The Rencers of the Delta, by Arealius the Scribe

This Gorean Fan Fiction was generated using MetaAI. 

Please note that the Gorean Saga is a fictional series, and its world,

customs, and values may not align with modern societal standards or moral principles.

Gor is Copyrighted by John Norman

"The Rencers of The Delta"

by Arealius the Scribe 

I was born a Rencer, a member of the outcaste society that inhabited the treacherous yet majestic Vosk River Delta marshes. My people lived on the fringes of Gorean society, existing outside the traditional castes. We were a resourceful and self-sufficient bunch, skilled in the arts of survival, hunting, and navigating the delta's winding waters. Living in harmony with nature, we had developed a distinct culture shaped by the harsh yet beautiful environment. Our isolated lifestyle had taught us to be resilient and adaptable, able to thrive in the delta's unforgiving landscape. As a Rencer, I was proud of my heritage and the unique bond my people shared with the natural world.

As a Rencer, I was part of a resourceful and self-sufficient bunch, skilled in the arts of survival, hunting, and navigating the delta's winding waters. We lived in harmony with nature, which is just a fancy way of saying we didn't get eaten by sleens too often.

My early life was a wild adventure, thanks to my father's fearless spirit and my mother's gentle guidance. Father was a renowned sleen hunter, and his tales of bravery in the delta's treacherous waters had me mesmerized. I grew up idolizing his strength and cunning–and trying not to get too close to the sleens. Let's just say I had a healthy respect for those razor-toothed creatures.

My mother brought a different strength to our family–the strength of knowledge and creativity. She had been taught the skills of reading and writing in the standard Gorean tongue, and she patiently passed these gifts on to me. I remember the feel of the stylus in my hand, the scratch of the ink on the parchment, as she guided me through the intricate dance of letters and words.

But my mother's talents didn't stop there–she was also skilled in the art of drawing and painting. She would spend hours with me, teaching me how to mix colors, how to capture the play of light on water, how to bring the delta's beauty to life on the page. I treasured those moments, lost in the world of art and imagination, with my mother by my side.

The day my father sold my mother is etched in my memory like a scar on my soul. I was just a boy, barely old enough to understand the cruelty of the world. My father, the great sleen hunter, had grown tired of my mother's gentle ways, her love of learning and art. He saw her as a burden, a weakness in his rugged life.

I remember the day vividly; the sun beating down on the delta's muddy shore as a convoy from Cardonicus, bound for Port Kar, made its way along the river. My father, his eyes gleaming with greed, approached the captain of the lead ship, a burly man with a thick beard and a cruel smile.

The negotiations were brief, the outcome never in doubt. My mother, the love of my life, was sold for ten coppers, a paltry sum for a life of devotion and love. I watched in horror as she was led away, her eyes filled with tears, her heart breaking with mine.

The captain's laughter still echoes in my mind, a cruel sound that haunts me to this day. My father's betrayal cut deep, a wound that would never fully heal. I was left alone, adrift in a world that seemed determined to destroy me.

The memories of that fateful day still send shivers down my spine. After months of seeking passage on ships from Cardonicus and ports up the coast, I had almost lost hope. My mother's sale had left me with a deep-seated desire to escape the delta and its painful memories. I was determined to find a way out, no matter the cost.

That's when I spotted the ship, its sails bearing the emblem of a golden serpent, its hull weathered from countless voyages on the Gleaming Thassa. The captain, a grizzled old salt with a bushy beard and a missing eye, stood on the quarterdeck, bellowing orders at his crew. I approached him, my heart racing with excitement, and asked if he needed any hands.

He eyed me up and down before responding, "I need a new cabin boy. The last one... disagreed with me." He chuckled, an icy glint in his eye. "He's currently enjoying the hospitality of the Thassa."

I didn't fully understand what being a cabin boy entailed, but I was desperate for passage. I nodded eagerly, and the captain handed me a set of tattered clothes and a bucket. "Welcome aboard, lad. You'll learn quickly enough."

As the ship set sail, I felt a mix of emotions: excitement, fear, and a deep sense of uncertainty. What lay ahead? Would I survive the dangers of the Thassa and the captain's wrath? Only time would tell.

The voyage had been long and arduous; the shoreline blurring together as we sailed past the mouth of the mighty Vosk River and turned toward the Tamber Gulf. The crew of the small cog had been a rough bunch, but they had not been cruel to me... yet. They had kept their distance, eyeing me with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. I had tried to stay out of their way, focusing on my duties as cabin boy and avoiding any trouble.

But as we approached Port Kar, the crew's demeanor changed. They grew agitated, their laughter and jokes taking on a sinister tone. I sensed that something was off, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

Then, the captain summoned me to his cabin. The crew's snickers and sneers followed me as I made my way below deck. I felt a sense of trepidation building in my chest, my heart racing with anticipation. What did the captain want with me? Had I done something wrong?

As I entered the cabin, the captain looked up from the charts spread out before him. His eyes narrowed, and he gestured for me to approach. I felt a sense of foreboding wash over me, as if I was walking into a trap. What lay ahead, I did not know. But I sensed that my life was about to take a dramatic turn.

As I entered the cabin, the captain looked up from the charts spread out before him, his eyes narrowing into slits that seemed to say, "You're in trouble, kid." I felt a sense of foreboding wash over me, as if I was walking into a trap–or a poor joke. I half expected him to say, "Take a seat, we need to discuss your future... or lack thereof."

But he just grunted and gestured for me to approach. I did, my heart racing with anticipation. That's when I saw it: a large, ominous-looking ledger lying open on his desk. I sensed that my life was about to take a dramatic turn–or a fatal plunge. Little did I know, the captain's own life was about to take a similar turn. Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from above deck, followed by the sound of shouting and chaos. The captain's eyes widened in alarm, and he rushed out of the cabin, leaving me staring at the ledger in confusion. It was then that I saw the entry: "Cabin Boy–expendable."

The convoy was sailing smoothly, the sun beating down on the water, when suddenly the lookout's cry pierced the air: "Raiders ahead! Green ships, low in the water!" My heart sank as I saw the Tarn-ships of the Cosian raiders, their green paint glinting in the sunlight. Our crew scrambled to prepare for battle, but it was clear we were out-manned and outmaneuvered.

The fight was intense and brutal, our men clashing with the Cosian warriors in a frenzy of steel and sweat. I watched in horror as our officers barked conflicting orders, their leadership crumbling under the pressure. The captain, that cheat and liar, was nowhere to be found, likely hiding below deck to save his own skin.

As the Cosians gained the upper hand, I knew I had to act fast. With a deep breath, I dove over the side of the round ship, plunging into the murky green waters of the Thassa. The cool liquid enveloped me, a welcome respite from the chaos above. I kicked and stroked, putting as much distance between myself and the doomed ship as possible. The sounds of battle grew fainter, replaced by the gentle lapping of waves against my ears. I was alone, adrift in the Thassa, but alive.

I survived the night, my body exhausted but my spirit unbroken. I made my way to the beach, the darkness slowly giving way to the faint light of dawn. I spotted a cluster of low-lying trees, their branches stretching towards the sky like withered fingers. I climbed one of them, finding a secure branch to perch on, safe from any sudden attacks by wild sleens.

As morning broke, I gazed out at the devastation below. The ruined masts of four round ships jutted above the water, their hulls grounded on the bottom of the Thassa. The beach was littered with bodies, already being rendered by the creatures of the delta. I felt a pang of sadness, but as a Rencer, I knew how to survive in this harsh environment.

I stayed close to the tree line, aware that any tarns in the area would be unlikely to venture near the edge of the Thassa. They feared the green water, and I knew how to use that fear to my advantage. I also kept a safe distance from the slapping waves, wary of any wandering sea-sleens that might lurk in the depths. My senses were on high alert, my heart pounding with every snap of a twig or rustle of leaves. I was a Rencer, and this was my domain. I would survive, no matter what dangers lay ahead.

As I emerged from the delta's wilds, I caught sight of the controlled lands of Port Kar, a vast expanse of reclaimed territory that stretched towards the horizon. The fertile soil yielded a bounty of grains and fruits, a testament to the city's ingenuity and perseverance. I stood before the walls of Port Kar, my eyes roaming the grandeur of my first Gorean city.

The sight took my breath away. Tied to many piers and docks were the famed Tarnships of Port Kar, their sleek hulls and graceful lines a marvel of naval architecture. To the sides, I saw a pier nearest me where grand round ships with three masts rode at anchor. The banners of several city-states fluttered in the wind, a colorful tapestry of power. Though I didn't recognize the symbols, the sheer scale of the ships impressed me still.

I, Arealius, Rencer of the Barbosa Clan, had arrived at Port Kar. The city's grandeur and beauty awed me, but I knew that beneath its surface lay a complex web of intrigue and danger. As an outcaste, I would need to navigate this treacherous landscape with care, relying on my wits and cunning to survive. The city's call was strong, and I was ready to answer.

(( Editor's Note: The Rencers of the Vosk River Delta, as depicted in John Norman's Chronicles of Gor series, live in a lush, marshy environment with dense vegetation and winding waterways. The delta is known for its fertile land, which supports the growth of crops like rence, a type of plant used to make paper.

The culture of the Rencers is deeply intertwined with their environment. They are skilled in navigating the marshes and waterways, often using primitive rafts to travel and hunt. The community is tight-knit, with a strong emphasis on tradition and survival skills. They are also known for their craftsmanship, particularly in creating tools and weapons from natural materials found in the delta.

The proximity to Port Kar means that the Rencers are no strangers to conflict and danger. Raiders and slavers from Port Kar frequently enter the marshes, posing a constant threat to their way of life. Despite this, the Rencers maintain their resilience and resourcefulness, adapting to the challenges of their environment. ))