Post by Violinist on Nov 3, 2008 15:17:11 GMT -5
Port Royal. Primary base of the stoic defenders of Jamaican waters against piracy. A perpetually busy town where the presence of soldiers keep trade flowing freely and the population in check. Compared to other ports such as Tortuga, Port Royal is a veritable utopia in these troubled waters, free of corruption and crime.
Just goes to show you can't trust the advertisements. How is corruption in one place different from all the other sins of man even if some are better at hiding it than others? Let us take as an example an ordinary man living in one of the more ritzier neighborhoods of the town. Let me show you his sins. Come, for there is nothing to fear past this sturdy oaken door. Spare the dining room but a glance. Do not be deceived by his children, sitting there giggling silently to some clever joke. Do not let the happy tune his wife is humming to herself while she lovingly prepares dinner for the family trick you. Their sins are not what we came here for.
No, let us ignore even the man who is the very purpose of our visit for now. He is an ordinary man who tries to do the best he can for his family. His belief in god is unquestioned and his love for not only his family and friends, but to the servants and sailors he employs as well. He has everything a man could ever desire. Good health for him and his beloved, financial security, a loving wife and adorable children. And a padlock on his cellar door.
Baubles such as locks and latches are no hindrance to ones such as us. Come. Embrace your ethereal form and follow me. Let us shed some light on the darkness of this man's heart. Do not be alarmed at the stench of blood and filth kept at bay only by the scented herbs this man hangs inside the door. Look, instead, upon the walls. Do you see them? The whips? The knives? The hammers? The spikes? The thumbscrews? The pillory and whipping post? The rack? Look away if you must, but do not forget what you have seen here
And what poor unfortunate soul is so unfortunate as to be subjected to this cruelty? If you can truly stomach the visage, come with me and see the cruelty of men. There. In the corner below the filthy little barred window that does nothing but darken the shadows around it. Do you see her? Do you see the heavy iron shackles that bind her feet to the wall? Can you see how almost all her fingers stick out at impossible angles? Can you see the fresh cuts of the lash covering her entire body, caking her once fine coat of fur with layers of drying blood? Can you see the way her right arm is broken entirely at the elbow, making it stick out at a ninety-degree angle in entirely the wrong direction? Can you see how she has been starved since the day she was purchased by this man and locked up in here, leaving nothing but skin and bones? Can you see the spots of bald skin where burn scars have prevented her fur from ever growing there again? Can you see the way a large piece of her ear has been ripped away and still squirts away her life in rythm with her heartbeat?
For too long has humankind remained unaware of the pain it inflicts on itself and others. No more!
Look at her! She dares not to move, for even a slight motion will send an explosion of agony jolting through her entire body. She cannot even wash her wounds, for even drinking the dirty water in the dish beside her would surely invite infection. All she can do is pull her legs closer to her nude figure to try and preserve what warmth she has and weep. Can you see her tears? No, don't look away! Not now! LOOK AT HER! She makes not a sound, nor does she shake when the fear overwhelms her once again. She knows what the waning daylight means. Soon he'll finish his dinner, then he'll put the children to bed and retreat to his own chambers with his wife. Then he'll wait for her to fall asleep. It won't take long. Ever since he had purchased his new toy, the man had lost almost every interest in pleasing his wife, preferring to rape the helpless, mutilated, pitiful thing in his basement. She knows this, just like she knows that her agony and still-bleeding wounds will only excite him further. He would gag her first, of course, to muffle her screams.
First she had wanted more than anything to escape. Now, after being broken time and again, even the slightest gesture that meant she would be spared another moment of agony was a godsend. If total obedience meant one less strike of the horrible barbed whips or one less twist of the thumbscrews, she would gladly give it and weep with silent gratitude when it was rewarded. If she is good and silent and obedient enough to please her master, he might even feed her, and even rotting scraps of food seems like the finest meal after having had to lick up your own blood and eat whatever insect that managed to worm its way into the cellar.
She also knows that her master was going to get rid of her soon. Even that sadistic monster would be disgusted by the pitiful thing she had become. Death would be a welcome respite from the constant pain she suffers, but then she realizes that this is the same thought she has every night, and she knows that her master enjoys seeing her in this state, enjoys causing her more and more pain, and she weeps because she knows she is going to survive one more night again and again.
This is the kind of pain we are capable of inflicting. Cruelty and patience are the most unholy combination possible in a human. Look at what we can do. Can you see it? Does the cruelty of your race not sicken you? How does it make you fee- what's this? She stirs? Come. Let us observe in silence.
But the poor thing does nothing more than raise her head only slightly and let out a single, pathetic "mew." Barely audible, it is all the sound this weak little being is able and brave enough to make. Again and again it sounds, bearing all her hopes of freedom she has forsaken long ago.
"Mew. Mew. Mew..."
Just goes to show you can't trust the advertisements. How is corruption in one place different from all the other sins of man even if some are better at hiding it than others? Let us take as an example an ordinary man living in one of the more ritzier neighborhoods of the town. Let me show you his sins. Come, for there is nothing to fear past this sturdy oaken door. Spare the dining room but a glance. Do not be deceived by his children, sitting there giggling silently to some clever joke. Do not let the happy tune his wife is humming to herself while she lovingly prepares dinner for the family trick you. Their sins are not what we came here for.
No, let us ignore even the man who is the very purpose of our visit for now. He is an ordinary man who tries to do the best he can for his family. His belief in god is unquestioned and his love for not only his family and friends, but to the servants and sailors he employs as well. He has everything a man could ever desire. Good health for him and his beloved, financial security, a loving wife and adorable children. And a padlock on his cellar door.
Baubles such as locks and latches are no hindrance to ones such as us. Come. Embrace your ethereal form and follow me. Let us shed some light on the darkness of this man's heart. Do not be alarmed at the stench of blood and filth kept at bay only by the scented herbs this man hangs inside the door. Look, instead, upon the walls. Do you see them? The whips? The knives? The hammers? The spikes? The thumbscrews? The pillory and whipping post? The rack? Look away if you must, but do not forget what you have seen here
And what poor unfortunate soul is so unfortunate as to be subjected to this cruelty? If you can truly stomach the visage, come with me and see the cruelty of men. There. In the corner below the filthy little barred window that does nothing but darken the shadows around it. Do you see her? Do you see the heavy iron shackles that bind her feet to the wall? Can you see how almost all her fingers stick out at impossible angles? Can you see the fresh cuts of the lash covering her entire body, caking her once fine coat of fur with layers of drying blood? Can you see the way her right arm is broken entirely at the elbow, making it stick out at a ninety-degree angle in entirely the wrong direction? Can you see how she has been starved since the day she was purchased by this man and locked up in here, leaving nothing but skin and bones? Can you see the spots of bald skin where burn scars have prevented her fur from ever growing there again? Can you see the way a large piece of her ear has been ripped away and still squirts away her life in rythm with her heartbeat?
For too long has humankind remained unaware of the pain it inflicts on itself and others. No more!
Look at her! She dares not to move, for even a slight motion will send an explosion of agony jolting through her entire body. She cannot even wash her wounds, for even drinking the dirty water in the dish beside her would surely invite infection. All she can do is pull her legs closer to her nude figure to try and preserve what warmth she has and weep. Can you see her tears? No, don't look away! Not now! LOOK AT HER! She makes not a sound, nor does she shake when the fear overwhelms her once again. She knows what the waning daylight means. Soon he'll finish his dinner, then he'll put the children to bed and retreat to his own chambers with his wife. Then he'll wait for her to fall asleep. It won't take long. Ever since he had purchased his new toy, the man had lost almost every interest in pleasing his wife, preferring to rape the helpless, mutilated, pitiful thing in his basement. She knows this, just like she knows that her agony and still-bleeding wounds will only excite him further. He would gag her first, of course, to muffle her screams.
First she had wanted more than anything to escape. Now, after being broken time and again, even the slightest gesture that meant she would be spared another moment of agony was a godsend. If total obedience meant one less strike of the horrible barbed whips or one less twist of the thumbscrews, she would gladly give it and weep with silent gratitude when it was rewarded. If she is good and silent and obedient enough to please her master, he might even feed her, and even rotting scraps of food seems like the finest meal after having had to lick up your own blood and eat whatever insect that managed to worm its way into the cellar.
She also knows that her master was going to get rid of her soon. Even that sadistic monster would be disgusted by the pitiful thing she had become. Death would be a welcome respite from the constant pain she suffers, but then she realizes that this is the same thought she has every night, and she knows that her master enjoys seeing her in this state, enjoys causing her more and more pain, and she weeps because she knows she is going to survive one more night again and again.
This is the kind of pain we are capable of inflicting. Cruelty and patience are the most unholy combination possible in a human. Look at what we can do. Can you see it? Does the cruelty of your race not sicken you? How does it make you fee- what's this? She stirs? Come. Let us observe in silence.
But the poor thing does nothing more than raise her head only slightly and let out a single, pathetic "mew." Barely audible, it is all the sound this weak little being is able and brave enough to make. Again and again it sounds, bearing all her hopes of freedom she has forsaken long ago.
"Mew. Mew. Mew..."
I did post in shades of grey if anyone even remembers that lmao