Katamari Roller
Lusting 24/7
- Joined
- Dec 21, 2005
- Posts
- 2,983
Firina was not sure she would ever get used to sleeping in the room next to her father´s, given all the noise and moans coming from it every morning. But the girl chose to take it with a philosophical attitude: at least this way she was never late to meetings and reunions.
She rubbed her large, chocolate brown eyes, yawned, and sat up, the rough sheets of her bed sliding off her large, firm breasts, past her thin waist, to fall around her wide hips. Scratching her head through her hair, she kept short like a boy´s and the same colour as her eyes, Firina already felt the morning cold coming in through the window to awaken her senses.
Most people would have found their housecave freezing, particularly in the morning and seeing how the windows were crude wooden panels, but this was Bandit Canyon. The largest such geographic feature in the continent, where the wind never really stopped rushing through. It was a massive, red scar in the earth that ran north-west to south-east. Lots of people lived there, in caves excavated into both faces of the Canyon. The two sides of this massive scar were joined every few miles by wooden bridges of varying quality that trembled and swayed, pushed by the ever-present wind. Everyone here grew used to the cold, was born immune to the cold, or died quickly due to the cold, particularly if their homes were built on the faces of the canyon, as was the case with Firina´s. You could also die by falling off the bridges that crossed between the Canyon´s sides if you were not careful. All the more reason to excavate your home deep underground instead of on the surface, but Firina´s father had always argued that the underground people were softer and weaker for avoiding those risks, and had had his home excavated onto one of the faces of the Canyon. This could have been taken as just a passable opinion if not for the fact that Firina´s father was Kolkein the Survivor, the most famous adventurer in the country. His opinion was, therefore, taken as undeniable wisdom. Nobody batted an eye, then, when he kept kicking his children out of their beds and into the open air so they would grow physically strong instead of wasting away in the dark caves where men less wealthy but lazier than him had built their homes.
And it was no quiet affair, to kick more than twenty brats out into the open every morning.
It was not surprising that Firina, born in such a place and raised by one of the toughest adventurers in recent memory, barely needed any clothing. She slipped a small black thong up between her round buttcheeks and secured the straps over the top of her marvelously fertile hips. Then, she put on a white, silky top. Very flimsy for the weather, but good enough to cover her udders if nothing else, given it overhanged her breasts and left her firm midriff bare. The top was followed by a black jacket she had severely outgrown in the chest area years ago, but kept in use by cutting it off just below her tits and holding it together at the front with three small chains that ran over her chest and hooked into the other side. The last pieces of clothing were thigh-high, thick leather boots, and matching gloves. Finally, Firina wrapped around her waist a wide, sturdy belt that held the sheath for her weapon: an overly thick long sword that was the subject of many jokes, but still very important for a properly raised daughter of Bandit Canyon. Nearly every young woman who expected to participate in raids had to know how to protect herself. They couldn´t just be useless hanger-ons or part of a `baggage train´ as in the `proper´ armies of other nations.
Dressed in what Firina considered her casual attire, the eighteen-year-old walked across her small room in a few steps and washed her face in cold water from a washbowl. She checked her visage. Her mother´s pretty, sharp features and lovely brown eyes, the unruly hair of her father, and the pale skin typical of all Bandits. Grinning, she headed to the door, ready to kick it open and only stopping herself from doing so when she recognized the loud and clear groan of her father orgasming inside his newest mistress. She was not sure why, but she sighed when she opened the door and headed down the dark corridor. There was something that greatly bothered Firina about all the mistresses her father had. He kept four of them at home (five with the one he brought the week before), and the girl knew for a fact her father still kept trying to fuck every young woman in Bandit Canyon that was large-breasted. She supposed there was some consistency in that: Kolkein the Survivor only fucked large-breasted women, and got large-breasted daughters.
Firina sneaked out of her room, down the corridor past her father´s (the old pervert sounded like he was getting ready for a second round) and through the kitchen. On her way out, her thin and dexterous fingers snatched some bread, goat cheese and a flask of milk off the table. There was no need to do that, seeing how nobody ever went hungry in Kolkein´s home, but Firina was feeling excited and playful today.
The Bandit King was finally starting the new Raiding Season.
Those were rather misleading concepts to outsiders.
First of all, the Bandit King was not a king. He was elected by popular vote from anyone who bothered to vote, and he did not really have much authority beyond a few ceremonial events (Bandits were not big on that kind of stuff). But then, since Bandits did not know any greater authority than that, it made sense to them to use the name.
Second of all, the Raiding Season was not an actual season that had to be authorized by the King. The Season could be a single month, or six. They said the longest one ever had lasted a full year. And as for what it was all about, it basically meant that the King and his supporters would pay some people to set up a network that would help all Bandits going out on raids. Sure, you could raid as far as you wanted all year, on your own, but there was a huge difference between raiding with no support other than your own people, and going out there knowing that there would be an outpost waiting for you with food and other supplies in chosen locations, small groups of comrades to ambush any pursuers, or a healer ready to have a look at that nasty wound you suffered two days before.
You obviously had to pay in advance for that help, and there was also a small tax on any loot you brought back. But that support helped you range farther away and catch towns by surprise because the wonderful thing about Raiding Season was its irregularity. It was not a formal event that always took place in the same season every year or anything like that. It happened whenever a Bandit King thought the time was ripe, and he put the limits on how many people and supplies he had hired. So the nations around Bandit Canyon never knew what was going to hit them, when, where or in what numbers. And Firina had heard this was going to be the Raiding Season of the century. She was chomping at the bit because this was going to be her first Raiding Season.
She was not the only one.
Despite the sun having just come out, not to mention the unruly existence of the denizens of Bandit Canyon, the vaguely street-like paths snaking up and down the face of the Canyon was crawling with eager, impatient, barely-dressed warriors heading across the bridge. Broad-(bare)-chested men with bulging muscles stomped enthusiastically on the wooden planks with enormous axes over their shoulders, exchanging jokes in loud voices with scarred amazons about as well dressed as the males. Younger, thinner men walked with more swagger they actually had a right to exhibit, arrogant smiles on, already dreaming of all the girls they were going to impress with jewels so they could mount them. The young girls, scantily clad, knew the boys´ plans and were already doing calculations in their heads while idly playing with the swords, axes, bows and other weapons they had procured for themselves.
The bridge was a parade of wood, bare flesh, thick fur, hard leather and harder steel, iron, bronze and even stone, until it reached the other face of the Canyon and the Gate.
The Gate, as ambitiously named as most places in the Canyon, did not actually have a gate. It was just a massive hole that led down into the King´s Cave (again, Bandits were not very big on giving awe-inspiring names to places). The King´s Cave was where all the trade took place (it was pretty much a market square, really), but today it had been cleared out so everyone who wanted to be at the meeting for the Raiding Season could be there. Today, that must have been seven hundred people, as Firina counted them while standing on top of one of the stone pillars that held the bridge in place, about ten feet over everyone else. The crowd was milling about until they were allowed into the King´s Cave. They boasted about all the loot they were going to bring back, joked about the opposition they expected to find, made deals and alliances, fondled and coped a feel here and there then played hide-and-seek-from-the-angry-barbarian, enjoyed the sight of Firina´s bare ass and rather small thong, and... the crowd kept growing as more people kept coming.
She rubbed her large, chocolate brown eyes, yawned, and sat up, the rough sheets of her bed sliding off her large, firm breasts, past her thin waist, to fall around her wide hips. Scratching her head through her hair, she kept short like a boy´s and the same colour as her eyes, Firina already felt the morning cold coming in through the window to awaken her senses.
Most people would have found their housecave freezing, particularly in the morning and seeing how the windows were crude wooden panels, but this was Bandit Canyon. The largest such geographic feature in the continent, where the wind never really stopped rushing through. It was a massive, red scar in the earth that ran north-west to south-east. Lots of people lived there, in caves excavated into both faces of the Canyon. The two sides of this massive scar were joined every few miles by wooden bridges of varying quality that trembled and swayed, pushed by the ever-present wind. Everyone here grew used to the cold, was born immune to the cold, or died quickly due to the cold, particularly if their homes were built on the faces of the canyon, as was the case with Firina´s. You could also die by falling off the bridges that crossed between the Canyon´s sides if you were not careful. All the more reason to excavate your home deep underground instead of on the surface, but Firina´s father had always argued that the underground people were softer and weaker for avoiding those risks, and had had his home excavated onto one of the faces of the Canyon. This could have been taken as just a passable opinion if not for the fact that Firina´s father was Kolkein the Survivor, the most famous adventurer in the country. His opinion was, therefore, taken as undeniable wisdom. Nobody batted an eye, then, when he kept kicking his children out of their beds and into the open air so they would grow physically strong instead of wasting away in the dark caves where men less wealthy but lazier than him had built their homes.
And it was no quiet affair, to kick more than twenty brats out into the open every morning.
It was not surprising that Firina, born in such a place and raised by one of the toughest adventurers in recent memory, barely needed any clothing. She slipped a small black thong up between her round buttcheeks and secured the straps over the top of her marvelously fertile hips. Then, she put on a white, silky top. Very flimsy for the weather, but good enough to cover her udders if nothing else, given it overhanged her breasts and left her firm midriff bare. The top was followed by a black jacket she had severely outgrown in the chest area years ago, but kept in use by cutting it off just below her tits and holding it together at the front with three small chains that ran over her chest and hooked into the other side. The last pieces of clothing were thigh-high, thick leather boots, and matching gloves. Finally, Firina wrapped around her waist a wide, sturdy belt that held the sheath for her weapon: an overly thick long sword that was the subject of many jokes, but still very important for a properly raised daughter of Bandit Canyon. Nearly every young woman who expected to participate in raids had to know how to protect herself. They couldn´t just be useless hanger-ons or part of a `baggage train´ as in the `proper´ armies of other nations.
Dressed in what Firina considered her casual attire, the eighteen-year-old walked across her small room in a few steps and washed her face in cold water from a washbowl. She checked her visage. Her mother´s pretty, sharp features and lovely brown eyes, the unruly hair of her father, and the pale skin typical of all Bandits. Grinning, she headed to the door, ready to kick it open and only stopping herself from doing so when she recognized the loud and clear groan of her father orgasming inside his newest mistress. She was not sure why, but she sighed when she opened the door and headed down the dark corridor. There was something that greatly bothered Firina about all the mistresses her father had. He kept four of them at home (five with the one he brought the week before), and the girl knew for a fact her father still kept trying to fuck every young woman in Bandit Canyon that was large-breasted. She supposed there was some consistency in that: Kolkein the Survivor only fucked large-breasted women, and got large-breasted daughters.
Firina sneaked out of her room, down the corridor past her father´s (the old pervert sounded like he was getting ready for a second round) and through the kitchen. On her way out, her thin and dexterous fingers snatched some bread, goat cheese and a flask of milk off the table. There was no need to do that, seeing how nobody ever went hungry in Kolkein´s home, but Firina was feeling excited and playful today.
The Bandit King was finally starting the new Raiding Season.
Those were rather misleading concepts to outsiders.
First of all, the Bandit King was not a king. He was elected by popular vote from anyone who bothered to vote, and he did not really have much authority beyond a few ceremonial events (Bandits were not big on that kind of stuff). But then, since Bandits did not know any greater authority than that, it made sense to them to use the name.
Second of all, the Raiding Season was not an actual season that had to be authorized by the King. The Season could be a single month, or six. They said the longest one ever had lasted a full year. And as for what it was all about, it basically meant that the King and his supporters would pay some people to set up a network that would help all Bandits going out on raids. Sure, you could raid as far as you wanted all year, on your own, but there was a huge difference between raiding with no support other than your own people, and going out there knowing that there would be an outpost waiting for you with food and other supplies in chosen locations, small groups of comrades to ambush any pursuers, or a healer ready to have a look at that nasty wound you suffered two days before.
You obviously had to pay in advance for that help, and there was also a small tax on any loot you brought back. But that support helped you range farther away and catch towns by surprise because the wonderful thing about Raiding Season was its irregularity. It was not a formal event that always took place in the same season every year or anything like that. It happened whenever a Bandit King thought the time was ripe, and he put the limits on how many people and supplies he had hired. So the nations around Bandit Canyon never knew what was going to hit them, when, where or in what numbers. And Firina had heard this was going to be the Raiding Season of the century. She was chomping at the bit because this was going to be her first Raiding Season.
She was not the only one.
Despite the sun having just come out, not to mention the unruly existence of the denizens of Bandit Canyon, the vaguely street-like paths snaking up and down the face of the Canyon was crawling with eager, impatient, barely-dressed warriors heading across the bridge. Broad-(bare)-chested men with bulging muscles stomped enthusiastically on the wooden planks with enormous axes over their shoulders, exchanging jokes in loud voices with scarred amazons about as well dressed as the males. Younger, thinner men walked with more swagger they actually had a right to exhibit, arrogant smiles on, already dreaming of all the girls they were going to impress with jewels so they could mount them. The young girls, scantily clad, knew the boys´ plans and were already doing calculations in their heads while idly playing with the swords, axes, bows and other weapons they had procured for themselves.
The bridge was a parade of wood, bare flesh, thick fur, hard leather and harder steel, iron, bronze and even stone, until it reached the other face of the Canyon and the Gate.
The Gate, as ambitiously named as most places in the Canyon, did not actually have a gate. It was just a massive hole that led down into the King´s Cave (again, Bandits were not very big on giving awe-inspiring names to places). The King´s Cave was where all the trade took place (it was pretty much a market square, really), but today it had been cleared out so everyone who wanted to be at the meeting for the Raiding Season could be there. Today, that must have been seven hundred people, as Firina counted them while standing on top of one of the stone pillars that held the bridge in place, about ten feet over everyone else. The crowd was milling about until they were allowed into the King´s Cave. They boasted about all the loot they were going to bring back, joked about the opposition they expected to find, made deals and alliances, fondled and coped a feel here and there then played hide-and-seek-from-the-angry-barbarian, enjoyed the sight of Firina´s bare ass and rather small thong, and... the crowd kept growing as more people kept coming.
