Lords of Itaea

Once, very long ago, Itaea was a world of beauty and peace. It was home not only to the humans that claim it now, but also to a host of magical beings that shared their power and knowledge with their younger human neighbors. It is said that even the Gods came to dance with all the world, rejoicing in the forests, fields and waters - a celebration to life and balance.

But then a King came, and waged war on his neighbors in effort to unite the world under his banner. It took three generations before the empire encompassed the known world; three generations of burning, killing and enslaving. What magical creatures that were not captured or killed, fled with the Gods at the horror of man’s fall, and with them went their powers.

Now the king is long dead, and the world divided among a few power hungry warlords who fight and plot against each other with power and conquest as their sole motivations. Slaves are bred and captured for their amusement, while anyone born with the spark for magic, if discovered, is enslaved to do the bidding of whoever can hold them. The land is dying; forests loose ground to the deserts and each harvest is smaller then the last. Every winter seems a little longer, and every summer hotter.

Welcome to Itaea, where treachery, lust and blood rule the day.


(This thread is open, but please post and find a suitable role in the OOC thread, and keel all further OOC comments there. OOC for Lords of Itaea )

From high in the Mountains of Despair Slythe Zathu’s haunting green eyes overlooked his proud country of Zaloh. The sheer rocky mountainside was coated with snow everywhere above the tree-line of the Forest of the Dead. Thick fog cascaded down the sides of the mountain, and tiny flickers of light spattered across the face from the torches of his army’s strongholds that prevented any ascent.

The “Dark One” Lord Zathu moved back from the mouth of the cave, back inside to his giant throne, made entirely of human bones from his enemies. A half dozen or so chains extended from the throne on both sides where his shivering and dirty sex slaves huddled together for warmth. Lord Zathu adjusted his full skull mask that covered his head almost completely. The fact that the mask covered his face completely was a status symbol, as most of the dark warriors only wore skull masks over the top of their face, with their lower jaw exposed. In order to join the forces of darkness one was required to murder the person who they held most dear and their mask would be crafted from that skull. Slythe’s mask was crafted from the previous warlord who led the dark army, he knew that one day his skull would be worn in this fashion as well.

3 of his scouts made their way into the cave, an urgent pace to their strides. Slythe tightened his grip on his staff, which he had enchanted years ago before his magic had abandoned him. The lead scout began to speak.

“All praise to you my lord! I’m gravely sorry to come in with such urgency, but it appears that someone has been trespassing in our area of the Forest. I’m worried it is an agent of Morgiana!” The out of breath man announced, holding up a half eaten jack-fruit for Slythe’s inspection. “That’s not all sir, we found human scat piles and our alchemist says that the waters of the hot streams taste like a human female!”

Slythe Zathu licked his lips slowly. This report only confirmed the truth in the reoccurring dreams that had filled his mind the past few nights. He’d dreamt of a beautiful slave girl bathing in the hot springs under moonlight and humming a hauntingly hypnotic song. The girl in his dreams had skin the color of Earth which was likely how she managed to slip through Morgiana’s fingers and into his realm.

“It isn’t a spy, it is a young slave girl.” Lord Zathu rose and pointed at the lead scout. “You! Bring me two archers, a swordsman and yourself! We have a slut to catch.”

Slythe rose, his thick black cloak making a faint rustling noise which sounded not unlike the beating of a crow’s wings. The dark lord’s heavy war boots echoed through the cave as he confidently strode through the fog which obscured the mouth of his hidden cave stronghold. As his boots crunched into the snow, his team was already assembling behind him. The 5 men stayed close as they made their way down the mountainside following a very precise meandering path so as to avoid the countless traps, ambush spots and razor wire fields that made up the mountainside.

Truly, the kingdom of Zaloh was a perfect zone to defend. The snow and fog of the mountainside made trap setting a breeze. Many times invading armies would fall into drifts of snow that hid beds of razor wire, turning the snowy drifts into lakes of blood and screams. The mountains blocked off the marshes that held most of the peasants and alchemists who toiled day in and day out devising new ways to bring agonizing death to enemies of the dark kingdom. Viral and chemical warfare were Slythe’s preferred methods of defense. His magic, before it had abandoned him granted him the power to inflict a crippling plague on his enemies which they would spread to anyone they touched in the hour of agony before their life ended. His staff still had the power of the plague, as he had imbued it with the ability before the skill had abandoned him.

To Slythe it felt like they were dogs hunting a fox as they made their way past the tree-line and into the woods, the snow underfoot yielding to coarse brown dirt. They made their way through the shadows searching for the young slave girl who would soon understand exactly what it meant to accept the darkness.

Winter's Frost

The forest was dark as Frost and his two soldiers marched through the branches. He felt uneasy at heart as patrolling this close to Zaloh and Lord Zathu's domain. It was not wise but the reports spoke of a ghost in the forest of the dead. Ghost stories was not uncommon when peaple spoke of the dreaded place but this was different from most other stories. It sounded like the truth. It came from more than one source. Those stupid and few that dared to enter the forest had of late spoken of a ghost in the shape of a woman.

Naturally it had intrigued his mistress. Why would she not be interrested in a girl with the power to dissapear completely. Morgiana was determined to find out if the stories was true. Was the woman a ghost? Or maybe a magician. If she had the ability that was denied to so many it was worth sending Frost to find out and bring her back if it was the case.

Frost was Morgiana's trusted henchman. Sometimes he did not like the jobs she sent him on. This included. But he did them anyway. His main worry was the land of Zaloh. He did not like to be so close to the border with only two swordsmen.

The three men's visual sight was a major problem as the fog grew more intense the further they walked.

"Be careful men. We don't know what we may walk into." Frost instructed his men. Lord Zathu was not the only danger in this forest. There was the beasts to watch out for as well. Some stories even spoke of dragon like creatures that inhabitated the place. Frost was more inclined to believe that was only the liquor speaking though.

Still he felt very fragile when he walked in front of his men. His well oiled ringmail armour did not make a sound and he kept his hand not far from his big broadsword. He knew that the two men with him felt the same dread. Not much scared Frost but this forest certainly was among the few things that could make him sweat under his armour.

Lisheeda flees. . .

Lisheeda stretched her legs out and ran her slim fingers through her hair. She felt the leaves she’d used as a pillow sticking to the long black strands and pulled them out. Breathing deep she took in the silence of the woods and thought back to the tales her friends’ parents had told of a time long ago when the forest was thick and green, life flowed abundantly not only through the rivers, but along the forest floor. A small shudder rolled through her as she thought of what bugs would have still existed if the world was still rich with life, then again she told herself, “You wouldn’t be an escaped slave, sleeping in the dirt.”

She sat there and felt a sudden rush of fear coarse through her. “The woods are too still,” she thought to herself as the noises of the creatures had all but disappeared. Rising quickly she picked up the leafy pillow, tossed its remnants high in the air, and then grabbed several branches to destroy what signs of her rest were left behind. Licking her lips she closed her eyes, allowing her ears to take over. There were many in the forest today, more than a simple traveler or a lost villager. When her gaze opened, her ice blue eyes were wide in her face. She quickly scrambled up the tree she’d been lying next to and settled high in its branches.

It wasn’t long before she was rewarded with the first sight of a man and his warriors. She blinked back her initial shock; the skull helmet made her shudder and her stomach tightened in fear. “Why now?” she asked herself, her words never caressing the wind. She cursed silently as she moved to another branch this one occupied by an old nest of a Warton Bird. She picked up the aged dung and quickly wiped the dried dust on her arms, neck, chest and thighs. She thanked the Gods her womanly flow was not due; for if the fools had come two weeks earlier, she would most definitely be held within their grasps.

Lisheeda’s clothing, worn thin but still serviceable blended well with the dying forest and she shimmed quickly back down before darting deeper into the darkness of the woods. Another sound to her right, brought her up short and she quickly spun around, thought another obscenity and felt as if her freedom was slowly slipping from her grasp. It was then that a plan filled her mind and she quickly caused several branches to crash under her feet. The noise ricocheted around her.

She stopped just as quickly as she started, then on light feet, the same soft steps, but quick ones that had gotten her out of the servitude of slavery, she darted further into the forest, hoping to reach the river as the others went in search of the creature that had been so careless in their movements. “Let them fight each other." She prayed as she fled.

Slythe Zathu

Lord Zathu heard the snapping of branches to his left. Something was moving in the fog. He heard more sounds farther in the distance directly in front of him. He held up his hand suddenly commanding his troops to stop, the situation was quickly processed by Slythe’s devious brain. Whoever was to his left was closer, he needed to deal with whatever that was first, then he could perhaps flank whoever was directly ahead.

A quick hand signal and the party was gone, dashing through the fog like shadows. The soldiers of darkness never burdened themselves with heavy armor like some did which allowed them to move quickly and silently to utilize guerilla battle tactics. Slythe’s sharp eyes spied a filthy but stunning young girl darting through the trees. His party closed quickly, but the girl was swift. She darted behind a tree and the group ground to a halt as she had disappeared into the fog.

Another hand signal commanded his archers to draw their bows. The arrows that pointed into the fog were coated in a lethal venom that was brewed from weeds that grew in the Zaloh marshes. Lord Zathu’s eyes moved rapidly anticipating a conflict from anyone who dared venture this deep into his country.

He only hoped it wasn’t Frost, Morgiana’s hit-man. If it was he’d be lucky to escape with this girl and his life. He gripped his enchanted staff, anticipating the worst.

Pravus

The small girl landed on the floor, her naked flesh slapping the cold stones as the chains running from between her wrists and feet jingled. She’d been tossed like a rag doll from Pravus’s bed, and soon grapes, and other fruit within the angered man’s reach flew at her to chase her off. “Get out you waste of skin! And don’t you dare step within my sight again until you’ve learned how to please a man!”

He ignored the sobs of the well bred and supposedly trained sex slave as she fled down the hall back to the harem. Instead he turned to look at three other women cowering in the corner, all wearing the same polished silver and gold cuffs around their wrists, neck and ankles as the woman just recently discarded. Frighten eyes met his gaze as he looked over each, but then grew disgusted with the whole lot. “Get out.”

He slipped into his plush robe and stormed off to the chambers of his lieutenant, slamming the door open. “Find me a new slut! These damned girls are so empty. There is no spark of excitement. No enjoyment, no pride in their work, nothing! Even if you beat them they hardly resist! Find me something actually living; when I ravish a girl I want her to know it, to fear it and to show it, not these pampered and broken chew toys.” He turned to go, having made his instructions clear, “Oh, and have the four that were brought to me tonight delivered to the soldiers barracks, perhaps they will serve some use there.”

He marched to his reception chamber; he refused to call it a throne room. Throne rooms were for old men to sit and wait for the willing and able to slit their throats. He received people here, and gave them new orders, but he led his armies from the front.

But today there was nowhere to lead an army. His advance onto the mainland had been quickly halted to a stalemate once that bitch Morgiana and her forces came to watch over the land. He’d pushed his once only an island nation in far enough to build up an adequate defense, but raising an army large enough to crush her was proving difficult. Today he would hear solutions to this problem, or so his captain’s had promised.

Winter's Frost

The cracking of branches alerted Frost immediately and he signalled his both men to stop their advance. He drew his broadsword and the men followed his example. It did not sound like it was an army marching so Frost signalled one of the men to take up to his left and the other to the right. They started to walk slowly towards where they heard the noice.

They broke through the bush ready for anything. The fog was deep and they could not see much of what was ahead of them. It was only their discipline as soldiers of Entaca that forced their feets forward. They where proud in the knowledge that they where the best there was. Frost was better than most but that did not stop the shivering coming down his spine as they came out in the open.

The three men was hailed by the silent death, called arrows. Frost was spared but both his men fell with an arrow each in their bodies. Frost only looked down at his fallen troops for a second. Then his eyes scanned the forest after the threat. He immediately saw two archers taking up new arrows. As the fog was so thick they where not far away and Frost rushed the first archer.

He gave the archer a powerful kick in the abdomen which forced the archer back to the ground. Frost turned to his left where the remaining archer lifted the bow to take aim. Frost was first and with a mighty blow with his sword he buried his sword into the archers chest. The archer died with a gurgle coming from his throat. Frost withdrew his sword and kicked the archer so he fell backwards. After Frost had beheaded the remaining archer he scanned the forest again. Was that all?

The answer came as he heard the crack of a twig behind him. He managed to turn around and just block the strike that would surely had him beheaded. Frost back away from the swordsman and they start circle eachother. His attention is drawn to a man that is hidden in the fog. A fourth soldier? Before he have time to reflect over this new threat he blocks another swift blow from his adversary. The fourth man completely forgotten Frost fight the skilled swordsman with all the skill he can muster.

Slythe hissed quietly inside his mask as his worst fears were realized. Frost dashed out of the fog, making quick work of his archers. Frost moved quickly so that the spray of toxic fumes that issued from his soldiers’ bloodstreams did little to harm him. The dark forces were trained from a young age in poison and disease resistance of all types, a welcome side effect of their resistance was that their blood itself became toxic. When a soldier of darkness was killed their attacker would often fall victim to the corrosive spray of blood.

Frost was quickly ambushed from behind by Lord Zathu’s swordsman, Slythe knew that time was running short. Quick eye contact with his scout made it clear that finding the girl was their priority and they both dashed off in different directions, trying to find the dusky hued vixen through the fog.

Tharalon

She found it was easier than she thought it would be. Saying good-bye to her family was a saddening event, but there was none of the heart-breaking anguish she anticipated. She was saying farewell to everyone and everything she had ever known but the strongest emotion she was feeling relief.

Once she was gone, everyone would be safe.

There was talk in the village about her, for the first time generation there was talk among the fisherman and their wives about the Dale family. A life spared that should have been lost, a pain passing that should have been crippling, finding comfort in an unfamiliar object that should bring no ease… these little events could all be traced back to the Dale’s, specifically Tharalon Dale. Tharalon knew it was her own fault; she had been careless. Her guilty conscience, trying to make amends, she tried too hard to help, did more than she should have to aid those she could, she took her skills too far and now it was her responsibility to make it right. Before the talk become too loud and spread beyond the village.

Her parents traded a few items with a traveling merchant and got her a ride to the capitol city of Molovica. She rode in reasonable comfort in the back of an old wagon, surrounded by a few valuable bags of grain and a wide variety of cheap trinkets. Wrapped comfortably in a warm cloak of gray wool, her hood pulled low over her bright red hair, her feet kick idly off the edge of the back. Not quite ready to see where she is going, she looks instead at where she had been.

It’s not until she passes by the guards at the gate of the city, does the magnitude of the dangers she may face begin to creep into her belly. She shakes them off, or tells herself she has, worrying will solve nothing and fear attracts attention. She thanks the merchant for her pleasant and swift journey then grabs her bag. She hurries off, down the street, trying to lose herself in the anonymous embrace of the island’s biggest city.

Morgiana

Gray eyes met those of black onyx. Morgiana’s fingers curled around the slim handle of the sharp blade. She trailed the tip across the man’s chest, opening the first layer of skin.

"Tell me," she whispered, listening to her captive catch his breath as the bite of her assault licked at him, "where is your woman?"
No answer came to her, but a smile formed on her dark pink lips.

"Is she the witch in the woods? The one that disappears in the mist? The ghost of the forest?"

Her knife traveled further. She saw him wince as she split open his navel.

"Do you think that because I am a woman I can not stomach seeing your life flow from your body and onto my hands?"

The sharp tool grazed the man’s hip and she jabbed it into the bone. The first scream erupted from the thin figure that hung suspended from the chains. Morgiana felt her body tremble with desire. She pulled the blade free of the bone, causing the captive to release a second squeal.

"Have you heard of my Frost?"

A smirk lifted from her lips when the young man’s eyes grew wide.

"Do you know he seeks her? He will find her and bring her too me. She will watch you as your body is skinned. You will not die right away. I have several magicians that will keep you alive. She will gaze upon the cords of muscle, then I will begin to slice away that tender meat and you will feel it. Magic is a beautiful thing. Tell me where she is and you can die now. I am not without mercy. I too loved once."

Morgiana flicked the blade in her wrist. She lifted and threw it into the skin that was stretched across the north wall of the room.

"Spin him," she ordered and two men quickly appeared from the dark shadows. They did as she’d commanded and then seemed to melt back into the darkness.

"See that," she told him as she pushed on a leather glove. The fingertips were polished and gleamed as their sharpened points settled over her long digits. She dragged her hand down his back and watched him arch in retaliation.

"That is not the skin of an animal that I decorate my home with. It is the skin of those that defy me. You’ll watch your skin become my tapestry."

Morgiana’s hands reached between the man’s legs. With one quick jerk her nails sliced into his velvet sack and his balls spilled from their protective barrier. The scream accented the air and she shuddered as her sex tightened in pleasure. Removing the glove she gazed into the dark recesses of the room.

"Come Olam. I have need of you."

She said nothing else as the man was left with his balls dangling. Morgiana made her way to her chamber, her body hungry for the release the interrogation had brought on.

Lisheeda goes for a swim.

Lisheeda’s pulse raced as she reached the edge of a large lake. She stared into the fog as the darkness continued to capture the remaining light of day. Again she prayed and stepped into the water. The level was low and for several feet she was able to keep her movements silent. She thanked the Gods that the rains were late; everything was late, or longer. She knew though that on this night her life depended on her skill, what few she possessed.

Wading into the waters, the fog thicker toward the center, she slipped down to her neck and began to move further across now using her arms and legs to propel herself toward the opposite side. Her eyes constantly tried to read the shoreline from where she heard the noises. The battle sound had ended much quicker than she’d hoped, but she knew it was the way of true warriors. She’d been lucky to escape when she had, her luck she felt was running out.

“Mother of the Heaven’s be with me,” she whispered. The knowing rise of the shore brushed against her toes, bringing a sigh of relief from her lips. She scurried up the small embankment.

The breeze lifted her sparse coverings and she shivered as the cool air lapped at her now cold skin. Rubbing her arms, she tried to warm herself as she crept slowly on her feet. She silently cursed herself for having so little to wear as she darted in the direction of a cave she’d used for the past several weeks.

Olam

Olam stepped from a corner of the room, sadness filling his eyes, and a heavy sigh left his lips. That was a defiant as he was willing to risk. Her father had been cruel, but stupid, Morgiana was something far worse an not to be tested.

“Yes mistress.” A simple, conditioned response. He walked over to what was left of the man, and pulled forth his bag of herbs from his belt. After selecting several leaves and crushing them in his hand he placed then into a bowl of water. “Ensure he drinks this, and he will survive the night.” were the simple instructions left to the dungeon guards.

After tanking another long look at the pitiful remains that hung there sobbing, he turned to follow his the Mistress of the land. He hated seeing any life wasted, and suffering was even more difficult to watch. But those could be tolerated, compared to the knowledge that you contributed to the suffering.

He knew, long ago that he didn’t need the bracers that he’d been forced to craft any more. Those bound his abilities to the will of Morgiana and her blood line, but he was far too scared to attempt anything else. Besides, he’d helped bring so much evil; he knew his soul was as cursed as hers by now.

The clanging of swords slowly faded as Slythe made his way through the forest. This was his land, he knew the forest well and quickly dashed toward the river, hoping fervently that the girl had not made her way into Morgiana’s land. That woman was a monster. Slythe hated her with a passion, yet deep down he also respected and admired her evil and ruthless ways.

Slythe’s thoughts began to turn carnal for a moment before he heard the signal from his scout.

“Oooo OOOH!!!” The high pitched cry pierced through the fog. Someone not familiar with the secret ways of darkness would have thought that some bird or small mammal had made the sound.

Slythe dashed toward the sound and in no time came upon his scout, crouching over a set of small footprints in the mud at the edge of a lake. Lord Zathu was glad that he had brought the scout with him, though he proved nearly useless in the previous battle. The footprints were so small and faint Slythe’s quick search surely would have missed them. The prints disappeared into the water, she was on the other side of the lake... or was she?

Slythe realized that the girl could have exited the pond at any point, not necessarily straight across. A quick snap of his fingers and a point commanded the scout to swim across.

“Search the cave, I’ll search the shore.” Slythe’s voice was barely above a whisper.

He set out quickly scanning the shore for more footprints as his scout slipped out of his heavy black robes which would have weighed him down, and dove into the water wearing only his light leather armor.

Once the scout reached the other side he unsheathed his large knife from his boot after adjusting his mask. The scout made his way silently toward the mouth of the cave and peeked in.

Lisheeda eek!

Once Lisheeda reached the dark dwelling, she slipped inside and walked the long trek back into its welcoming abyss. She longed to start a fire, the fog the perfect camouflage for the smoke that would raise up and filter out through the ground above her. She didn’t though. Instead she hugged the wall, scooting quietly until she reached a small room that had been formed from millions of years of erosion.

In the darkness she slid to her knees and reached with her hands for the blade that she’d stolen before leaving her dismal life. Gripping it, she waited for the enemy to approach her. She was not foolish, she knew that whoever was hunting in the woods was no longer hunting game, or at least not the kind they ate for dinner. . .or so she hoped.

The shuffle of booted feet met her ears and she took a deep breath, to calm herself. The sounds closed in on her and she felt beads of sweat erupt on her skin. She wanted to shiver and rub her arms, but she did none of these things. When the man’s foot appeared, she pressed herself even more against the moist wall of her sanctuary.

Lisheeda reacted with speed only a mad women fighting for her life possessed. She dropped to her knees and lashed out, slicing the man’s calf muscle and then dragging the blade in a downward motion, opening his skin further. She heard his scream and she rolled away from his seeking hands. He fell forward, clutched his leg and bellowed. His voice bounced off the rock room and Lisheeda’s ears ringed.

Kicking at him, she tripped over the good leg he’d swung out. Her knife flew from her hands and clattered to the dirt and rock laden floor. Again she kicked. Her hands came up and she clawed at her attacker. An ankle was seized and she twisted her body so her other leg came up and squarely landed in the man’s face. She felt the crush of a bone slam into her heel and the spurt of blood replaced the sound of the echoing scream. Gaining her freedom she leapt to her feet and darted toward the entrance of the cave, once more heading into the dark pits of the forest. This time however her sense of direction was lost and her stealth was gone. Panic set in as she crashed through trees, brush and thorny bushes.

Slythe Zathu

The scream from his scout sent Slythe into a dead sprint along the shore of the lake. The girl was far less cautious as he crashed through the underbrush, panting loudly. The fog swirled around her dashing form, as he spied her and quickly took on an angle of pursuit. Slythe tackled the young girl from the side knocking her to the ground. He tossed his enchanted staff out of their reach, straddling her midsection so that he was out of reach of her flailing legs.

The girl’s arms battered at Slythe, her grunts and screams taking away any semblance of stealth Lord Zathu might have still held. His hand covered her mouth tightly as he struggled to keep the young girl pinned.

Lisheeda and a Meanie

Lisheeda no longer cared who heard her as she struggled with the man on top of her. She felt the wind knocked out of her and used her legs to kick at those that were much thicker and stronger than hers. The small band around her waist, that served as a skirt rose, up exposing her rear to the branches and rocks beneath her. The added weight of the man as well as her rolling brought scratches and bruises to her skin. These pains were lost to her as she stilled, hoping to hear another come to her rescue. No longer did she worry about what enemies were in the forest, she simply wanted the lesser of two evils, that and another opportunity to get away.

The man on top of her stared down into her eyes and she blinked back, trying to make out any kind of humanity hidden behind the mask. She found none and her pulse raced faster in her veins. Her mock acceptance, bought her a few seconds as she watched the man listen to the woods, knowing he too wondered how long he had before whoever had been in the forest found them.

Lisheeda mentally cursed, wishing for the weapon she’d lost and then she heard the approaching footsteps of another. Her gaze fell on the booted feet of the man from the cave. She saw him drop to one knee and stared back at him. His face was covered in his blood and the helmet he’d been wearing had been removed.

She saw the hate reflected in his gaze and she trembled. Lisheeda began a new struggle, catching the man on top of her off guard. Her teeth found its mark and the bit down on his thumb, biting hard before she felt his fist connect with her jaw. Her eyes began to roll back in their sockets. She shook her head, trying to remain conscious as the pain coursed through her.

Slythe Zathu

She bit him!

The fucking bitch had actually bitten him! Slythe reacted on instinct along when he brought his fist down soundly into her jaw. Lord Zathu stared at his thumb for a moment, afraid she had broken the skin. She had, but the bleeding was slow, it was unlikely she had ingested enough of his toxic blood to warrant the antidote, but he made a note to give her some anyway once she had been properly subdued.

Lord Zathu glanced over at his kneeling and wounded scout, commendations and promotions were definitely in order for him and his family. This girl had spirit, spirit that he would take great pleasure and care in breaking. The thought of her training encouraged Slythe to deal another ruthless blow to her face, in the form of a backhand this time. She needed to learn right away that he was the one in charge and make no mistake about it.

When the girl’s fiery eyes began to dull into unconsciousness Slythe pulled a pinch of powder from one of the many leather pouches concealed by his robe and blew the powder into her face. The young slave girl choked, sneezed and gasped until eventually it took every ounce of her strength just to draw her next breath. This was when Slythe dared to rise up off her body.

Slythe’s strong arms cradled the filthy young slave for a moment, before swinging her over his shoulder and helping his scout get to his feet.

“You will both come with me if you want to live.”

The sounds of battle had stopped, no longer did Slythe hear the loud clang of katana striking broadsword. He feared the worst and made his way past the cave to the tree line where he encountered snow once again underfoot. His halting approach raised suspicion and the moment these three survivors moved out into the open they were greeted by a few hundred flickers of light from the numerous archers who helped guard the mountainside. Another scout met them as quickly as possible to guide them back up the mountain. It was none too soon either since the girl was beginning to stir on Slythe’s shoulder.

Lisheeda and a Really Big Meanie

The dust repelled her. Her face hurt and her lungs burned for air. Within seconds she felt her eyes grow heavy and she whimpered as sleep claimed her. She never felt the toss of her lithe body over the man’s shoulder, nor the trek into the woods and up the mountain. The cool air kissed her skin and the air touched her tender cheeks. Lisheeda breathed in the scent of sweat and blood. She licked her lips and swore the blood was hers. Wincing slightly she realized her lip was split and then she stirred. Her lids opened slightly and she watched the ground beneath them change from dirt to snow.

“No. . .please gods and goddesses,” she silently begged. She knew where she was going and who had her. She’d never met the beast before, but she knew enough that her life would not be an easy one. Her struggling ceased as she tried to think and come up with a way to escape him. Each idea was tossed to the side and then a sick feeling of dread washed over her.

Lights, hundreds of them appeared, followed by the feet that carried them. Fear ripped into her as the weight of what would transpire once she ‘woke up’ made her flight or fight instinct jump and she longed to act on it.

“Not yet,” she told herself, allowing her body to slump back into a false unconscious state. “Bide your time. Let him think you’re some idiot without a speck of reasoning and perhaps he’ll tire of you. . . of course he won’t you foolish girl. . .You’ve been living in the woods. Yes, I know I have, but even a mindless ninny can eat berries and bark and live. He doesn’t have to know I am well versed in many things. . . well not that one thing. Deaf and Dumb that is what you'll be. I can't be Deaf, he knows I heard them. . . think you! I am!"

The inner conversation was a habit she’d picked up in the woods, loneliness had been something she had never enjoyed, so talking to herself had become one of her few enjoyments. Rarely did she lose a conversation.

Morgiana turned and lifted a brow.

"Olam, do not look at me like that. You know I had no choice. There is another hiding in the woods. One with great power. If it is true and she can vanish, do you not see how valuable she is?"

She lifted the ties from her hair, allowing the rich gold locks to fall to her waist. Her fingers brushed several strands back and then she slid her fingers down her torso, cupping her breasts and lifting them.

"Olam you are overdressed as am I. Come attend me."

Walking over to the wooden slap that served as a dressing table she took a seat and eyed her magician through the worn mirror. Her gaze was firm and she knew he would prepare her properly for bed.

"Speak your mind, man. You know I enjoy your council, even if I don’t agree with it."

She waited to hear his words and feel his hands taking down her hair as well as having her clothing removed by his touch. Morgiana knew she had slaves to do the work that she humbled Olam to, but she felt deep within her that the more the man touched her the more of his magic protected her.

Superstition ran high in Morgiana’s lands and though she claimed to be immune to it, inwardly she knew she had done her fair share of evil deeds and whatever protection she could gain she would take it.

If there was a way to suck the power from a Wizard or a Witch Morgiana would fight her way through the Blood Eel Sea to reach it.

"You tarry in both your words and your job."

Her gaze fell on the flogger that hooked to the wall and she lifted a brow. It had been months she’d last used it on Olam, forbidding him to heal himself. Her rage had been because his magic had not healed her favored slave girl, though she knew the damage she’d caused to her was greatly due to her anger at finding her with another, after having been told her body was Morgiana’s to use and no others.

Tharalon Dale

Tharalon was lucky. In the city, country girls had the reputation for hard work, and despite the fact pretty girls were reputed to be lazy, she managed to find employment. It was almost a dream job, not that her dream was to be a barmaid but because the job also came with room and board. The hours would be long and the pay would be low but she had no use for free time, she knew no one in the city; there was no one she needed to see, and nothing she wanted to do. To survive in quiet obscurity, that was all she asked for.

She worked hard her first week at the tavern. She worked hard and did nothing else, but soon Tharalon grew bored and started to explore the city. There were so many people; beggars on the streets, children suffering from malnutrition unable to fight off the simplest of illnesses, women delivering babies without proper care, old soldiers with painful injuries…. It seemed so callus not to help when she could, a kind word and gentle touch was all it took of bring comfort, ease pain, instill strength, and revitalize life. She was careful, she was subtle, but she was young and too eager to help. At first, she was simply the kind young woman, with the flaming hair but soon her reputation would grow.

A call for help, even in the middle of the night could not go unanswered. A crushing injury, of broken bones and bloody cuts, she saw it and wanted to turn away and run back to the tavern. The man should die, she might be able to save him, but his injuries were so severe he should die but his children would be left fatherless, his wife a widow and the family living in the gutter and she could not let that happen.

It was well past curfew as she made her way back to the tavern, she moved quietly and kept to the shadows but the city guards were well trained, and her steps were heard on the hard stone of the dark streets. She didn’t know she was being followed until a harsh voice called for her to stop. Instinctively, she hesitated before she picked up her skirt and started to run.

“Stop, girl!” He knew she would run, they always run and he enjoys the chase. He was already planning how he would punish her for failing to heed his command when he started after her.

Tharalon didn’t stop. She ran down the street and through the alley, her cloak flying behind her and her hood falling back off her hair. The sound of his steps spurred her on but to no avail. She spun around and nearly fell to her knees as strong hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her backwards.

“I told you to stop, bitch!” Then all she could see were the stars as her head reeled from a sharp blow to her cheek.

“I was… you didn’t…” She tried to mumble an excuse but he grabbed her wrist, and a fist full of hair at the back of her neck. In a panic, she started to struggle, her terror increasing as he pulled her towards him.

With a piercing scream, he released her. She stumbled and as she tried to catch herself, she saw him cradling his hands to his chest. She turned, and without looking back, Tharalon ran all the way back to the tavern.

Winter's Frost

The clashing of Katana against broadwsord echoed through the forest as the two fighters fought for domain. The Zaloh fighter was an expert swordsman but Frost was slowly gaining the upper hand. He saw the swordsman's strength vanishing more and more the longer the fight took. Frost grinned as he circled his opponent and he could read the desperation coming from the man. The outcome could only be one.

Frost's sword comes down in full force, cleaving through flesh and bone as it hit the man straight in the shoulder. Blood from the doomed man spray up in Frost's face at the same time Frost draws his sword free from the dying man's body. Immediately he feel the burning sensation on the left side of his face, where most of the blood landed.

The toxic blood burns through his skin as he drops his broadsword to the ground with a curse. He takes up a piece of cloth from the pouch he carries on his hip. He wipes his face free from the blood that try to burn it's way through his skin and bone. With a sigh of relief he fall down to his knees and hands. Left side of his face hurt like hell but he are sure he will survive.

Slythe Zathu

Slythe returned to his cavernous throne room carved out of the mountainside by centuries of erosion. Several guards came toward Slythe to relieve him of his burden. The feeling of new hands upon her renewed her struggle, but the soldiers held her tightly, awaiting their orders.

“See that she is bathed and dressed.” Slythe commanded, “Once she is clean and comfortable bring her to my chambers, I’ll begin her training right away.”

Slythe sighed slightly, that small errand was far more trying than he had anticipated. He glanced back at his scout who was bleeding from his face and leg. He clapped the man on the shoulder.

“The medic will be by shortly, once your wounds have been tended to I will send a Lieutenant in to discuss your promotion and begin your immunization process. You have served your country well this day” Slythe told the man as he began unfastening his light leather armor under his cloak.

3 good men had died in the retrieval of that wench. Slythe knew that his swordsman stood little chance against Frost in a long battle. The katana swords that his men wielded were most effective in the first few strikes of a battle, they were designed for one stroke kills, not lengthy sessions of battering their surgical edges against those heavy iron broadswords.

Slythe made his way past his throne, through the heavy wooden door that led to the elite barracks. The cave had been extended, through much labor and explosives, into a tunnel that reached all the way through to the other side of the mountain. The higher ranking soldiers as well as assassins, mages and himself, all made their homes in the carved out stone edifice.

Slythe couldn’t reach his room soon enough his skull mask was beginning to chafe the side of his face. None of his enemies or allies had ever seen his face, save one. His young mute mage, Brita. For some reason she had always been able to pierce his cold heart with a simple glance. When he opened the door to his elaborate bedroom those same dark honey colored eyes looked deep into his shocking green ones. She looked at him with the sorrowful serenity he had come to expect from her.

Though Slythe took great pride and pleasure in his devious ways, it was also very trying to live one’s life raping, torturing and murdering every waking moment. Trying not just on the body but also on the soul, and this girl’s presence had a way of soothing his soul. Perhaps it was the fact that she still possessed magic or that she came from a land that the Gods had not completely abandoned but her reassuring presence made Slythe feel almost as if he had his powers again.

The mighty staff which had brought many to their agonizing demise was placed in a tall wooden rack, on which he also hung his skull mask. Brita was in the process of duplicating gold coins, but she flashed him a quick smile as she finished the coin she was in the process of forming.

Once the coin was finished she looked up at him and he moved to her quickly, his strong hand embraced the back of her head firmly but gently as he pulled her against his chest, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

“I’ve acquired a new plaything. She’ll be coming by shortly to be broken. Do you want to watch or will you be departing when she arrives?” Slythe asked against the crown of her head as he continued to embrace her. This was a side of him that only she would ever witness.

Rhonwen

News travels fast in taverns, especially when you pay for it. Although for the most part the Forest of the Dead is avoided, there are those who will tempt fate--and the wrath of Morgiana and Slythe--and venture in to hunt for game. Others with secretive talents know how to work the weeds and grasses that grow in the swampland and fashion toxic potions. All this knowledge is available with enough gold coin.

And now a bard's apprentice gives confirmation to a long-whispered rumor: There was a girl in the Forest. One of some importance, since Slythe himself and Winter's Frost were personally hunting her. Drawn by the sounds of clashing swords, the boy had watched most of the pursuit and ensuing slaughter from afar, crafting a song from the action. Rohnwen had paid quite a bit to be the first to hear his tune. Anything involving Slythe perversely interested her. She thanks the boy and leans back into her chair, blending into the shadows, her cloak and hood once again obscuring her figure from the other patrons.

So, Slythe has a new pet, she muses. And it cost him two scouts and a swordsman to procure her. What was it about this girl that he would risk himself, not to mention what would spur Morgiana to unleash Frost. An interesting puzzle. She looks at the dregs in her tankard and, draining it, makes a decision. Rising silently, she tosses a coin onto the bar and heads out the door. Perhaps it was time to pay Slythe a visit, after all these years.

“Sorry Mistress,” he rushed to the brush, and began combing out every tangle, as gently as he would with a small child. He knew one snag, one yank, and her displeasure would very likely be amplified many fold onto him.

As he combed the golden locks, he spoke his mind, as honestly as he dared. “Not everything in life requires so much pain to learn. Perhaps if you had simply been the lesser of the evils his woman faced, he could have been convinced to revealing what he knew. Forgive me, Mistress, but I believe all you assured him of is that you were the greater evil that either of them could encounter. Who would not protect their loved ones from that?”

He feared he had stepped to far. Seldom did she take his advice, but often inquired his council. He assumed it was for insight on what she considered a weaker perspective and did the opposite to never appear weak. Quests for power were always blooding and pointless, and always led you self-destruction. Too bad for Olam, he knew he was far too involved to escape the Morgiana’s doom when her time came.

Once her hair was combed in one hundred perfect strokes and smooth as silk, his hands slid to long familiar work of undressing the land’s tyrant. He removed the golden sash from around her hips, and then went to work unlacing the emerald green bodice that matched the gown beneath perfectly. No man could deny she was as striking as she was deadly, but he always found her body more appealing once left to its natural shape, escaping the pushing and squeezing of the bodice. He unlaced the gown and let her step out of it at her leisure, and stood to the side to await whatever she had deemed would happen next.

She heard his words and felt as if she’d been scolded by her tutor, another man that had taken a part of her and used it for his own personal pleasure. He’d been killed by her brother after he’d caught the man forcing himself upon her. A noble act indeed until her sibling enjoyed the feasts that the tutor had died trying to sample.

Her gaze was stoney as Olam undressed her. Her thoughts remained her own as she felt his hands barely brush her skin. He knew he was not allowed to touch her unless she deemed him worthy. She thought of the man who hung suspended from the ceiling, several feet below ground.

"I asked you to speak and you certainly took advantage of the right, didn’t you," she whispered, her voice low and bitter.

Morgaine trailed a long finger down his jaw and across his lips.

"Perhaps you should stop and think before you speak. Sometimes, asking for council is just a kindness I permit you and you’re opinion really isn’t needed," she dipped her finger in his mouth and toyed with his tongue, "the ability to speak can be easily removed."

She pulled her hand away from his mouth.

"Get undressed Olam, and make your amends to me in whatever manner you deem acceptable. Make sure you choose well, I would hate to find your sexual skills as useless as your words."

Her steps carried her to the bed and she slipped onto the covers, her gaze locked on her magician and she waited for him to pleasure her.