As a table top RPG gamer I keep tabs on many game systems. Here you will find stories and shorts inspired by these systems.
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Post by Wraithwriter »

Chains. They are my punishment and my salvation.

My life began in the breeding pens of a prosperous slave trader based out of the anarchic Varisian city of Kaer Maga. The trader was a decent man, if you can fathom some one dealing in slaves as being decent, and cared for his merchandise, so waited three years before separating the young from their mothers. For females like myself, there was not much change, but for the males it was into brutal introduction trials by blood. You see, we were bred to supply slaves to the gladiatorial arenas.

Growing up my pin was populated by mostly human and half-orc females with a few imbecilic orc males thrown in. The orcs were mainly there to keep the peace, but were easily manipulated by the breeding females. Now, before you start thinking this as some kind of simple slave harem, let me disabuse you of that thought.

As stated before, we were bred as arena slave fodder, this meant we trained for combat. While not as extensive as that of our male counterparts, it ensured that we would survive long enough to entertain a roaring crowd. Some of us, like myself, excelled at the training and were further tagged as a prime potential breeder. Years passed and I grew into a young woman with very little features linking me to my orcish heritage; several of the cities pleasure establishments made offers, but my aptitude for combat sealed my fate.

Our owner returned to Kaer Maga from one of his trips to the orc city of Urglin, and with him arrived a particularly brutish orc male. A celebrated survivor and champion of the Bloodworks, he'd accompanied the slaver in order to claim his prize, me. I became intimately familiar with what it meant to be at the mercy of a rutting orc male. After a week of abuse, the green swine left me barely alive returning to Urglin declaiming me a useless cur.

My recovery lasted weeks with the other women tending to my injuries, though eventually I was able to stand and care for myself, my mind never fully recovered. The bastards parting blow broke something in my head making it difficult to learn new things, make sense of other's words, and remember little details concerning the simplest of things. To complicate my recovery even more, the pig's seed had found fertile soil and the cad's spawn now grew in my womb.

Pregnancy in the end turned out to be the best thing to ever happen in my life. Yes there were those moments while violently losing the contents of my stomach that I wished to die, but for the most part life was good. I was given the choicest bits of meat and slept in a real bed reserved for breeders in my condition. In due course my vacation came to an end and I gave birth to twins, a boy I named Davor and girl I named Canan.

Motherhood was another condition that I was surprised I enjoyed. While no longer given a real bed, I still found caring for my whelps satisfying. the extra help from the other women of the pin didn't hurt either. However, I did have to leave my young to train, but thanks to the close knit relations of the pin I knew they would be kept safe. So went the next three years with me caring for my twins and training to entertain the bloodthirsty spectators. Those were the happiest years of my short life.

All came to a disastrous end when the owner died and his holdings fell into the hands of a despondent grandson. Within a month, the fortune the boy inherited disappeared, all paid out to settle his many failed bets. Once the money ran low he turned to handing over other assets, the slaves. My pin got sold off to a demon worshipping trader from the south. After we were loaded into two barred wagons the trader departed Kaer Maga bound for Korvosa.

It was the first time most of us had ever left the pins or training grounds, so the air quivered with our excitement. We stared at the ancient walls of the city as they passed and marveled at the vastness of the world as the walls receded behind us. That night the horror that is my life began.

The trader decide to make an offering of thanks to the demons he worshiped. Such entities were never satisfied with mundane offerings such as food and wine, no they demanded and relished in fresh blood. Since he'd gained much, animal blood would never do, only the blood of a sentient creature could truly serve. To this end he selected two innocents, twins only three years of age, my children.

As the trader dragged my precious little ones away, two guards had to restrain me. A third guard held my head forcing me to watch as the trader and another guard tied my children to a pole driven into the ground. In a wailing guttural tongue the trader droned out a prayer to his demonic patron holding a bronze knife out before him.

Screaming hysterically, unable to look away and unwilling to close my eyes, I watched as the trader raised his knife. Frustration and rage built inside my chest feeling as though chains were wrapping around my heart. So focused on the scene before me that I did not register the gasps of terror filled pain from the guards as hellish razor chains engulfed them. Then the trader's arm moved, and so did I.

As if in a dream I darted forward, razor chain stretching out before me. Before the knife touched the children, chains seized the trader's arm and encircled his neck. With a banshee like shriek I took hold of the chains welcoming the pain as the edges cut into my hands, and pulled. The chains tightened around the trader's neck digging deep into his flesh; but that is where my vengeance ended, as from behind something slammed into the back of my head.

The blow caused me to temporarily lose consciousness but the impact of hitting the hard earth jarred me awake. I lay on the ground too stunned to move, my eyes staring at where my bound children stood. They no longer screamed, nor did they struggle, as bright red blood ran from the gashes in their necks. The bronze knife lay on the ground as clean as when the trader first drew it, the only thing covered in blood were the razor chains she'd used to assault the one who meant to kill them. She had murdered her own precious children.

Another blow to the head sent her into blessed darkness; however, she could not hide from the horrors of her own creation. In the blackness she watched over and over as chains ripped the life from her children. Endlessly she watched as shocked betrayal entered their innocent eyes. It was only the feel of a needle being jammed through my skin that woke me.

Crying out I attempted to sit up but was restrained.

"Keep her still you good for nothing cattle drivers!" Growled an elderly woman just before rough hands secured her more throughly.

Thankfully I did not remain conscious for long. When next I woke I was on a soft pallet amidst blankets and furs. Above me walls of thick stitched hide painted runic symbols and horses.

"Good, you are awake," announced the same voice from before. "Nearly lost you a time or two, but old Mother Prairie Rose did not have you brought here simply to die."

Looking up I saw a white haired woman sitting on another pallet. Her ancient eyes twinkled mischievously from a wrinkled and sun worn face. An old blanket draped her shoulders as she ground something in a small stone mortar.

"So is there a name I can call you by, or would you like to be called 'orc git'?" The woman inquired grinding the pestle into the mortar.

"Maza" I managed to croak out.

"Well Maza," The woman returned. "You're lucky I stumbled upon you when I did, or that would be if I believed in luck. No, the spirits guided me to you as they always do my steps. Now I must ask why?"

For answer I looked away and as I did flashes of what I'd done came to me. Letting out a gasp of agonized sorrow and self loathing wept into the furs. When a gentle hand was placed on my brow I grabbed it and clung to it like a drowning woman does her last breath.

"You are safe with Me child. Old Prairie Rose knows what you have seen and I can not condemn or forsake you for it. The Awakening of ones blood knows no bounds in peaceful times, and when it rages in times of war it knows neither friend nor foe." Here the woman paused to pour water into her mortar before handing it to me to drink.

"Drink this. It will help you sleep. You are safe now among the Sklar-Quah, we do not condone slavery in our midst."

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