The Slavedriver

[Airan]

Character Name: Chak Ku'rill
Species: Sea Otter
Gender: Male
Age: 32
Category: Slave Driver

?They be like children: Need a flogging now and then ta keep ?em in line!? A sharky grin spread across Chak Ku?rill?s salty face, lifting his plaited whiskers as the impudent squirrel he just whipped staggered back to his oar. The sea otter glanced at his shipmate, a young messenger stoat, who fidgeted awkwardly. ?Gave me a cocky leer, that one. Best ta nip that sort o? thing in the bud.?

The stoat nodded and his lip twitched with a smirk, though his eyes darted nervously.

?Eh. Erm ? will that be all, Master Ku?rill??

?Aye. Be off with ye then,? Chak scowled. He twisted his new leather whip so it creaked pleasantly in his calloused paws, then started down the walkway between benches. The beat of the drums had ceased for the moment and the oars were raised as favorable winds carried the galley through the dark, slate-colored waters. The slaves were silent aside from a few ragged coughs, eyes downcast. They knew Chak was more dangerous during the lulls. He had grown so accustomed to the rhythm that it made him restless when the drums halted. He sought to fill that void any way he could, which often meant a beating of his own. And now that the stoat was gone, so was the potential distraction of conversation.

One slave, a mouse, decided to brave a gamble, and started to thump his foot on a floorboard,

?I once had a lass in Sarcatre,
Sheeee ran away from me!
Was it mah scent or was it mah face?
Either way tis a sore disgrace!?

The slave paused as he sensed Chak?s bulk looming over him, and kept his eyes glued to the floor. He braced, then cringed as he was assailed not with the stinging whip but with a bellowing roar of laughter. Only then did he dare to squint up at the slave driver.

The corsair otter stood, paws against his sides.

?A sea shanty? From a landlubber mouse?? He narrowed his eyes at the woodlander, though the smile did not leave his muzzle. ?Ye?ve a smart set of pipes on ye, lad. Know any more lines than that??
?Yes sir, if it please you sir.?

Chak nodded, ?Carry on then.?

The mouse continued to sing boldly, and Chak found his mood lighten significantly as a beat returned to his ears.

Being a taskmaster was draining on one?s soul, and though Chak was rather a soulless blaggard to begin with, he found he preferred to believe his wards ?happily oppressed.? In the broad scope of things, they had it pretty good, after all ? compared to other slaves, at least. They had regular meals, a blanket each to sleep on, and Chak rarely beat anyone to the point of death. He liked to think his moderate, more frequent floggings kept them subservient, and his bonus system worked to keep them competing with each other rather than rising against him. All they had to do was follow the rules and know their place and they could have very decent (albeit monotonous) lives. Comparatively, weren?t most beasts? lives monotonous anyway?

As he ?encouraged? the rest to take up the mouse?s chorus, Chak Ku?rill felt a warmth grow inside; a warmth that was almost affection, as a beekeeper might feel for his swarm after a particularly large yield of honey.

?Aye,? Chak crooned to himself, ?Ye be havin? it easy, slave scum. Takes grit n? guts an? plenny o? blood ta get where I be?? He snorted and spat on the grimy floor timbers, ?An? more ta git where I?m goin?.?

The last verse reverberated with poignancy in his crusty torn ears:

?I once had a heart as pure as gold,
Then it filled up with rot n? mold.
Was it bad luck or was it the fates?
Either way I?m bound for hellgates!?

[Airan]

Character's Name:  Scrant
Character's Species:  Searat
Character's Gender:  Male
Character's Age:  50
Category:  Slavedriver


The place always had grand visions of itself.  First it called itself a city.  Anyone hear of a city one could explore in an hour?  Then it called itself a port.  One rickety dock that could hold two vessels didn't make a port.  And last, but most laughable, some fool named it Bright Star.  Night breezes kept the place under perpetual clouds and drizzle.  Not enough to call it rain, but enough to keep one's fur wet.

Scrant nursed his drink in a place that looked more like a hovel than an inn.  Still, if the stories were true, he might escape this place.  He raised his mug and the nearest barmaid refilled his grog.  The lass had to be less than half his age and yet the female rat managed to make a shake of her hips seem like an invitation.

The ermine slipped into his booth while he watched the girl return to the bar.  He excused his inattention to age.  At least he kept his composure and didn't let his uninvited guest know that he startled him.

"I'm the first mate of The Silver Maiden and hear you want the position of slavedriver."

"Run along.  I talk to the Captain, not some dibbun running errands."

"The crew is my responsibility.  The Captain accepts my judgment.  But not to worry; you're too old, rat."

"Aye, old I am.  Father taught me the craft and I've surpassed my teacher while whaling."

"Just what can you do for my captain," the ermine asked.

"The sea is my home.  My last six voyages were on whalers.  We capped every cask and filled our hold with baleen.  I served as slavedriver on thirty-oar ships that outran forty-oar warships.  I never lost more than ten slaves on voyages lasting a full season."

"You proved your skill with slaves; what about weapons?  An old fellow like you would be naught but chum to the sharks."

Scrant laughed.  "On each whaler I served as first lancer.  I always hooked.  I've run the ocean rapids, dodged the fluke, and fired the chimney every time.  Once the whale touched our side, I always danced first on its belly."

The ermine scratched his head.  "Your words mean nothing to me."

"Than let me clarify.  Give me a spear, get me within twenty paces and I'll remove the flower while a fair maiden sniffs it without her knowing what happened.  I might lack the strength of a badger or the endurance of a hare, but armed with two paw hatchets, they better think twice."

The fellow gave him a simple nod before he slipped out of the booth.  "I'll talk with the Captain.  How do I contact you?"

"Send somebody to the Windward Plantation.  I'm staying with family there."

Scrant waited until the fellow departed.  He buttoned his oilskin jacket and left the place.  The nightly drizzle continued.  Anywhere has got to be better than here.

[Airan]

The Character's name: Mari
Character's species: Stoat
Character's gender: Female
Character's age: 25
The category you're applying to: Slavedriver

There was quite a lot of pounding going on in the cramped slavemaster?s cabin. Most of it was in Mari?s head, which was full of grog and regrets; the rest was being supplied by somebeast who presumably wanted her to open up.

?Bugger off!? the stoat shouted at the door. The door contrived to look very hurt by this, which Mari took as a sign that the grog was still working.

She blamed Efera. If he hadn?t been so lousy at shells, she wouldn?t have won the bottle of damson wine off of him, and if she hadn?t won it she wouldn?t have drunk it, and if she hadn?t drunk it then she wouldn?t have traded insults with Anglim, and she wouldn?t have come up with the devastatingly clever snarky remark about the Captain and certainly would have double-checked to make sure they weren?t in earshot before letting fly with it. The physical punishment for insubordination had been light compared to the punishment of being demoted below decks.

?There?s a problem with the slaves!? shouted the pounder.

Mari inwardly screamed something which she?d have spelled ?Grnxfrbl? if she?d been literate. If Mari?s three days of slave driving had taught her anything, it was that there was always a problem with the slaves. That problem was called slavery.

Slavery, she felt, was a business best conducted by a certain archetype. Slavery was for beasts who were male, fat, tattooed, and endlessly amused by the suffering of others. Her predecessor, Sartain, had been all this and more, complete with a face simply begging to be beaten in with a slipped manacle ? and ultimately had been. Mari, on the other paw, was female, lean but not excessively so, didn?t like needles and amused herself with clever sea shanties instead of agonized wails.

She irritably punched the door open, which was unfortunate for the searat standing behind it.

?What is it now??

?Y?ll ?ve t?see for y?self!? gasped the fallen searat, clutching a severely bruised face.

She stepped over him and beheld the rows of miserable woodlanders. The ostensibly problematic one, a vole, was sitting awkwardly in the second row.

?He?s dead,? Mari observed.

She kicked it to make sure. The vole was, indeed, dead.

?I can?t fix dead,? Mari stated to the world in general.

?Cap?n says they need t?row faster,? moaned the searat, helpfully.

She cleared her throat. ?Right, you heard him. You?d best row this boat faster. Er? or else.?

?Or else what??

?Right!? Mari snapped peevishly. ?Who said that? Come on! Out with it!?

Row upon row of wan faces regarded her coolly.

Mari blinked. ?Hell?s teeth, you?ll row faster, or I?ll? I?ll??

She racked her brain. What would Sartain say? Oh, yes.

?Or I?ll get my whip and I?ll flay you to death.? This particular threat was so hollow it practically echoed. She?d tried whipping a slave the first day just for show, and had hit herself more often than him.

?What, all of us?? asked a slave incredulously.

?Er? yes.?

?But if we?re all dead then who?ll row the ship??

Mari?s teeth ground together. This was entirely wrong. Slaves were just slaves. They were supposed to row. They weren?t supposed to? think. Thinking prompted thoughts, such as: ?Well, if my options are to die now or die after twenty-odd seasons of rowing a boat and getting whipped for it, I think I?ll just skip all that rowing, thanks.?

The trick, she was beginning to realize, wasn?t in making the slaves afraid to die. It was in making them afraid to live long lives, filled right up to the brim with suffering. And since whips were out of the question, well? she?d have to get creative.

?Oy!? she called to the searat, whose name was? was? blast it all, she?d forgotten. ?You there, nip on down to the hold and fetch me??

Mari paused, smiling nastily.

??the accordion.?