Dulla, the capital city of Ophir. A large crowd made of seagoing skippers looking for oar slaves, fat overlords in need of field workers or (the most feared) mining foremen watchful for strong slaves to send in their mines. The cacophony of shouts, yells, panted offers makes the new slave on the block dizzy and noxious.
Telling the lusty baron to go pluck yourself wasn't after all such a good idea ... Not when the said baron has a castle, henchmen and a functional dungeon.
It starts with the Great Betrayal, when all the magic users got blamed for the failures in the Northern Kingdoms. From the death of Foltest to the madness of Radovid, sorceresses and sorcerers were imprisoned, burned at the stake or exiled. This is the story of Triss, Yennifer and Ciri (plus Phillipa later) sent in slavery with the Ophir's traders.
After a long and unpleasant travel from Novigrad to Cintra the disgraced former members of the Lodge were chained in demeritium (the bane of magic) bonds and put on the first boat to Ophir. In his desire to get himself rid of the troublemakers, Emhyr var Emreis, the White Flame Dancing on the Barrows of his Enemies wasn't content to simply execute them, like common criminals. No, he wanted a life of misery in slavery for his despised betrayers.
The exchange is made quickly, under the gaze of lustful Ahmad, the owner of Sparrow (sic). He still can't believe his luck, new slaves for free. And good looking at that.
"Make sure the demeritium shackles stays on, otherwise they might use their sorcerous powers to escape" are the instructions for the new owner. "Emhyr is going to be very unhappy, should that happen" he continued.
Ciri, more rebellious than her wisened friends protested angrily at the prospect of rowing naked all the way to Ophir. Ahmad quickly had her keelhauled a couple of time until all the rebellion left her.
A blacksmith is brought onboard to chain the naked prisoners to the oars where they are to stay till the end of the voyage. The rest of the crew, made of strong Nubians is looking with interest at the newcomers, trying to predict how long are they going to last.
Geralt is looking anxiously for his missing conspirators, unaware that they were captured and send to Ophir. He vaguely noticed a departing boat in the distance and his sharp vision spotted some white skin but can't make out more details. He found it highly unusual for boats to employ the services of white slaves, as they don't fare too well under the Southern skies. Brushing it off of his mind, he resumes the search for his friends.
Ever rebellious Cirilla spent more than a few miserable nights tied to the prow of the boat, constantly awaken by the waves crushing into her. A punishment designed not to damage the goods slavers trade in.
And so Ciri's short lived rebellion was cast aside, and live aboard the vessel voyaging to Ofir assumed its daily routine. The white haired teenager, true heir to the throne of Nilfgaard, assumed her place among the galley slaves and gave her all rowing from dawn till dusk.
But shocking incidents aside, it was mostly routine. Breaking their backs rowing in the day, uneasy rest at night, and brief moments separating those two in which the slaves were fed, could attend to bodily necessities, and were checked for lice or festering sores. Ten minutes of fresh air, a washing with salt water, if necessary a sprinkling with vinegar. Sometimes, not finding sores to cure, the sailors just gave the four white women a few strokes across their behinds, blatantly sparing the darker skinned ones.
Life at sea is boring, after all, and one has to get all the entertainment on offer.
Text by Lord Ludwig
Socialising on the rowing bench. Ciri finds out how her oar mate was taken into captivity by Pygmies and sold as a slave to row for Ahmad some time ago.
"You know, he's not the worst master I've had. Some like to whip their slaves for little cause but Ahmad only does it when speed is important. Or for lack of obedience"
"And don't worry about your back being whipped. After a while the skin hardens and you'll feel much less ... " said the black slave encouragingly to Ciri.
Ahmad prefered black slaves to work at the oar. Their stamina was unsurpassable and some were comely wenches. But when Emhyr's men brought three sorceresses that crossed him with the order to chain them and use them he happily obliged and freed three benches for the newcomers.
Two months later and some few hundred lashes each, the island of Thanedd was in sight, another planned stop on the merchant route.
'It's Aretuza, right? This is the Academy where you got your sorcerous training' ... Ahmad grinned thinking about the irony of it. Leaving the island oh so full of themselves, coming back in chains and working the oar.
Lesson to take home, no one swindles the Emperor. Now let's see which one of you will be servicing the crew for the night.
n the waters of Ofir, Ahmad has to look for pirates in every other boat he comes across. The key in this waters is high speed and a keen eye so slaves are whipped into a frenzied effort. Even the sturdier ones are getting painfully tired by the sustained speed required by Ahmad.
One annoying thing to Ahmad is that the skin of the newcomers is unaccustomed to the whip and they bleed easily. Many a time Ahmad has to restrain himself, afraid not to lower their potential value. He never has this kind of trouble with the Nubian slaves he prefered. Those girls can take a whipping.
Somewhere along the cruise, Ahmad is feeding his slaves. A disgusting serving of gruel is spread to each female. While Ciri eats without a fuss, owning to her youth full of hardship, the two former court mages are forcing themselves not to vomit. After a short break, the rowing resumes.
Finally ... Ofir. The place of birth for Ahmad, the last stop in the trade route. It's late in the evening and dices decided will be Yen's time to please the crew. Feeling content and surrounded by the familiar smells he missed for more than a year, Ahmad is surveying the harbour full of other slave galleys. On the boat moored next to his, the crew is having their time with a young tribe girl, barely a women. On the another, a rebellios slave is whipped for some unknown slight against the crew during the day, her guttural pleas for mercy in a language no one understands alternating with the harsh crack of the hide on naked skin.
Voyage 15
