclusions about the nature of such things are misguided.
You asked about my name. Yes... Yes, I must have had a name once. A common, everyday name just like yours, given by loving parents in hope and joy for the future. I was not born in Ruel, you know. Great Xuzargha has a long reach and his voice can be heard in the most remote corners of Magnamund. But before I heard it, I was as common as you please. I was born in a small hamlet somewhere in Salony, I believe. Or it might have been Lyris. The borders are never quite fixed in the Stornlands, as you well know. And it does not matter anyway. Peasants, and much less peasant boys, are not concerned about whos face is on the meager coins they scrape together or what banner the knights riding down their harvest carry. There is so much I have forgotten... But I remember the apple tree we had on our small farm. I remember fishing in the nearby stream, and nicking alether berries from the sanctuary and daring the other boys doing stupid and dangerous things. And I remember digging in the old battlefields and long forgotten mass graves that are everywhere in the Stornlands, searching for old armour and broken weapons that might be traded to the blacksmith for some candy or a copper or two. It is strange, is it not, how you can remember trivial things like that and not remember your given name, or the faces of your parents? My brethren in the spiral of Terror know more about such matters but I... I have never felt inclined to walk their path...
But I do remember when the soldiers came. Ours or theirs didn't matter, not when the lords are fighting, and certainly not when mercenaries are involved. Our village was far from the main roads, but the rest of the area was already thoroghly eaten out by then, and this mercenary company found their way to my home at last. I don't remember much of it, it was mostly fire, the beating hooves of pursuing horses, the clanking of weapons and platemail... and screaming, of course. Screaming men, screaming women, screaming children... Some of the screams probably belonged to my family, what do I know? I ran away into the forest. And there I wandered, for how long I can't imagine. But it must have been long, for I remember eating the most repulsive things not to starve to death. Hah, I still remember the heartfelt joy when I came across a horse carcass that must have been rotting for weeks! Can you imagine that?
Anyway... finally, I came to this town. An abandoned town, probably abandoned for long. I took shelter in the ruins, and when night came, I heard whispering in the wind... I do not remember the words, but I do remember the pure terror they instilled. And then... Well, something happened, and I left the town. You see these white strands in my hair? It is not from old age. I am not so old as you probably think. In fact, I am quite young for someone of my rank and stature in the Order, even if I say so myself. No, I have had them ever since that night in the town. Yes, I see you understand. And you are right. It was indeed the haunted town of Amory. You have heard of it like so many others, but only we of the Ceners - and not many even among us - knows exactly what was in that town. I learned this long after, when I took the Crimson Oath and much of my memory returned to me for the briefest of time when the soil drank my blood. But most of those memories dissolved again once Xuzargha accepted my offer. So you understand that my name before that night is of no importance, for it is the name of a long dead peasant boy. I was born again that night, even if I did not understand it then.
Some time after I left the ruins of Amory, I was picked up by another band of mercenaries. I was a strong lad, even after my ordeal in the forest, and the captain of the company had a good eye for valuable slaves, that at least I can say for him, as a professional in such matters. I remember he got a good price for me when he sold me to a river pirate from Delden. I served as a deckhand for months... or could it have been years? It might very well have been. When I wasn't working with the most demeaning tasks you can imagine, I was locked up in the hold. The cat'o nine tails never left the hand of that captain and he took a particular delight in using it on me. I still have the scars on my back, especially the ones from that time he got... inventive and used the metal hooks that... well, it is difficult to explain, but remind me to demonstrate it when we are done here.
My word, it is a long time since I thought about this! I remember even more now. How the rats in the hold gnawed on me... well, that at least was understandable, the poor things certainly would not want to touch the things I myself was given to eat. Or how the captain sometimes took me to his cabin at nights and... well, it doesn't matter now. What matters is, once I was broken to within an inch om my life - and I have to tell you, that took some doing, I was strong even then - the captain decided to try to get what little value from me that was still possible, by selling me on to a slave trader in Rhem. I have to say, that was optimistic to the point of foolish by the captain. Speaking as a professional, I personally would have demanded to be paid myself to accept a slave in the state I was in by then! But the slave trader he approached was not just any slaver. No, it was brother Carmhana, at that time the Slavemaster of Mogaruith. And as a Cener, he did not have to count my teeth, striking my legs to see how high I could jump or any such crude methods that ordinary slavers are limited to. No, he could see into the very soul of the merchandise presented for him and thereby judge its true value, as I can now. And he saw something in me, something extremely rare. He bought me right there and then and I was taken here, yes, to this very same citadel as you are in now.
As you undoubtedly realise, I thought I was doomed then. For I too had heard of the dreaded Ceners, the same lies and misinformation about our true nature as you have heard for the whole of your life. For a moment there I wished I was back with the pirate captain, which should tell you something about the fear I felt when my gaze first fell upon the walls of Mogaruith. But instead of tossing me in some dungeon, I was nursed back to full health - of course, I didn't realise it then, because our methods of healing are not always recognised as such, as you yourself should know. But I got well, and I was told about the order by an ordained brother. His name was Roark. Yes, I see you recognise the name. It was indeed the once-to-become Deathlord who spoke to me when I arrived here, though of course he was not very high in the hierarchy then. It was now that I was told that brother Carmhana saw in me that I was touched - blessed, perhaps I should say, although I appreciate that it is probably not the word you would have chosen - by one of the spirits of our kind. The terror I have experienced, the ordeals I had survived... those alone would have been enough to make me eligible to take the Crimson Oath. But the fact that I had met, and survived, a spirit bound to the demon Tagazin and to the ceners made it certain. I was offered to take the Crimson Oath, with Roark as my mentor and guide through the spirals of our order. I was offered the possibility of immortality by embracing death, of health by embracing disease, and of fearlessness by embracing terror. Add to this the implicit offer to finally be the one wielding the whip instead of enduring it, to trade in life instead of being traded... Well, it was not difficult for me to accept, nay, embrace the offer.
Perhaps you understand now that my name not only is unimportant, but that I do not really have one as you would define the word. The name my parents gave me was forever lost that night in Amory. And during my time with the river pirates, I was only "boy", or more often some demeaning epithet. And when I took the Crimson Oath, I was given the name Asza-Kerhan, which in our language means something like "the reborn", but that is not really a name, just a term by which to distinguish me from my brothers of the same rank. To my superiors and subordinates alike, I have always been initiate or novice or, now, brother. But most of the time, I am known simply as the Slavemaster, no more and no less. I travelled a lot with my predecessor, brother Carmhana, since my time with the pirates had at least given me some contacts along the river Storn that came in useful when we had to get slaves. And when brother Carmhana had an... accident, I was given the post as Slavemaster of Mogaruith. Strictly speaking, I should have chosen a successor once I attained the rank of Druid, but as I have already told you, there was simply no one I felt I could trust to do the job properly. And to my meaning, there still isn't. I oversee the slave pits of Mogaruith, I know those in the Stornlands willing to trade with us, and that is an important task, one that can't be entrusted to just anyone, you know.
Oh yes... During one of my searches for new material for our experiments, I actually came across the pirate captain from whom I had so many memories. No, it was not revenge, the code of the ceners strictly forbids putting personal matters before the interests of the Order. I just had a feeling I would find good slaves in that little village he happened to be in at the time. Take my word for it. But even so, I was of course happy to repay his hospitality and tender care by making him a special guest of mine. Of course, my skills were not very developed then, I am afraid. He died after only a week, whereas I had hoped to keep him alive for at least a year. Well, we can all learn by that, I suppose. Never be too confident in yourself. You yourself could have profited much from that advice, my friend.
Are you listening? Oh... here I am, rambling of olden times, forgetting my duties! Hmm, that is interesting... Bita fever usually don't come out with blood-filled boils... Perhaps it is time to start thinking about the cure. Well, sleep well my friend, and thank you for listening so patiently. I will be back tomorrow, and we can see if those boils have cleared up by then.
The following was written by Slavemaster, as an introduction to his character:
Name?
What is my name?
Now, why would you want to know that, pray? So that you can carve it on a blade or an arrow that will be my undoing? So that you can curse me with your dying breath? I am afraid none of that is likely to happen, my friend. You will never leave this realm again, and even if you do, you are unlikely to ever hold a sword or a bow again, considering the current state of your hands. And as for your dying breath... Well, when that finally comes, even I may be long gone. When we are done with you, what remains will be a part of what guards this forest. You saw them when we travelled here, just by the Giganite pit. Yes, they look like the walking dead, but they are not. They are still alive, for want of a better word, and some of them are quite old. The realm of Ruel has been in existence for a very long time, as has its defenses. Some of the creatures that prowles our forest are believed to have been created by the very first Cener circle! And I assure you, they have nothing left of what they once were, nothing but their pain, and the memories of even more pain. If or when they finally perish, they will not curse anyone. And you will be among them, my friend, yes, in that form you might even outlive me, for who can say what Great Xuzargha has in store for any of us, eh?
But I understand. The question was rethoric. You don't really want to know my name, only to show pointless heroism and try to convice yourself that you are not yet broken. "Tell me thy name, foul fiend" indeed! Well, I admire your stamina and your strength of mind, I really do. Otherwise, you would not have been chosen for this experiment. Oh, I must once again ask you not to try to remove the zesztra maggots from your wound. That was a nasty bite you took from the plague hound, and you would have died from it by now if it weren't for my wriggly little friends there. Yes, they eat away the dead tissue, and their excretions, while painful, are in fact stopping the Filth fever that would otherwise have given you a painful and ignomineous death several days ago, had you managed to escape. Your companion, I am afraid, were not so lucky. I am given to understand she was your wife? Yes, I am truly sorry about that, but plague hounds sometimes do tend to have a mind of their own, especially if newly created and... No, please don't do that, just keep still... Keep still, I said!
That's better. I do apologise. I do not usually stoop to such crude punishment on a good specimen, but it is imperative that you keep still as much as possible. The Bita fever I injected in you are of a new strain I have much hope for, and even I am not sure what it will do, but struggling will only make the disease flow easier through your system, and that will make this test unreliable. And these manacles are of very good quality, I assure you. So you just try to relax. I will sit here by your side and we can talk for a while. It is so seldom I have an opportunity for idle chitchat these days, and anyway I must observe when the first symptoms appear. And I like you. You are not a stupid man. Foolish, certainly, for trying to interfere with the affairs of the Ceners, but not stupid. Otherwise you wouldn't have come so far as you managed to do. I have to say you showed much skill and cunning in tracking down that slave trader that was my contact, may his soul for ever wander the Plain of Despair. He will not be easy to replace. Well done. You have caused us much damage and now it will be some time before I can operate our slave trade in Slovia again. But then you just had to try to release the slaves I had already procured, didn't you? That is the curse of the Gods of Light, that their followers must always act stupid, even if they are in fact quite intelligent. You yourself are living proof of that. Currently living proof.
But of course, there were special circumstances, weren't there? I can just imagine it, you sitting with your wife and the peasant rabble up on that ridge, watching me whip the slaves, thinking something on the lines of 'here is some lowly initiate the ceners have assigned to the dirty and menial task of herding slaves, what threat can he pose?' Am I right? And then you find yourself before a high priest of the Spiral of Disease! Well, I can't say I blame you for that particular misjudgement. Just between you and me, there are those among my brethren who also think that an ordained brother, especially one so close to the Deathlord, should not waste his time with such minor tasks. But they do not realise the importance of slaves, that we can accept only the finest specimens, be it for menial labour, guard duty or simply nourishment for the more, ah, let us say discerning part of our populace. And they certainly do not have any experience or even remote understanding of the finer points in the handling, transporting and treatment of slaves. I have always felt the personal touch is important. Every time I have delegated any of my duties to my subordinates, the death toll among the slaves have risen appallingly! No, I am the Slavemaster of Mogaruith, and I am not above putting in an honest days work. Some find that strange, but is it not so that the very best warrior kings are the ones who personally lead their men into battle? Is it not so that the very best mining engineers are the ones who have toiled behind the shovel and pickaxe themself for several years? And it is very much the same with slave handling. Who better to wield the whip than those who have had their own backs scarred by it? Who better to fasten the manacles than those who have struggled in them? Who better to deliver pain than those who have received it?
Why, is that surprise I notice in what is left of your face? Yes, you and your kind prefer to perceive us as nothing but mindless monsters with not a shred of humanity. Another folly that can only come of being convinced of ones own virtue. Is it so hard to believe that there is a human behind this mask? Or are you just too uncomfortable admitting it, because it might put a stain on your own so-called virtue? And what I do is very human. Can you think of an animal that will go through so much pain, that will put others through so much pain, so that it might one way or another increase its own power? Mindless animals instinctively avoid anything that might cause them harm, pain or disease, and they kill only for nutrition. Only we, only humanity, have learned to embrace those things, to embrace pain, terror, disease, even death, to draw power from it! Even the blasted herbalish understand as much, even if their conclusions about the nature of such things are misguided.
You asked about my name. Yes... Yes, I must have had a name once. A common, everyday name just like yours, given by loving parents in hope and joy for the future. I was not born in Ruel, you know. Great Xuzargha has a long reach and his voice can be heard in the most remote corners of Magnamund. But before I heard it, I was as common as you please. I was born in a small hamlet somewhere in Salony, I believe. Or it might have been Lyris. The borders are never quite fixed in the Stornlands, as you well know. And it does not matter anyway. Peasants, and much less peasant boys, are not concerned about whos face is on the meager coins they scrape together or what banner the knights riding down their harvest carry. There is so much I have forgotten... But I remember the apple tree we had on our small farm. I remember fishing in the nearby stream, and nicking alether berries from the sanctuary and daring the other boys doing stupid and dangerous things. And I remember digging in the old battlefields and long forgotten mass graves that are everywhere in the Stornlands, searching for old armour and broken weapons that might be traded to the blacksmith for some candy or a copper or two. It is strange, is it not, how you can remember trivial things like that and not remember your given name, or the faces of your parents? My brethren in the spiral of Terror know more about such matters but I... I have never felt inclined to walk their path...
But I do remember when the soldiers came. Ours or theirs didn't matter, not when the lords are fighting, and certainly not when mercenaries are involved. Our village was far from the main roads, but the rest of the area was already thoroghly eaten out by then, and this mercenary company found their way to my home at last. I don't remember much of it, it was mostly fire, the beating hooves of pursuing horses, the clanking of weapons and platemail... and screaming, of course. Screaming men, screaming women, screaming children... Some of the screams probably belonged to my family, what do I know? I ran away into the forest. And there I wandered, for how long I can't imagine. But it must have been long, for I remember eating the most repulsive things not to starve to death. Hah, I still remember the heartfelt joy when I came across a horse carcass that must have been rotting for weeks! Can you imagine that?
Anyway... finally, I came to this town. An abandoned town, probably abandoned for long. I took shelter in the ruins, and when night came, I heard whispering in the wind... I do not remember the words, but I do remember the pure terror they instilled. And then... Well, something happened, and I left the town. You see these white strands in my hair? It is not from old age. I am not so old as you probably think. In fact, I am quite young for someone of my rank and stature in the Order, even if I say so myself. No, I have had them ever since that night in the town. Yes, I see you understand. And you are right. It was indeed the haunted town of Amory. You have heard of it like so many others, but only we of the Ceners - and not many even among us - knows exactly what was in that town. I learned this long after, when I took the Crimson Oath and much of my memory returned to me for the briefest of time when the soil drank my blood. But most of those memories dissolved again once Xuzargha accepted my offer. So you understand that my name before that night is of no importance, for it is the name of a long dead peasant boy. I was born again that night, even if I did not understand it then.
Some time after I left the ruins of Amory, I was picked up by another band of mercenaries. I was a strong lad, even after my ordeal in the forest, and the captain of the company had a good eye for valuable slaves, that at least I can say for him, as a professional in such matters. I remember he got a good price for me when he sold me to a river pirate from Delden. I served as a deckhand for months... or could it have been years? It might very well have been. When I wasn't working with the most demeaning tasks you can imagine, I was locked up in the hold. The cat'o nine tails never left the hand of that captain and he took a particular delight in using it on me. I still have the scars on my back, especially the ones from that time he got... inventive and used the metal hooks that... well, it is difficult to explain, but remind me to demonstrate it when we are done here.
My word, it is a long time since I thought about this! I remember even more now. How the rats in the hold gnawed on me... well, that at least was understandable, the poor things certainly would not want to touch the things I myself was given to eat. Or how the captain sometimes took me to his cabin at nights and... well, it doesn't matter now. What matters is, once I was broken to within an inch om my life - and I have to tell you, that took some doing, I was strong even then - the captain decided to try to get what little value from me that was still possible, by selling me on to a slave trader in Rhem. I have to say, that was optimistic to the point of foolish by the captain. Speaking as a professional, I personally would have demanded to be paid myself to accept a slave in the state I was in by then! But the slave trader he approached was not just any slaver. No, it was brother Carmhana, at that time the Slavemaster of Mogaruith. And as a Cener, he did not have to count my teeth, striking my legs to see how high I could jump or any such crude methods that ordinary slavers are limited to. No, he could see into the very soul of the merchandise presented for him and thereby judge its true value, as I can now. And he saw something in me, something extremely rare. He bought me right there and then and I was taken here, yes, to this very same citadel as you are in now.
As you undoubtedly realise, I thought I was doomed then. For I too had heard of the dreaded Ceners, the same lies and misinformation about our true nature as you have heard for the whole of your life. For a moment there I wished I was back with the pirate captain, which should tell you something about the fear I felt when my gaze first fell upon the walls of Mogaruith. But instead of tossing me in some dungeon, I was nursed back to full health - of course, I didn't realise it then, because our methods of healing are not always recognised as such, as you yourself should know. But I got well, and I was told about the order by an ordained brother. His name was Roark. Yes, I see you recognise the name. It was indeed the once-to-become Deathlord who spoke to me when I arrived here, though of course he was not very high in the hierarchy then. It was now that I was told that brother Carmhana saw in me that I was touched - blessed, perhaps I should say, although I appreciate that it is probably not the word you would have chosen - by one of the spirits of our kind. The terror I have experienced, the ordeals I had survived... those alone would have been enough to make me eligible to take the Crimson Oath. But the fact that I had met, and survived, a spirit bound to the demon Tagazin and to the ceners made it certain. I was offered to take the Crimson Oath, with Roark as my mentor and guide through the spirals of our order. I was offered the possibility of immortality by embracing death, of health by embracing disease, and of fearlessness by embracing terror. Add to this the implicit offer to finally be the one wielding the whip instead of enduring it, to trade in life instead of being traded... Well, it was not difficult for me to accept, nay, embrace the offer.
Perhaps you understand now that my name not only is unimportant, but that I do not really have one as you would define the word. The name my parents gave me was forever lost that night in Amory. And during my time with the river pirates, I was only "boy", or more often some demeaning epithet. And when I took the Crimson Oath, I was given the name Asza-Kerhan, which in our language means something like "the reborn", but that is not really a name, just a term by which to distinguish me from my brothers of the same rank. To my superiors and subordinates alike, I have always been initiate or novice or, now, brother. But most of the time, I am known simply as the Slavemaster, no more and no less. I travelled a lot with my predecessor, brother Carmhana, since my time with the pirates had at least given me some contacts along the river Storn that came in useful when we had to get slaves. And when brother Carmhana had an... accident, I was given the post as Slavemaster of Mogaruith. Strictly speaking, I should have chosen a successor once I attained the rank of Druid, but as I have already told you, there was simply no one I felt I could trust to do the job properly. And to my meaning, there still isn't. I oversee the slave pits of Mogaruith, I know those in the Stornlands willing to trade with us, and that is an important task, one that can't be entrusted to just anyone, you know.
Oh yes... During one of my searches for new material for our experiments, I actually came across the pirate captain from whom I had so many memories. No, it was not revenge, the code of the ceners strictly forbids putting personal matters before the interests of the Order. I just had a feeling I would find good slaves in that little village he happened to be in at the time. Take my word for it. But even so, I was of course happy to repay his hospitality and tender care by making him a special guest of mine. Of course, my skills were not very developed then, I am afraid. He died after only a week, whereas I had hoped to keep him alive for at least a year. Well, we can all learn by that, I suppose. Never be too confident in yourself. You yourself could have profited much from that advice, my friend.
Are you listening? Oh... here I am, rambling of olden times, forgetting my duties! Hmm, that is interesting... Bita fever usually don't come out with blood-filled boils... Perhaps it is time to start thinking about the cure. Well, sleep well my friend, and thank you for listening so patiently. I will be back tomorrow, and we can see if those boils have cleared up by then.
).
Good lord, I don't know what to say, really...