Lords of Itaea

[Tseranc]

He knew he’d gone too far, but it seemed her sexual lust outweighed her lust for inflicting pain, at least for now. Sometime though he wondered how thin a line there was between the two.

Without another word Olam shed his cloak, letting the garment he had crafted himself over the years hiding in the woods hit the floor. Boots and trousers followed, and he stacked and folded everything neatly. Once he was fully nude, he glanced at the small pile of belongings and how tiny they looked, and he felt, in the large, spartanly decorated room.

With out a word, for he was certain he had used up all that he dared, he walked, meekly, to her bed, head bowed down. His eyes slowly looked up, traveling the length of her exposed body until his eyes locked with her own. A clear expression of impatient waiting met him. He hated her, hated her power over him, and hated her evil ways. Mostly he hated how let down he had felt when she claimed leadership of the land. Her father and brother had been cruel fools, and knowing what she had suffered, he had prayed she would be the one to stop the pattern of pain. He’d been sorely disappointed.

But most of all, he hated how his body reacted to pleasing her. For all her depravity, she was a beautiful work of nature art on the outside, and the man in him could not help but be attracted.

He began by kissing her ankles, traveling up her leg, and down the other with the wet signs of respect. He knew her body well, having had to learn its desires under the very really threat of pain should he fail. He had little fear she would actually cut out his tongue, for but lustful reasons and that he required it for some of his magic. No his tongue was too valuable, but she’d find other ways of making him wish it wasn’t.

And so he deemed that since his tongue had so offended her, that now he should apologize with the same instrument. Morgiana’s body reacted to the soft caresses and kisses that had always proved effective, and the long tanned legs parted inviting him nearer. He could feel her intense gaze on him as he nibbled and licked her inner thighs, at last arriving at her deceptively sweet pussy. The heavy scent filled his every breath, and one slow lap of his tongue had rewarded him with a bead of her honey. He always thought one so cruel had no right tasting as delightful as she did.

He pressed in to the clean shaven woman, letting his mouth open wide to alternate between sucking on her clit and flicking it with is tongue. He’d not use another part of his body, unless she demanded, to appease her; only that which offended, to prove its worth.

 

[One Eyed Jack]

He listened to idle chatter about small raids to disrupt the food supply, about poisoning water and about assassination of the bitch herself. He figured the last part was the least likely to succeed, and the others just absurd. One could not siege a nation with greater land and resources, and certainly not with gorilla tactics that would surely bleed his army of men.

“Damn you fools get out! Send another battalion to the mainland to bolster our strongholds there, and find more craftsmen to send to build respectable fortresses. I will win her people over with displays of power, money, and opportunity. If I haven’t the forces to defeat her now, I will simply buy them from her. I had hoped you all had the brains to find another way, but I see I’m over paying you – a problem that shall be remedied I assure you.”

He left the hall as soon as it had cleared of his subordinates, and made way to the stables. There remained several other projects and informants that he oversaw personally, but did not summon to the publicity of his hall. War was an open and honest matter, but in his three years ruling, he had discovered the need for more clandestine efforts as well.

He rode out, only two guards with him, selected for their uncompromising loyalty. The fact both men’s families were being ‘cared for’ in a private estate might have something to do with it. If anything were to befall Pravus, no one on that estate would survive the night. Loyalty like that couldn’t even be bought.

They arrived at an old inn, and entered through the back. The owner looked up and took notice of who it was and quickly ushered the men into a closed sitting room with thick walls. He quickly spilled all the bits of conversation that he had sifted out of patrons. This inn was perfect, as most the nobles used men that thought this establishment safe, after all it was the inn keeper that spoke out the most loudly about Lord Pravus’s taxes and apathy for his subjects. The round mad had been easy to frighten into his employ…and he limped from his recruitment every day. Somehow breaking knees had always proven a rather effective technique on the simple hard working folks.

But more interesting then even the plots that were always against him was the small bits of rumors starting to float about the outer city. Too many amazing recoveries to be explained in such short time. Pravus dropped a coin filled bag on the table that was quickly swept up. The man would use it to drink his conscious and fears away.

Once outside he told his men to ferret out the source of the rumors and bring whatever it was too him immediately. Healing could be used, not only to protect his own life, but to raise an army that could recover faster then any other.

He might have found another solution after all…

 

[Katamari Roller]

Brita felt strangely comfortable in Lord Zathu's bedroom. Despite the darkness all around her, there was something... something that wrapped around her and felt like it intended to keep her safe. Something that oozed out of the cold walls, and embraced her being possessively, as if it intended to keep her for itself. Maybe it was Slythe's presence reflected in the atmosphere all around her. Brita knew for a fact that, whenever she came out of the room, one of Slythe's shadows followed her. And far from being scared, she was flattered.

As the outline of the coin she had been working on insinuated itself on the palm of her metallic hand, she dropped the real coin from her flesh hand and onto the pile of money beside the bed. Sometimes, Brita asked Slythe to bring her something to replicate, if he didn't need of her services. For her, replicating was an unconscious act, but Brita knew that she should control herself better. For some magicians, using their powers could become an addiction, or quite the opposite, they could lose their powers for using them too much. But Brita hoped replicating was not hurting her in any way. And she didn't mind losing her powers if they were of any use to Slythe.

Brita's white dress spilled all around her, like a fountain's water, and on top of it her fur coat. Brita had become attached to her coat as much as to her dress. The fortress was cold almost all the time in the year, and she shivered a lot when not wearing her reliable fabrics. Thankfully, there were hearthes in many places, but still, nothing felt as good as wearing her fur coat. Looking down, the coin's outline finally acquired that golden look... and then became as solid as it was going to get. A perfect replica...

Then, the door opened, and her master, Lord Zathu, entered. His skull mask could be scary, or mysterious to anyone, but from the first time she saw him, Brita knew there was a human being behind. No monster or God, no ghost or demon. Just a man who saw himself forced to do what he could, to survive. Brita was fully aware of the horrible acts he performed. She'd been witness to a few. And she would be witness to many more, because although she was aware that Slythe's soul was dark like the corners of his room, she also knew some humanity remained in him.

As he embraced her, she smiled, closing her eyes, and leaned against him. With her head against his chest, Slythe's heartbeats always convinced Brita that he was still as human as she was. The glint in his eyes whenever he saw her... yes, Brita was sure there was something human in him. But she didn't aspire to change him. There were Gods who were pleased with his behaviour, even if those were the Gods that held lesser powers to the Great Fathers and Mothers. And he still needed the darkness...

Sighing in happiness, Brita's metallic hand came up to Slythe's lower back, and pressed him a bit more tightly against her.

Do I love him? Like a woman can love a man?

That question sent a shiver up her spine. This was not the first time she asked herself this, but she couldn't find the right answer. It seemed inmoral to love a man like Slythe, and yet... and yet... Brita would give her maidenhood to him if he wanted, and without a second thought. But he hadn't asked for it. And in a way, she was thankful for that, because that was another sign of his humanity. Not because he might want to keep her pure, but... because of fear. Maybe he feared changing her, hurting her... but Brita loved him beyond that.

His tenderness... the love he showed for her... she wanted those, yes. Brita definitely wanted to be with him beyond the barriers of the body. But only if he chose to.

“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?”

He keeps his human side only for me, and to me... That thought almost brought a tear to Brita's eyes. If only he let his human side surface more often... maybe she could save him. But he wouldn't. And so, she could only be the most silent witness to his doom.

Pressing her upper body against his chest, Brita felt her ample bust squashed against his strong body, probably because he still was wearing some kind of armor. Moving her index and her thumb together, she clacked them against each other once. A simple approval signal.

Yes... I want to be his witness... to doom him, or to save him...

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

Lisheeda gets wet. . .

Lisheeda ceased her struggles when the men pulled her away. Her gaze took in the structured rooms that had been hollowed out of the mountain and she watched and cataloged which way they turned and what was where as they carried her away. Her mind locked the images inside and she memorized the route back to the room where she’d been first brought. When they stopped in front of another chamber, she again took in her surroundings.

“You’re a nice prize,” a scratchy voice reached her. Lisheeda felt herself being dropped to the floor and she winced when her elbow smacked the rocky surface. She said nothing, just blinked as she took in the old woman, her body bent and scarred. She shuddered when the female smiled, revealing rotted teeth as well as breath as vile as the dung she’d spread on herself.

“Get undress girl and follow me.”

Lisheeda sat there, a look of confusion on her face. “Oh you foolish girl, you’re going for the death and dumb act aren’t you. Come now . . . he knows you’re not death. I thought we established that. . .WE did, but these fools don’t know it. I will hear with him, but not them. They no nothing of me until he reveals it.”

“Girl, do not tarry, get up and follow me. You are to be prepared for your breaking and I will not be beaten for your insolence,” the hag shouted.

Again Lisheeda stared at the woman as if she had suddenly grown a new head. “That would improve her,” she thought.

Suddenly two rough hands gripped her under the arms and threw her toward the bathing pool. She stumbled and bit her lower lip to stifle the whimper as her knees scraped the ground. “You fools, if you batter her too much the Lord will take his anger out on you. You know he likes to deliver the blows. Look at her face, already he’s marked her. Careful that her bruises are not matched tenfold on your hide,” the old woman turned. “Not girl. You may be a mindless idiot, but you know what water is.”

She pointed to it and then cupped a handful, tossed it at Lisheeda, where it splashed against her face. “A bath would be good. . . No it wouldn’t. You know he’s going to use me. I don’t want to be clean when he does. . .Get in Lisheeda. . . No. . . Yes, damn girl.”

Lisheeda again refused to move, winning the fight within her subconscious. “Throw her in.” She refused to react to the words, instead sat there and then felt the grip of iron on her arms. Her clothing, the sparse coverings she’d worn to hide her womanhood and her breasts were cut from her lithe form and she felt hands paw her sex and then trail up her ribs to twist and squeeze her tits. Cringing she turned on the man that was toying with her flesh and slapped at him. His fist raised and she stared at it, only to hear the cackle of the woman. “Remember your Lord.” The fisted hand dropped and she was unceremoniously dumped into the pool of water. The men stayed in the room as the hag dipped her hand into the water and began to wash the filth from Lisheeda's body.

 

[Erotic_Beauty]

Morgaine felt Olam’s tongue moving against her skin. Her gaze remained locked on his as he traveled his way up her body and sampling both her thigh, before eventually reaching the burning sex that throbbed between her legs.

"A wise man," she whispered, lifting slightly as his tongue lapped across her clit.

Her fingers curled in the blankets as he continued to lap at her pussy. She closed her eyes, finally feeling herself start to float above the bed. She concentrated on the texture of his tongue sweeping across her swollen libs.

"There," she demanded.

She felt him concentrate on the spot that she knew he would continue to focus on so she could come. Her fingers grabbed his hair and she forced him to drive deeper into her cunt. Wrapping her legs around his head, she kept him anchored to her.

"Do not stop!" she screamed as she began to thrash on the bed.

Morgaine felt her juices slip free and bit down on her lip refusing to shout out her lover’s name. Her back arched, her breast jutted out and her nipples grew hard in their need to be touched. She refused to do anything with them, her need to hold her magician to her slickness too great.

"Oh by the GODS!"

Her come flowed from deep within her, coating Olam’s face. Her breathing was ragged and she drew in air for her starving lungs. Sweat had long ago broken out on her body and she felt it stream down her forehead to settle in her long main of gold.

As she slowly relaxed, she dropped her legs and then released his hair.

"I want your seed, magician."

Her eyes dared him to defy her. She knew he wouldn’t. For a moment she saw something in his eyes that reflected his hate for her. She said nothing, only waited for him to slide his cock into her. No one cared for her, she’d learned long ago that there was no love for her, so she refused to look for it in the eyes of those that served her. Love was for fools like the man hanging in her dungeons. . . she was immune to the emotion.

"NOW!" she shouted, knowing his cock ached to be buried deep inside her slippery home.

 

[brigid_fitch]

Rhonwen

Rhonwen had traveled for over a day and her mount was tired. Navigating the outskirts of the Forest of the Dead was tricky, at best. The woods served as a haven for criminals and the outcasts of society, for only they would dare Slythe's ire if caught. His armies occasionally swept through the forest and the outlying regions to rout those who dwelled there, sometimes to capture as slaves, other times to keep their hunting skills sharp. Fewer still braved the ill-kept road that bordered the Forest. It was one thing to hide among the trees and swamps, but quite another to be out in the open.

She kept her eyes sharp, keenly aware of the slightest motion. After yesterday's activities, she doubted anyone would be so bold as to show themselves, let alone mount an attack on a lone traveler; any gain that could be made from overpowering one cloaked figure was far outweighed by the risk of discovery. Gathering her cloak closer about her, Rohnwen spurred her flagging horse on. Even through the omnipresent fog that blanketed this area, she could see the spires of the Mountain of Despair in the distance. Slythe's fortress was about half a day's ride away.

She knew this area all too well and there was a clearing not too far away. She could bed down for the night and give the horse a well-needed and well-deserved respite. Soon enough, the dread Forest was behind them and Rhonwen found the clearing she remembered so well.

"Good boy, Padraig," she cooed, removing the stallion's bridle. The horse snorted and shook his head, almost as though he were relieved to be rid of the tack. Rhonwen watched as he slowly walked to the nearby brook and bent to drink, then she went about making a small fire. She did not care if Slythe's men saw her now. In fact, she hoped they would. It would make her job easier. She knew she couldn't exactly walk up to Slythe's front door and knock--even if she could make it through his elite guards (and she was fairly confident that she could), the way would be laid with a myriad of traps. No, she would have to make her presence known to the dark warlord. Once he realized she was near, she was certain he'd come for her. Rhonwen only had to make sure he knew it would only be on her terms.

 

[Tseranc]

His smile widened as her aroused state increased and her words showed how successfully he was. When she screamed at him not to stop, and then flooded his face with her slick honey, he savored not only the flavor, but also the job well done. He grunted as she yanked and smashed his face into her, but still found it thrilling as to how much passion the woman showed for his simple efforts.

Once released he thought she’d be done with him for the night, her needs satisfied. But he was soon notified of his erroneous thought, as she demanded his ‘seed’. He fought off a cringe, knowing no such seed would take root, she’d never allow it. Another reason he was so often called to her bed, he knew the herbs to mix that would leave a man sterile for a week, and was required to use it on himself.

He crawled higher up into her bed, dreading a wrong move. Slowly he slid between her legs, letting them wrap around his torso. Olam lifted her hips up to his as he knelt on his knees and pressed his swollen shaft gently into his Mistress. He ached for her, and slipping into her velvet vise felt like heaven. He hated enjoying it so much, but he knew he could not lie to himself that he did not. Less, he could never lie to her as to how much he enjoyed being the one to satisfy her sexual cravings. Later he would be sick, knowing he’d forsaken his soul to her, but in the moment, he smiled for her as he began thrusting his cock deep into her sex.

Still he refused to speak unless commanded, even trying to stifle his moans and grunts of pleasure as their pace increased. Soon he was pounding into Morgiana, tugging her hips onto him in time, as he legs pulled to bury him deep inside her. He felt his pending release and forced it back; to come before her without permission he knew would earn him weeks of pain.

Sweat poured down his face as he struggled to hold back while continuing to fuck her as she demanded.

 

[LitShark]

Slythe planted a soft kiss on the crown of Brita’s head before pointing to a corner of his room where she could watch from the shadows. Slythe shrugged on a different loose fitting black robe, and returned his grim mask to his face. He opened his door where the guard watching from the shadows quickly revealed himself and bowed.

“I’m ready for the slut, bring her to me as soon as she is properly readied.” Lord Zathu ordered plainly.

Slythe’s sex slaves were dressed in wide scarves of black silk. It served as a uniform or sorts, designating their role and granting them passage through the halls of his heavily guarded fortress. That paired with their black leather collars studded with 8 downward pointing jagged teeth, pulled from the mouths of the dreaded blood eels that lurked just off the coast.

Slythe slammed the heavy door and set about testing the restraints mounted to the wall and his bed. A vast array of torture devices was set out as well. Soon this chamber would be filled with the agonizing screams of that girl. He had paid a very high price to acquire this girl, and he was going to take every bit of the loss of his men out on her.

 

[LitShark]

A loud knocking came at Slythe’s door. Slythe smiled, promptness was something Slythe welcomed in all things. To his dismay a frantic looking lookout greeted him with a bow, but no girl.

“My Lord!” The man was trembling... every man in Slythe’s army feared bringing bad news to their own lord more than they feared the arrows of the enemy, “A...a.. a fire! Someone has built a fire in the clearing just 20 meters from the treeline!”

Slythe hissed in reply and delivered a ruthless punch to the man’s masked face, knocking him backward. “Detain the new girl, brush her hair and such, I’ll deal with this intruder.” The man was holding his face but still nodded at Slythe’s commands, blood dripping onto his cloak. “Brita! You make some more gold coins, I’ll be back shortly.”

The gnarled old staff was snatched from the wall and Slythe returned his battle cloak to his body. He had been under prepared last time and it had cost him, this time he would not make that same mistake. He sent the word out to assemble 6 elite swordsmen and 8 archers as well as mounts for all of them. Attendants quickly took his orders and rushed to comply, Slythe was angry and any delays or failures could surely result in death. By the time Slythe made his way out of the cave his men and black horses were waiting for him. The stable was hidden under a snow drift close by the entrance to his stronghold. The men quickly mounted up and rode out, following the one safe path down the mountainside, breaking into a gallop once they reached the treeline.

As the party neared the clearing they slowed slightly. The archers drew their bows taking no chances with the hooded stranger as Slythe rode out of the cover of the trees alone. The black mare clopped slowly toward the hooded figure.

“You are bold, that much is certain.” Slythe sneered, wielding his enchanted staff threateningly. “Do you have a purpose or a death wish? In either case be brief.”

 

[Nibbles_n_Tits]

Tharalon

Tharalon pulled up her hood, covering her disheveled red hair as much as she could before she pushed hurriedly but quietly though the doors of the busy taproom. She could only hope no one bothered to take too long at look at her or wonder where she had been. Her face was pale but her cheeks were pink and she breathed heavily from both exertion and charging emotions. She tried to project a calm image and forced her legs to carry her slowly and casually across the room. She greeted regular patrons with a wave and a forced smile of friendly warmth, while she tried not to attract the focused attention of the few unfamiliar faces milling about.

Once upstairs in her little attic room, Tharalon found it impossible to relax.

The night air was mild but she was shivering, chilled to the bone. Now that she could do nothing but wait and worry, she was terrified and near panic, afraid that at any moment, in the next second, the city guard would come bursting through the door and carry her off. She wanted to pace back and forth across her tiny room but could not. She knew her footsteps across the old creaking wooden floor would disturb the guests in the room below. She forced herself into the tiny cot-like bed and closed her eyes, hoping she could force sleep to come. Still shivering she wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and used it to cover her feet. Now, she could not do but look back on what had happened.

A gray cloak and red hair, which is all he could have seen clearly. It was too dark to see my face very well and too dark to see the color of my eyes. Therefore, if the guard says anything and he may not, they will be looking for a red-haired female in a gray cloak. I’ll get rid of the cloak, keep my hair covered and I will stop… I swear to the Lord’s I will stop.

She was having a pointless conversation with herself; its true purpose was to keep her mind busy so she could avoid thinking about the guard. She was convinced that she was responsible for the pain in hands, maybe even some kind of injury to them.

I cannot be certain, I cannot be sure I am responsible…. It could have been something else… maybe muscle cramp or an old injury… If I had remained to look at his hand, I might know what had really happened. No, if I had remained, I would be a prisoner of the city. Running was the right to do, running more; leaving the city is something I should consider. All I can remember was his shriek and then he released me. He was holding his hand; his face said he was in pain. What did I do? How did I do it?

What did I do? How did I do it? What? How? She worried these questions for half the night and slept fitfully until dawn.

Tharalon quietly resumed her tavern duties in the morning but she was subdued and cautiously alert for strangers. In a busy tavern there were many unfamiliar faces, all she could do was be wary, she could not avoid all of them.

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

Lisheed and a Hag

Lisheeda admitted inwardly that she enjoyed the bath or at least the soap. She’d been using sand to scrub the filth from her body the last three months. Her hair was cleaned as best she could with the waters of the springs, but she knew that it was never truly clean. Now she felt fully clean, the cleanest she’d been since she left the village. Her thoughts moved back to the friend she’d abandoned. She wondered where he was and what he was doing? Had he searched for her? She hoped not. Had he found a new love? Even that thought made her shrink back in sorrow. She wanted him to forget her, but then again she didn’t.

She now sat on a chair, her body clad in black and the clean feeling she’d had was soon replaced with fear as she heard the old woman order one man from the room to tell the Lord that all was ready for his woman. Her eyes grew wide with fear, but she still refused to acknowledge she could speak. “Hey death and dumb girl... What?... This isn’t going to work... I can try... He’s going to punish you, probably let all his men use you... Shut up.

“Girl,” the old hag said, her voice ignored. She felt the woman’s fingers in her hair and a quick jerk brought her out of the chair and too her feet. “The Lord’s man returns.”

Lisheeda swallowed and then looked to the door as she saw it open out of the corner of her eye. She kept her reaction one of fear and not relief when she saw the man approach, speaking at the same time.

“Our Lord wishes her to remain here. There is an intruder and he’s gone to deal with them.”

The old woman sighed, and spun Lisheeda around. “Have you told him that his new pet is deaf and dumb, just like that witch of his.” The hag shuddered.

Lisheeda filed the information. Her head bowed and her eyes focused on her feet. Thoughts pushed through her minds and she wondered how easily it would be to escape while the Lord was distracted with yet another trespasser. Her thoughts remained hers as she listened to the guard explain that she was to have her hair brushed out.

“More?” the hag muttered. “She’s been prepared. Her hair is brushed. She’s washed. What more does she need. I know my job. . .she’s ready.”

The man shrugged and then turned away. He slapped the other guard on the back and left, leaving the old woman and her alone with the remaining guard. “Well,” the hag groaned, her hands moving to her tired and sore back. Lisheeda saw the movement and lifted her head. Signaling with her hands, she motioned for the woman to turn around. When she did, the guard placed a hand on his sword and waited. Lisheeda saw him and waved him off, rolling her eyes in annoyance. She then pressed her palms against the woman’s back and began to kneed the muscles from their knots. Eventually the hag sighed in pleasure and then moaned as the ache began to disappear. “You have the hands of an angel,” the woman whispered. Lisheeda bit the smirk.

Her stomach chose at that moment to growl. “Go get us both a meal. His slave should not expire from malnutrition during his training of her.”

The guard balked, but the hag was right. If the woman passed out to early, there would be hell to pay. Lisheeda watched as the final man in the room left to do the old woman’s bidding. It was then that she realized the old hag held great respect by the men and she had probably been with the Lord from the beginning of his reign. She watched the door close and heard the lock. Her shoulders sagged as her thoughts of fleeing left her.

The old hag turned and grabbed Lisheeda’s arm, dragging her back to the table with the chair. She pushed her shoulders and Lisheeda sat down. Soon her hair was being brushed again, but this time Lisheeda’s eyes sought out a weapon, where before she had simply tried to prepare herself for her doom.

 

[Katamari Roller]

Brita and Lisheeda meet.

Brita sighed, noticing the difference in behaviour. First he kissed her head, then he told her to make more coins. Ah, but it is necessary... he must keep a strong front for everyone to fear...

Brita looked fornlornly at Lord Zathu's dark shadow as he left, before taking the coin she had just created. Twirling it around on her flesh hand, the gauntlet lying uselessly on the sheets, Brita saw it was as perfect a replica as usual. A golden coin with three stars engraved on it, signs in the skies... and now signs of wealth. Signs of the Gods and Goddesses' power became signs of humankind's greed. Brita shook her head, before dragging herself off the bed and onto her feet. The fur coat that hung from her shoulders, with some stuffing covering her neck, protected her from the cold. But she still tightened it around her body as she pushed the door open.

The corridors were dark, yet the engraved adornments on the walls were still visible around the light cast by the few torches that hung on them. Every time she walked through these corridors, apprehension assaulted Brita. But she knew it was only the hidden presence of Lord Zathu's agents. Right now, a shadow followed her. His presence was as evident to her as the creaking of her gauntlet when she rubbed the fingers together. With silent, mousey steps, Brita walked to the slaves' chambers.

Two guards leant against the corners of a hallway, only their feet visible, jutting out smoothly from the darkness. But that was an illussion. The guards were actually on a second floor, invisible to the human eye because there was no chandelier hanging from the ceiling, at least ten meters higher. They watched Brita in silence, even as their hands caressed the feathers of their arrows. The girl's white dress was almost a source of light in the middle of the greenish ink-black atmosphere...

"Halt. Did Lord Zathu give you permission to come here?"

Brita rummaged around in a small pouch under her coat, and took a small key out of it. It was a rather unassuming key, of a simple design. Showing it to the guards, rising it high in the air, she walked to the door and opened the lock. The guards took that as a sign, and relaxed.


----


The door to the chamber where she knew the new the slave would be being prepared opened smoothly, and Brita stepped in, her head high and proud, and with a neutral expression on her face. Her usual look, anyway, but the huge fur coat kinda ruined that. It seemed way too big for her. In fact, a warrior two times as tall as her would have worn it with ease.

The old hag turned to look at the magician with a scowl, as two servants hurried to lay plates with meat and vegetables before the new slave. The dishes seemed to be two legs of some kind of bird, and a few green roots boiled together with a hen's egg. Sparse for a noble, but somewhat special for a slave.

Brita pointed at the food imperiously, and then tapped on her own chest two timesl, a clear indication she wished to dine too. "Very well, if such is your wish..."

Brita had become a strange kind of champion for the slaves. Whenever she could, she would make sure they were fed properly. Sometimes, the cooks would take a little here and a little there from the slaves' food for their own, but they stole enough from the soldiers and servants, and Brita thought it was unfair that the slaves be brought so much suffering on top of all the rest. Sometimes, she would even give them a coin or two from those she replicated to them, so they could buy some more food or a piece of cloth to cover them when in their chambers, so as to hold the cold at bay.

Still, the old hag didn't like her. Mainly, because she looked a bit like she did when she was younger. But also because Brita would never give any money to her, and being so old she needed those. Of course, she never thought Brita didn't like how she treated the slaves. Anyway, she scampered off to the kitchens, hoping to at the very least grasp the smell of the meat with her hooked nose.

Soon, another plate just like the slave girl's was set right opposite her. Brita sat down in front of the slave, and started her usual routine when she met a slave. First, she observed her carefully. Her dark honey eyes surveyed the girl. There was no doubt she was beautiful, and despite the paleness noble women insisted to keep under the guise of showing their pure minds and bodies, Brita knew the slaves most sought after were the specially tanned like this one.

Resting her elbows on the table, Brita crossed her right, flesh hand on top of the iron gauntlet that long ago substituted her left hand, and rested her chin on it. She observed the slave in silence, with a neutral expression, just waiting... waiting to see what she was like. A mute like her knew that words were of no real value, and that behaviour patterns were what really gave you information about a person. Was the slave girl a noble? Or just a peasant? Did she work as a sex slave, or did she work the land?

These were the kind of questions that intrigued Brita when she observed the new girls that would soon please her master. Her food was untouched as she waited for the new slave to finish hers...

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

Lisheeda and a Witch

Lisheeda was just about to eat when another walked into the room. Her gaze lifted and she watched the woman signal to one of the servants that she too wanted food. Recalling the words of the hag, she assumed this was the witch that she’d spoken of earlier. Lisheeda took in her rich looking dress and coat, her brows rose when she gazed upon her hand, but she still said nothing, nor did she speak. She simply shrugged her shoulders and began to eat, using her fingers instead of the provided metals that served as her eating utensils.

“Smart girl. . . What?. . .Using your hands. . . Well I have lived in the woods for three months.” She smiled to herself as she licked her fingers, purposely sucking the juices from them and then biting into the meat. It wasn’t long before the same succulent flavors were dripping down her chin and she was forced to use the back of her hand to wipe away the particles she’d enjoyed, then licked that part of her body clean.

A huff of displeasure came from behind her, but Lisheeda ignored it, intent of eating her meal, one she’d not had the pleasure of having since before she’d left her village. The roots, were those of the Canabra plant, one she was familiar with, since she’d eaten it often during her stay in the dense forest. A glass was also set in front of her and she looked warily at it, then shrugged her shoulders again.

“Well, they could have drugged the food too. . .Exactly, so why worry now? What do you think she’s doing here? . . .Curious I guess. . . Yeah, come look at the new plaything before it because a pile of bruises and blood. . .” Lisheeda shuddered at her thoughts and then pushed her plate away.

“She doesn’t speak,” the hag said as she too finished her meal, noting the silence around them. “So you two should get along just fine. . .I haven’t determined if she is stupid or not. Or if she is death, but she seems to be. . .but what does it matter, you only choose to understand me when it suits you,” the old woman said rising and taking Lisheeda’s hand. “Come I will have to wash your face and hands now, you eat like an animal.”

Lisheeda rose and looked calmly interested in what was happening to her, as she followed the woman to a basin full of warm water and again felt the scrubbing of the cloth against her face. She concentrated on not reacting to any sounds that surrounded her, but still kept her focus on the being in white.

 

[Katamari Roller]

The way the slave ate left little to imagination. No noble would eat like that. In fact, no person near civilization would eat like that. The girl not using the fork and the knife also said enough about her circumstances. She been nowhere near civilization, apparently. Maybe she was a peasant, a shepherd. Or maybe someone in even less contact with city people.

A smirk crossed Brita's lips when the old woman compared the girl to an animal. That was funny, somehow. But had the girl actually lived like an animal? That might not have been strange. Many people seemed to be forced to live in the forests as of late. Only not in the Forests of the Dead. Most people were smart enough to choose a more pleasant one... not that those were abundant anywhere close by.

As the girl was dragged to wash herself, Brita ate her own dinner. Unlike the slave's, her manners were more befitting of her position. However, she didn't use the fork. She didn't need to, with the slightly pointy ends of her gauntlet's fingers. Brita simply pinned down the meat with her gauntlet, and then cut off some with her knife. It was tasty, if a little bit too spicy. Her gauntlet creaked eerily as it moved from the dish to her mouth, and back to it.

Soon enough, there was nothing left in the dish but the bones and the bit of meat that stuck to them and that she would leave so the dogs could eat. Although Brita suspected they were used in the stews for the servants. A good cook could use anything, and although Slythe's were not as skilled at it as her own people, Brita had to admit they were pretty good.

The only stains on Brita were on her gauntlet. A single greasy, shiny spot on the pointy tip of the index. Brita licked it without any shame.

She watches me with interest, it seems... maybe she is just as curious about me, as I am about her. Taking her eyes from the slave for a second, Brita sank her flesh hand into her pouch, trying to find... Ahaahhh...

Taking the two coins into her hand, she looked at them. One was golden and solid. The other one, although she could touch her and feel her completely, was still dull-coloured and almost transparent. Eating had probably taken half an hour, so in another half an hour more or less, the coin would be complete. Letting both coins fall back into her pouch, Brita went to sit on a small bench placed right beside the wall. Centering her attention back on the slave, she made herself comfortable against the wall, letting the fur coat serve as a pillow of sorts...

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

After the hag had finished washing Lisheeda she ran the brush through her hair again. This time Lisheeda felt no tugs on her scalp and she was very glad of the fact. Her head was still tender from the first brushing she’d been given after her washing. A sigh from the old woman brushed against Lisheeda’s bangs when the hag turned to face her. She looked at the wrinkled lips and teeth as if she were trying hard to concentrate on what the vile and foul smelling creature was saying.

“The witch will watch you. I have done all I can to prepare you for the Lord.” She saw her point to the door and then her gaze returned. A gnarled hand rose up and two fingers uncurled from a weary fist. “Two men stand outside. You can not escape this place.”

Lisheeda blinked several times, then reached out and took the woman’s hand. She ran her fingers over the wrinkles and then lifted her fist, stretched two fingers out and mimicked the hand motion that the woman had used to indicate the door.

The hag rolled her eyes and drew her hand back. “Yes, two. . . damn fools. You’d think the Lord liked silence, but I have heard his women scream. . .”

Lisheeda’s hand moved to her hair and she tucked a strand as she remained passive at the woman’s words. What she wanted most was to be left alone, but she knew if the witch left she would be forced to endure the stares of one of the guards outside. The hag gave a brief and curt nod to the witch and then left the room. Lisheeda moved from her place at what she had deemed the dressing table and then over to a corner where she sat on her knees and placed her hands in her lap. Her head remained bowed as she toyed with the cuticles of her nails.

“Well. . . What? . . . What now? . . .I don’t know. . . Well the witch can’t talk so she can’t scream if you kill her. . . She’s also a witch you idiot. . . True, you don’t know her magic. . .Exactly.” A sigh escaped her as she leaned against the corner. She placed herself in the forest, high on a tree looking down on the land and listening to everything around her so she didn’t react to anything, just like she did when she would hunt for the small Gillas that lived in the tree tops.

“What are you thinking? . . . You know what I am thinking. . .Yes, but tell me anyway. . .” Lisheeda began the conversation she had often had with herself as she recalled the arms of her friend, the man she’d never given herself too, but had longed too.

 

[Gothmaster]

The pain was still there but had subsided some after he washed of his face in the river. Frost was used to pain. He had both given and taken plenty of it in servitude to Morgaine as well as in battle. He had the scars to prove it. Some of the scars was made by Morgaine's own hands. She was an unpredictible mistress. He could only hope that when he returned with the news that not only did he fail to bring her in but also she was captured by Lord Slythe of Zaloh, he would find her in a good mood.

Frost looked at the reflection of himself in the water. He did not look as old as he felt. He was only 28 years old but he felt like twice that age. All the things he had done over the years weighed him down. All the guilt he had stored up in his soul. It was to late for him to repent. All that remained was his skill with the blade and loyality to Morgaine. He would die for her. Not out of love but because he could not go back to the man he was before the slavers sold him to her father. As a boy he had been so very afraid of the former lord of Entaca. But he had seen to it that Frost got the best training in the land. Now Frost was afraid of no man or woman. Not even Morgaine. A man that is not afraid of death have no reason being scared of the painful road to afterlife. Frost looked down at his reflection a last time before he turned and began the walk home.

Once back in Morgaine's domaine Frost immediately return to his quarter. He quickly take of his ringmail armour and boots and drop them on the floor. No reason to get blood on the sheets of his bed. He smiles with no humour as he sees the clothes a servant must have placed over his bed. He takes on the blood red outfit of pants and a tunic. Very fitting if his blood would be spilled this very day. After he have taken on a pair of leather boots he are ready to deal with the mistress. He stops a male servant with the words.

"Let Mistress Winter know that Frost have returned." Now all he could do was to wait for her to see him.

 

[Erotic_Beauty]

"YES!" she screamed as his cock plunged in and out of her. Morgaina’s reached up and grabbed his wrists, her nails tore into his flesh as she held herself to him. Her eyes clenched tight as he fucked her hard.

She demanded he pound harder into her and faster. She felt her pussy stretching, accommodating his size. Opening her eyes she saw the frustration on his face and licked her lips.

"Come with me," she growled, arching her back and sending a wave of juices down her cunt and onto his dick.

"NOW!" she hissed again and felt his body comply to not only her words, but the forces of nature that demanded he give up what she hungered for.

Morgaina’s back fell to the bed. Her body was covered in sweat and her eyes glazed with lust. She breathed heavy, feeling her magician’s cock slowly slipping from her. Her muscles naturally clamped around him, in an attempt to hold him deep within her.

When he popped out she moaned softly, a sound that was a contrast to her evil persona. Her lips rose in a soft smile as she felt the tremors of her body, small spasms rocking through her.

"Thank..."

She stopped, the words of gratitude almost fell from her lips, but she bit them back. Opening her eyes she looked at Olam and blinked the fog of desire from her eyes.

"We’re finished. Go now and see to the prisoner. You are granted the right to speak again, but next time, well just make sure there isn’t one, you’re punishment will not be in bringing me pleasure."

Her gaze followed him as he readied himself to leave. He knew they had nothing else to say to each other. They never did after these moments. A knock on her door forced her gaze to leave that of Olam's tantalizing body.

"What?" she demanded, irrated that she was being disturbed.

She already felt her body wanting to rest.

Sex with the magician often left her exhausted. The door opened just enough that a voice could be heard. No one entered her chamber without permission and she had yet to grant it.

"Frost has returned."

Her smile grew wide and she moved from the bed.

"Send him to my study. I will see him and the new witch there."

She turned to Olam. "It looks like you will have a new girl to train. Join us in the study when you are ready; you can deal with the prisoner later; if he lives."
She pulled on a thick robe of silver-foxhend fur and wrapped it tight around her trim waist. The scent of her joining still surrounded her and she breathed deep, wishing that her magician's magic would absorb itself into her.

Morgaina left without another word, pulling her hair over her shoulders and quickly braiding it herself as she walked toward her study. Once there she took a seat behind the large desk that she'd often been forced to endure her father's perversions on.

She rubbed the scratch marks that marred the surface as memories filled her mind. This is why I am the way I am, she told herself. They made me that way... father, my brother... even the men that were told to protect me from the enemy... but allowed to use me as if I were just another sex-slave.

 

[One Eyed Jack]

Lieutenant Yarol stepped bolding into the relatively small study where Lord Pravus currently sat, looking over maps and reports. It was relatively small only by comparison to his grand reception hall, as the room encompassed and entire library, with an enormous domed ceiling.

“My Lord, I bring news that I believe you would find interesting.” Yarol stood tall, and saluted.

“Then speak your news and we’ll discover if you have interrupted me without cause,” Prvaus waved him off, the closest thing to a returned salute the man would receive at the moment.

The lieutenant stepped outside the door, and hauled another man in. It was another soldier, but of rather low rank, currently serving as city guard, from the insignia on his light armor. A worthless solder at that, it was a man recently returned from the front lines. Pravus had made the law, so that any man who had served faithfully on the war front for one year had the option to return home to serve in the city guard for a year before being sent back out. He of course did not do this out of love for his troops, he believed any man who took that offer to be weak. The ones that chose to stay on for two and some had even served him for three years now with constant fighting, those were the truly rewarded men. Promotions, gold, women to abuse. Granted, not many had survived three consecutive years, but then death was a fact of life.

“My Lord, this man has witnessed, and even fallen victim to a witch. Tell the Lord of the Red Hand your tale man,” the lieutenant pushed the meek guard forward. The frightened soldier told his story, of his patrol during curfew, and finding a red haired woman. He told of the pain she had caused in his hand, and how even now he could not move his fingers without pain. He even lifted his arm to show his digits curled over as of the hand were half dead.

“You’ve done well, Yarol, take this man to help your search for her, and then give him a small pension for his services. Find the witch and bring her to me. I doubt I need remind you to be careful, I’d hate to have to issue your pension next should she cripple you as well.”

Pravus turned back to his maps, knowing that the guard would be given a horse, food and water for three days and seven gold coins, then released out into the outer city without further pay or commitment to serve. He’d be mugged and likely dead within an hour of his release. But this brought another plot to his mind – a witch that could wound with a touch would be just as useful as whatever had been healing and rejuvenating people in the outer city. He wondered if there were a connection, but hoped there was not, he much preferred having source of healing that was not linked to the one that could deal out pain, safer for him that way.

 

[Gothmaster]

"Mistress of Entaca will see you in her study now Lord Frost." The servant returned shortly after Frost had sent him away. Frost ignored the man and directed his steps towards Morgaina's residence. He knew that it was common among her peaple to call him lord, mostly out of fear. it was a long time since he felt that it was awkward and strange.

Frost walk down the hall with a confidence he did not feel. He could not afford any sign of weakness. He stop outside the closed door to Morgaina's study and without hesitation he opens it and steps inside.

"I have returned and i bring news about the ghost."

Frost stands before his mistress with his head held high. He know that the news he will bring her can doom him to torture or worse. In theory she could even kill him for his failure. As he was Frost, a man feared by many he doubted she would take his punishment so far.

"She exists and she escaped me." He don't take his eyes away from his mistress as he speak.

"The signs of the forest tell me that she was taken by Lord Slythe and probably taken to Zaloh. If she are skilled in Magic i can not say." Frost try to read the expression in her face as he continues.

"I lost the two men that was sent with me and i killed three Zaloh warriors. If i had more men i may have succeeded." It may not be wise of him to speak out a flaw of the planning but he was always honest. That may be one of his most noble treats.

 

[Erotic_Beauty]

She listened to him speak of the girl in the forest. Her hands lay on her lap, hidden from view. Her brow rose slightly and her jaw clenched when she heard who now held the girl. She rose from her desk and walked around it, continuing to hold his gaze.

"So you bring me nothing of use. . .except that I have lost two men because of your incompetence."

Her nails dragged across the desk. She leaned against it, the robe a soft cushion for her ass.

"You stand here with no knowledge of what or who the female was. You are either brave or stupid Frost for coming back at all."

"You were told to choose the men you needed, yet you imply it was because I did not send enough with you? Perhaps you aren’t as good as you once were. Perhaps you are merely just as useless as the news you bring me."

She moved back to her chair and reclaimed her seat.

"Tell me Frost... explain to me why you thought it was wise to return to me empty handed? No witch? No slave girl? And now two warriors less than before. . .and I am sure you took the best two, because it would have been an asinine thing to do. . .to take the worse of the lot. . .wouldn’t it? Do you have anything worthy of my time. . .perhaps you were smart enough to follow Lord Slythe to his keep and learned how we can gain entry. . .Or did that too slip your feeble mind?"

Her gaze remained hard. Inside she was raging and she knew Olam would be healing another before the night was over.

 

[Nibbles_n_Tits]

Tharalon

She was not the quintessential tavern wench, despite her best efforts. However, her best effort netted her the most tips and the most pinches on her bottom since she started working there. She smiled at more customers, laughed at more jokes, and she even engaged in a little teasing banter, all to seem just like any other girl working in a tavern taproom. When a fat and stinking customer pulled her on to his lap, she giggled and pinched his cheek playfully, just as she saw the other girls do. She refrained from giving him her mother’s best icy glare.

After a couple of hours, she started to take a little satisfaction from her role of cheeky barmaid. A barmaid’s most serious worries were who will pinch my bottom, and who will try to run off without paying. They are serious enough when your bottom has already been pinched a dozen times, but hardly a matter of life or death.

It was well after lunchtime when the mood in the taproom begun to change. Hurried whispers were passed to guilty faces, as the rumor spread that the city guards were on hunt, searching for someone or something the Lord wanted. Tharalon was surprised by the number of faces that bore the traces of guilt and fear at the thought of the city guard. Surely, not everyone had something to fear, and she hoped she hid her feeling better than some of the others did. Near dinner time, hiding her fear become a near hopeless task as word spread they were searching for a witch. Just a witch, not a red-haired witch but Tharalon knew it was only a matter of time before the pieces came together and she was trapped.

During the short lull right before dinner, she snuck up to her room, collects what few things she could easily carry, and slips out of the tavern. She will return to the man she saw last night, his condition was dire and justified an extra visit. If they let her, she will sleep on their floor and try to sneak out of the city in the morning

 

[Tseranc]

Olam released his torrent into her as commanded, and could not hold back the pleasure filled moan as he did so. He was panting, and sweating from the experience, his mind washed in the foggy heat of their mating.

And then the oddest thing happened; she almost thanked him, the first word even slipped out. Pride filled him instantly, and shielded him from the normal let down of being so quickly dismissed. Pride at not only having pleased her, but at finding a shred of a human being buried deep down in her somewhere. Pride, such a rare emotion to him; even if it did come by being used to satisfy her lust it was a treasure to feel. He could not think of a more pleasant reward.

He dressed quickly, enjoying his Mistresses eyes on him and then he parted without a word, struggling to hold back the smile. He left her chambers and went to the guards post to ask for an update on her prisoner. He had lived, though getting the man to drink the potion had been difficult they reported. He did not go check on the man himself, as he was told to meet her in her study, but he felt relieved that another of his works had seen success. He choked back a pang of guilt over the last one, but forced himself to move on. He would never sway her to treat her enemies well, but he had seen the crack in her armor. That poor girl he’d watch grow up so harshly still wanted something more then just power. He’d focus his efforts there…maybe if he could save some shred of her soul, he could salvage some of his as well…

Shaking himself from his inner thoughts he moved quickly to her study, and entered silently through the back door, noticing Frost already in the room. He heard the most of Mistress Morgiana’s lecture to the man that stood seemingly unafraid. So he had come home a failure. He frantically thought of ways to keep the man from harm; ways to convince her that at least her own loyal subjects could warrant some mercy, if her enemies could not. But nothing came to him, so he stood there quietly, observing all that transpired.

 

[brigid_fitch]

Rhonwen, the "snowy-haired minx"

The fire crackled, the pot of water placed in its midst near-boiling when Rhonwen first heard them approach. They were perhaps 100 meters away, staying close to the treeline, silent as ghosts. But Rhonwen heard them, mere moments before Padraig's ears flicked back at the sounds. She counted 15 horses and smiled, flattered. Even though there was no way Slythe could know it was she who had camped out at his doorstep, she still took great pride in knowing that he had become so ridiculously over-cautious. After his last foray into the Forest, he had flanked himself with over a dozen men.

It was obvious that Slythe was very confident in his men's ability, the way he decided to trot right up to her on his massive black mount. Padraig nickered once, shook his mane, and went back to munching on grass, certain that his mistress could handle the situation. She stirred only slightly under her cloak, pouring herbs into a clay tankard with which she would make her tea once the water was ready. She didn't bother to look up as Slythe approached her.

“You are bold, that much is certain...Do you have a purpose or a death wish? In either case be brief.”

A sly smile played across her face. For years she had wondered what this moment would be like, when she would face him again. Sometimes she supposed it would be on the battlefield, other times it would be in the dead of night as she crept up on him, blade at the ready. Always, though, it ended the same way--with his foul blood on her sword. Now, things were different. This time, he needed her, whether he knew it or not. And she would make him pay dearly, if not with his last breath, as she did in her daydreams, then with fortunes untold. She did not look up nor barely move as her voice rang out, clear and commanding across the field.

"Tell all 8 of your archers to unnotch their arrows, or you will be dead before the wind stirs even one feather of their fletching." Her cloak opened a fraction and Slythe could plainly see a small crossbow, its bolt ready to let fly right at his chest. "Besides," she said calmly, removing her hood and shaking her hair loose, the sun reflecting off of it as it did the snow atop the Mountains of Despair. "You had plenty of opportunities to kill me all those years ago and didn't. Why would you want to do so now?" Then, smiling, she poured the water into her tankard, never once letting her gaze wander from her former Master, her crossbow still trained on his heart.

 

[LitShark]

Slythe smirked under his mask as Rhonwen let down her long frost colored mane. The sight of her hair brought back countless memories of yanking on that hair during the multitude of vicious rapes Slythe had inflicted upon this beauty. Her escape had been one of the few great failures in Slythe’s lengthy reign over the dark forces. Now she was there, pointing a crossbow at him, awaiting his reply. Slythe signaled his archers to lower their bows with a slight hand signal above his head.

“I knew this day would come,” Slythe mused as he climbed down from his mount, “You couldn’t get enough of the cock? I guess you missed the midnight ass rapes, or maybe the crack of my whip. You’ll have to do a lot of begging to get back into my good graces, but as I recall, begging was your specialty.”

A few knowing chuckles came from his swordsmen in the woods as he walked over to the woman, staring deep into her hateful eyes.

“Or maybe you just had nowhere else to go. After all, you did start to love it before you left so... curtly.” Slythe was walking toward her with his arms outstretched to the side as if waiting for a welcoming hug which he knew was not coming.

 

[One Eyed Jack]

Pravus

Even the servants of his own hall buzzed about the search for a witch! He was furious and Yarol would pay for his lack of digression. Half the town must know, and surely a witch will learn she is being hunted. He doubted very much if a hunted witch stood still long enough to be caught.

He snapped at one of the runners that followed him everywhere, just in case he needed to send out orders, “Get Yarol in here, and I don’t care how. Make sure to have several of my personal guards in attendance. Go!” The boy ran off, jumping with his first steps. Damn that man, for being so blunt.

He looked around the room, and stopped on the slave girls who were trying to appear as mere erotic art along the wall near his throne. He walked over and grabbed a blond by the hair and drug her to her feet. “You’ve heard what’s happened to your sisters, the ones who slack in their craft? “ he asked the frightened girl. She nodded her understanding. “Good, then don’t disappoint.” He shoved her toward the hall.

Once in his room, the woman that ran his chambers came and took the chain connected to the slave’s silver collar and locked it to Pravus’s bed, took her Lords coat and disappeared again.

He had begun by grabbing her head and forcing her face into the mattress while he took his pleasure from behind. Her lack of breath caused a struggle that amused him at least. He violated the girl for half an hour, which resulted in her arm being broken it was held to tightly behind her back at one point. But she never let up, begged him to stop.

“You’ve done well, have your arm looked at.” Was all he rewarded her with as he kicked her off his bed, and clapped for her to be taken away.

He always thought more clearly after a good fuck, and now he knew what must be done with this witch. Yarol was a fool and should have summoned his hunters first. No matter, Pravus would send for them, and they would track the bitch to the far ends of the world – and best of all, no one knew who they were. Those men knew how to keep to the shadows.