Mangzariel the Mangar Corsair

Eerduz and I had taken a perilous journey to the far land of Faradun in an attempt to bring to the pages of the Feast of Ardan an infusion of exotic beauties. We were successful beyond our wildest imaginations, as you will soon see.

We had sailed to the port city of Tarun with a Zandir merchant ship, and had a few days to find some models before they set sail again. I began scouting out various taverns and inns. It was while in a shabby bar near the docks themselves that I first encountered Mangzariel. In fact, she saved my life.

I was in the Green Kra, drinking a bit of the local grog, and was more than a bit intoxicated, when a group of Mangar pirates entered and began ordering the staff around. I had grown fond of these folk who had been kind enough to continue to fill my mug (when I have overindulged in drink, I ofttimes consider the employees like family) and could not sit by while these brutes accosted them.

I strode over to their table, if striding can be defined as drunken weaving, a spell coming to the forefront of my mind. I would teach these brutes some courtesy!

While still several tables away, I was grabbed by the arm and dragged down into a chair. When the Green Kra stopped spinning, I glared at the person who dared to stop me on my noble quest, but my glare instantly melted. Sitting next to me was a beauty of dark skin and shaven head. Her tight, sleeveless blouse barely contained her bosom. Normally my eyes would have lingered there long, but they instead were drawn to the tattoo of a green serpent that wound around her left arm. By the Ten Thousand, she was a Mangar!

She called me a fool (using Sign, since I have very little skill in the Sea Nomad tongue) for even thinking about starting trouble with her captain, and that she had saved me from a painful death. I ordered her a drink in gratitude. I told her I had a proposition for her, one that could earn her some coin. She assured me she was not a whore, and punctuated her claim by placing the blade of a curved dagger under my chin. I quickly assured her that was not my intention, though some degree of undress would be required. The blade pressed against my skin drawing a trickle of blood. Curse Sign for not have a gesture that means “gentleman’s publication!”

Eventually, she understood my intentions, the dagger was removed, and our negotiations began. I later learned that our standard wage was more than she would be likely to see in a season. In fact, with what we were paying her, she would finally have enough for her own ship. It seems she and her sister had been ferraning away funds for their own corsair ship. They wanted to branch off on their own and terrorize the seas with their own crew. A noble endeavor, and to think that the Feast or Ardan could be of assistance! Best of luck Mangzariel. May the winds be at your back.