Merchant Fortress

originally posted March 15, 2006

The caravan continues northward. Last evening was spent in a Merchant fortress along the Pilgrim Road. Set up for travelers bound north or south, the fortress is really a city. A municipality where the faux supposition of Administrative Councils or Initiate Temples governing the populace does not exist. The tarn disk, and the tarsk, coin or bit, in Gold, Silver and Copper governs the populace of a Merchant fortress. There is little pretense in places such as this. Heavily fortified, well-guarded and protected overhead by tarn wire, it offers the weary traveler respite from the road. A hot meal and drink, lodging, a girl if you like. All for a price. I wonder how many people stop at such a place en route to their destination and find themselves needing to turn back for home, every copper bit fleeced from their pockets?

I was tired last evening. The whores, Portia, Nirah and Six in particular, were eager to see the city. I sent them out into the street, save She, who must work at laundry and keeping the room tidy, to earn for me. I was all too eager myself, unaccountably exhausted, to fall between the thighs, into the arms of tall, auburn-maned, oft called Sandal, Joy.