OOC - Caravans, a shocking new idea!

Well, sarcasm aside, from my brief visits to the GM enabled Gorean sims, it seems to be taken for granted, that not only do telephones exists, but so do matter transporters. I have seen a few Gorean players who also play on the Starfleet sims, but I am fairly certain that it should be impossible for a raiding party to send a message home AND have a caravan with trade supplies brought to their captors' camp inside of a five minutes.

To me it would make more sense if captives were actual captives and not told by their camp leaders to teleport out in the middle of an otherwise entertaining and fun roleplay, just because trade negotiations are completed. 

The solution: Caravans.

Mostly it would be slavers travelling between camps, cities and towns with their wares, as there is no real need for normal merchants. And to make it a bit more realistic, they'd need a large retinue of guards with them, but that will cause problems, because 1 slaver, 10 slaves and 10 guards jumping into most camps will be seen as a raiding party and then all hell breaks loose. Better to forego the guards and have the caravan party arrive as either OOC, AFK or without meters at all.

If the caravans move from camp to camp via routes that makes sense and no jumping from Black Perl to Siba to Shaba and then Kenaz inside of half a day. If you wanted to travel from Black Perl to Siba, you'd logically do something along the line of Black Perl -> Vosk Delta -> Ven -> Kos -> Fina -> Siba. And neither of these stages would be quick. These are up river, so a day per stage makes sense. Even when going the other way.

As a thought experiement, imagine a Siba being captured by Black Perl and then traded to a slave caravan in Black Perl. If the caravan is going to Siba, there would be stops in four other places along the way. These camps or towns might have people who are very interested in buying said Siba, just so they could avenge some bad things done to them previously. Now you end up with actual slave trade, more realistic roleplay AND a story line to add to your story line.

I would love to try this out. Moving between just a couple of sims with the caravan. Trading with panthers, outlaws and cities alike. Be it with captives or regular slaves. But I see little incentive to even bother with it, if any kind of outside slaver is shot down upon sight. I realise that some only have fun while running around killing each other, but those same people would probably be bitching and complaining if I showed up with a horde of warriors at my side for protection, claiming that it's an invasion force and are against the raid ratios established etc.

Running of the Bull

I've only ever killed one bull in my time.

Now, I didn't kill the bull as part of a bull fighting contest. I wasn't a matador, it wasn't animal cruelty. If anything I did the huge bull a favour when I pushed a stiletto in between it's 1st and 2nd cervical vertebra and killed it.

It wasn't exactly a fair fight either. I spent most of two hours dodging and avoiding it's quite lethal weapons, hiding behind the few obstacles I could find. And that didn't exactly make the bull any more friendly. I think it made it even more angry than before.

And I won't say I out smarted, out manoeuvred or even fought a better fight than the bull. Quite frankly I got lucky as hell. To give you an idea of my predicament, I was fighting a 317 kg bull, and all I had to defend myself was a nine inch long stiletto and an even less effective crude wooden spear with a broken flint tip. I'd have been better off using the spear as a club than as spear.

Like I said, I got very very lucky. At one point I stumble over the roots of a tree I'm using to hide behind and take three or four steps backwards, trying to regain my balance. This gives the bull plenty of time to rush out from the other side of the tree and head straight for me, apparently planning to impale me and toss me into the air.

At this point I completely lose my balance and fall rather awkwardly backwards, landing in what I can only describe as genuflection, almost shattering my shin against a sharp rock. At this point the bull is about a meter away and has too much momentum to change direction of its weapons and runs more or less right over me. I some how manage to shove the stiletto deep into its chest, thrusting it sidewards at almost forty degrees, and having hit it between the fourth and fifth rib, the stiletto punches straight through the heart and the momentum ripped the stab wound much larger.

This hit was pure chance though. I remember covering covering my face with my arms to protect against the huge impact, and the sensation of the stiletto almost being ripped from my hand.

The impact doesn't slow it down though. It ran right across me, slamming a heavy hoof into my pelvis before staggering a few steps as it came to a halt and regained its balance. At this point I couldn't walk and just barely crawl. My right leg was ripped, the shin almost crushed. My pelvis felt like it had been broken, and all I could do was roll onto the side and face death as it came to claim me.

As I lay there, the huge beast lumbered towards me, staggered a bit then gave me a look of startled confusion. It bent its head slowly forwards and ran two huge fingers across the gaping wound in its chest, blood oozing and gushing from it. It stared at the blood almost in disbelief. Obviously it had seen it's own blood before, being essentially an animal of war. The number of scars across its body, the dents in its huge horns and the cut across the nose, leaving it with only one nostril told a story of a beast with dozens if not scores of heavy battles.

This beast had obviously faced death dozens of times, against far more formidable foes than I, and yet here it stood, bleeding to death, not sure what to do. It raised the huge sword it was wielding and collapsed onto its knees, the sword faltering and the tip hit the blood soaked soil in front of it.

I lay motionless maybe a meter and a half from the tip of the lethal blade, my head held off the ground, watching the slow death of this beast, unsure if it would manage to kill me before it bled to death.

The beast tried raising the sword again, got it halfway over its head and then its fingers failed it and the sword hit the ground with a squishy thud. The huge bull groaned, a mix of anger and sadness then collapsed onto the ground, its breathing laboured yet shallow. Its eyes seemed to be staring towards me, past me, into some unseen landscape between life and death.

I rolled onto my side, screaming as pain shot through my pelvis and moved slowly towards the the body. If anything the Minotaur looked even larger when we were both lying down like this. Its eyes were glazed, unfocused, and weren't even trying to follow my movements as I closed the distance between us.

Bleeding to death can take ages. In the position it was in, it was possible that the weight alone would keep the blood inside the body and keep it alive even longer. The rattling sounds coming from its throat as it breathed its last breaths made me realise the stiletto had even managed to puncture a lung. Death would be painful and slow for this beast.

I stared into those huge brown eyes one last time, tried to remember that it was the one that wanted to kill me, it was the one who had started the fight. And with a last effort to overcome the pain I pulled myself onto his massive shoulders, found the cervical vertebrae and pushed hard. The steel made a horrible sound as it slid across the bone and then found a foothold between the two vertebrae and a heavy push and a sickening popping sound later, the beast stopped breathing. If it wasn't already unconscious it would be in a matter of seconds, death would come shortly afterwards.

I collapsed in exhaustion and pain onto of the carcass, coming to with a startled gasp as I felt a huge hand on my shoulder. I tried to whip around to see what it was and almost passed out from the pain shooting through my body, emanating from my pelvis.

The Minotaur chieftain had come down from its podium on the edge of the area, and was looming over me, a huge battle axe in its right hand. I tried to focus on the axe. It must have weighed a good 40 kg, easily. And it was wielding it in one hand! It was at this point I realized that Minotaurs do not take losing lying down. They were going to kill me. Cut me into as many pieces as there are bones in my body and display them for all to see, what happens when you cross a Minotaur.

I closed my eyes and waited for the pain to disappear. I could feel my heart thumping in my chest, each beat coursing through my veins, each beat beating against my pelvis. The hand on my shoulder moved to my neck and the powerful fingers dug deep into my flesh. I could feel my eyes popping from the blood being pushed into my head and managed to scream in pain as I was pulled off the fallen body and dangled in mid air. He was going to rip my head right off. Go on then. Do it. DO IT!

I awoke in a dark tent. I knew it was a tent, as the fire outside illuminated the edges. The pain in my pelvis was gone. Somehow I had survived the chieftain. But how. Maybe I got lucky and the city was raided? I must have been out for days if not weeks. I ran my hands across my face to feel the length of the beard, but I didn't feel any beard against my fingers. What I did feel was something caked against my skin. I held my hands close to my eyes and squinted. They were caked in blood.

A shadow moved in front of the fire. A large shadow. About the height of the tent. It had two large horns. The shadow grew slightly smaller and then pulled the curtain aside. It was a large cow. A healer of some sort by the way it was dressed. Well, large by my standards. It was probably 205 cm tall if not more, but that's still small by Minotaur standards. It moved to my bed, gave me two hard pats on my pelvis. I cringed in anticipation of pain. None came. Not from the injury from earlier, nor was it trying to smack me in the balls. It nodded appreciatively and motioned for me to step outside.

I moved slowly, cautiously at first then realised that I was only wearing a loin cloth, and I had enough trouble handling one of them. If they wanted to kill me, I would have as much of a chance to avoid it as a chicken in a butcher shop. I tried to shake the cautious nature of my walk, but didn't quite succeed. Ah, well - can't expect a man to walk carefree into death, can you?

The carcass was placed on a huge pyre, waiting to be burned in their traditional send off. The chieftain stepped forward and said something in his booming voice. Making sure everyone around him knew what he was saying. There were mutters from the gathered crowd, bulls and cows alike. The muttering sounded unhappy. The chieftain's huge hand rose into the air and silence engulfed the area. Only the crackle of the camp fire was heard. Even the insects seemed to shut up when the chieftain ordered it.

A small cow, obviously a calf stepped towards me. I'd seen this one before. Not sure where, but it had learned English at one point. Not exceedingly well, but well enough to work as a translator. It had been the one who told me what my fate was to be. That I would die in the arena. At the hands of ... well, the name sounded like a mix between clearing a throat and a long moo. I wouldn't know how to pronounce it, let alone write it.

That once I had been killed in battle, the bull would skin me, cut my feet and hands from my limbs, pluck the eyes from my skull, pull out my teeth and cut out my tongue. Then, if it was merciful, it would slit my throat and let me die. And afterwards my skull would be added to its wall of trophies.

Being ever the optimist I told the cow to ask them, what I would get if I won. This was apparently so funny that I had to tell her twice that I was being serious. And when she asked the question, the adults found it even funnier. Especially the bull. It said something to the cow and she turned to me, saying that if I wanted something for winning, I should tell them now, and it would be honoured.

So while staring at the bull, my head almost staring straight up as I engaged in a staring contest with the bull, and told it exactly what I wanted if I won. Apart from my freedom of course. The small cow first refused to translate. I don't speak their language, but there was easily five minutes of silence and the crowd waited for the cow to translate. In that time I had easily lost the staring contest several times over.

Finally the bull turned to the young cow and said something. Very quiet words were exchanged and the bull started laughing. Heartily. Then it paused to catch its breath and said something to the crowd. Judging by their reaction it had obviously told them what I wanted. It gave me a threatening and downright scary grin and extended its huge hand towards me - obviously having seen this gesture used amongst humans striking a deal. The cow told me the bull had agreed to the bargain. My hand was still hurting from the crushing handshake the bull had given me two days earlier.

The cow asked me if I was well enough to walk on my own and I nodded. Then the chief spoke again. The crowd instantly exploded in angry booming voices. The chieftain's huge hand shot into the again, calling for silence, but this time it didn't work. Another huge bull stormed into clearing in front of me and grabbed at me before I could realise what was going on. By the time I was trying to duck, the bull was on the floor. Blood was running in a slow stream from its mouth. The jaw had been visibly broken where the chieftain's fist had made contact. The crowd had gone quiet again. The chieftain talked again. Or rather, yelled at the crowd. Angry.

Mess with the bull and you get the horn, as the saying goes. I don't know if that is a saying amongst Minotaurs, but around here might seemed to make right. The huge beast motioned to the small cow and it told me that the fallen's family had had its time with the body and I could now claim my prize. It faltered as it talked. Either it was closely related or the idea of a human claiming its prize against a Minotaur was obviously still too strange to be true.

The small cow grabbed me by my hand and almost dragged me to the pyre. Next to the body lay its large sword. Several weapons in fact. On the floor next to it was a very large basket, inside it lay a hacksaw, a collection of spoon bits and a dozen or so different kinds of knives and scalpels. Obviously someone had figured out exactly what would be needed to cut off the large horns and turn them into drinking cups as well as what would be needed to skin the body of a Minotaur.

I looked around, fearfully, wondering if they expected me to do this in front of them. Was this a common thing? Is this what they did to their fallen enemies? I knew that losing the horns is considered the biggest disgrace to a Minotaur, but ... would they do that to their slain enemies? I looked to the young cow and asked if I was supposed to do it here and now.

The answer was yes. When I was done skinning and de-horning the bull, I was to put it all into the basket, take it with me to my tent and then go to sleep while they honoured the fallen bull on the pyre. I was told I could take no more than five minute breaks if I needed to relive myself. Longer breaks than that and I would have to settle for what I had collected.

I was so stunned I just got on with the job. I didn't know what else to do. This isn't worse than what it would have done to me, I was simply surprised that the others would stand by and watch me do it.

My first task was removing the horns. That was no easy task, let me tall you. A good 35 cm long from the base directly to the tip. Longer than that if you go along the horn. Easily ten cm across at the base. It probably took 10 minutes to cut through the first horn, longer through the second one. The murmurs were quiet but obviously disapproving.

When I finished with the horns I took a deep and quite frankly exhausted breath and asked for something to drink. As I was sizing up the body for the skinning it hit me. Cut a long cut along the sternum and down. Cut across the hips and if done properly, I might be able to pull off the skin as one big, stinking, blood soaked jacket. The very sharp scalpels helped enormously. They were sized for much bigger hands than mine, but in this job precision wasn't paramount. As I reached for the water skin the young cow brought me, a large hand picked up the scalpel I was working with.

To my surprise this bull had decided to sharpen the edge, to make the cuts faster and cleaner. I thanked him and poured water into my mouth and almost gagged when the spicy, sweet liquid filled my mouth. I had tasted this wine before, knew it to be highly valued amongst Minotaurs and did my best to hide the reaction to the bad taste. I succeeded for about five seconds before the gagging and shuddering overcame me, and for the first time since I had stepped into the area that morning, I heard the crowd laugh. I took another few swigs to hydrate a bit, not wanting to drink too much as I had heard rumours that this wine was about as strong as whiskey.

Skinning this beast was hard work. Despite only wearing a loin cloth and the cool night air, I was drenched in sweat by the time I had managed to skin the front of the body. My muscles were aching from the heavy work of cutting and pulling. I thought the skin would be a few milimeters thick, but the hide would tear if I tried to cut that shallow. I had to take about a centimetre of fat and muscle with it if I wanted anything bigger than torn pieces of paper.

I couldn't turn the body on my own. Obviously. It was more than three times my own weight and the pyres was only slightly wider than the bull's shoulders. Three other bulls turn the body over for me and stepped back, letting me do my job alone. The only help I got was from what I assume was a black smith, who kept sharpening the blades when I put them down, something for which I was very grateful.

By the time I had finished skinning the body, the sun was getting close to noon. Flies were buzzing around the bloody body, but scented torches kept them at bay. As I asked to have the body turned onto its back again, a thought struck me and I asked the chief something. The cow translated some of it, then said a word I had said, pausing before and after it and continued in her on language. The chieftain gave me what I could only describe as a quizzical look.

I can't blame him - how would he know what that word meant. The cow asked me what that word meant and I chuckled slightly, gave quite a lot of pausing words and told the chief that I need something to use as the core of whip handle. Something solid, like a bone. Something that could take a pounding.

The cow tried its best to translate what I had said, pausing several times as it tried to remember the proper words. The chieftain stared at me. I hoped my words would mean the same in his language as they did in English. That he'd catch the double entendre. He stared at me for what seemed like hours and then moved his eyes slowly down the skinned body.

Suddenly the huge double axe was embedded in the pyre maybe a foot from my shoulders. Startled I jumped to the other side and the chieftain's booming voice bellowed out over the area. As one everyone turned their backs to the pyre. I looked around to see, and none of them were even turning their heads slightly towards the pyre to see, what was going to happen.

The chieftain slowly walked around to my side of the pyre and I was certain I was going to be killed. Again. He made a gesture and I slowly followed his arm to his hand and saw where he was pointing. I nodded. I wanted the baculum. Call it a last act of defiance. Call it inspirational. I don't care. The chieftain wrapped his large hand around the fallen bull's member, lifted it and cut the tissue around the base and tossed it entirely into the basket by my side.

Then he tossed a large blanket across the pyre and pointed towards the tent. I was done. I had to drag the 60+ kg basket to my tent on my own. As I struggled I could hear the crowd start what sounded like a low mourning wail, but after about a minute it turned out to be a quiet song of some sort, obviously a burial hymn.

I tried to watch out the tent flap, but it had been closed from the outside. They didn't want spectators. Can't really blame them considering what I had been up to. I was surprised to find several large sacks in my room. Airtight ones. Obviously they wanted me to store the hide in those, so I spent some time packing and rearranging my few belongings. They had given me back my clothes, my money (!), my rucksack and my maps. I was half expecting to find my horse tied to a tree when they would let me out again. And I was actually surprised when I did.

They sent me off with no fanfare. Just a warning from the young cow that if I came back again, I wouldn't be given a chance in the area and then pointed towards the nearest city. I rode off with good speed - I had a task for the best tanner in town, and if they had an expert leather worker, so much the better

Biological oddities

I'm not a "normal" guy. I mean ... I am. I'm somo sapiens sapiens.

However, I've been through a couple of odd experiences through my life so far.

First of all - I don't have a regular blood supply. I have blood. I have blood vessels. I don't have a beating heart though. What I have is a mechanical heart. It mimics a regular pulse, which fools most systems. I've been told, that my heart is powered by about 10 grams of anti-matter, and that the containment field is connected to my biological processes. As in "I die, I blow up". I kinda hope that isn't true, as 10 grams of anti-matter anihilating would be about as powerfull as a 200 kTon nuclear explosion. Obviously I haven't tried this out, but I do seem to be emitting gamma-rays.

My blood isn't quite normal either. It does have blood in it, but only 75% of my blood is actual blood.

One percent is made up of maintenance nanobots. These keep my blood free of toxins, poisons, viruses, bacteria, fungi etc. Very cool, but also means I can't get drunk or even high. Not so cool. 

On a somewhat related note, I have a fairly high amount of naonbots swarming my body at all times. These repair tissue damage fairly rapidly. Cut out a pound of flesh and it'll be back inside of 24 hours. Cut off a finger and it won't grow back - that was a stupid experiment.

Then there's a sort of organic silver compound - not sure what it is or even how it works, I just know that lycanthropes really hate getting my blood on them. This makes up about 10%,

Aparently part of my blood is holy water. Not sure why, but I suspect it might be related to a whole month of my memory that I'm missing. This makes up about 15%.

The rest of my blood (about 10%) seems to be some kind very effective oxygen carrier. I tried testing just how long I could hold my breath under water, but after roughly an hour I was shivering with cold and not in a mood for continuing.

As I said - I'm a bit weird

Conquests

[deleted]

I have attached a picture of what I look like. This was taken at the end of a four month trek across a mix of deserts, shrublands and plains.. Was in the dry season so quite a lot of dust in the air. This is also why I am not smiling in this picture.

In case you're wondering, the picture is taken on the outskirts of a small town called Qhi'nu*Kjh. Do not ask me to pronounce that name. I have enough problems with the ' and * sounds, let along how to pronounce Kjh. All I know is they had bath houses, spas, and lots and lots of fresh water. And well trained slave girls who were quite expert when it came to full body massages, scrub downs and the like.

Anyway - not smiling in this picture. You try walking around in >30° C temperatures (86F), sand and dust flying everywhere, bloody annoying tiny insects getting into every imaginable (and unimaginable I might add with a rather annoyed face) orifice. Tiny insects who's only purpose seems to be to leave semi permanent colours on everything they touch. Usually I have a fairly clean smile. Not Colgate white like those zombies from Hollywood, but a nice, clean, natural white smile. After two weeks in that gods forsaken area I had purple teeth. Purple.

Try to imagine a sort of flourescent Barney colour. Purple! Then have that stain your teeth, unable to get it out for several months, having to get a dentist to bleach your teeth four times to get the colour out. Four times! If I had known that before this picture was taken, I'd be angry in that picture instead of just annoyed.

Physical description

Quite often in my dealings with others, there have been some incorrect assumptions about me, my size, weight ... all that stuff.

So, let's break out the rulers.

Sizes

First of all - my height.

Barefoot, straight back I stand 198 cm tall (6' 6" for those from the US).

My "wingspan" is 208 cm (6' 10")

I weigh 105 kg (231 lbs) which, technically, makes me overweight, but since I am very well trained, the 12 or so kg of fat I'm carrying around is quite acceptable.

My chest is 108 cm around (3' 7"), my hip is 98 cm (3' 3")

Generally speaking I am a big guy.

I even wear a size 48½ shoe (14), and you all know what you say about guys who wear big shoes, right? We have big feet.

This, of course, brings us to "it". Mr. Johnson. The One Eyed Wonder Worm. The Blue Cyclops. My cock. I feel I must dispell quite a lot of rumours about its size. Most of these seem to stem from women not being entirely certain how to measure, not having a proper sense of size etc. Much of this is obviously because the boys they've played with earlier have no idea how to measure, or are entirely too embarrased and insecure to actually want them to know.So - girls, women and boys - here's the proper way to measure the size of a cock:

1. Make sure the guy is standing upright
2. Make sure it's fully errect - or as errect as it can get. Pull the foreskin back (if there is any)
3. Measure from the upper part of the root (the side closest to the belly button). We only want usable length.
4. Bend the cock (or lift it) to horizontal (or as close as it will go). Measure the distance from the root to the tip.
5. Don't pull on it, etc.

This gives you the usable length of his cock. Some will pull on it to make it look longer, but that has no real effect - it's not like she'll be able to feel that illusion later on anyway. In fact there's a very nice guide for it here.

As for mine - it's 16.8 cm long (6.6") and 15.2 cm in circumfrence (5.98"). That's slightly longer than average, quite a bit thicker than average. But, guys, want to know a secret? You know who Ron Jeremy is, right? His cock is WAY bigger (24.8 cm/9.75") and his rather candid thought on the subject is, to the best of my memory: "I've gotten more girls off with my tongue than my cock". It's not about what you have between your legs - it's about what's between your ears. You cannot give a girl an orgasm without using your brain, nor without using hers.

Visuals

I have rather fair skin and hair. This doesn't always show though. Not all my wanderings allow me ready access to bathing, and with lots of dust in my hair I will seem to have very dark hair. Dirt and gime will, of course, give me a rather tanned look as well.

I have several scars. I say several because I have no idea just how many I have. I have a nice mesh on my back that were made with a cat o' nine tails with small metal tallons on the ends.

I have at least thirty stab wounds that I can see, but I don't remember how I got more than seven of them.

I've been gored twice, on two difference occations - you'd think I'd have learned not to taunt a bull the first time.

I'm supposed to have some burn marks on my back, but I can't really verify that on my own. Some of them round as if made by cigarettes, some of them in odds twisty waves as if burned by a liquid. I cannot remember getting any of those.

I'll refrain from commenting on my usual outfit for now. Parts of the outfit are worthy of an entry on their own.