Let Me In ((LitShark & Vailyn))

[LitShark]

The weak shy away from the cold. They seek out shelter and respite, never daring to face the full force of the oncoming storm. The Hoard never shies from the cold. The Hoard knows that the cold yields opportunity, it makes prey vulnerable and afraid- an ideal climate for hunters. So it was that Kyvan “The Wolf” Wulthratten led his legions through the frozen kingdoms of the North during the coldest winter of recorded history.

So it was that the Hoard triumphed.

The winter was so cold that even the seas had frozen over in the Northern extremities, revealing pathways to unknown and uncharted shores. When they had conquered the last of the known world, left their enemies dead in the smoldering remains of their ransacked strongholds, Kyvan led them into the unknown, across the frozen seas and into lands that none of their kind had ever set foot upon before.

By the time spring warmed the land and life began to return, the Hoard had eaten through all of their rations, nearly depleting the spoils pillaged from their previous conquests. Fatigue was setting in and many wanted to turn back. The Wolf, however, remained resolute- even after the weaker among them began to die.

“Lord Commander.” Sorin Galewalker called to The Wolf, approaching cautiously while the archers hunted within the seemingly endless woods through which they had been marching for nearly a month. “The men are becoming worried, discontented Lord Commander. Rumors of mutiny are circulating. Perhaps it would be prudent to turn back, for morale’s sake. We can return with a full expedition party and adequate supplies.”

“Anyone talking of mutiny should be held accountable.” Kyvan answered gruffly, kneeling to refill his water skin from a clear running stream. “We’re nearly through the trees, on the other side we will find fresh conquests, new plunder and untold opportunity. Besides, our way back has been thwarted by the melt. We go on, let there be no more talk of mutiny or turning back.”

Sorin opened his mouth as though he was about to further the discussion, but a stern glare silenced any further argument. Kyvan’s word was law, and those who refused to heed them soon learned the folly of crossing the great warrior-king.

The archers returned with their bounty of rabbits and deer, allowing the eager Hoard to skin, butcher and cook the meat to feed the starving warriors. There was barely enough to go around, but each man was able to eat enough to sustain himself. Everyone except for Kyvan, that is, who refused the meat, eager to continue on. Nonetheless, he allowed the Hoard to rest for the night while he gathered a group of four trusted lieutenants to join him on a night scouting excursion, to seek the end of the forest which had been rumored to be endless.

The horses were all long dead, there was no alternative to scouting on foot. All of them moved in silence, staying well apart and concealed, but always keeping his fellows on their peripheral vision. In woodland terrain this technique had evolved among the Hoard, to explore as much land as possible, while remaining in force to dispatch any threats that may have arisen. One man could engage in preliminary combat while the others flanked, even larger groups could be dispatched in such a way when the timing played to their favor. Ten men could seem a hundred when attacking from all sides.

Kyvan was the first to reach the tree-line, overlooking a steep field of long grass and wildflowers, giving rise to high, golden fields of grains. The columns of wood-smoke rose up into the air from at least a dozen separate domiciles and several more from the handsomely adorned manor at the civic center.

“Sorin, you and Fletcher establish an archer’s line, I’ll send some slaves back to dig trenches.” Kyvan whispered near Sorin’s ear. “Remain hidden unless you are discovered, no word of our presence can reach them before we have ranks behind us.”

“Understood, Great Wolf. It is as you said it would be.” Sorin said dreamily, staring down at the quaint rural village like it were made of rubies instead of straw thatched roofs. “Here we shall regain our might.”

“At dawn, I’ll make myself known and offer terms for their surrender. By tomorrow night, we’ll have blood upon our blades once more and women to warm our beds.”

 

[Vailyn]

The past winter was one of the coldest that has ever occurred in several years. Fall had vanished in a blink between the end of summer and the chilling freeze of winter’s kiss. Though winters are treasured as a time for people to gather and mingle without the back breaking work of the fields and forest, everyone was more than a little happy at the sign of spring warming the land. Every able body and hand went out into the fields to coax the winter grains to bloom well. The scream of running children mingled with the villagers shouting minute conversations and the people singing in methodical cadence filled the air. A few weeks into spring and the fields yielded gold and green acres of growing wheat.

Late afternoon, the sound of horses galloping by the fields caused hands to shade eyes, looking to see who came to their village, and smiles brightened faces as they recognized the bright blue dress amongst the riders. None were surprised to hear a peal of laughter or seeing the blue gowned female lean low over her horse’s neck and shout for him to run faster, leaving the staid guards behind to reach the village center first. She urged her dark stallion to run like the wind and dodged her protective men at arms. The Captain cursed before chasing her fleet steed and commanding the rest to follow.

The prosperous village buildings were made of straw roofs and sturdy clay walls. One by one, the lady passed the scattered homes in the outskirts and quickly gained the cluster of shops, small works and larger shared houses. Hazel-blue eyes danced with laughter and mischief as the dark haired lady pulled her stallion to a rearing, stamping halt by the village well. “Sir Simon! I win! I fear you have forfeited at least a month’s pay to the race.” she stated, laughter riding her sweet alto voice.

“Good boy, Shadow! Good boy! When we get back home, I will shower you with treats!” she cooed to her feisty stallion that tried to get her to run again. “Ahh, later, my love. Later. We’re here to help newborns come into the world. I have duties I must see to first.”

Before anyone could come to assist her, the young lady with wild, wind tousled brown hair with golden strands leapt to the ground in a fluid dismount. She caressed and walked her horse to cool him down as she waited for her guards to arrive. Several children soon surrounded her with cheerful greetings.

“Lady Bethany! Thank the Lord that you made it! Sally’s waiting at the Inn. Hurry! Hurry! She’s already in labor and those babes of hers are not wanting to wait around!” the innkeeper’s wife exclaimed with worried eyes. Loud screams from the inn rip the tranquil scene and the women exchange worried looks. Disregarding decorum, the young lady gathers up the bright blue skirts of her dress and run into the inn to help Sally, a first time mother, give birth.

Their worst fears were almost realized and the battle for Sally to give birth to her twins took long into the night. Hours after midnight, two shrill cries threaded past the birthing room walls and caused relieved cheers of celebration. A worn, tired and disheveled Lady Bethany came out to the front room with glad tidings. “Paulson, you are the father of two healthy young boys. Go see Sally and your young ones.”

The crowd of villagers cheered!

 

[LitShark]

As his scouts and lieutenants retreated back to the newly established camp to rouse the rest of his ranks, Kyvan sat at the base of a large tree, overlooking the quaint farming community below. It wasn’t until he was seated that he became aware of how long it had been since his weary joints had found respite from the enduring march which had brought them this far. The days had bled together, driven by opportunity and the need to provide the men with a strong example of resilience. Sorin and the others would have no easy task in rousing that weary lot into motion again.

The Wolf was weary, bone tired but there was still so much more to be done.

Kyvan tugged the edges of his wolf-skin cloak around his neck, leaning the back of his head against the sturdy support of the tree. The bitter cold was a memory, now there was only the chill of uncertainty to keep the warrior king from sleeping. What if this was the last village he’d ever lay siege to? Could he actually rule this vast kingdom he had conquered? Who was he to lead his people, if not the bloodthirsty wolf feared of all and spoken of in terrified whispers by his enemies? What was he good for when there was no more blood to be spilled?

Just as Kyvan began to cant his weary head to one side and slip into a gentle slumber, a raucous cheer rose up from somewhere within the tiny village, startling Kyvan awake and frightening him into abrupt vigilance. His hand instinctively leapt to the sturdy oaken handle of the war axe he’d worn across his back since he was a young boy.

No rest for the wicked.

After some time and effort, Kyvan reassured himself that there was no danger, that the peasants were celebrating some mundane rite of passage, or some heathen ceremony to the moon or the season. His teeth grated against each other, imagining that happiness- that joy that he could never know- could never fathom. He resolved to steal that joy away from these people, to make their suffering into his joy and alter their way of life forever.

It was these dark thoughts of inflicting suffering and making extinct the joy of these strangers that Kyvan’s lips curled upward below his heavy copper beard, and at last found the slumber he’d been trying so hard to deny himself.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sleeping, but it must have been hours, since the sound of spades cutting into earth woke him, the first flame kisses of sunrise peeking over the blue horizon, making the small straw roofs in the valley below gleam like burnished golden coins scattered over the grass. The hoard was gathered around him, each man working diligently at his individual task, each rank ascribing to his individual Calling which guided him to glory. While Kyvan had slept, Sorin had taken the initiative to execute his orders. The weary warrior King was pleased. A narrow ditch had been dug just along the edge of the tree-line, and tinder piles had been erected at intervals, but no fires yet burned.

“Sorin, Yeertha! On me.” Kyvan called to his most trusted and experienced Lieutenants, Sorin of light eyes and fast legs. Yeertha who wore thirteen scars on his face. “Archers, follow the three of us down the hill and form up along the slopes. At any sign of trouble, fire on the city.”

The archers, each so busy in the task of digging that they hadn’t realized their leader had woken until he was already standing and in action. All present rushed to obey. The imminent opportunity for plunder and the actualization of Kyvan’s bold claims had driven all thoughts of mutiny from the mob. Now whispers that he possessed supernatural sight- that his Calling was ordained by the War Gods, and he was destined to bring them all Legendary Glory.

In the time it took Kyvan to vigorously stomp the slumbering lethargy out of his limbs, Sorin and Yeertha were at his side and the ranks of archers followed them down, making perfect ranks along the slope, large fires erupting behind them once they were all in place.

Kyvan and the others walked all the way into the village, leaving the hill behind them in the distance. They stopped at the edge of town out of custom, as no walls impeded their advance in the slightest.

“I am Kyvan Wulthratten of the Frozen Spire, son of Kallaka, dismantler of fortresses. I demand to see your Leader and know the name of this place. I come to offer terms for surrender, under the threat of invasion. Who will answer me?”

 

[Vailyn]

Combined writing by Vailyn & LitShark

Boisterous cheers, laughter and ribald jokes passed between the villagers that remained awake to keep the father to be company as his wife labored to give birth to their first child. It turned out that the new parents were gifted with a healthy set of twin boys and gave double the reason to celebrate! Bethany joined the improvised dancing and singing for a long while before exhaustion caught up with her and she was found nodding off on the bench near the fire.

Stefan, the captain of her guards, caught her before she fell off her seat and a rare expression of fondness crossed the hard planes of his face. He easily picked up the small young woman in his arms and put her to bed in the finest room the Inn had to offer. Away from prying eyes, he gave into his feelings, caressed her face and laid a gentle kiss on her forehead.

He left the room to set up a rotating guard shift outside of the inn and returned to the room to fall into a soldier's nap. Light enough sleep to wake up to any disturbance but still more restful than staying awake. Not much time passed before dawn broke over the horizon and a buzzing ruckus pulled Stefan out of his nap. A glance out the window facing the main path of the village showed villagers standing in tense pockets. Several of the men folk were holding rakes, shovels and axes like weapons.

Stefan crossed to Bethany and shook her awake. He covered her mouth when her eyes opened and he held a finger to his lips. Leaning close, he whispered, "Something is happening outside. I'll go with the men to check it out. Stay here and keep an eye out. If you need to, make a run for it and get help. Understand?" He waited for her to nod in agreement, smiled at her briefly and left to see what was going on.

Not surprisingly, the people living close by gathered to come witness the spectacle, they called for more and some brandished rude weapons at the small party of invaders. Yeertha drew steel, always quick to anger, stamping his feet and giving a fierce feint to any villager or homeowner who came too close to the edge of town.

Kyvan could see that none of these rabble possessed weapons or means worthy of his attention. Instead he reached his foot out, drawing a line with his toe in the dirt.

“If any of you weaklings dare to meet us in the field, you need only step over this line.” The Wulf snarled to the angry vigilantes who had shoved their way to the front, one in particular who was brandishing a rake. “Otherwise bring me your leader in a hurry! Lest we draw, and we aim, and we make death rain down on you!”

Stefan quickly gathered the four guards that made up the small entourage for Lady Bethany. He sent Jon, the trail hunter, to search out the surroundings and see what's going on. The rest of the men followed him to the edge of the village. They gained a clear view of the armed strangers and heard the ultimatum. The men all stepped forward to meet the challenge but Stefan held them back with a silent command.

The captain of the guards removed his cloak and handed it to one of the villagers. Sunlight played among the golden strands of his hair and glinted of the metal pieces of his armor. He looked like a valiant hero as he confidently walked up to the invaders. His clear green eyes stared at the strangers. "If I meet you in the field of battle and win, will you leave this place in peace?"

The Kyvan smiled when he saw the exquisite craftsmanship of the local soldier’s armor. A worthy kill, at long last. Kyvan hadn’t felt this rush since he and Sorin sacked the stronghold of Kartha and slayed King Olaffsun. His arm raised up, his fingers wrapping around the broad handle of his mighty axe but keeping it strapped to his back.

“If you can kill me, in fair combat, my army will withdraw. This will be my last command as King if you end my life. I cannot promise that my men will follow you, but they will not attack. If I kill you, as the chosen combatant of this place, your people are conquered and we shall all relish the spoils of conquest.” Kyvan said authoritatively.

“Don’t risk your precious life, Great Wolf!” Yeertha shouted, wheeling on his commander. “Let me slay the dog, I’ll stuff him full of a thousand knives!”

Sorin, knowing Kyvan’s lust for blood, also swore an oath—an empty oath he never intended to live up to. “Elect me as Combatant Exalted ruler! I’ll pepper him from belly to neck in brilliant feathers.”

“It is I!” The Wolf barked with a ferocity that threw all others into stunned silence. “What will you, polished son of plains? Come at me if thou dares.”

Stefan flexed his hands as he stared into the leader of the invaders' eyes. This man was dangerous and powerful. It was in the way he stood, the build of his body and the way he held ready to draw his weapon of choice. There can be no doubt in battle and there shall be none. He strode forward to meet with the tall, older warrior. "I am Captain Stefan Lamoor and I shall meet you on the field of battle upon your terms."

Kyvan stepped back, his subordinates begrudgingly following suit. The Wulf drew his huge broadaxe, cutting the air with a loud whoosh as the rough hewn, massive iron blade moved through the air with frightful speed. "I am Kyvan, The Wolf. He who will bring comfort to your wife tonight. Show me your attack! Or do you hope to slay me with words of terms." At this, Kyvan took a long, fierce stride toward Stefan, lunging with his axe, a stabbing motion, sending the long, dull head shooting sideways at Stefan's hip. The handle was massive, made from a sapling, still holding its grizzled, blood stained bark.

Stefan halted the forward movement to meet Kyvan and used the step to lever his leap back as he drew out his longsword from the sheath. One of the men threw him his iron and wood shield and he caught it was a practiced catch. Quickly bracing his arm in the straps and circling his opponent with wary respect.

Kyvan recovered from the lunge somewhat awkwardly, his long step leaving him off balance for a moment, but he swiftly kicked his other foot around and squared up with the swift moving knight. His piercing blue eyes glimmered with sinister glee at the skill of his adversary. Keeping the wide blade of the enormous axe between him and Stefan, Kyvan circled in opposition to his opponent, like a slow dance. "I'm glad to see that you're no milk-drinking yearling. The more glory for me from your slaughter!"

With a swift hop-step, Kyvan took a calculated lunge forward, whipping the axehead through the air as if it were a golden leaf falling. He swung downward at the man's shield arm, the sturdy handle of the axe groaning from the momentum of swinging such a heavy weight so quickly.

Keeping his eyes on the older warrior's eyes, Stefan stepped carefully to keep bearded man within reach and out of immediate offense. He did not rise to the man's verbal bait. The tightening of his eyes let Stefan know that the other man was about to act. He kept his weight on the balls of his feet and dove to the side to avoid the fall of the heavy axe. Leaping up from the roll with the shield up and longsword ready to thrust up towards the warrior's mid section.

The quickness of the lean native startled Kyvan once more, leaping away from the blow skillfully, coming up ready to rejoin the fray. The mighty axe struck the earth, opening a small chasim and smashing a jagged crack into the bedrock. Kyvan gripped the mighty shaft of his axe and pushed hard with both arms, flying through the air in a kind of reverse pole vault, his heavy ox hide boot making its way inside of Stefan's guard and kicking his sword vigorously aside. His other foot planted hard and he seemed to make the entire earth heave as he pulled his axe from the ground to swing at Stefan's face. The blow carrying a cloud of red dust and rocks with it in a brutal hail of ground.

The burst of force from the axe blow hitting the ground shook through Stefan's body and forced him to ground himself. This instinctive reaction was detrimental as it locks his muscles in place. Taking seconds longer for him to react to Kyvan's brutal attack, Stefan barely moves out of the path of the axe blade but chokes on the dust and rocks. Which caused him to stumble awkwardly back. He swung the blade wildly in feeble defense as his foot slipped over the patchy grass road and fell hard on his side. Grunting, he yanked his shield over his head, furiously working his hand to remove the grit from his eyes as he shuffled backwards.

Kyvan sneered as the deft combatant withdrew through the cloud of dirt and rocks, his guard remained up, but he was blind. Once again, the axehead thrust out horizontally at Stefan's hip, this time it landed square, knocking the wind from the smaller man and tumbling him to the ground. The mighty Warrior king stood over his fallen adversary and kicked the sword from his hand. "You fought well, golden child. Your Calling has been fulfilled, you will die well." Kyvan raised his axe deliberately, better to die afield than to live in shame, defeated. He would give this man a good death before he invaded his home, better he didn't watch and live to blame himself.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" Bethany screamed as she tried to pull away from the loyal guardsmen that held her back. "NO! Take me! Spare his life! I am Lady Bethany Esther Olsson! You can take me and save the people. The villagers are not warriors. Take me! Spare them. Spare them all and take me!"

 

[LitShark]

Combined writing of LitShark & Vailyn

Kyvan halted, the head of his axe raised straight above his head as the lovely, young woman emerged screaming from the tavern, being held back by some other fighting men who surrounded her. Kyvan brought his boot down against Stefan’s ribs, to keep him in place, before lowering the arched head of his axe across the prone man’s throat, the broad edge which had likely broken his pelvic bowl was now pinning his head securely against the dirt, only mildly choking him.

“Sorin, I’d like to hear this girl, coming to barter for the pathetic life of this defeated husk. I would hear her. Remove the fighter who is preventing her from being.” Kyvan muttered to his Lieutenant, casually leaning against the shaft of his axe which was pinned against Stefan’s throat. “What do you offer for the life of this man? The lives of the rest, being rightly won, I can make no promise of.”

As Kyvan asked his first question of the lovely, fair skinned, brown haired maid, Sorin nocked an arrow to the string of his bow—drew back to his cheek, just below his eye and loosed a shaft which parted the crowd of once bold peasants to sharply pierce the back of the soldier’s skull with a sickening thud, fierce barbs rooting the shaft in place. The guard of Lady Bethany went tense for a moment before falling away dead.

The restraint on her left side fell away. Bethany, her remaining guards and the villagers all reached out to catch Richard but it was too late. Blood marked Bethany's hands and she had to fight back a scream. The screams choked her. Made her white with fear and anger. Tears fell heedlessly down her cheeks and her braided pigtails fell over the fallen body as she knelt near it. She closed her eyes to mourn for a moment—just a moment. Then she rose with regal grace.

Fierce whispers passed between Bethany, the guards and villagers. In the end, she must have won the debate because no one stopped her from walking toward the invaders. Only a fast flicker of her eyes towards the Captain betrayed her apprehension. Tears still rolled slowly down her face. The trail of them catching the light of the rising sun. She stopped on the other side of the line that Kyvan had marked on the ground.

"I am Lady Bethany Olsson. This village is under my Lord Father's protection. While the man you have defeated in combat is brave, he had no authority to act as he did. I am his Lady and he follows my orders. I am willing to trade myself for the safety of this village and my men. If you promise not to harm anyone and to only take provisions with you, I will be your willing captive."

“The conquered also yield slaves to the conquerors and your town here will quarter my hoard while they enjoy the spoils of conquest, so long denied them. These things are not for negotiation—this is our way, our tradition, our Calling. But if you will become my personal captive, the lives of your people will be spared.” Kyvan assented after some consideration, seeming mirthful in his acquiescence to young Bethany’s request. “We will also take your horses, but we’ll leave the rest of your people breathing, only the wombs of their wives bearing the scar of the disgraceful defeat you have all endured this morning.”

Kyvan reached out, took hold of Bethany’s wrist and pulled her lightly over to his side of the line. Once she was close, the mighty warlord raised his cracked and battle hardened palm to her face, his heavy thumb brushing a single tear from her face.

“Yeertha, Sorin. Rally the men, we’ll enjoy the feast of conquest tonight!”

Bethany's mind whirled with chaotic thoughts and emotions. Everyone in the village would fight if she made the least resistance. If they fought, would any of them survive? Could they survive against these brutal invaders? Her eyes scanned the horizon and she saw figures standing behind the three harsh men. The stink of unwashed bodies and the wild filled her nose. Their gear was worn but in good condition. The men seem hungry but more fierce for their hungers. Too many lives would be lost if they fight. She couldn't bear the loss. If only a few are disgraced in order for the majority to live, so be it.

"No. I will be your only prisoner. You will take shelter here until you have had your fill of food, wine and company but you will not take any other people as slaves. You will spare all the lives of the villagers and my men. Including the one you have defeated in combat. You can have all the horses and provisions. I am worth more than a village. I will be your willing captive if you do this. Please." Her eyes closed tight for a moment, tears leaking from them and she took in a shaky breath. "Please spare them. Take me in their place."

Kyvan scoffed, his axe handle creaking under his weight as he grasped the girl more roughly at the back of her head, pulling her close enough that his beard and moustache hairs to tickle against her face. Around them, platoon leaders and the most motivated among Kyvan’s army were already making their way into the town, shoving past villagers and into the inn, or individual residences which appeared to be lavishly stocked.

“You speak of your worth to me, yet what have I to judge that worth? You have no countenance of a distinguished fighter, you don’t seem like to be suited to bearing a heavy burden—how will you make yourself useful to my men and I? Show me just how you propose to outweigh the value of these other conquered slaves who have been rightly won.” Kyvan mocked, his lips grazing faintly over Bethany’s as he continued negotiations. Kyvan was fascinated with her boldness, charmed by her beauty and amused by her resolve. “Perhaps below all these layers of cloth you have treasures to share. Is that it? Now is not the time for shy innuendo, offer up your treasures to my discerning appraisal.”

By now, Yeertha had already found a young wife who he desired and had hefted her upon his shoulder. Using a rock, the battle weary veteran nailed a rabbit’s pelt to the rude brick of her husband’s lodging before taking her within, as was the custom for conquering men of virtue—even in the harsh climate of war, a price must always be paid. Her screams from inside broke her husband’s heart.

She refused to shudder at his touch or the stench of his foul breath blasting her face. She tightened the grip of steel on herself and braced against his actions. "If I prove myself. If I prove my worth, will you do as I ask? Will you spare the lives of the others?"

"Once my men are rested and refreshed, we will leave with only your lovely self as captive. Provided you prove equal to every task put before you, in your service to the Hoard." Kyvan answered impatiently.

Her tear filled eyes stared up into the older warrior's face. Her chin lifted in silent defiance. She swallowed hard. She had to be strong. Strong enough to stand up for the people. They may all be damaged before the hoard of invaders are done but alive and damaged is better than dead. "Will you swear it? Will you swear an oath on what you hold precious that you will spare the others if I prove my worth?"

"I swear on the blood of your defeated man here, that none save you will endure lasting torment. None besides those already gone need fear for their lives. None enslaved or forced to fight in my name against their will. This is my command as King and rightful ruler of this town of Straw."

"Swear it on your life and may your life be forfeit to the Gods if you break oath." Bethany demanded in her sweet voice. The words striking contrast to the sound of it.

“An oath by your King is not enough to satisfy you? What a galling nerve you have! No kind of suitable slave… Your tongue better be exquisite and your throat bottomless. As you wish. I, Kyvan of House Wulthraten, swear by all the gods of war and plunder, by my Kingdom without limit and my endless honor: That none shall lose out their lifeblood by the hands of my Hoard, and none besides Lady Bethany forced into servitude. Now, begin to demonstrate your worth to me before I begin venting my frustration on this pathetic worm in man’s armor who you have sacrificed yourself to save.”

With that, the great tower of a man stood upright, taking his weight off of his axe and allowing Stefan to take his first sputtering unimpeded breaths in some time, the axe lifting away from his neck entirely to rest on Kyvan’s shoulder.

Bethany wiped away the tears from her cheeks and determination thinned her full lips. She desperately wanted to look at Stefan and make sure he was alright but she knew it would be foolish. "I, Bethany Esther Olsson, swear to be a willing captive of Kyvan of House Wulthraten in return for the lives of those under my watch here. I witness your oath and hear it be sworn to the Gods, upon your honor and life if you break oath."

With every bit of height she could pull from her petite frame and the years of courtly training, Bethany stepped a few paces back from the Hoard leader and pulled her skirts to the side as she fell into a deep curtsy. "Forgive my ignorance but I do not know how to prove my worth. Tell me how I may serve you, my Lord."

Kyvan roared with laughter at the pathetic and foreign show of supplication, the girl was scarcely fit for a stable wench—but she would learn, oh yes she would learn what was expected of her. Sorin, who had returned from some dwelling was casually watching this display while eating an apple with loud, hungry bites. Kyvan gestured in his direction.

“Sorin, show this squatting sow how a slave presents herself to a King. And make certain that her shoulders and chest are not hidden from their owner.” Kyvan roared in between derisive chuckles, a collection of political minded barbarians gathering around their king to watch.

Sorin wasted no time, casting the apple core into the dust where it was quickly stomped down by the invading masses. He grabbed her roughly around the hips and situated her on her knees, grasping lower on her arms to force her palms onto the ground before her. Then, with a sudden tensing of lithe muscles, he tore her dress open around her neck and shoved the sleeves down around her wrists, exposing her supple, young breasts to public view—much to the delight of the crowd assembled, who hooted and howled and made derisive pig noises at her.

“Now that you have assumed the correct posture for addressing your Master, I require entertainment from you. I want you to use your hand to give yourself pleasure, display your most intimate places, sounds and moments with this group of men who revile you. Hide nothing from your betters, for you are less than human now.” Kyvan laughed, some among his group spitting onto Bethany’s fair, smooth shoulder after Sorin stood back.

 

[Vailyn]

Combined Writing by Vailyn & LitShark

She didn't resist the dark haired stranger who came to the leader's call. He forced her onto her hands and knees. Before she could do anything at all, he took the back of her dress into his hands and ripped her favorite blue dress apart as though it was made of rotten threads. She didn't have time to be appalled or dismayed by the way the mass of men reacted to his actions. All of it burned in the fire of her wrath. She's never had to hold back her emotions but she fought hard to hold back now.

Lives depended on it.

The leader demanded that she do something but she didn't understand. Face red from the blood rushing into her head from her new position, partial nudity and growing wrath, she tried to make her voice meek but came out more than a little curt and confused, "If I knew what you would have of me, I would do it, lord. I do not understand what you mean when you say I must pleasure myself. If you speak of the ways of men and women, I have no knowledge of such acts."

Bethany raised her head. The proud lift of her small chin accenting the curving line of her elegant neck. The loose braided tails of her long honey touched brown hair hanging on either side of her hot, flushed cheeks.

"I am a virtuous maiden, sir."

At her words of virtue, her dainty blush, Kyvan just roared with laughter. Her ineptitude as a captive and a slave was audacious, so much that many found it amusing and laughed with their ruler. Sorin crouched down behind Bethany, lowering his knee slowly between her shoulder blades while almost gently pulling back against her shoulders, urging her posture to thrust out those luscious orbs of flesh.

“Don’t be shy now, Sewwie. Of all the things you could be, don’t be shy now.” Sorin said lightly, before calling back to Kyvan and his growing group of guffawers. “Let me show her, Great King. I’ll have her sing you a melody!”

The crowd responded with a bawdy cheer, which Sorin had expected. He hadn’t expected the boon of subsequent volunteers who had all caught the spirit of instruction. Each taking a moment to volunteer his own expertise to Bethany’s tutelage.

“Let me show her! I’ll make the whore squeeeeeeeeeeal!” One shouted, already spilling someone’s dessert wine into the dirt.

“I can show her, show her how to split in half til’ her toes lock above her head!” Another interjected.

“I’ll fuck her, very hard indeed!” One of the slower and less eloquent among them ejaculated, before Kyvan ended the matter at once.

“Sorin, show her and be sure she learns well enough to do herself when commanded. Go on.”

“Nice and slow.” Sorin said gently, his knee sliding down from her back to the dirt behind her, one hand cupping her breast lightly, thumb and forefinger meeting at the edges of stiff nipples, the other hand reaching between her thighs.

The feel of a stranger's hands touching her bare breast and cupping cover the most private part of her shocked her. His callused rough hand felt different on her soft skin. The way he moved his fingers over her made her feel uncomfortably aware of how much she was showing the world. Yet his touch also made her burn in a way she's never felt before. His touch made her ache. Though they were surrounded by the other soldiers, while he huddled over her, it felt as though they were alone. She could feel his breath caress the back of her neck and shoulder. She shivered as strange feelings cascaded down her spine. A scattering of pebbled skin rising in the wake.

“Lift up your dress and spread your legs wide, I’m going to get you started.” He said as he moved to her side. The hand on her breast squeezing the ripe, full flesh before letting go. She gasped lightly. Her skin felt as though it was burning. Waiting for him to touch her again.

Bethany pulled up her torso and balanced on her knees. The fall of her twin braids were the only cover against the lustful eyes of the invaders. One of them spit at her again and it landed with a wet plop on her side. It trailed a wet slimy goo down her lower ribs and slid into the ruined, scrunched top of the dress. She couldn't help but flinch when it landed and a flash of disgust flared across her fair features.

She pulled up a part of the torn dress top and wiped away the slimy trail on her skin. The gesture moved the fall of her braids to the sides of her shapely round breasts. The full mounds swaying slightly with each of her movements. The tight rose pink nubs standing proudly in the center of a lush pink areolas. While trying to gather her skirts around her waist, Bethany pulled too hard and yanked the material she was resting on as well. She fell back with a startled squeak and the skirt fell over her chest while it left her legs exposed.

Even Sorin couldn’t repress the chuckle which jumped up into his throat as Bethany tripped over her own petticoats and fell backwards, spreading herself to the assembled crowd who all howled, screamed with laughter and boastful cheers. Sorin helped her sit back up.

“Let’s get these off you. They’re in the way.” Sorin said softly, trying to regain his composure. He helped Bethany to pass through the bottom of the fortress of ruffled fabric, pulled the ripped top and sleeves up and over her head and tossed it aside. One of his compatriots quickly picked it up and began using the lacy inner layers to tug his cock while he watched. Others grabbed and tore at the fabric and took souvenirs of the conquest. “You need to hurry up, understand? If you keep this up, people are going to suffer, now spread!”

This time Sorin reached both hands past Bethany’s completely nude body to pry her legs apart and position her toward the mob. Many shouted and swore in approval, others touched themselves, almost all had their cocks out—all except Kyvan, whose dire gaze was looking for which way that Stefan had gone.

She had to fight against covering herself. Had to fight against the urge to cower from the gaze of the multitude of strangers watching her with damning lust. Conflicting emotions and urges wrecked war inside her. The fierce will to do whatever is demanded of her and save the lives of innocents. Rage against the invaders who crudely demanded total surrender. Disgust at herself for feeling anything more than horror at being touched by one of them. One of the enemy. The very enemy that she's given herself up to.

Bethany wasn't sure if he was trying to be helpful or self serving in the way he handled her body like she was a doll. The way his hands lingered seconds longer then necessary over her legs, hips and sides. The miniscule shivers that followed each rough caress.

The enforcer of her humiliation settled behind her and pulled her to rest between his legs. He drew her to lay against him and the rough leather and metal armor dug into her tender skin. The abrasive touch startled her and yet made her feel more grounded. It gave her something else to focus on than the unruly men that have surrounded her on all sides. She gasped as her muscles pulled when man forced her legs to spread wide and rest over his own. Her stomach clenched and all of her insides tightened in response to primal urge to hide. The men saw the movements of her secret place and they roared for more. Helplessly, Bethany blushed and the deep rose color spread like wildfire along her body.

“Come on, you need to get the Wolf’s attention or he’s going to burn this place down.” Sorin said lightly, letting his palm move delicately down over Bethany’s pale pink, exposed pussy. He let his middle finger of his drawing hand move lightly over her clit, thick and rough from countless releases of taunt bow strings. The end of that finger felt like a velvet stone. “Make some noise, get their attention. Say you like it.”

She shut her eyes tight. Streaks of astounding feelings sparked from each of his insolent touches and grew stronger as his fingers played over her delicate valleys and vales. Her head fell back to settle in the crook of his neck and shoulder. Totally unaware of how responsive her body was and how her shudders were growing strong enough for the callous audience to see. The way her legs twitched, the not so subtle tightening of her lower belly and the way her hips moved involuntarily.

Bethany whimpered into Sorin's ear. Her breath licking against his skin. She gasped out her confusion, "I-I do--uh! Oh wh-what to say? Uhmmmhh... Words? Say what words?"

Sorin grinned, Bethany’s gentle, sweet smelling breath washing against his neck and face. Her impossibly soft braid tumbled into the neckline of his jerkin and slid exquisitely over his collarbone, making him buck faintly with pleasure. It had been so long since he’d felt anything soft.

“Louder!” Sorin shouted for all to hear, but also a demonstration of what volume sounded like for audiences. “Thank your new Master for showing mercy to you and your pathetic breed, beg for his leave to pleasure him and receive his mighty cock inside you. Beg his permission to cum and moan as loud as you can.”

The crowd roared with agreement with Sorin’s boastful commands as the archer curled his calloused finger under her clit and delicately pinched it against his strong thumb. His other hand passed slowly over her collarbone, dancing his fingertips along her soft, pale skin, and slid down to squeeze her breast just short of violently.

Any words she was about to yell were cut off by an involuntary moan that swiftly turned into a scream as his grasp quickly went past pleasure to pain. Bethany tried to get away and pushed hard into his chest as her hips lifted to press closer to his nimble fingers. Her body was stretched out over his body and he played her as though he's known her forever.

“Aye! There she goes, that’s a worthy whore for a King. Make her beg Sorin, I like the way she’s squirming.” Kyvan boasted, his attention causing Sorin to tilt his knees outward, spreading her legs wider as his fingers worked against her little nub.

Sorin’s cock had grown rigid behind his tough armor, to the point of being uncomfortable, but it wasn’t his pleasure that he was responsible for in the moment. Kyvan had given much to acquire this girl, she was his and Sorin knew better than to think he could have her before the great King. It was important for Bethany to cum, to become lubricated before she was penetrated by any of the robust Viking brood.

It felt as though her body had a mind of its own. She couldn't control her reactions any longer. Bright rushing heat crashed over her and settled to heat her womb. Flares of need shattered her senses as his fingers plucked the sensitive firm nub. Her whimpers grew louder, her head thrashing restlessly on Sorin's shoulder and her hips undulated to his touch. Convulsions wrenched sharp grunts from her and a musical keening moan whistled as her body disengaged from each tightening of her middle. Her husky sounds of need fed directly into Sorin's ear. Her chaotic, needful movements caused her full lips to graze against him over and over again. Taunting him with visions of what it would be like to feel them on his burgeoning hard manhood.

Sorin's hips instinctively joined Bethany's in their arythmic gyrations in air. His cock grinding against the inside of his light armor. He was sighing to, but trying not to be loud so that Bethany's performance had roused the increasingly drunk mob into raucus cheers and taunts. The man who'd ripped her dress first felt himself overwhelmed, he stepped forward from the group and moved forward, taking the scrap of fabric away and releasing his thick semin into the air, jetting hot onto her chest, reflecting the high noon sun.

Bethany's lush lips were parted as she drowned in the strange and conflicting emotions of pleasure. Her gasps and moans grew louder in volume as Sorin's fingers pushed her body towards a precipice. Lost in the maelstrom of feelings, her world narrowed down to just Sorin and herself. Blindly, she turned towards his face and her lips sought to suck along his neck and jaw. Her body seized in an almost painful contraction of need and she fell completely into Sorin. The designs of his armor digging into her very sensitive skin. Her lush buttocks spread easily over his groin and her instinctive gyrations pushing against his hardness. The splatter of wetness did not gain her attention at all. The only wetness she could think about was the flood of slick heat that gushed from herself and soaked her thighs, his hands and pants.

Sorin could feel it, her warm, thick juices soaking through his equipment and to his skin. The warmth of her overwhelmed him and he almost lost control of himself and slipped a finger inside of her. But his discipline and knowledge of Kyvan's temper held him back. He rubbed the outside with his two drawing fingers, in between her labial folds, smearing her juices around before coming back up to lightly squeeze and pull upward as he strok ed every fraction of a centimeter that his fingers could reach. He bore down, fingers pressing her button downward until the pressure reached inside her, "Beg! You need to beg permission."

"Please! Pleasepleaseplease!" she begged without thought.

Sorin huffed gruffly, his hips still moving with hers, his cock having writhed its way around his armor into his clothe trouser leg and against Bethany's weeping slit. He felt her juices trickling over his cockhead. Someone else stepped forward to cum into her open mouth, Sorin had to turn his head to the side abruptly to avoid backsplash.

It landed in her mouth as she was gasping for air. Bethany choked on the slimy fluid that spurted into her mouth and over her face. She swallowed hard and coughed in gasps. She could feel something hard and hot pushing into her from behind. She wanted to sink onto it. She wanted to feel it, him or something fill her but she did not know what. Mindlessly, she begged as Sorin demanded.

Kyvan at last allowed a smile to cross his lips, the bulge in his pants obvious, having removed the bulkier pieces of his armor. "That's how a slut pleasures herself. You may cum."

Not knowing how her cries affected the men, Sorin and their fierce leader. Hitching cries swept out of her in quickening measures as Sorin's fingers pushed her body beyond all endurance and she shattered with a scream! Her body danced uncontrollably upon his body as she expelled arching hot cream in streams. Her first orgasm taking hold of her whole body and squeezing its shattering pleasure from her in ruthless hard shakes.

As Bethany wailed, reaching the height of her pleasure and going rigid, her lithe body arched against Sorin's chest, many men reached their own climax at once and gathered around to catch Bethany's spray of milky fluids while answering with an onslaught of their own cum. Her chest, face, stomach, thighs and daintily braided hair all doused at once from the cum of no less than eight at once. Some who hadn't been bold enough to step forward tossed scraps of Bethany's old dress and petticoats back at her, each projectile saturated and made heavy by a different man's cum.

 

[LitShark]

“That’s good,” Kyvan smirked, silencing the crowd with a level tone and clearing them away from Bethany with a gesture of his hand, “you’ve done well, Sorin. Take a woman from those I’ve spared as your personal reward. A priestess, perhaps.”

Kyvan shrugged out of the last of his armor as he made his way over to Bethany. His massive hand, left filthy by months of hard travel to reach this place, grasped the back of her neck gently—almost lovingly. His hand was so massive that his fingers nearly encircled her neck completely. Slowly, Kyvan urged his newest prize to her feet, cradling the back of her neck as he helped her up.

Half carrying and half guiding her, Kyvan led Bethany to the communal hog pen and laid her against the bottom crossbar with her knees in the mud. The crowd followed eagerly, many waiting for their turn to sample Kyvan’s newest “little pig.” While Bethany tried to catch her breath, Kyvan brought one of his powerful hands down on Bethany’s pale, firm ass. He gripped the supple flesh of her backside and shook it, forcing her hips to wiggle faintly.

“Now you see the truth behind your pagan rituals and false prophets. You fools who dared to stand against the Horde. Your priestess is a whore—a fuck pig, little better than livestock now, and where are your false gods to protect her? They have abandoned her—and abandoned all of you as well. Your faith in them is misplaced.”

As Kyvan proclaimed the death of this village’s faith, he also knelt in the mud behind Bethany, lowering his pants to allow his massive cock to fall free, it landed with an audible slap against Bethany’s ass, already turgid with arousal but not fully erect. While one hand gripped the thick shaft of his cock, Kyvan grasped his captive’s hair, gathering both braids into one tight fist. He leaned forward to whisper into her ear as he aligned the head of his cock with her warm, damp folds.

“Thank you for preserving your chastity, pig. Now I’ll have it for myself. Unless you’d rather I violate your other hole, I recommend that you act grateful and enjoy yourself—otherwise I’ll need to break you hard,” the Wolf whispered into Bethany’s ear.

With a tug of her hair and a thrust of his hips, the barbarian king forced his whole cock inside of Bethany’s frail body in one movement, tearing through her hymen and reaching her cervix in the same push. Her unused pussy felt impossibly tight around Kyvan’s gargantuan cock as he held himself there, buried inside the warm sanctuary of her sex.

“You see how easily she is broken? A fallen deity to your false gods. Renounce this life—these backward rituals, join the Horde and be rewarded. Join my legions and you too shall enjoy a life of plunder and supremacy. Know what it is to wield real power, rather than paying endless sacrament to a power that has never been.”

The grip on Bethany’s hair tightened, once Kyvan had made his recruitment speech, just at the point of being painful and then he began to move his hips, drawing back until just the crown of his powerful cock was rooted inside of her, then tugging on her hair while slamming himself back inside, the impact almost enough to knock the wind out of her.

“Any who join me will see their families protected and their livelihoods protected. Though I have given my word not to destroy this place in exchange for this pig’s sacrifice, this place now belongs to the Horde. Those who refuse to join us will be forced to lease their homes and land back from us, I promise that you’ll find living to be rather difficult. Those who do join us, may continue to own their land and homes, while serving under a new ruler of my choosing.”

By now, some had already begun defecting, making their way into the ranks of the Horde. Sorin separated the new recruits between those who could fight and those who would be left behind to preserve the proprietorship of this land.

Kyvan’s hips were moving faster now, he’d been long without a woman and Bethany’s virgin tightness was already making him feel close to his limit. The old wood of the fence began to creak and splinter as the Wolf thrust himself against Bethany again and again, draped as she was over the cross piece.

“Squeal for me, piggy! Let them hear you squeal!”

 

[Vailyn]

Bethany wasn't sure when she closed her eyes. It wasn't because she was trying to escape from what was happening to her. It wasn't because she didn't want to see the crowd of rough soldiers and familiar faces watch her with avarice, desire, shame, horror and more. She didn't close her eyes to hide from what was happening to her. There wasn't any thought or planning. Unfamiliar, wild emotions that she's never felt before unleashed inside of her in a rampaging waves that totally destroyed any conscious thought of propriety or right. She wasn't a thinking being or person. Bethany became an onslaught of undeniable sensations that crested in harsh sparks of spine wrenching release.

The only reality of her world at the moment was the wild onslaught of muscle twining reactions and the warm body that cradled her safely through it all. The press of pulsing hardness beneath her soft white cheeks, his pungent breathe panting in her ear, his fingers buried deep within her grasping passage and the other possessively holding her tit.

She could barely take a true intake of air, let alone think or walk when someone grabbed her by the neck and pulled her to stand on her trembling legs. Without the hold, she would have fallen swiftly to the ground. Her eyes fluttering in shock and lost in a haze of feelings that she did not know how to process.

It was a relief of sorts to stop walking when she was made to rest on the crossbar of the pig pen fence. The well worn old wood dug into the softness of her lower belly. She instinctively moved her hands to grip the wood and hold herself up. Sucking cold mud and dewy grass cushioned the fall of her knees onto the ground.

Someone grabbed her unsullied buttock and wiggled it. The sticky mess of fluids that covered her made her slide on the beam. Bethany whimpered as she felt herself lose her balance. Whatever the stranger said, the roll of words passed without any coherence. Only the tone of his commanding voice sank into her mind.

Just as she started to take normal breathes, when the intoxicating internal spasms have finally ceased to cause her whole body to tighten, shiver and shake, Bethany felt a large body cover her own and that voice whispered in her ear, “Thank you for preserving your chastity, pig. Now I’ll have it for myself. Unless you’d rather I violate your other hole, I recommend that you act grateful and enjoy yourself—otherwise I’ll need to break you hard,”

A part of her relaxed automatically when the weight rested on her. It felt safe. But it was a lie. For a moment later, callous hands took hold of each of her twin braids, pulled them back, causing her body to arch upwards, her arms locked to avoid falling and she could not help but let out a whimpering wail when she felt herself be torn apart by something plunging inside of her.