A Whoremaids Tale: 903 of Babylonian Whoring - Page 2

vovan · January 29, 2003, 00:58

Great. Looking forward to it.

MindsBigger · January 29, 2003, 14:56

except from 488 A.H. 1197 B.C. post dated

...

...Showeh was playing the veena with increasing intensity in the past weeks. Her hands would fidget about the sixty strings of the instrument like she was searching for the one note that would alleviate our burden. Her sweeping chords did much to keep the mood in the brothel relaxed but lately we all had other things on our minds. The Assyrians had taken Ur and many of the surrounding regions but they were on the foothills of Babylon now. Wounded warriors would scarcely have the courage left to speak of the new war contraptions of the Egyptian hordes. We did our best to ensure them that everything would be alright, at least for the few moments we had them in our beds. I, Head Whoremistress Pasho Anwar, tried to keep my girls' spirits up but the men of Babylon were more interested in escaping from places of horror then escaping to places of lust. Still, there were plenty of men that needed our services, and we pleased them, for we needed theirs as well. The rains of the flood season had idled in our region for some time now, making the Assyrian offense slow and burdensome. Many of our soldiers were in town on a short respite, for when the sun shone again on the banks of the Tigris, its waters would surely run red once more.

A stranger sitting in foyer caught my attention, for it is not often that a young man in the presence of such beautiful naked bodies keeps his head down. I descended the stairs and walked over to his table.

"Why hello there stranger, looks like you could use some company."

He looked up from the goblet his rain soaked hair and hood had been dripping in. His eyes were as wide as the Mesopotamian moon seen though the high priests’ looking glass. I paused. He was just a boy, not much older then my freshest whoremaids, but his young face bellowed a looked of unpredictability that kept me on edge. Sensing his dilated pupils reading my expression a hundred times a second, I hesitated no longer.

"So, you’re on a respite, eh?" Under his wet cloak, which clung to him like a second skin, I could see he was wearing the light armor of a Babylonian soldier. His sash bore the markings of a conscript swordsman. Before I could ascertain whether he had heard me or not, he spoke. His head jerked back and his eyes reverted to a lazy drawl.

"Oh yes, that’s me, on a respite. You know with the rains and mudflows, can't tell a 'Syrian from a Sycamore." He took a large swig of his wine, rainwater and all.

"Must be hard out there, I've heard the front regiments are holding up though." I had to ask. When the Assyrians are at your front door, it’s good to know how long it’ll be before they make their way to the bedroom.

"Yeah, but were holding. Got some great leaders out there. Sargon has led our forces through many Assyrians assaults. Yep, as long as we have the good grace of Hammurabi and our trusty irons, Tukulti-Ninurta will never see beyond the walls of Babylon." He patted his unusually clean scabbard.

Sargon! Sargon was a much-loved warrior, and his name was sung in many a song around town. Former Whoremistress Agada had the pleasure of bedding this magnificent man and to hear the story she tells... The mere thought made me squirm with delight.

"Is Sargon on respite too?" I asked, perhaps a little too quickly, but it is rare that such a man comes within eyeshot of my bedchamber.

"Oh uh, no. Sargon split our regiment in two. My group has returned now. We will replace Sargon’s soldiers in a few days." He paused, "Sargon won’t be in town for awhile."

Strange. Where were his fellow soldiermen? With my ephemeral fantasy of bedding a legendary man now entirely evaporated, I got on with business. Such distractions don’t age well in a woman’s heart.

"Come, let’s get you out of these wet clothes. My chamber is upstairs."

He nodded quickly as if he knew what I was going to say. We walked over to and up the stairs from the foyer to the second floor balcony.

"I’m assuming you have enough coin?" I said over my shoulder, not bothering to wait for a response before opening the door to my bedchamber. A good Whoremistress always knows who has the heavy pockets and whose are full of holes; Whoremistress Agada use to say it was a whores seventh sense. The sixth being common sense, of course.

I had barely shut door behind when the young soldier fell to the ground sobbing. Having seen this behavior from other war-torn boys I went over to comfort him.

"Its ok, Pasho is here," I whispered. After stroking his wet hair for sometime I was finally able to stand him up to remove his clothes. He stood there, half-naked and shivering from the cold or from fear, or a combination of both I could not tell. It took little coaxing to get him into my bed, still warm from the previous encounter.

"See, isn’t that better? Come, tell Pasho your name." I said undressing, being careful not to step in the expanding puddle his clothes were forming.

"Labyan"

He never took his eyes off me as I slinked into bed next to him. I could tell there was something he needed to get off his chest. Fortunately, the site of my chest could get any man to talk.

"Tell me Labyan, why are you so distressed?"

He paused, his mouth half-open. I thought he would remain like that forever, then he spoke, and did not stop speaking for hours.

"Pasho... My name is Labyan Marduk, son of Zagros Marduk, head tax collector for the city of Babylon. Almost eight moons ago I was home in the arboretum tending to my Nippur Orchids when a slave man came crashing though my father’s sagevine trellis. The slave man begged me to hide him for he had escaped torture and his master was afoot. I didn’t know what to do. This was my first encounter with a slave man such as this. I had grown up with house slaves but this man looked worked and beaten. He was sobbing at my feet, praying for my help. I don’t know why—I am so foolish—but I led him to a crawlspace in the wine cellar I had used as a child. I then locked the cellar door and tried to think of how I would explain the broken trellis to my father. Men with hounds were standing before the ruined sagevine within minutes. They asked me where he was. They hit me. I unlocked cellar door.

I had violated the nineteenth of Hammurabis code of laws, 'If he holds slaves in his house, and they are caught there, he shall be put to death.' My fathers, although greatly shamed, pleaded with the magistrate to spare my life. Fortunately, my father, the tax collector, had done a few favors for the magistrate in the past and so one was done in return. I was to serve in the first regiment dispatched to the western front to fight the Assyrians hordes. The slave man, now useless as a willing slave was sent out with me. We were forced to ride the same horse. The shame I have brought upon my family is surely a worse punishment than death for my father. I am here because... I have no place to go."

The boy lowered his head, but only for a moment, for there was much more to his story.

"I was sent with the other reinforcements to aid Sargons defense. I was a conscript swordsman, with a sword I could barely lift, riding on a horse with a slave man wielding a plank of wood. When I arrived at camp it was dusk. Many men were nursing ghastly wounds of which I care not to remember. The dead were piled on to oxen carts bound for Babylon. The whole earth reeked of misery and lingering death. That night I fell asleep rather easily, for I did not want to remain awake in this nightmare for any longer than was necessary. My dreams of Nippur Orchids and sagevine did not last long. I was awakened to screams of men under the trampling of heavy horses. It was deep into the night and moon was just a sliver but the sky was ablaze with torch and arrow. The Assyrians were everywhere, or was it my fellow Babylonians? I could not tell. I grabbed the hilt of my sword and yanked it from its scabbard. The sword released with such force that it left my grasp and promptly flew several meters in the air before landing near a pile of logs. I am such the fool. There were men of great anger and determination running all about me armed with all manners of iron forged death tools. And I could do nothing but stand there, still, amidst the chaos. Then the slave man shoved me to the ground as an Assyrian blade whispered in my ear. I looked back. Fortunately the Egyptian warrior did not care to finish off the mark his intended strike had missed, for there was more blood to be had in every direction. I looked at the slave man kneeling over me. His face was alert and prepared. In one hand he wielded a small axe, no doubt taken off a dead soldier. In the other hand, he gripped a collection of scalps still dripping with the blood of the enemy or former masters, I did not know. He told me to find my sword. I did exactly what he said. The sword was but a rooster’s flight away but had I been more experienced, or less scared, I would have been more careful. I reached the log pile where my sword lay and knelt to pick it up... and that’s when I saw it..."

The young soldier paused again, staring down and losing himself in the folds of the bedsheets. This time I could not wait for his moment of reflection to finish. I had to know.

"What was it? What did you see?" I yelped, shaking him until the last drops of moisture fell from his hair. He looked at me and spoke once more, and to this day I wish that he hadn't.

"It broke through to our lines like an arrow through papyrus. The steeds were mad with a thirst for movement and the sound of breaking Babylonian bone. Their eyes as red as the evening sun. Their bodies were knobby and strenuous. Not a pound of flesh was wasted driving forth the Egyptian war chariot. While one man laid the reins on the two berserking horse demons, the other man delivered crude spear into the chests of my kindred. The chariot was a lethal apparatus in a way that no man who had not seen its carnage could believe. Its dagger-tipped axles would cut men down at their knees. The steeds having no fear of Babylonian blade would run down soldiers before sword drawn or arrow notched. The fallen bodies caved and distorted under the chariot’s wheel. I could only watch as the war chariot circled about me. The strained screams from the horses’ disgustingly protruded teeth wanted more… more. It wasn’t until I noticed the slave man rush a the chariot that was charging for me, that I awoke from butchering’s bewitchery. Only then did I have the sense to seek cover by the pile of logs. My head down, I waited, or perhaps passed out, for the next thing I knew it was dawn, and the rains had begun. I ran, not stopping to witness a battlefield’s aftermath in the daylight. When my lungs gave out I gathered a wayward horse and deserted. And so, Pasho, here I am. I would surely be sent back to the front if I were found out. You won’t tell anyone, will you?"

Tell? I could barely speak. My mouth half open, baring the same expression this boy had when he began his tale, I shook my head.

"Oh thank you, Pasho, you see I have no where to go and my father..."

I put my finger to his lips. He stopped talking. His story was more than I had bargained for. No amount of coin would remove the images of the nightmare that lay just beyond our gates. I was a Whoremistress, not a warrior. I did my part for Babylon and did it well. And at that moment... as the Mesopotamian moon dissolved in the Assyrian sun of a new morning, it was all I knew how to do. I bedded the young warrior free of charge.

-Pasho Anwar, Head Whoremistress of Babylon

...

MindsBigger · January 29, 2003, 14:57

...any and all critiques are welcome... i just hope you guys enjoy...

vovan · January 29, 2003, 16:29

Now, that's a quality chapter. Great description, and style. And the last little bit with the introduction of the war chariot is plain amazing, albeit a bit graphic.

I have a couple tiny nitpicks, though if you don't mind.

Some of the metaphors you used seem to be there just for the sake of being there, and some are a little awkward. For example, consider the sentance:

"Then the slave man shoved me to the ground as an Assyrian blade whispered in my ear."

That is kind of odd. Something like swished by, or swung next to. Something. But whispering in the ear implies something a little different from what you want there. For one thing, it does not convey the sense of speed with which the blade was swung. Whisper is more kind of relaxed, or secretive, as opposed to forceful and deadly.

Secondly, the passage:

"'What was it? What did you see?' I yelped, shaking him until the last drops of moisture fell from his hair."

Her shaking him kind conveys a wrong sense of interest, I think. What you mean here is her being curious, and eager to hear what happened, because she spends her whole time in this whorehouse, and does not have a source of news about the outside world other than her customers. But the way you worded it, it seems that her life or death depends on whether he gives her the information or not. So, maybe something like:

""What is it? What did you see?", I asked him in a voice strangled by tears, in expectation of an awful scene. I put my hand on his shoulder and shook him gently as if to wake him back to his senses. He lifted his head, and spoke of things even I didn't expect, events that I now hope I'd never heard of."

You can see how that conveys a quite different sense of her interest - and more what I think you meant to say.

Any ways, other than these minor points, the latest chapter is really great. Next time be a little careful with the metaphors you use, and it will be perfect.

ChrisiusMaximus · January 29, 2003, 20:28

Much better, much more exciting to read, and leaves me wanting to know just what will happen next.

Good stuff.

vovan · January 30, 2003, 22:22

CFC is getting more and more conservative by the day. The title of this story has been changed to "A Warmaid's tale: 903 years of Babylonian Waring" over there. Hehe.

Anyways, I was just curious as to how the progress was on the next installment, Minds?

EDIT:

I just noticed that the last one was yesterday... And it seems like there hasn't been an update for much longer.

MindsBigger · January 30, 2003, 23:12

sorry....i was waiting for a few more responses before posting it....

...which is writer speak for....i havent written it yet....but i will and soon...

ChrisiusMaximus · January 31, 2003, 04:16

SKILORD · January 31, 2003, 14:50

Bugs ****ing Bunny · January 31, 2003, 16:13

Quote:

Originally posted by vovansim

CFC is getting more and more conservative by the day. The title of this story has been changed to "A Warmaid's tale: 903 years of Babylonian Waring" over there. Hehe.

I saw that. It was a crass thing to do- I could understand (just...) if it was concealed with asterisks, but that was butchery. The story deserved more respect.

Bugs ****ing Bunny · January 31, 2003, 16:16

I like your style, mindsbigger. Forum stories can sometimes be terribly prosaic, but this one's got a lush and nicely opiated feel to it. It's decadent in all the good ways.

Easthaven I · January 31, 2003, 21:54

Good story, I'm hooked. Very easy flowing. Last chapter was fantastic. I like.

vovan · February 2, 2003, 16:52

Any updates coming up, Minds? This story of yours is very original, and it would be sad to see it die unfinished.

MindsBigger · February 5, 2003, 18:10

the next installment...shoudl be done in 12-36 hours.....i was busy with work and other things....but here is the first two lines....just to get mouths watering...

....

1066 A.H. 4 D.o.R. (684 B.C.post dated)

On the tenth day of Ab, exactly sixteen years since his ascension to the throne, Babylon fell. The name Sennacherib would bear the meaning of the anti-Marduk, the incarnation of all things vile and worthless.....

ChrisiusMaximus · February 5, 2003, 18:22

gooberboob · February 5, 2003, 19:24

hehe, the hopping smiley goes with AC/DC's "For those about to rock, we salute you"

MindsBigger · February 7, 2003, 14:55

...excerpt from 1066 A.H. 4 D.o.R. (684 B.C.post dated)

...

On the twelfth day of Ab, exactly sixteen years since his ascension to the throne, Babylon fell. The name Sennacherib would bear the meaning of the anti-Marduk, the incarnation of all things vile and worthless. The few that could bear to speak his name did so only under the gravest of situations. In the history of recorded time, never has a plague of such toxic tyranny been unleashed on the peoples of this, or any land. Sennacherib: the Assyrians scourge, bane of all things Babylon.

Sennacherib took the Assyrian throne upon the death of his father, Sargon II of Akkad, conqueror of the Kingdom of Israel. While his father was heralded as a stout ruler and expander of the Empire, Sennacherib was merely vainglorious. Under the hundreds of years of Assyrian rule, many cities in the Babylonian empire had assimilated into the culture of they oppressors. Their temples went into disrepair. Babylon was the exception. The priest of our great city declared that Marduk would never accept Sennacherib as king. With the Peace party disbanded, after the Assyrians first took control of the city, the priests were able to rouse our people to revolt. Babylon, captured yet unconquered was always the tarnish on Sennacherib’s crown. And then, five years prior to this record, the siege began. I, head Whoremistress Ea, first daughter of Whoremistress Chaldaea -Ehlil's nymph- preserve this account so the future seeds of Babylon can understand the misery of the Days of Ruin. And while the resistance has persevered thus far, I will always fear the coming of the last Babylonian dawn as long as His Wickedness holds the throne.

An uprising of the priesthood had brought Sennacherib back to our city. He was still petulant over his failed conquest of Jerusalem and defeat at the hands of King Hezekiah and the Egyptian support. The priesthood had dispelled of the Assyrian magistrate and rid our temples of Sennacherib's prisms. Had we known he was at our front door perhaps the resistance wouldn’t have made such a spectacle. Alas, the sight of the magistrate stripped naked and banished from the city's gates was quite the pleasing sight to many of our countrymen. We slept well that night.

Few were awake to witness the first iron ball strike the city's wall. None could ignore the subsequent catapult fodder lay siege to our defenses. What little resemblance of our once steadfast wall was pulled down by horse team. Then they came. Our priests were round up and their eyes put out. Anyone who dared to fight was slain. Farmers with hoe and scythe were quickly slumped by Assyrian sword or spear. What was wood was burned. Stone turned to rubble. The fire consumed all of Babylon. The smoke, black as smelt ore draped the landscape like a Hittite burial sheet. The sun could not be seen for twelve days. Twelve days of darkness broken only by the burst of flame that would devour a nearby home hiding amidst the carnage. The palace itself burned for all twelve days. Some say the fires that leapt from top of the Keep could be seen throughout all of Mesopotamia. On the thirteenth day the sun broke.

Most people fled the destruction, to be rounded up as slaves for Sennacherib's new capital in Ninevah. The survivors, those huddled in basement corners and under the city’s canals, emerged on the thirteenth day to witness the ruin. It was unimaginable, Babylon, the gate of the gods, was but brittle stone fragments and scattered piles of ash. The air was caustic. Everywhere were carcasses of birds that had fallen from the sky, blackened by fire and smoke. Most of the above ground portion of the Brothel had been charred beyond repair, but the wine cellar, which was of considerable size, became a refuge for members of the resistance. In the weeks after the blaze we survived on smuggled food and goods from the neighboring farmlands. Word of the destruction of Babylon had spread throughout the continent and Sennacherib's act was widely thought of as a terrible sin. Before the Days of Ruin I was just the head Whoremistress of this brothel, now I was a member of the resistance. There was little choice. We had many allies in the fight against Sennacherib. The Egyptians, Elamites, Chaldaeans and the Arab tribes were ready to join our efforts. Then, four full moons after fire, the floods came.

Not content with burning Babylon to the ground, Sennacherib diverted the mighty Euphrates to inundate what was left. We laughed at the Philistines when there profit, Jeremiah predicted that "Babylon shall sink, to rise no more." And sink it did. The water rose so quickly that we could only take our most important possessions to higher ground. The old and the sick drowned. There was little refuge. Only a handful of structures were habitable above the second story. The brothel was built on a small hill near the city center and so we were able to set up camp on its fire damaged second story. The flood warnings were not heeded as hastily as they should have been. Perhaps we could not believe the Euphrates, giver of life, was bearing the eager of death against us. Most of us did not take flight until our feet ran cold through the Euphrates' mud ridden spawn. My girls managed to save most of our Brothel’s Legacy, but many volumes were lost. For days we survived on our sheer hatred of the Assyrian king. We ate little. We had plotted, or should I say, fantasized about his death, but we could do nothing. Our city was reduced to a few floating planks of charred wood, and we, rats among them. The water receded after several weeks. There was nothing left. The canals were clogged with debris. Mud everywhere. Rubble, hewn trees and the bodies of the resistance were caked with earth. Distorted clay figures haunted us as they slept in our routed streets. There was no resistance this time. Babylon disappeared completely.

For the last four years we have survived on nothing more the morsel we wrestle daily from the tightening grasp of death. But I fear our time has come. Only the most loyal remain. The others have set off for Ninevah, slaves perhaps. If I am to be the last Whoremistress of Babylon then let this be the final chapter in the Tale. We cannot continue under Sennacherib’s reign for much longer. My lungs are filled with dirt and dust. My hands, dried and stretched thin. Has not the great Marduk witness our misery! I mustn’t write any longer. The evening draws nigh and the rats of Babylon must feast.

- Ea, Head Whoremistress of Babylon

...

vovan · February 7, 2003, 18:41

Oh, man, we can't let the whores die, can we?

Who will come and save them?

Good stuff, Minds.

MindsBigger · February 10, 2003, 15:08

i geuss i forgot the first rule of Brothel Based Literature.....more whores = more replies......

....dont worry....there will be more whores in the next chapter.....this is, if i get more replies....

Bugs ****ing Bunny · February 10, 2003, 16:45

Don't mind us. We just took a break for a post-coital fag and a snooze.

vovan · February 10, 2003, 16:47

Quite sad, really. I liked the last installment more than any other so far...

ChrisiusMaximus · February 10, 2003, 17:50

Keep going dude, and when you get chance tell me what you think of Fight For Freedom.

vovan · February 21, 2003, 16:38

Hey, MindsBigger! I don't mean to be bothersome or something, but I was just curious if you are going to continue this story. Please do! I, for one, thing it is a great piece of writing, and would be very saddened if this masterpiece dies unfinished. Please don't mind the lack of feedback from others - I can assure you, many people are waiting for this to continue about as eagerly as I am.

So, get writing!

Please?

MindsBigger · February 22, 2003, 15:04

sorry for the delay....ive been ill....and busy.....the next chapter should be ready by Teusday at the latest.....

i cant leave Babylon in ruins can i....?

vovan · February 22, 2003, 15:11

Sorry to hear that you were ill.. Glad to hear that you haven't fogotten about us.

Bring on the goods.