Port Kar

I have never understood why they are called 'round' ships, but I am told it has something to do with being wider through the beam than the 'ram' ship, which is more suitable for war than cargo and transport. I still imagine something more literally round, somehow, or at least ovoid, right up until the moment I see one of them anchored to the docks. The Drums of Tabor was a twin-masted craft with a crew of twenty four, including officers and sailors. I signed on to be the twenty-fifth. There were, of course, a few hundred slaves manning the oars. I make no claim of exemplary service to the Drums of Tabor. Szol of the Poets, though he appreciates the beauty of Thassa, well understands her disdain for him. The Captain was a good sort, and said he knew my name. This is always, still, a surprise to me. He did not know me for my songs, nor even my plays, for which I was not disheartened. While it is pleasant to be remembered for a verse or a well-written turn of phrase, my hope is that such things are savored most keenly in the moment, as they happen, when they are the most relevant, the most timely. It turns out that a crew member of his was in the City of Ar several years ago, and was served by a whore in the Anbar District.

"Paaarsha, ewned by a blook cawled So-luff-ahr," the Captain told me, doing his best impression of his First Mate's accent. After getting a look at the First Mate, I can't say I remember him, so I don't know in what capacity Portia served him, or if she served him at all. It is best not to gainsay the details of a man's memory, for two reasons. First, if he had been served by the 'Earner,' then at some point in time his coin made its way to my pocket, and I am grateful for that. Second, he clearly knew the girl and who owned her at the time. The Boarding House had become a tourist destination, it seemed, at least while it lasted. Several of the girls gained a bit of celebrity, though I would never have encouraged such a thing.

The upside of it all is this; the memory of a whore, and the respect for that whore's owner, allowed me to sell my service to the Drums of Tabor in exchange for passage to Port Kar, Jewel of Gleaming Thassa. I've booked a room here, above a tavern overlooking one of the countless canals. How long I will stay here, I do not know. Strangely, at this point in my life, it feels as if I am precisely where I am meant to be. A bit dingy, and the stench will take time to get used to, but still...precisely where I am meant to be.

Archetypes

I spoke with Aramis and his associate Felix before leaving Turia. They wanted me to remain in the city and conduct auditions with them for the Turian production of Fall of Agamedes. It was, however, time for me to leave that city, the purported Ar of the South. She is a beautiful place, and I admit to having a greater appreciation for her this visit than I have in past encounters, but ultimately she is not home. I'd like to think I might return there some day, but I get the feeling I will not. 

"The roles are essentially archetypical," I explained. "It is important, only, that you find actors who understand those archetypes."

The play is popular, I think, because it challenges convention. It illuminates the duality of our nature, showing two sides to the coin. While I don't think it bridges the gap between good and evil, I think it suggests the thin line between the two and, inherently, for those inclined to make the mental jump, the thin line between many seemingly opposite states. Good and Evil. Love and Hate. War and Peace.  Bliss and Pain. One state is meaningless without it's counter, and the counter-state is closer than we like to believe. Bonds of purity are fragile, often held together by little more than a faithful ideology at best and cynical dogma at worst. 

I may revisit the Southern Plains for a time, reacquaint myself with the Wagon Peoples, Tuchuks in particular. Or, perhaps, I will travel north, back along the Genesian Coast, to Port Kar. Or I may wander with no clear direction, true to my caste, that of the Poets, and earn each round of sa'tarna with a song.  

Rediscovered Country

From time to time, I leave my home. It may be for a few days, a hand or two, or as much as a year or more. These journeys have made me the man that I am, arguably as much as the providence of being born in the finest city on Gor. When a man sojourns for a lengthy period, there is much more to the travel than his destination, apparent intentions, or stated agenda. He is looking for something or, to put it more succinctly, searching for something. Is the compulsion to wander, after all, not greater than his desire to remain in the place of his birth, the city in which he pledged to a Home Stone? Too often, and perhaps this is a product of our self-effacing behavior under the shame of Cosian occuptation, men place far too little value in the preciousness of their Home Stone and, subsequently, in themselves. But how do we know ourselves, if we do not test the boundaries of our coveted self-image? How do we know our city, if we do not seek the differences and similarities, first hand, of other places? I think pride and faith are certainly components of a well-rounded man, but so are skepticism and curiosity. One must believe strongly in his convictions, but one must also be open to new ideas and new ways of doing things. One must change his ways, even for a time, if only to confirm that his established truths are not only self-evident, but preferable.

Two Turians in the Market

"Of course it is him," Aramis insisted with an assured tone.

"The one there," Felix questioned, gesturing toward Szol of Ar as he sorted through peaches on a vendors cart. "The one with the shamelessly attired blonde woman? Are you certain?"

"I saw him at the En'Kara Fair three years ago? Perhaps four," Aramis confirmed.

"Why would he be in Turia?" Felix asked.

I was oblivious to the scrutiny, or seemed to be, as I moved on from peaches to cherries, a white variety which had just been imported from Ko-ro-ba. They were only in season about a month out of the year. The 'shamelessly attired blonde woman' with me seemed to agree that the only-available-once-per-year cherries was a prudent choice. Who knew when you would be able to get Koroban white cherries next?

"Why would he not be in Turia?" Aramis said.

"Where better in the Southern Hemisphere to visit?"

"There are rumors that he lived among," at this point Felix paused to affect an appropriate expression and tone of disgust, "the Tuchuk."

"Mere speculation, my friend," Aramis answered, and then hedged, "and what matters if it is true?"

"Just so unseemly, is all," Felix said.

"Adds a bit of color to his character, no?" Aramis posited.

"Not a very complimentary hue, if you ask me," Felix answered.

Aramis laughed a bit, clapping his fellow on the back good-naturedly.

"At any rate," Aramis said. "Szol of Ar is now a playwright. I first saw his work at the En'Kara Fair. That play and others are produced in several cities."

"And you are considering producing his work in our Theater?" Felix surmised.

"Might shake things up a bit," Aramis smiled. "Don't you think?"

Removal

It won't soothe muscle ache, or ease arthritis, but the salve I rubbed into her thigh did have the same cooling effect as creams or lotions that do that sort of thing. It is nearly colorless, and completely odorless. After a half dozen applications in as many days, the mark was already starting to fade. It works several layers beneath the skin, breaking up the organic compounds making up the ink, causing the resulting smaller particles to dissipate through the pores. Eventually, there will be a faint reminder that something was there, the general shape might be hinted at. Soon enough, however, even that will fade until there is only her skin. Well, my skin. She belongs to me, and the mark, which was something more than a simple identificatory mark, became unacceptable. Therefore, I will see it gone. The application of salve is a sensual thing, of course. At times I lift her skirt to apply the salve, but other times I strip her completely. Noemi was meant to be nude, to better appreciate the curves and valleys of her figure, the sinuous symmetry of her lines. After all, soon following these applications of the salve, I often have her.