A Mutual Understanding

He cast a longing look over his shoulder at the still form in the cell. What would it be like? The way she was made 'down there'; it had to feel different. There must have been a reason why they made her that way. Was it tighter? Was it somehow more pleasurable? Or did they just do it so it would hurt her whenever someone fucked her? Somehow he found that thought even more appealing. But one thing he knew, he had to have her, at least once, before it was too late. He might never get another chance at a cunt like that one.

It was the third day of the three that the mercenary warrior had been given to rid the canon of the drow patrol. If he was successful, he might return soon, but there had been no news so far, and no man could take on a dozen drow warriors all by himself. He wasn't coming back. And when the warden realized that, the drow would be turned over to the raiders. What a waste. He had to act soon. And the little drow might be waking up at any time.

Surreptitiously, he glanced up and down the corridor, making sure it was empty before turning and inserting the key in the lock of the cell door.

Warden Grimsdell was having a good day. He'd just received word from his scouts that the drow patrol had been wiped out. The mercenary had done his job. He would soon be rid of the drow girl as well. He didn't like having to keep her here. He wasn't sure how far he could trust the guards with her, and he didn't exactly like her kind. He supposed she was just a girl, as the elf had said, but she was trouble all the same, he could feel it.

But no matter now. The mercenary would be back for her, and then they would get out of his town and that would be the end of it.

Yes, the warden was having a real good day.

A gentle knock sounded on the door. "Come in." he answered. The door opened to admit an attractive woman, whom he recognized as the seamstress that the elf worked for. "Ah, dear lady, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

The seamstress smiled as he ushered her to a seat. "Good Warden, it has come to my attention that you are holding a certain young drow girl in your keeping. I wonder if we might have a discussion about her fate."

Just then, the door burst open again. The captain of the guard entered, blurting out, "Warden, there's been a problem with the drow!" His gaze dropped in embarrassment. "It's Harrison, Sir." The warden was on his feet and following the captain out of the office instantly.

His day was about to get a whole lot worse.

They found Spiriel badly beaten, unconscious and bleeding, and the guardsman, Harrison, bleeding from numerous bites and scratches. The little drow had made it a fight, but she never really stood a chance against a burly armed and armored guardsman that outweighed her by nearly double. The warden flipped his lid.

"Harrison! You stupid fool! What have you done? Now we'll have to deal with the mercenary! He'll kill you, and I ought to give you to him on a serving platter with a damned apple in your mouth!"

"But Sir, he probably isn't coming back, and who else cares about some stupid little drow bi...." The warden's balled fist took two of Harrison's teeth, cutting off the man's reply. "For your information, the drow patrol have been dealt with. The mercenary did what we sent him to do. Now he'll be coming back here to find this. Captain! Get this imbecile out of my sight and get someone to guard this drow who can keep his pecker in his pants!"

The warden turned to storm away, and came face to face with his female guest, who had followed him into the cell block. Despite the shocking situation, she had a slight smile on her face. "Perhaps, Warden, I could offer another solution to your problem."

The seamstress sipped her tea with a smug satisfied smile as she regarded the unconscious little drow lying on the small cot in her private bedchambers. It seemed that fate had played into her hand after all. That which would have cost a fortune that was beyond even her means had been acquired for the price of a small payoff to a petty official.

A gasp from the doorway alerted her to Althea's arrival. The elf carried a basin of warm water and some clean linen bandages.

"By the gods! What happened to her?" the elf queried.

"An over-amorous paramour. Can you help her?" the seamstress replied.

"When you said you had a task for me, I didn't realize it would involve her."

"I'm sure if she were conscious, she'd feel the same way about you, dear Althea. Just do what you can for her. It cost me a pretty sum to acquire her. She's not much good to me if she's all bruised and bloody."

Helwin glanced at the grey light of the pre-dawn sky, huddled over the small fire she'd made for warmth. She'd ridden throughout the night to reach the town as soon as she could, but she'd arrived at the city wall after they'd closed the gates for the night. She knew they'd open again at dawn, but for the moment she had come as far as she could. She supposed the little drow slave could wait one more night.

Skyguy's post

Mir unlooped his horse’s bridle from the back of the cart and waved to the man, sending him onward. He wasn’t going to risk Hellwyn’s wrath by showing up on his horse, but he’d be damned if he rode in the back of a farmer's cart into town. The drow weapons and witch armor were piled on his horse’s back, he reflected that he’d have to give it a name soon, and he led the beast towards the city gates.

Inside he was aware of all the looks he got, first for walking his horse instead of riding it, but more acutely, for being the owner of the drow. He wondered how many people knew but not for long as the looks he got from everyone confirmed it was well known, not that they’d even bothered to try and hide it, which had been a horrible, terrible mistake in retrospect. So he slogged through the mud, more determined than ever to get Spiriel back and get out of this town. Hellwyn and Rothgar were good people and if they were offering work he’d take it. In a way he was in their debt seeing how Rothgar had helped with the drow when it had been none of his concern, and he’d paid the price for it.

His leg hurt, badly, but it wasn’t getting worse so he trudged on until he spied the barracks in the distance. The guardsmen outside noticed him coming towards them and began to fidget nervously, glancing back and forth between themselves as he approached. He tied his horse up outside and shambled up the steps. He ignored the two men and went inside, looking for someone important but having them find him.

The captain from before was stalking towards him, hand on the hilt of his sword. Mir smirked triumphantly as he approached. “Hey sugar tits, miss me?”

“I see you didn’t have the decency to die.” the captain sneered.

“Fuck you too, princess. Where’s the warden? I want my drow and to get the hell out of here, and where’s the northern woman?”

The guard captain's eyes narrowed at the insult. This mercenary deserved to be taught a lesson. If it were up to him, he'd have the lout thrown straight into a cell and let him rot, the captain thought. But the warden had warned against any sort of action against the man.

Still, he'd get his comeuppance, the captain thought as he smirked. Just wait until the warden broke the news about his precious little black bitch. He turned and led the way down the hall. "Follow me." As he walked, he continued, "I don't know anything about any northern woman you're talking about. Pick up another wench to keep your pecker warm on the trail, did ye? And lost her already, or you wouldn't be asking me about her. 'Course at least you know where to come lookin'. Naturally you'd figure when she got tired of a drifter, she'd come looking for a real man. But then I haven't been impressed with your choice of female companionship. I doubt I'd want anything to do with your leavings."

Leading the way to a room with a door that had a barred window in it, the captain drew himself up to his full height and gestured towards Mir's sword. "If you want to see the warden, you'll have to leave your weapons with the guard here." He noted Mir's hesitation, and added. "That's the way it is....'princess'. Disarm here, or get out. I ain't got all day for you to decide."

Helwyn nursed the mug of ale in front of her, staring morosely into the dark brown liquid. Things had not gone well over the past couple days. First Rothgar had gotten himself killed trying to help the mercenary in an affair that had been none of their business. And now she'd tried to help the same man recover his Drow slave girl, only to nearly end up imprisoned for it.

She had tried to explain to the captain of the guards about Mir's wound and his imminent return, and that they should release the girl to her for his safekeeping. But the captain had refused to do so, and also refused to let her in to see the warden. She suspected they were hiding something, but she had no proof. Their suspicious actions were all she had to go on when she tried to insist on seeing the warden about the Drow girl, and they didn't take too well to her accusations. Only the threat of locking her up had turned her away finally, and then only after they had summoned half a dozen guardsmen to ensure they would carry out their threat.

She hadn't known what to do. Mir would be back in town in a day or two, at least if he took her advice and nursed the leg. He would be expecting to find his Drow girl all safe and sound. But now Helwyn wondered about that. What did the guards want with her so badly anyhow. They knew the Drow patrol had been wiped out, so why keep the black elf any longer?

Planning had never been Helwyn's strong suit. Rothgar had always been there to make the plans, and basically she only ever had to decide if she was going to go along with him or not. But now he was gone, and she had no one to turn to. She was leagues away from her homeland, and wasn't familiar with the laws of this place. Did she have any right to demand the return of another person's slave? What if there were other reasons that the guards were holding the girl? She had only Mir's word on it that the guards were supposed to release the little Drow when the patrol had been dealt with. What if he had lied to Rothgar and her in order to trick them into helping him?

She found herself getting angry at that thought, and it occurred to her to wonder if she'd been drinking too much. She dismissed the thought with an angry gesture of her hand, apparently misunderstood by the curly haired little serving wench who was watching her from across the room. The girl waited until she could make eye contact before assuring herself that the Northerner was not signaling for service.

Helwyn returned her attention to the drink in front of her. She thought about how inadequate it was to quench the pain of Rothgar's loss as she brooded over the situation. Mir would be back soon, and he would want answers. Answers that she didn't have to give. But all she could think to do was to wait here in the inn that he had been staying at until he returned. Maybe he would have a plan as to what to do.

Spiriel hung in the shackles, exhausted. Her ivory hair hung lank and limp in stringy strands, a few plastered to her black skin from the sweat of her ordeal. She whimpered around the gag as she heard the keen whistle of the leather crop whipping through the air again, and the sound she made became her muffled scream in the next instant.

She had awakened in the dark after the brutal guard had beaten her senseless. But what happened when the lights came on again was not much better. The woman who made the pretty clothes Mir had bought for her had been there, and so was the elf. The elf woman had been leaning over her, tending to her bruises and cuts, as she later realized. Strange how she had first thought the elf was going to kill her, and now, that same elf had treated her the kindest that she had been treated by anyone since Mir left. Still it was only a brief respite.

The clothes-making woman had told her that she was disobedient and needed to be 'broken', whatever that meant, and that she would beg to call her 'Mistress' before she was through. Spiriel didn't know why she needed to be whipped for that. If that was the woman's name, she would gladly call her that. It mattered little to her what these humans wanted to be called.

But now she hung by her wrists, depleted and dejected, only the sting of the repeated lashings keeping her conscious. Her body was naked, covered in welts from her shoulders to her upper thighs, glistening with sweat and some blood that had trickled down her skin from some of the deeper welts. Her senses were on fire from the pain, and she didn't know how much more she could endure. How long would it take until she was 'broken', she wondered.

++++++++++++++++++++

Althea winced as her keen Elvish hearing caught the sound of another sharp crack of the crop striking the young Drow's flesh. She had been hearing that sound for over an hour now, and still could not keep herself from reacting to it. Why? Why was the seamstress doing this? The Drow had done nothing that Althea could imagine would have deserved such treatment. And hadn't the seamstress asked her to tend to the dark girl's wounds? Why do that only to whip her mercilessly like this?

She hated that she had played a role in the dark one's fate. Bad enough to be involved in the questioning of the mercenary, but when she'd learned of how this poor wretch had been treated by her own kind, she had been appalled. Up until then, she imagined whatever cruel treatment any Drow could receive was still too good for them compared to what they deserved. But this one was literally just a girl, younger even than Althea herself. She had been a slave all her life by the hand of her own people, and had escaped that life only to be brought here to suffer at the hands of these humans.

Althea was quickly learning that the humans she had come to live amongst were just as cruel and hate filled towards the Drow as her own kind were. But even that bothered her now that she'd actually been in contact with one of them. It was one thing to hate the race that caused so much trouble among all the civilized peoples of the surface world. With their outrages against innocent folk, it could be justified. But this was one innocent girl, herself. She had suffered from her own people just as much as any other innocent victim. And now, just because of what she was, just because of how people saw her, she was suffering again.

And Althea had been a part of it.

Her stomach clenched as she heard the sound again, and the bile rose in her throat before she ran from the room and retched into the alleyway, coughing and choking. Something had to be done, she thought. And soon.

Mir considered lopping off the captain’s head after his disparaging of Helwyn. The woman had proven herself an admirable fighter, someone to be reckoned with and certainly someone who deserved better than to have this little martinet cast aspersion on her. However killing him in the middle of the ward would be a bad idea no matter how satisfying it would be. So he’d settle for verbal barbs.

“Jealous? Sorry sweetheart, I like my women tougher than you.”

When they got to the barred door and the captain demanded his weapon Mir hesitated. The last time they’d taken his weapon he’d wound up tied to a chair with this prick punching him and Spiriel being taken away. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I killed your fucking drow when I could have just ridden off.”

“Then get out.” the captain sneered. “Maybe you can satisfy yourself with your northern bitch, if you can even find her.’

“Not up to you, Shithead.” Mir growled. “WARDEN!” he bellowed even as the captain was motioning for his guards. “A DEAL’S A DEAL! The drow are dead, now I want my woman BACK!”

Several guards were advancing on Mir with their hands on the hilts of their swords as the captain reached for Mir’s arm. Mir’s reaction was almost instinctive. He wasn’t about to be captured by this group, not again. As first shots go when someone grabs your arm they expect you to jerk it away, or shove off you, or anything to try and get free, letting you pull them towards you, that’s not expected, which let Mir pivot on his foot and slam his heel into the back of the captain’s knee. The rest of the guardsmen started as the captain went down on one knee but Mir was fast. He was already bracing his feet and lashing out with his balled up fist, connecting with the side of the captain’s face. It would have been a brutal punch by any measure with Mir’s entire considerable weight and strength behind it. A punch like that from a man wearing armored gloves - leather with chainmail over it, reinforced with small steel scales - it ripped open a gash on the captain’s cheek. The guardsmen advanced quickly but not before Mir managed to kick the captain once in the gut. He was rearing back for another when behind him, coming out of the small office the warden roared, “ENOUGH!”

Mir didn’t stop though, connecting one last time with the captain’s gut again. A few guardsmen followed through and grabbed at his arms but the warden’s appearance and order meant they had little behind it and Mir quickly shook them off.

“What is the MATTER with you?!” The warden snarled at Mir, his eyes only giving his captain on the floor the most cursory of glances.

“We had a deal. I killed the drow, every one of them. Now I want Spiriel back. That’s the deal. This shit wanted to take my sword, again. He laid hands on me, but he forgot I wasn’t tied up this time, princess,” he snarled as he kicked the captain with the back of his boot.

“Get him to the infirmary,” the warden snapped and two guardsmen hoisted the captain to his feet and drug him away. “You, come with me,” the warden said, leading him back towards the room.

The Warden turned back to the mercenary who had disrupted his afternoon. He wasn't looking forward to this confrontation, but he knew it was bound to happen sooner or later. He spotted the blood seeping from Mir's re-opened leg wound and his expression took on a concerned look.
"You need to wrap that up or something? I don't want you bleeding all over this rug. It took a long time to get it here by caravan." He opened a cabinet in the corner and took out an old scarf, more threadbare than useful, and tossed it at Mir. "I don't suppose you'd care to go see a healer and put this off, would you? It wouldn't bother me to wait, you know."

At Mir's silent glare, he shrugged and sat down behind a desk. "Suit yourself. If you bleed to death, it might save us all a lot of trouble." He leaned back in his chair, his eyes dropping to the hidden dagger concealed under the desktop, and he sighed, hoping he wouldn't need it. "We didn't think you were coming back. You were supposed to be here two days ago. We got word about the Drow patrol. You did what you said you would do, but I have to be honest; I never thought you'd be coming back. Even if you survived, that Drow girl has cost you plenty of trouble already. You'd have been smarter just to ride away."

He paused, as if to gather his thoughts, but it seemed he was avoiding the main issue at hand.

Skyguy's post

Mir caught the old scrap and wrapped it around his leg. Kicking the captain had opened the wound up again. Not like it had in the town but enough to be worrying without real attention to it. He knew when someone was stalling and the Warden had something he didn't want to share. "The drow are dead, late or not my end of the bargain was upheld. Now stop stalling and tell me where my woman is. Trouble or not I'm not leaving without her. Wounded or not I will burn this town to the ground unless I get her back. She didn't do anything to deserve this treatment." He winced as pain shot up his leg. Helwyn was gonna kill him, but she was going to have to get in line.

“Those are very serious threats! I could have you locked up just for saying such things.”
The warden leaned back in his chair, regarding the man before him with a brooding look. Well, there was nothing for it, and the situation wasn’t going to get any better by drawing it out, he thought. He was a practical man, when it came down to it. This mercenary had helped them before, clearing out marauding orcs and now he’d dispatched an entire Drow patrol that threatened the town. He could be more trouble than he was worth, but better to be rid of him by sending him on his way than to keep him around just to antagonize him.

The warden cleared his throat and leaned forward again, resting his hands folded on his desk. “Look, the thing is….there was a problem. You’re little black girlfriend ended up seducing one of the guards. Maybe it was some kind of escape attempt, I don’t know. But we had to move her to another location for her safety after that. And anyway, when that happened, it didn’t look like you were coming back. Who could have thought you’d survive against that many Drow?”

He saw the storm brewing in Mir’s expression before it burst forth, and held up a hand to belay the outburst. “She’s safe. A leading citizen heard about the situation and offered to take her in. She paid the bail and we released the Drow into her custody. It was a better option than keeping her around here, with these men guarding her. And we no longer needed to hold her to give to the patrol since you took care of that. So what else was I to do?”

The warden took a couple moments to write down an address on a scrap of parchment before sliding it across to the desk to Mir. “Here is the address. But listen, it’s still not too late to just get your things and ride out. Think about it; what kind of life can you give her anyway? And why do you need some little burden tagging along in your line of work? Go on, Mir. Ride out. Forget this whole thing. I’m warning you, don’t cause any trouble in my town.”

Skyguy's post

“Then lock me up. You shanghaied me into running your errands and threw and innocent girl in jail to hold against me. It’d be the first time you followed the damn law since we met.” Mir was tired, his leg hurt, and he’d spent the last few days being yanked around by these people. He had no more patience left to spare for this. All he wanted was to get Spiriel, find Helwyn, and leave. “You know, all you had to do was fucking pay me. Tell me there are drow out there you want dealt with, and pay me.”

He rubbed his leg as he waited for the warden to continue. He’d definitely hurt something in his leg again. Helwyn would be pissed, Spiriel would worry, and he already knew he’d have to stop them both and just ride to get out of this town as quickly as possible.

Then the warden cleared his throat and tried to claim Spiriel had seduced a guard. “LIAR!” Mir roared as he slammed his fist down on the table between them hard enough to make it jump. He had to fight down the impulse to strangle the Warden with his bare hands as the man tried to divert blame for what happened and make excuses for selling Spiriel off, like a slave. After he freed her. What had that done to her? What had whoever bought her done to her? The warden wanted to know what he was to do? “Honor the gods damned agreement. Take one day to even find out if I’m alive or was the money offered you that good?”

He snatched up the offered piece of paper and looked it over. The address didn’t mean much to him but he’d find it. “I’m leaving this town, with my drow one way or another. I never caused any trouble in this fucking shithole town. I came and did work for you, completed my contract over and above what I had to, then your town picked a fight with me. Don’t bitch to me about trouble after you’re the one who started it.”

Mir got up and left the office, shouldered his way through the guards outside and found his horse. He mounted quickly and kicked him into a trot. He needed to find Helwyn quickly, then they’d round up Spiriel. He wouldn’t put it past the guard to try and warn her buyer but he needed Helwyn with him to help just in case. The inn where they’d met seemed like a good bet and he rushed through the street to it. He’d round up anything he might have left in his room, hopefully find Helwyn, then track down Spiriel’s buyer. He burst in the front door of the inn and looked around the dining room hopefully.

Myra was sweeping the common room in anticipation of the night's custom when she heard the door opening. She glanced up, about to let the customer know that the bar and kitchen were not serving anyone yet, when her eyes alit on Mir's limping form. He looked somewhat rough, all the worst for wear after what he'd been through, and she gasped audibly as the sight of him. Leaning the broom against a table, she hurried to his side, eyes going wide at the sight of the blood seeping through his trouser leg.

"Oh Gods! What happened to you? Here, let me help you." She slipped his arm around her shoulders, urging him to lean on her as she helped him to a nearby table, hooking a chair leg with her foot and pulling it out for him to sit. "That looks pretty bad, Mir. I don't think you should try going up the stairs. But I need to tell you that a rather large and grumpy woman insisted on taking your room. She said she wasn't going to bother any of your stuff, and she wouldn't let me move any of it out. There was a guard on the room until a couple days ago, and that's when she moved into it. She said you wouldn't mind, because she was here to wait for you anyhow. Do you want me to go fetch her?"

At Mir's pained expression as he nodded, Myra grimaced in sympathy, and gave his shoulder a pat before hurrying upstairs. Moments later, she followed along behind an anxious looking Helwyn as the Northern woman pounded down the steps noisily. She crossed the common room in long urgent strides until she cleared the last table and saw Mir's leg stretched out in front of him. "By Gorlog's bloody beard! What did I tell you about taking it easy on that leg? What the hell did you try to do anyway? You rode the damned horse, didn't you?"

Myra winced at the thundering tone of anger in Helwyn's voice, but followed behind her all the same, like a little puppy on it's master's heels. Without waiting for an answer, Helwyn knelt in front of Mir's seat, drawing her dagger and unceremoniously slitting his trouser leg open. She let loose another stream of cursing that made Myra blush red under her curly mop.

Helwyn examined the wound, her face showing the concern over the gash. "Girl, go fetch me needle and thread. This will take some stitches. And bring a basin of warm water and cloths for bandages too!"

When Myra had gone, Helwyn looked up into Mir's eyes. Her expression was one of guilty anguish. She never should have left Mir to manage on his own, wounded as he was, just to try to retrieve his little slave girl, she thought. And some luck she'd had at doing that, even. The whole effort had been a waste, and now he shows up bleeding all over the place. Her cobalt blue eyes met his, full of concern. It was easy to see the fear in them. "I've failed you. And now this."

Muttering under her breath, she cursed him again, "Damn your eyes, Mir! I already lost one good man this week; I'm not going to lose another, even if I have to tie you down to your bed until that leg heals!" Just then Myra returned with a threaded needle, which she promptly handed over to Helwyn. The Nordic blonde hesitated a moment, glancing back up at Mir. She spoke to Myra, though she didn't look at her. "You'd better bring a bottle of something strong. He's going to want it."

When Myra complied, Helwyn grabbed the bottle first, pulling the cork with her strong white teeth. She poured a little of the alcoholic spirit over the gash in Mir's leg, then took a swig of it herself before passing it to him, giving him a sheepish half smile as she did. "I never said I wouldn't want it too. I need it for what I have to do. You only have to sit there and take it."

She waited just long enough for him to have a couple long pulls on the bottle before she started on his leg, first wiping away the blood and then going at him with the needle. As she stitched his wound closed yet again, she recalled for him how she had gone to the guard house to get his woman, and explained how they would not let her in, nor release the girl to her. By the time she'd finished her story, the stitches were done and she was enlisting Myra's help in bandaging the wound. "I'm sorry, Mir. I couldn't get your little dark girl for you. I failed."

Looking up at him again, she muttered, "Finish the bottle. We still have to get you upstairs, and it won't be easy."

Skyguy's post

Mir didn’t respond as Myra helped him into a seat, he didn’t have the energy. The whole damn escapade with the Warden had taxed him. He simply nodded when she asked if he wanted her to fetch the large grumpy woman, who had to be Helwyn. If she wasn’t… well better to go ahead and get her out of his room immediately. Sure enough when the young maid returned Helwyn was stomping down the stairs after her.

“Horse....kicked a guy....got in a fight.” Mir muttered when Helwyn snapped at him. He couldn’t really blame her for being pissed. “Normal day kind of stuff.” He was going to protest when she drew her dagger and slit his trousers but she wasn’t happy and had a sharp object near his crotch. Better to just shut up about the pants.

“Couldn’t find Spiriel huh?” he asked when she claimed to have failed him. “Not your fault.” he winced as she probed the wound. “Warden sold her, but I got the address.” He waved the slip of paper in front of her. We can get her and get out of here.” He groaned when she cursed and squeezed his leg. “You haven’t lost me yet, just a scratch, I’ll be fine.” he protested. “Though being tied down to the bed by you and Myra doesn’t sound so bad.” The room was starting to wobble back and forth and he hadn’t had anything to drink. That wasn’t good. That was very bad actually.

When Myra came back the first thing Helwyn did was upend the bottle over his wound and douse it. Whatever the stuff was it was good because it burned right down to the bone. “Gods, what is that?!” he yelped. He took the proffered bottle and downed a few swigs. On an empty stomach and a pint or so low on blood it went instantly to his head, but not enough to dull the sting when Helwyn shoved the needle through the meat of his thigh. She had been careful before to keep the stitches small and neat but now they were wide and tight, gripping the meat of his thigh to ensure the wound stayed closed. He endured it as best he could, trying not to complain. He’d done this to himself after all. Thankfully Helwyn was skilled and her work was done quickly. Myra and her, both, bandaged him.

When Helwyn offered him the bottle though, he pushed it back. The room was already spinning and more would just make him black out. Helwyn was a strong girl but he wasn’t going to be carried up the stairs like a baby. Instead he eased off his sword and shield, dropping them to the table along with his breast plate. He nodded to Myra, “Take’em. Follow us up.”

With Helwyn’s assistance he was on his feet, or foot, but not without groaning and complaining. She supported his wounded side while he hopped along on his good leg. The stairs were treacherous. He was dizzy and trying to hop up them with one leg and not really communicating well with Helwyn but they made it up, only nearly crashing down the stairs three times before getting to the top and staggering down the hallway to his room.

The door was still unlocked and he staggered in, flopping on the bed, trying to keep from retching up the alcohol he’d downed. Helwyn closed and locked the door as Myra deposited his things on the table. “Next time just cut my fucking leg off.” he groaned as he laid on the bed. Myra tried to help him undo his armor but Helwyn had to show her how most of it was removed. He did his best to ignore the two women stripping him down, not an easy task after what he, Myra, and Spiriel had gotten up to last time but soon his armor was in a pile and he was laying in nothing but his undergarments with Helwyn appraising her handiwork and Myra giving him a close inspection too.

“Get some food, and water.” he ordered Myra. “My horse is out front,” he told Helwyn, “along with the valuable weapons and armor. We need them, sell them for cash.” The world just wouldn’t stop spinning. “Gotta rest, then we get Spiriel and leave.” he said. “Maybe we’ll drag Myra along too, for fun.” he snorted. Lots of alcohol, lack of blood, and no food, he wasn’t thinking straight and he knew it. He could almost ignore the mad gyrations of the inn if he just closed his eyes.

Seconds later he was out like a light.

Helwyn sighed without looking up as Mir commented on the possibility of adding yet another female to his traveling retinue. She snorted, "You can't even keep track of the wench you've already got, and you can't follow the simple instructions I gave y....." She glanced up to shoot him a scathing look when she noticed he was out cold. Her eyes met those of the pretty little tavern wench and she shrugged. "Men!"

Satisfied that her stitches in his leg seemed to be holding up despite the struggle to get up the stairs, Helwyn covered Mir with a couple blankets and left him to sleep. Addressing Myra, she asked, "Will you stay with him while I see to his horse and bring his battle prizes up? I'd rather he not be alone, and he seems fond of you. Maybe I'll go look up that address he has and scout out the situation with his little concubine. Although why he needs her to warm his bed when he doesn't seem to have much trouble recruiting willing volunteers, I don't know."

Myra nodded, setting her cinnamon colored curled ringlets in motion, and pulled up a chair to sit by the bed. "Do you want me to bring food and water, like he said?"

Helwyn shrugged. "What for? He can't enjoy it in his present condition, so it can wait until I get back at least. Might as well not sit around to get cold and stale." She headed for the door, turning back just before leaving. "Oh, Girl, you might not want to sit too close in case he wakes up. We don't want him straining himself again." Helwyn winked and her lips turned up in the slightest hint of a grin. Despite her being upset that Mir had pushed himself too far and opened his wound and lost more blood than he could stand to spare, she wasn't really surprised. He was as mule-headed as Rothgar had been, and for a moment as she descended the stairs, she remembered her former companion with a sad smile, comparing the two men to each other.

Mir stood the test favorably in her mind, and Helwyn realized she was growing rather fond of the rapscallion that Fate had seen fit to throw her together with. Her thoughts kept her occupied as she led Mir's horse to the inn's stable and groomed it, making sure it had adequate food and water. The simple sort of tasks were exactly what she needed to keep her mind off her recent loss, and the feeling of failing Mir in his request to get his little darkling back. He had said it was not her fault, but Helwyn was the sort to blame herself even for things she could not help. She gathered the booty from their battle with the Drow patrol and returned to Mir's room.

Noting that he still hadn't stirred, she searched for and located the scrap of paper that had the address on it. Her brow furrowed in consternation as she realized she could not read the language it was written in. Myra noticed her difficulty and took the paper gently, reading the address. "This is the seamstress' shop not far from here. I could give you directions. But why would the seamstress have Mir's little dark girl? It doesn't make sense. Perhaps they are playing a trick on him?"

Helwyn scowled at the thought. Why run a wounded man all over town on a lark? What kind of person would do that? She muttered under her breath, words that were no doubt a fluent curse in her mother tongue. Finally she nodded at Myra. "Better tell me how to get there, Girl. I'll go have a look and see if I can tell if it's a jest or not. We don't need him traipsing around on that leg if there is no point to it."

Myra told the Northern woman how to find the seamstress' shop and Helwyn set off again, leaving Myra to watch her wounded companion.

Althea winced in sympathy as she daubed a clean cloth on the open bleeding welts criss-crossing the girl's black skin. She made no attempt to hide the tears that welled up in her own eyes and spilled down her cheeks. How could her mistress be so cruel, she thought. She was finding out that these humans she lived among turned out to have just as many hidden cruelties and depravities as other races, and indeed might be all the more sinister in that they kept them disguised under the cover of a friendly smile or a kindly gaze.

A pitiful moan slipped from the dark lips as the girl under her ministrations flinched with even the gentlest of touches. Why did her mistress have her spend all that time attending to the wounds and bruises left by the prison guards only to create new suffering of her own making? And how many more times would she have to tend to this suffering creature, who, to the best of the elf's knowledge, had still done nothing to deserve such treatment.

It was true she had some talent in the practice of the healing arts, and could have been a full fledged healer if she'd spent her years in the apprenticeship training instead of running away to live among humans. The same ability she had to read the thoughts and feelings of others would have served her in good stead to help her treat their wounds. And in fact it was affecting her now as she tended to the marks of the lash, made so needlessly. Her empathic senses made this care-giving much more difficult for her than she wanted to admit, causing her to feel sympathy and even sorrow for this Drow.

Even though they were the traditional enemies of her kind, she had personal knowledge of the past of this particular Drow, and knew that she had done nothing to justify the treatment she had been getting most of her young life. In fact, had the seamstress merely asked it of her, Althea knew that this girl would have obeyed without complaint. There was no need to break her will.

As the dark flesh twitched and shivered under her touch, an audible sob slipped from the elf. She breathed a silent prayer of gratitude for the tears that blurred her vision of the cruel cuts and welts. The bruises that should not have been visible against the dark skin were painfully obvious to the way Althea perceived them. The thought of how many times she would have to repeat such ministrations depressed her. Something had to be done. And soon.

Skyguy's post

Mir didn’t rest well. In spite of the blood loss, exhaustion, and alcohol, his mind wouldn’t just lapse into unconsciousness. His dreams were ugly, violent, and full of loss. He could see Spiriel but he couldn’t get to her. His way was blocked by drow, guardsmen, and angry villagers. No matter how many he cut down, beat down, or pushed aside, something was dragging his little dark girl away from him and he couldn’t get to her. She was crying out in terror and he wasn’t there. Again. A beautiful, graceful neck once again bisected with an ugly rip. Her warm lifeblood spilled on the paving stones again. Only this time it wasn’t creamy white skin but coal black skin being sliced open and he was powerless to do anything about it.

Mir’s scream of agony in his dream was mirrored in reality as a few hours after he’d collapsed, he awoke in his room. “AaaahhhhhH!” he bellowed as he sat upright, looking frantically about. The lack of blood left him dizzy and soon enough he had to lean to the side and put his weight on his arm. He grimaced as he looked about the room not seeing Helwyn, just Myra. “Helwyn?” he grunted.

Myra started at the sudden shout, and jerked fully awake in the stiff wooden chair she'd been sitting in. She hurried to the side of the bed, her hands going to the warrior's shoulders, trying to press him back onto the bed. "Shhhh, you mustn't get up yet. You've lost a lot of blood." The tavern wench fussed over him a little longer, finally realizing he was too stubborn to just lay back down and rest. She muttered a comment about his bull-headedness and gave up, sitting beside him on the bed and pulling his arm around her shoulders to help support him.

"If you're going to be that way, at least let me help you sit up without falling off the bed." She shook her head at his query, "She hasn't returned yet. She went to the address on that paper you had to see if it was some sort of trick they were playing on you. Mir, the address was the seamstress' shop. Why would your little dark girl be there? It doesn't make any sense."

"I'm not so sure she is there." The voice of the Northern woman answered the question as she entered the room. Even the casual observer could hear the fatigue and frustration in her tone. "Why are you not lying down? What does a woman have to do to keep you in bed anyhow?" She smiled slightly, trying to lighten the mood before she had to deliver what she was sure would be disappointing news.

"I went to the shop she said belonged to the address, Mir. It is nothing but an ordinary seamstress' shop. There were three or four girls working on some clothing there, but no sign of your darkling. I asked about the proprietress, but the girl's didn't seem to know where she has been for the past couple days. None of the women there impressed me as knowing very much about anything except stitching cloth, if you ask me."

Helwyn pulled the wooden chair closer to the bed, close enough that she could reach out and steady Mir's arm if he needed it. But she knew that he was just as stubborn as Rothgar had been about trying to do whatever he wanted even when he shouldn't be up and moving around much. She glanced at Myra, sitting rather close to the warrior; closer than necessary to help steady him. For just a moment, Helwyn experienced a twinge of jealousy. She sensed there was more to the young girl's attentions to the wounded man than just humanitarian concern. "You have my gratitude for staying with him, Girl. But if you need to go, I can stay with him now. How about bringing that food now, and something to quench a thirst as well."

Myra glanced at Mir hesitantly, as if unsure if he would be safe enough with this blonde warrior woman. But she sensed that there were things the two needed to talk about, and she had been too long from her duties. Soon the dinner hour would be upon the inn, and already she could hear the growing buzz of voices from the patrons of the common room. She nodded and rose from the bed, glancing back once as she left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Helwyn waited until the door latched before turning back to Mir. "You don't exactly look like you should be out of that bed yet. How are you feeling?"

Skyguy's post

“Like shit.” Mir confessed. He was lightheaded from blood loss and feeling queasy from...something. Helwyn had done her best but it was unlikely he wouldn’t get at least a minor infection from his wound. “If you wanted to keep me in bed, normally I’d just tell you to climb in here with me but right now, nothing’s gonna work.”

He reached up and mopped his face off before settling back against the headboard. “She’s with the seamstress. It makes sense. I bought clothes for Spiriel from the seamstress. While we were there, the seamstress…well she looked at Spiriel like I normally look at girls like Myra. She wanted her. If she saw a chance to have her, she’d take it. Of everyone in this town she’s one of the few who’d want a drow.” He paused, thinking. “Was there an elf there, a light elf?”

“The elf could communicate with Spiriel. If Althea wasn’t in the shop then the seamstress has her helping with Spiriel. She’s not in mortal danger. “ he said as much to himself as to Helwyn. “The seamstress wants to fuck her, not kill her. But…she’s been through some things. Being put back in this situation; it’s going to be bad for her, very bad.”

Myra returned with a tray of food and several flagons of ale and water. Mir’s stomach rumbled at the sight of the vittles and dug in, picking up a chunk of black bread and taking a huge bite before washing it down with a mug of water.

Althea sighed, her brow furrowed in concern. She could not keep doing this for long without her employer becoming suspicious. But neither could she stand to think of her own part in the pain and suffering this innocent girl was being forced to endure. The cuts and welts of the lash were only just beginning to show signs of healing, but she knew that if her mistress thought the drow could take another session, she’d have her tied up again and coaxing more cries and whimpers from the dark girl.

For now though, the drow was sleeping, sedated from the herbal mixture Althea had given her. The light elf felt reasonably confident that she could convincingly make the case that the girl was still unconscious from the beating she’d sustained already. Perhaps it might even be enough to cause her mistress to pause and consider whether further suffering was even necessary, but Althea doubted it would buy much time. She’d seen the wicked gleam in the eyes of the seamstress as she applied the cruel lash to the ebony skin, heard the throaty chuckle of glee as the dark skin split in lacerations, and rose in bruises and welts. It was a side of her employer that she had never known was possible before.

As her eyes roved over the cruel wounds, Althea’s gaze drifted lower, recalling what she’d seen in the drow’s mind about what her own people had done to her. Her hand clutched reflexively at the cloth she was mopping over the cuts in the dark skin as her curiosity was piqued and the thought of actually looking for herself crossed her mind.

Her hand let go of the damp cloth, leaving it crumpled on the dimpled ebony skin just at the small of the girl's back, where the curve of her dark buttocks rose in a sensual arch. The cloth remained, but the hand continued to glide down over the supple curves, fingertips slowly moving, barely touching the valley between the twin hemispheres of flesh. Deeper and deeper she moved her hand along, between the velvety soft inner thighs, forcing the drow girl's legs apart slightly so Althea could see what was hidden there, what she had only guessed at when she recovered the girl's thoughts of what was done to her.

Finally a slender elvish fingertip caught on the very tip of a triangular flap of dark flesh. The tip was warm to touch under her finger, and as she slowly pressed downward, the wet sucking sound of the drow's moist sex opening sounded in the still room. Althea leaned in closer, bending down to see. The dark lined skin of the apex of the protective triangular lip was pressed down to reveal the hot pink flush of the interior, and, opening her still further, the mysterious deeper reddish opening to her sex was revealed.

She was made to be bred from behind, like an animal, Althea realized.

The sound of a voice from the doorway clearing her throat made the light elf start guiltily. “Interesting isn't it? The way she is made I mean. I wonder how the warrior had it done? And how much would it have cost him to have her altered that way?"

Althea blurted out her reply, eager to pass over the fact that she had been peeking at the unusual anatomical difference. "It wasn't the warrior who did it. It was her own people. They altered her when she was just a child, using cruel sorcery. I saw it in her thoughts at the guard house."

"Really? The warrior told me that he had it done. Why would they do it I wonder. Why change one of their own. For what purpose?"

Althea conjectured, "I think she was a slave, and they considered her as something to be used. They altered her specifically so that she'd have to be taken from behind, like an animal. Maybe that is a way they made her into something less than themselves, more of a thing than a person."

"Like an animal, eh, perhaps like a dog or a horse? What a fascinating idea." Althea turned to glance sharply at her employer. The seamstress was lost in her own musing as her lusty eyes roved over the still form of the drow girl. But it wasn't difficult to imagine what the woman was thinking, and Althea found her stomach turning at the mental image that came to her.

"How is she? When will she be ready again?” the seamstress asked.

Althea hesitantly replied as she detected the note of heady eagerness in those words. “She’s still unconscious. The beating was severe. She will need time to recover, or else she won’t be able to stand for another one. If you aren’t more careful, you will ruin your new toy before you’ve even had a chance to enjoy it.”

The voice that replied was icy cold. “Althea, you know nothing of it. Don’t presume to tell me how to enjoy my pleasures, girl. Now if there is nothing more for you to do here, you can go back to the shop and see to the other girls. We still have a business to run. I will sit with the drow here, and watch for her to awaken.”

The elf cast one last look of pity over her shoulder at the still, dark, naked form on the cot, and shuddered as she closed the door behind her. The girl's suffering had only begun, she realized.

“If you wanted to keep me in bed, normally I’d just tell you to climb in here with me but right now, nothing’s gonna work.”

Helwyn gave a snort of laughter as she replied, "Well, if nothing's gonna work, then there would be no reason for me to join you in that bed. No good reason for me anyhow. Better to wait until you're fit enough to make it worth my while." She relaxed at the easy banter, some of the tension of her concern for Mir easing out of her. If he felt good enough to make bawdy jests, he must be on the mend. She'd never met a man yet who wasn't thinking about his cock most of the time, if he felt halfway decent.

She listened as he explained, nodding her agreement. It made sense, when he supplied the parts of the puzzle that she hadn't known before. "There was no elf there that I saw. If she's with the seamstress as you said, then they are somewhere else. The shop had a couple back rooms that I didn't go into, but I doubt they were living quarters. Most likely she has a home somewhere else in town, or just outside of town. She wouldn't be too far from her shop, and I wouldn't figure a seamstress for being country folk. No, her type would be a city dweller. But if she's well enough to do, she might have a place on the outskirts, in a higher class section of town. She's obviously well enough off to hire those girls to do most of the sewing work."

The tall Northern woman pulled the tray of food closer and began cutting up the meat in bite sized pieces, even though there was nothing wrong with Mir's arms or hands. She mused on the rest of the conversation as he spoke his thoughts out loud. "You really care for this darkling, don't you. What is so special about her? Why does the seamstress want to screw her, and for that matter, why are you going to all this trouble for a slave girl? She can't be that good for anything. They don't come very strong, those dark elves. I suppose she was comely enough, but you are a decent looking fellow; surely you don't lack for feminine company. So what other use could you have for her?"

Skyguy's post

Mir grunted at the thought of making it worth Helwyn’s while. He certainly wouldn’t object to it. The Nordic woman was the polar opposite of Spiriel. An interesting contrast, and a lovely one if you looked past the wear of life by the sword. On almost any other day of his life he’d have made it worth her while come hell or high water. Today though… not today.

“The elf’s somewhere. Since she can communicate with Spiriel I’d bet the seamstress is using her for that. If we can find the elf we’ll find the seamstress.” He took another bite of bread and washed it down as well. The bread was rich and homely but not overpowering. His stomach greedily demanded more. “Hell, one of her workers is bound to know where she lives. She wouldn’t let Spiriel out of her sight, not in this town.”

Mir pondered the question as to why he was bothering for Spiriel. She was borderline useless as she was. She didn’t know how to fight or anything that could be of much use that he’d seen. She’d be a decent house slave, but for a silver piece he could get a barmaid to service him at just about any inn and spend the night in his bed. Spiriel was a fantastic lay, certainly, but then again so were a lot of women. Yet, the thought of just leaving with Helwyn and forgetting about her was abhorrent because… “She’s my responsibility.” he said. “I found her, helpless in the woods. She’d have died without my help. She’d have died in this town without my help. I can’t just leave someone to die like that. And I can’t leave her to be the seamstress’ slave either. Not before, and certainly not with knowing what I know now. You can’t leave people to just die when you can help. You can’t leave people to be slaves when you can help them be free; not and still call yourself a man.”

Mir accepted a piece of meat and stuffed it in his mouth before realizing what he’d let slip. He pressed on, trying to mask his slip up. “The seamstress… I don’t know. How many drow have you seen? Now of those, how many could you have bedded? She’s exotic, so the seamstress wants her. And no, I’m not lacking in companionship. If I asked her, little Myra would come back in here and do whatever I told her for the rest of the night, no gold involved. I just have an obligation to the dark elf; one I can’t turn my back on and still be worth a damn as a man."

Helwyn listened intently as Mir gave expression to his thoughts. She noted the way he seemed to hastily forge ahead in his explanation, as if hoping she wouldn't notice or comment on his true reasons. In truth, she was pleasantly, though only mildly surprised when he stated the real reason he couldn't just abandon the drow concubine, and the corners of her lips turned up ever so slightly in a knowing smile. She had gathered an inkling of his character in the past few days of dealings with him. She and Rothgar had heard of him by reputation, and she'd already surmised he was a good fighter or they wouldn't have been looking to recruit him.

But being a good fighter wasn't the same as being of good integrity or character. It still hurt fiercely to have lost Rothgar, and immediately afterward, though she admired Mir for his skill in battle, her main motivation was to do whatever she had to do to get him back North to accomplish what they'd set out to recruit him for in the first place, more in memory and dedication to Rothgar's intention than anything else. It had been Rothgar who had been so keen on hiring this mercenary, she recalled.

And so her first intention was simply to work out whatever delays were keeping her from getting on with delivering him up North, and thereby fulfill what she saw as her duty to her friend and sometimes lover, Rothgar. But now she was seeing a side of Mir that made her glad to be in his company. She was reassessing his worth. Here was more than a competent sell-sword to fight for their homeland. Here was a man with character she could admire. Someone even worthy of being a companion in the many challenges that may come their way. Perhaps even someone she could deem worthy of taking Rothgar's place at her side and in her esteem.

Of course he wasn't Rothgar, and it would take time before she was ready to think about that. No one could actually replace Rothgar, but perhaps here was another who could stand in for him in a pinch. Or more often than that, she amended in her mind.

After his answer, she helped cut up the meat enough for both of them to eat their fill, and made sure Mir would not have to reach too far or get up for anything he might want. They ate for a bit in quiet companionship, each considering their own thoughts, before Helwyn finally spoke again. Her voice was quieter now, less boisterous, more feminine, as if there were no longer any need for bravado or bluster in the fellowship of a companion she felt to be her equal in every way. "I haven't sold the drow armor and equipment yet. I wanted to wait until you were back on your feet. And besides, if...when we get her back, you might want some of that drow sized armor to put on her. It might just keep her safe for you."

She quaffed a long draught of ale from a tankard and continued, "Mir, I'll go back to watch the seamstress shop for the elf to show up if you'd like. Hell, I'll even grab her and drag her back here, if you want me too. But I don't think you're up for it yet. You need to stay put long enough to get strength back in that leg of yours. And if you get any ideas of calling back 'little Myra' to prove what she can do for you, I'll just have to have a little talk with her before I head out."