And She Said She Loved Me... Chapter 1

By Black

Far from the continent of Jowston and the Toran repbulic, was a land. Its inhabitants reproached contact beyond their country and dressed in a curious manner. They were all bald, including the women. They had dark brown skin, and punctured themselves with needles and metals the size of swords and spears. Grotesque images of beasts and heathens adorned their backs and arms. But one inhabitant stood out from the rest. He had the same shaved head and the same dark skin, but refused to mutilate his body.

Normally the citizens of Mooranjra would find this man to be offending their image and beliefs, but this was no ordinary man. At the age of seventeen, he would be the youngest king in the country's history. He was currently prince, but his father was wounded by an assassin and wouldn't live much longer. The assassin was never found. Prince Ronland Korsair VIII grinned wickedly at the thought. Like a thief in the night.

Ronland descended from the founder of Mooranjra, Ronland Korsair. Ronland Korsair was once a nobleman of Jowston, long before the War of Succession. He was exiled from the land. His beliefs and lifestyle choices were not excepted by his fellow countrymen. A few men shared his ideals and were also exiled. They built a boat and sailed very far until hitting the land now known as Mooranjra. They chose to isolate themselves from the rest of the world. They didn’t want to be oppressed by such judgemental and arrogant knaves. They knew not of the golden age of Emperor Barbarosa, and certainly did not know of his overthrow and the new Toran Republic.

Korsair VIII stepped out and was welcomed by cheers and applauds from the crowd. He was fighting because he was advised to. This was a tournament funded by a local owner of a blacksmithing business, which was highly successful. They charged a certain price for admission and an even higher price to compete. Why would people pay their hard earned and scarce money to be beaten to a pulp? Simple. The prize for winning was having a beautiful woman as your wife. The woman was also funded by the smithing business and did not voluntarily enter into the agreement.

Ronland posed for the crowd a little bit before a local blacksmith, employee of the funders of the tournament, stepped in to greet him. This would be the final match of the day. It was too easy. Ronland cared not for the woman or the satisfaction of beating local merchants and farmers. But his council men advised him that if he acted as if he was interested in winning the young lady's heart, the people would see him as a man of chivalry and charm. Ronland would have his way with her for a week or so then throw her out and give her a small sum of money to keep her mouth shut.

This lifestyle wouldn't work. Having women be his mistress for a night or two, then toss them out like a bad piece of meat. He needed a wife. But he cared nothing for women who dressed themselves in obscene ways and actually didn't even satisfy him during his private hours. Perhaps he would set sail to Jowston and pick out a woman to just stand by his side, looking pretty. Besides, if he didn't dress the same way as the Mooranjrans, why should his wife?


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