Legends of Belariath
Mozenwrathe
Going Off Again - Why Do They Always Ruin My Hat?
I have issues.
There are numerous things I can talk about when it comes to things I have problems with. Whether it be vendors who think they can get one over on me because I am foreign to their lands, or something as simple as the quality of vegetable stews on the peninsula of Giniri'aper during their supposed "Festival Of Nature's Bounty." (I personally think they set out the worst portions for their guests and keep the best for themselves, still charging outsiders for the opportunity to see their sacred proceedings. However, I digress.) I know that I have a lot of qualms with the world, and I accept that within myself. Of course, there are those who believe I should awaken to the realities of the world and accept it for what it is. I have already: a death trap of which there is no escape, a land where misery reigns and only the strong and excessively fortunate know happiness for long. This is what the people want, so this is what they get. They don't see anything beyond what future the gods insist there is available for them. I refused to believe all there was to my life was blind obedience, and I learned I was right. Free will does exist, but it is costly and normally ends in bloodshed and death. Of course, just walking down the road can end in rape, torture, bloodshed, and death. So I see no difference between just accepting your fate and finding your own through your own efforts and abilities. There are others like me who undoubtedly feel the same, but more than half of them are the rapists and torturers I tend to leave in pieces in abandoned forests for practice. (Well, the practice is for leaving slavers who refuse to give me what I want in pieces in abandoned forests. My goddesses tend to frown random acts of violence from me for some strange reason.)
However, I am not angry about being told not to be angry. I am not infuriated about being steered away from what I thought would be victory by "wisdom forcefully imparted rapidly." (Yes, that is what one of my goddesses calls the splitting headaches she loves to send down to me. Wisdom. There's a word for that, but it's not in either of my languages.) What I am upset about is the minotaurs that encounter me seem to enjoy placing their bodies up close to me when they know me not, and then ask what my problem is. What My Problem Is? My problem is that their boobs are on my head! I did not ask for shading from the midday sun with their bosoms, so why are they choosing to do such? I have a hat for that? Can they not see it? A glorious, well-weathered, wide brimmed, dark tan leather hat. It has been with me for a full two years, and the fact it hasn't been crushed by the heavy weight of minotaur titties is a miracle. I swear, one of these days I am going to just get it enchanted and leave it like that. It's like these walking towers of flesh and bone live solely to slap their jaw-breaking breasts upon my head like boulders crushing insects. Have they no idea those things than hurt a man's neck from a distance? Do they have to wear peace bonds on them in some of the higher walled cities? Those things are just weapons they keep in their tunics until they can unleash them on some unsuspecting rube. Large as my head and heavier than a hand axe. You cannot tell me their god (whomever that one is) didn't have neck-snapping in mind.
I have been told there are men around who would pay good money to launch themselves into the air and smother themselves in the pleasure pillows of a minotaur maiden. To them I say "you are on your own with that." If they want to waste their coin, they can give it to me and I'll find them some minotaur priestess or shaman that'll humour them. That way, I can make more coin and they can satisfy that fetish of theirs. (I have something to say about the wemic and the sithians both, but that can wait for another time.) These "boob-stalkers" as they call themselves always on the hunt to try to enslave minotaur women for their massive racks, and then complain when the males actually defend them. Oh, such a shock and horror indeed that the male of a race would seek to prevent a female from being enslaved by someone that wasn't them. Especially where there are so many free minotaur dames and harlots both who would gladly entertain these legions of breast-loving lust-slaves. Could they not just post parchments on brothel doors or something? Leaving me and my hat alone and out of their little games of tit-for-air exchange? I take it that is just far too much to expect in this world.
The first time I ran into minotaurs, it was because some slaver and his friends got mad I retrieved a few things from his personal home. They did not belong to him, but to the goddess of nature herself: Gaea. And Gaea, being the Being that She was and is, wanted them back. So... I went to take them back. I saw nothing wrong with this myself. For a slaver to have problems with things being taken from them, I find that hilarious and hypocritical. Anyway, he hired two minotaur warriors to stalk me and slay me. (Typical human slaver for that region, not doing any of the dirty work himself.) I had never seen minotaurs before then, and all I knew was that they were stronger than me and heavier. What I forgot was how fast they could move, which almost got me split into pieces when I dodged the axe of one, only to have the zweihander of the second carve a line across my back. To be honest, I shouldn't have won that fight. Something guided my feet that day, causing me to collapse and trim when I wanted to move. It's the only reason I still have my head on my shoulders. Make no mistake, the pair of them did catch me more than once, but they were glancing blows. (Though that meant I almost lost every bone in my ribcage due to being smacked with the flat of a sword or a bipennal battle axe.) Anyway, I won and they lost. (And yes, I cheated: I used the magic of my embodied people, only because I was horribly outclassed in every other way.) They accepted their fate and were perfectly willing to perish at my hands.
Before I continue, I should describe the pair somewhat better. One of the minotaur maidens (or "minoesses" I have heard a few call them) was a full length of my arm taller than I. With an almost pitch black coat to her, she had a bronze sheen which made her look almost metallic. Her horns were short, and almost a wooden colour but dipped in octopus ink. That was the one wielding the axe. She had worn what looked like a skirt of armor that went from her midriff down, leaving her chest clothed in only some multicoloured fabric meant to keep her humongous chest in place. I believe it was some wool that had been enchanted to not shred and tear when she walked swiftly. (A wise idea, given that her rack was the equivalent of putting my body cut from the neck to the pelvis sideways on someone.) The other horned warrior was a full head taller than the first, with a coat that was like polished mahogany with swirls of cedar and ash. She had undergone scarification, I believe, as a ritual to prove her worthiness in the eyes of her chosen deity. That one's horns had a small spiral to them, and they were a pure bone white. Unlike the axe-wielder, she had more of a slim muscular build - at least for one of her race. That, and she had silver earrings in both ears that were connected by a slim chain of what had to be white gold. Her own bosom was no slouch either, but not quite as large as her friend's most impressive. (In her case, each of her boobs was the size of my head. I should know as I got an up-close look at them. They were also a lot more firm.) She - the second minotaur maiden, was wearing something akin to a dress as well, with slits up the side and made of hardened leather and brass. It failed to cover her chest beyond her stomach, except for two thick straps the width of my thumbs together that just covered her nipples. Most minotaurs - and a few other members of the larger races - would consider them most beautiful. I considered them opponents. Now then, back to the actual telling of the tale, yes?
Just before I was going to slit both of their throats, the inevitable happened: I got a headache. This almost always seems to happen whenever "certain opinions" believe my opponents are redeemable or more valuable to "them" alive. Seeing my wincing and staggering back as a sign of forgiveness, the pair of them celebrated their not being slain by hugging me. Well, one could call it a hug. I would dub it being sandwiched between two walls of female flesh. There is something to be said about being crushed almost to death by bloodied and battered opponents who are in fact much stronger than you are by their sin cushions: you learn to value breathing so much more. My feet were dangling off the ground, and all I could see was bosom everywhere. They started jumping for joy as well, and that really didn't help. If it wasn't for the fact their own employer tried to stab one of them through the back, the duo might have killed me accidentally. The steel edge that gashed my side woke me up though, causing me to instinctively lash out at where the sword strike came from. My boots connected with the man's head and neck, crushing his nose into his face and his throat from front to back. I would love to say I had planned that, but it was pure panic that gave me the strength: I was trying to kick myself free of the busty lasses so I could defend myself. It was enough to twist me free, though I wound up landing on my head and shoulders as result, cutting the back of my head open. The two minotaur lasses did a most wonderful job in bandaging me up, though I looked like a mummy from the ribcage up for a few days. Letting the two of them grab whatever they could from the dead man, I made my exit quietly, let they wanted to do more "celebrating." I was absolutely positive I wouldn't be able to survive any more of their good will.
So, there you have it. That's my issue of the day: "boobhatting." Minotaurs need to keep their gigantic carnal cantaloupes off my head when I don't want them there. The same goes for ogres as well, but they are less likely to do that more likely to try to club me over the head. Which is why I like minotaurs more than ogres in that respect. I figure there's a smaller chance I'll have the desire to stick a flaming pikestaff through the face of a minoess than I would an ogress. Since there's a lot more minotaur dames roaming around this city of Nanthalion than ogre mulieri, I'd hazard that's a good thing I like the horny women that much better.