The perfume was rich, fruity and exotic: It danced in her nostrils, gently caressing her senses with a complexity that betrayed its preposterous price tag.<br/><br/>Initially, her eyes had to adapt to the bright sunshine from outside.<br/><br/>Then, she saw white. Well, she didn’t see white as in a white light, as windows didn’t have a habit of killing people: But rather, a soft pillowy expanse of what..? Sea foam? A thick fog swamped her entire view of the outside for a few seconds, and then…<br/><br/>…and then whatever she was in broke through the fog, showing hundreds, thousands of clouds spanning out below, a bright, blue warm sky above sun bathing the puffy world in a golden light.<br/>She wasn’t at sea – oh, no, her mind curtly informed her that she had to be at leave eight thousand feet in the air, floating, no…. sailing atop clouds of all shapes and sizes.<br/><br/>She was on an airship. And if her quarters had anything to hint at, the airship had to be huge.<br/><br/>The sight was mesmerising. And it could have continued being mesmerising weren’t it because the view suddenly was blocked by a large eyeball peering directly back at the inquisitive Tamaska.<br/><br/>“<span style="color: Green">Corr!</span>” she heard a voice reminiscent of mouldy, rock-hard cheese getting grated say out loud through the window.<br/><br/>Seconds later, the entire window flew open by the crooked hands an old, tattered man hanging in a rope harness along the side of the airship.<br/>The human was aged well past a “Drink now” date: He had more wrinkles than the goblin trade princes had gold, one eye was dead and unmoving suggesting a glass replacement, limbs as thin as chop-sticks. His face was broad and had he been…. oh, an odd couple of centuries younger, his face might have been called warm – right now his broad skull structure only made the sunken cheeks pop out even more viciously.<br/><br/>He was draped in a deep red sailor shirt and a pair of tattered black pants; one leg was made of wood from the knee down. A white bandana hugged his bald head and across his entire attire lay a “charming” shell of grime, soot and dirt. Despite the fresh winds outside and the perfume of Tamaska, she could easily make out his special fragrance – a literal appliance of the term, “Eau de toilette”.<br/><br/>“<span style="color: Green">BHLIMEY, aren’t ya’ a stweet pert thin’ worth the skyes and suns of all the worlds!?</span>” he spoke through rotten and missing teeth jutting every which way in his grinning mouth.<br/><br/>It was odd how every word falling from him seem to carry a strange, dependable honesty.<br/><br/>“<span style="color: Green">Ssssh, don’t speak up, girl! The Captain in’t too fond o’ us lowleh’ seamen talkin’ to the Masters’ livestock.</span>” The seaman said before she had any real chance to muster a reply.<br/><br/>A hand came zooming through the open window, fingers extending for a handshake: Either she moved back if she hadn’t already or she would find her eyes poked by a couple of old fingers:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: Green">Naaaames O’Barney! Pleasures all yours, gem!</span>” O’Barney spoke out, cackling in a witch-like tone of voice.<br/><br/>Regardless of she mustered the bravery to actually shake his hand or not, O’Barney recoiled his arm after a brief moment and placed a finger across his dry lips:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: Green">Ssssh! Listen, t’mistress’ comin’ down to checks on ye’, lass. Can’t linger aboot’ for long: When ye’ got a moments respite ask for me; Yer’ lookin’ like a warm sort of lassie and O’Barney knows yer’ll be needin’ a favour done sooner or later. And O’Barney? He’s the damn champion o’ favours!</span>”<br/><br/>He “<span style="color: Green">Ssssh</span>”’ed again before any protests were possible, peered up and bellowed forth in a tattered, but mighty voice: “<span style="color: Green">ROUUUUUUUSEE!</span>”. The dangly scarecrow then winked at Tamaska and shut the window as someone began pulling him up to the deck above.<br/>The whole ordeal was over so fast, a little part of Tamaskas mind still questioned whether she was having delusions. It took her a full few seconds to realise that O’Barney had spoken a surprisingly fluent orcish and yet somehow still managed to communicate with a heavy, broken accent.<br/><br/>Not but a few seconds after his disappearance, a wooden door flung open, intersected with a very familiar, honey-coated giggle that only belonged to one woman she knew of:<br/><br/>Bahiyya, her mistress of pleasure, one half part of the deceptive duo who hoodwinked her into captivity emerged into sight, dragging a man who must have read the “How to Look Like a Strapping Swashbuckler” and thought he could fit the bill.<br/><br/>For clarities sake, he had all the accessories (White, open swashbucklers shirt, high navy boots, a brown, broad sash and messy black hair), but he was too helplessly young to really sell the concept – he couldn’t be a day beyond his 19th summer with those wide, confused eyes of his. He was fit in a natural fashion which did leave him with a certain appeal. Boyish appeal.<br/><br/>Bahiyya herself remained as ridiculously alluring as ever; today she wore an appealing and much more flattering wine-red, bell-shaped silk dress with ruffled sleeves under a tight-fitting black corset lined with golden embroidery. Her wild red hair was voluminous as ever and her face carried a startling laugh.<br/><br/>She pulled the man close to her and said something in common, delivering him a scorching hot glance that almost had him gaping. The young man stammered a response that suggested he was humbled and apprehensive of his situation.<br/>Then both, simultaneously, peered directly at the trolless. Even with Bahiyyas competition, the young man inhaled a sharp breath, a coy, stupid smile spreading on his naïve face.<br/><br/>The succubus in disguised let him stand and slobber, bounding to the bars: An arm slowly rose between the metal tubes, displaying a feminine hand adorned with an odd, golden fist-shaped ring. Her dangerously delightful voice spoke a simple request:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: Sienna">Good morning – now be a good girl and kneel, pet;kiss your mistress’ ring.</span>”<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>