Author Topic: Jarmok's History - What he himself does not know...  (Read 1429 times)

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Offline Johan

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Jarmok's History - What he himself does not know...
« on: March 26, 2005, 01:48:56 PM »
Jarmok came from the neighboring "Islands of Sarrgonnas" (so the common people call them). His culture is a primitive one that lives off of the land, largely hunting and gathering for their sustenance. On one particular day his life changed for the worse.

Out with a small group of comrades hunting to feed his clan/tribe, he became separated from the group.

His next awareness was of a constant rocking. He found himself to be in the hold of a large ship. He did not know it, but he had been captured by The Emerald Merchant Company (pirates to some, free-lance merchants to others). He opened his eyes painfully, but the world was ought but a murky haze. He was vaguely aware through his haze of people near him every so often; he was unaware of the passage of time.

Unknown to Jarmok, he had been captured Jarmok with the vile purpose of selling him into slavery in the Xanthakos Empire (aka. Shadow Riders). His captor's chosen method of control was the use of drugs.

During the journey back to the mainland a deployment of the Xanthakos navy attacked the vessel that Jarmok was on and he became their prisoner.

At some point, Jarmok awoke with a fierce headache. He was still on a ship, and his head was still thick and foggy, but his senses told him that this ship was a different one. He drifted in and out of a restless sleep, each awakening bringing a different pain than the last. His thoughts were becoming clearer, but as he tried to fathom what had happened to him, he found it difficult to recall much at all. His most recent recollections were of events that, somewhere deep inside, he knew to have happened years before. To his horror, he found that he had huge gaps in his life-memory.

Today, he was in a particularly spartan cell. There was no furniture; only a hard wood floor covered by a shallow carpet of straw. He called through a cottony throat for help and was relieved to have been heard. A pair of filthy, rough men came down a set of stairs to investigate Jarmok?s cries. Jarmok?s relief, however, was short-lived. This ship was apparently entirely manned by wicked men. He was dragged from his cell and brought up onto the deck where he was beaten for ?disturbing the peace?.

Time continued to have no meaning for Jarmok. He was beaten daily. They gave him drink by dumping a pail of water (no doubt after cleaning the deck first) atop him after his beatings. Food was sparse, thrown at him every day or two, barely enough to sustain his life. Jarmok spent a lot of time on the floor of his cell, desperately trying to recall his crimes.

One day, he had had enough. He fought back against the man that they sent to beat him. It was all that he could do to bull-rush the man into the cell wall and flee up the stairs. Digging deep into his being, he mustered his strength and burst onto the deck. The sun burned his eyes painfully, and disoriented, he blundered across the deck unsteadily. He heard an evil laughter then, and his world exploded in a burst of color.

Today?s beating eclipsed any that he had experienced to date. His body was wracked with such pain that he no longer felt the individual whelms, but became numbed to the aggregate beating. His mind drifted, almost euphorically; it seemed that he would be out of the reach of his captors once and for all.
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