Lords of Itaea

[brigid_fitch]

Rhonwen

It was a large keep, but Rhonwen remembered it all too well. Every nook and cranny, every niche, every bit of pain. The time she had spent here was like a dream to her now, as though all that she had endured had happened to someone else. She'd seen much and done much since her escape--almost a lifetime ago. A bemused smile played upon her lips as she walked a familiar route through the kitchens, the dining hall, and the pantry until she reached the stairs that led to the brewer's taproom. She breathed in the rich air filled with hops and yeast and her mouth watered. Just as she was about to descend the stairs, her keen hearing picked up the sound of a man's scream. At first she dismissed it--this was Slythe's keep, afterall. It would be an odd thing indeed if there were not screams echoing from the walls. But whereas the screams of the tortured should either be coming from the dungeon or Slythe's "playroom", this was coming from the living quarters one flight up.

Rhonwen stood there, uncertain. It was certainly none of her business if someone had been injured (horribly so, from the way it sounded). No one ever came to answer her screams during her captivity here. Besides, the ale awaited, just thirteen short steps away. She almost started down the stairs when a thought occurred to her: Slythe still didn't trust her. His men even less so; they had made that abundantly clear. If she could stop whatever scuffle was evidently going on upstairs, her credibility with Slythe and the men would undoubtedly increase. Against her better judgement, she turned from the staircase and took off at a run towards the sound of the man's scream.

This route was equally familiar, having traversed it to the servants' quarters countless times. Rhonwen raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time. When she had reached the top, the unmistakable copper smell of blood was wafting throughout the hallway. She turned a corner and there she saw one man dead in a large pool of blood, his throat and abdomen slashed. Another guard was looking at his dead comrade and holding his bleeding hand, obviously in shock. There would be no point in questioning this one what had happened. From her brief observation, it was unlikely that the two of them had fought each other. That left a third, an assailant, wandering through the keep. She viewed the scene and found marks in the dust of what looked like long robes. Someone--no, two people in long robes--had run down the hallway towards a large oak door. Rhonwen reached the door in only a few paces and, wrenching it open, almost laughed at the scene that greeted her.

The old woman looked at Rhonwen and grinned a ghastly smile. She was obviously enjoying the goings-on and if Rohnwen's appearance had surprised her in the least, she gave no sign. The hag went back to looking at the girl in the brown coat struggling with all her might to hang onto something outside the window. She didn't recognize the girl, but realized that she was certainly distraught over something. Rhonwen moved to another spot in the room that would give her a good view of whatever it was the girl in brown was so concerned about. Another girl, this one dressed in black robes, was standing on the ledge, looking very scared and very desperate. But, she was in no immediate danger. Either she would step from the ledge or step back inside with her companion in brown. If it was her desire to die--well, Rhonwen had seen many a fighter take his or her own life rather than face capture by the enemy. That same thought had occurred to Rhonwen often during her last stay in these same apartments.

The hag's excited cackling distracted her. The girl in brown was concentrating on the one in black, who was obviously undergoing an internal struggle. Every time the old woman laughed, it made the girl on the ledge flinch. Rhonwen looked at the hag evenly.

"Woman, how is it after all these years that no one's killed you, yet?"

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

Lisheeda. . .glad the witch didn't use her mechanical hand, but her pale one.

Lisheeda had just been about to twist her body to begin a climb down the rocky wall. The crevices of mortar and rock making a perfect way for her to reach freedom. Just as she turned she felt the strong grip of another on her ankle. Her eyes grew wide, wondering if the hag was indeed going to try and keep her there for her Lord to use. Instead her eyes took in the delicate hand of a young female. She followed the wrist, up to the arm and then saw the witch’s head. A groan, the first sound she’d allowed past her bruised lips was pulled from deep within her and she tried to kick her foot free, almost losing her balance.

Her fingers clawed at the rock just above the window, eventually finding a spot where her nails could dig into the aged spackling. With her other hand she pulled the knife from her teeth and gripped the bloody handle. She saw the woman’s gaze was turned away from her, and she wondered if she were silently pleading with the old hag. It was then that another voice reached her and she cursed inwardly. Her eyes wide with fright glanced down at the pale hand that had circled her trim ankle.

“You aren’t going to. . .I have no choice. . .She’s a witch, she’ll curse you, and poison you. . . Do you have a better idea? . . NO! . .All right then, shut up!” With her final thought she brought the weapon down and sliced across the witch’s fingers, loosening the grip she’d held. The knife slipped from her hand and she watched in despair as it sailed blade over hilt to the ground below. She grabbed at the stone her other hand had held onto and with her free foot, and kicked at the witch’s face.

Her leg now free, she sought out a place to wedge her foot into the stone crevices beside the window, hoping the chaos of what was happening in the room was enough to give her a few precious seconds to gain a few steps away from the window. She noticed another worn stone was just a few inches from her outstretched foot and she prayed it was a solid one.

 

[brigid_fitch]

Rhonwen

"Oh, no you don't, little blackbird."

In a flash, Rhonwen was at the window. Leaping to one's doom was one thing, and if the girl wished to kill herself, it was no one's business but her own. Escape, however, was another thing entirely. Rhonwen was in Slythe's employ--he had certainly paid handsomely for her services--and as such, couldn't very well let one of his slaves attempt to clamber down the side of the mountain towards freedom. Biting back the bitter irony of the situation, Rhonwen reached down and grasped the fabric of the girl's black robes. Her first attempt found nothing but thin air, but she stretched as far as she dared and her hand finally found purchase. She held fast to the girl's robes, ignoring the pitiable look in the girl's eyes, and began to pull her up.

The girl fought as hard as she could, considering her precarious position, but she was no match for Rhonwen's battle-hardened strength. The girl was light and Rhonwen easily drew her towards the window. A little more sure-footed now, she used both hands and dragged the girl over the sill. She writhed and fought, clawing at the woman as she was pulled into the room again.

Ignoring the wounded girl in brown, Rhonwen turned to the old crone.

"Quit your cackling, woman, and do something useful for once. Fetch me Slythe!"

 

[Katamari Roller]

Brita yelped in surprise when the slave attacked her fingers with the knife. The sudden, horrible pain distracted her from the foot that hit her forehead. Brita fell on her back, surprised more than hurt... but a soft, pained yelp escaped her lips when again the full sensation of her hurt fingers reached her.

"Gyaaaaahhh!"

Her fingers felt as if they were torn apart. Looking at them in panic, Brita found little consolation in that although the cuts were deep, her fingers would remain lin their place. They were bleeding a lot, and her hand trembled in shock. Tears of pain rolled down her cheeks as she choked a scream. I wanted to help her! I didn't want her to kill herself! Why did she do this to meeeee!?

Brita would have held her fingers together so they didn't suffer any more damage, but with her iron gauntlet she'd just have caused herself further injury. Instead, she pulled herself up to her feet, shakily, and leaned against a wall, crying bitter tears. I just didn't want to kill her, and this is how she repays me! This is how... this is... is...

The shock was too much for Brita. Or maybe... The sudden realisation that many of Slythe's guards poured poisons on their blades hit her, just as she felt her consciousness slip away. Brita fainted, falling down heavily on her own fur coat, that lessened the hit against the floor, acting like a pillow.

The old hag couldn't help cackling a bit at this, as she exited as fast as she could. This was a perk of her job...

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

Lisheeda watched the witch crumble to the floor. Her eyes grew wide as she looked at the bloody hand. The wound would leave a scar, but it was not deathly. She then twisted to the left and right, trying to break free of the vise like grip the other woman had on her. Unable to she watched in anguish as the old hag cackled and left the room. She knew where the old woman was going and she knew who she would come back with.

Fear filled her eyes and she turned to look up at the woman. “Please,” she whispered as several tears fell from her eyes. The word was the only one she’d spoken since her capture and her lips shook in despair as her pulse raced and beat in her veins. She thanked the gods that the witch was unconscious and did not catch the whimpered word. Her chest grew tight as she felt her world falling apart and all hope of freedom leaving her behind.

“You foolish girl.”

Lisheeda’s head ached and her knees grew weak, but she refused to fall to the ground. “There is still hope. . .HOPE?. .Yes, hope. He doesn’t have me yet.”

Her gaze flickered around the old hag’s room and she chewed on her lower lip as more ways of escaping floated about in her mind. “You will never give up will you. . .To give up is to die. . .”

 

[brigid_fitch]

Rhonwen

"Please,”

The girl had given up struggling, realizing that there was no tearing free of the hold Rhonwen had on her. The white-haired woman looked down upon hearing the word, and saw true fear on the girl's eyes. Is that what I looked like, all those years ago, she thought? When I was shown no mercy as old Yetta--Gods, just how old is that woman?--threw me to Slythe or, worse, to the men's barracks? I was younger than she is now, pleading just as earnestly, looking just as miserable, I'm sure. Rhonwen met her charge's eyes as they echoed her entreaty as intensely had she shouted the word.

Then she balled up her fist and hit the girl, hard, across the jaw. The girl spun out of Rhonwen's hands, hitting the far wall with a loud thud. She looked at Rhonwen with shock and surprise, her lids already fluttering as she struggled to retain conciousness.

"Why?" she managed, before slipping to the floor in a heap next to the other girl.

Rhonwen knelt down to the girl and stroked her hair gently.

"You'll survive what is to come, 'Little Blackbird'," she said tenderly. "You'll survive and be stronger for it." With that, she tended to other girl's hand, relieved to see that the wound was not too severe nor infected with poison, as she had feared.

 

[One Eyed Jack]

Vonar delivers to Pravus

Vonar grinned as she promised not to hurt him, and to heed his advice; not because he feared she would act rashly, but because it was the first time she admitted what she was.

Their carriage ride was swift, but he knew that news of this would reach Lord Pravus before Vonar would. In a world of secrets, Pravus managed to be a rather well informed man.

“I will bring you to the palace, where you will be shown to your new quarters, while I go speak with our Lord. He will summon you when ready. If you are still in the mood to follow the suggestions of an old man, I would encourage you to relax as best you can, and find your surroundings to be home, and not a prison. Life is what you make of it. Become a willing and loyal servant, and your loyalty will be rewarded. I’ve seen those that were neither willing, nor loyal, but were still forced into servitude, and their lives are decisively less pleasant. He can enslave you any day, but today is the only chance you will have to avoid it..”

As the carriage pulled up, and the door opened, he stopped her before getting out. “And please do not run. If you run, and managed to escape today, then it would be me who is sent after you. At that point it you be your life for mine, and as kind as I have been, do not mistake that I value your head greater then my own. Still, I’d hate to have to harm you after we’ve been so civil.”

With that he stepped down and offered his hand once more to aid her decent.

*

Some moments later, Vonar, the hunter was bowing deeply before Lord Pravus. “I have brought the witch who can injure with a touch M’lord. Should your rumors of this healing in the streets end now as well, I would not be surprised. I believe it too coincidental that two witches might in habit our fair city at the same time.”

“Rise Vonar, I’ve heard of your work on this. Apparently you’ve brought a witch to me not in chains and drugged, but of her own volition. Either you’re very good, or have lost your perspective. We shall which is the case soon enough. Until then, enjoy the palace and all it’s offerings,” his hand swept over a table with foods and wines, then continues to sweep past a row of sex slaves. “The fact you have delivered what I wished, and so promptly, warrants a reward already, despite what the girl does from here. She’s been given a guest room, and all the luxuries a guest of mine could ask. Perhaps she will learn to enjoy life here. I can spend time and money on a willing witch, I fear beating one into submission would take fore more energy.”

 

[Nibbles_n_Tits]

Tharalon

The ride to the palace passed far too quickly for Tharalon. She had hoped to use the time to make decisions and come up with a plan of action but instead they arrived before she could even sufficiently calm her nerves enough to think rationally. Desperation clung to the back of her mind, its voice urging her to run, whatever the consequences. She tried to silence the voice, the price of running would be too high, a threat to her family, a line of witches… a weak line but still there was power in the blood. The thought of little Anaya or Tesle being used as breeding stock to strengthen the blood’s power chilled her more than her than thoughts of her own fate.

I brought this on myself, not once but twice. Maybe it is my fate, my destiny to serve Lord Pravus. Perhaps, that is why I made the same foolish mistakes…

It is tempting to lay the blame at fates door rather than carry the knowledge that her own stupidity and arrogance brought her to this.

“I will bring you to the palace, where you will be shown to your new quarters, while I go speak with our Lord. He will summon you when ready. If you were still in the mood to follow the suggestions of an old man, I would encourage you to relax as best you can, and find your surroundings to be home, and not a prison. Life is what you make of it. Become a willing and loyal servant, and your loyalty will be rewarded. I’ve seen those that were neither willing, nor loyal, but were still forced into servitude, and their lives are decisively less pleasant. He can enslave you any day, but today is the only chance you will have to avoid it..”

Welcome to the Palace, Tharalon. Show the Lord of the Red Hand your trick, the one you do not understand and are not certain you can do.

“And please do not run. If you run, and managed to escape today, then it would be me who is sent after you. At that point it you be your life for mine, and as kind as I have been, do not mistake that I value your head greater then my own. Still, I’d hate to have to harm you after we’ve been so civil.”

Tharalon waved her hand, dismissively as she descended from the carriage. This man is nothing. He opens with advice and closes with threats. However, his threats carry no weight without the backing of Lord Pravus and for now, until she does something to anger the Lord, she is more valuable than the tracker. She sees his threat as air blown only to bolster his ego and weaken her will with fear. Since she does not intend to run so, his threat is an idle waste of breath.

I wasted my chance to run, and if I regret it, I will not act it. When I regret it, I will try to …

Her thoughts collided, bumping one into the other and becoming impossible for her to follow. Even in the guestroom of the palace, and alone with her thoughts ran wild. She tried to choose a thread to follow, any thought, but it always snapped back and joined the others, leaving her further confused.

She looked around the room, hoping to find a focus, but saw only a bedroom, well appointed by most standards, opulent by the standards of a girl from a poor fishing village. She did not open the door to look in the hall, she did not want to see she was a guarded prisoner in a pretty cell; she clung to the belief that her captivity was her choice, her sacrifice for her family. She needed to believe that the reason she did not run was that she was afraid of what would happen to her family, not what would happen to her.

Without meaning to, her thoughts found a thread; it was one of fear and self-deception. She continued to deny the truth as she curled up on the bed and fell asleep.

 

[Pro_Create]

Belcanto stays at an Inn...

Belcanto sat with his back towards the Inn's fireplace. He did not trust himself with the dancing licks of fire, for sometimes they caused the fits that set him into that walking half-sleep. It was another item to add to his list of fears. He was too many miles from home now and it was far colder than it should have been. Had he travelled so far north or had stumbled partially incoherent for weeks at a time? He could not bring himself to ask the Innkeeper's wife for the season or place... just as could not bring himself to ask where the few coins in his pouch had come from.

His new wife must be terribly worried about him. Yet, he could not even think of returning home, not while he suffered these fits. What a burden he would be!

His reverie was interupted by the Innkeeper's wife, a tin pitcher of ale half offered at her chest. There weren't coin on the table, so there wouldn't be drink in his cup. "Will you be needing a bed for the night?" It was still early, but it was dark outside and Belcanto was the only guest in a land where he suspected few traveled at night. He'd never spent a night under a roof but his own or his father's. He did not know the polite way or even the business like way of asking if his few coins would be enough to shelter him until dawn. It did not even occur to him that he might be overcharged or that the woman, alone, might be unwilling to send him away. He was innocent of guile in a way that would embarrass his father and impress his mother, yet cause them both sleepless nights.

She's waiting for an answer, he chided himself. His indecision was almost enough to make him run out into the night and sleep in a ditch along the road. Almost, but darn, it was getting cold out there. Instead, hoping to throw himself on her mercy, he upended his pouch on the table and shook out his four remaining coins. Three copper and one tarnished silver coin. The woman put on a half-hearted smile and Belcanto flinched. It was apparently enough or almost, but he looked away from her eyes unwilling to know if there was pity or disgust there. He would flee the place just before dawn, he decided. Yes, maybe he could take some bread and cheese with him.

The sound of liquid filling his cup caused him to look up. A bright amber stream stood up from his cup, snaking into the pitcher the woman held. It wiggled seductively, bejewelled in reflected sparkles from the fire behind him as his expression became slack. It winked at him and teased his brain with bright colours. Laughter tinkled out of the cup and opened up the world to him. The ache of his hard travelled body fell away from him as the fit took him and he, again, marvelled that he had wanted to avoid such transcedence.

His eyes, glittering from candle light as yet unlit, met the eyes of the Innkeeper's wife. "Bring me the jar of oil the midwife left here this spring."

The woman sputtered and Belcanto's tender smile danced across his seemingly drunken face. "Your husband left for the city to have... 'the barnacles scraped from his keel' a forthnight ago. He is overdue and not likely to return soon. If you bring me the oil, I shall show you how to win yourself a new man, one who wil not stray."

The woman's eyes grew large in her head and she sputtered words that he did not hear. He moved into the kitchen and pulled down some dried flowers from the rafters and the dried fruit of a pepper bush from the doorway. She followed and complained, but with more confusion than conviction. "Not all the gods have abandoned this world, the keeper of the dead, for example, works as diligently as ever to keep ghosts from haunting the waking world. And, sometimes, the goddess of love, her name forgotten to all but a few dreams of this world and mortals one part fool and one part hero play out those dreams." Belcanto's glittering eyes meet the eyes of the Innkeeper's wife. "The stage is set, the drama to unfold, Are you willing to learn your lines and how to hit your marks?"

The Innkeeper's wife backed towards the door, "I'll scream," she said with no traceable amount of rancor. She had hoped to seduce this boy of a man, in her loneliness, but she wasn't sure she was ready to bed a madman.

Belcanto nodded. "Yes, and rake your nails across my back while you do so." He looked up from the mortar and pestol as he ground a bit of the dried pepper with lavendar and other dried flowers. "But I'll need the oil first,"

The strange promise produced the jar. "What's so special about the oil?" the woman asked after a moment.

"It's just mineral oil, but it is pure and clean." Belcanto poured it into the stone bowl. "Perfect."

Belcanto looked up at the Innkeeper's woman, "You are a bit overdressed." He took her hand and pulled her close. "Hold still... I know exactly what you want."

The Bodice came off, lacings thrown to the rafters, The dress inverted and over her head, Belcanto threw his head between her ample bosums and applied his tongue softly between the flesh. The woman struggled and then she ceased to struggle, but writhing all the same, her arms held over her head in the confines of her dress. He bit and teased as her legs wrapped around his waist. Never had she even considered a man could give her such pleasure without first undressing himself. Her spreading bum slapped the table top hard, and she let out a surprised, delighted gasp. Then the dress was off her head and his lips were on her lips.

Then his tongue was upon her tongue.

Then his teeth was teasing her tongue while his own tongue explored her remaining teeth. She expected hesitating or rejection for her teeth were hardly perfect, nor even close to healthy, but instead he whispered, "No, no... you're perfect." Something about those words melted something inside of her and while she would have said that she had already surrended to him, a deeper hidden layer of her self came to the surface and this surrendered to her strange lover anew.

Then his right hand was between her legs and while that might have signaled the end of her own pleasure once, she knew that, with this man, it was actually only the beginning. Fingers explored her and within the folds of her hidden place, a special slickness covered the ground those fingers explored. Warmth spread and, vaguely, she realized that this was from the oil he had doctored a moment ago. She did not care; thinking was hard and intrusive. The fingers bessedly chased the toughts out of her head, although the were anywhere but her head. She never realized how much there was to explore down there. How could Bart have missed so much? Tears streamed down her face as she tried not to think of wasted years and then they became tears of joy as the dancing fingers dived deeper within. The wiggled within her, sought places untouched and, apparently undreamed of.

I have been bewitched, she wanted to scream. With joy. With abandonment.

Then his head was between her legs and for a moment, nothing happened.

His breathe sliped out from between his lips and slid over the well oiled lips between her legs. Delicious fire sprang to life where ever his breath fell and, in response, the Innkeeper's wife sucked in her own breathe in greedy, hungry gasps. His tongue fell upon her and stroked up until he came to... just... the ... right... spot. And the dancing began in earnest. She screamed, as promised, and raked her nails along his back. She clawed at him until his tunic was nothing but an untidy pile of ribbons on the floor. She screamed and realized that something was building within her and did not know what it was.

She bucked as her body seemed to pop like a chestnut upon an open fire, Her soul, thinking she was dead, fled from her body, but the flesh sucked it back in again. Twice more it hapenned and she grew strangely aware of the room without having the slightest concept of where she was. Rapture transported her and, for a moment, she was beyond all mortal caring. She praised Veni, the goddess of love who slept on the other side of reality and whose name she had forgotten until now. If only more people could come here and sing, the Innkeeper's wife thought, Veni might awaken and return to Itaea. Perhaps she might even coerce the other Gods to return with her.

Like Veni, she also slept, and dreamed of love and lovemaking. In her dreams, she knew that she was no longer the Innkeeper's Wife but the Innkeeper's Widow. And,no, this was wrong. Yes, she was no longer the Innkeeper's Wife and her husband was most assuredly dead, but the truth was, she was Veni... that was her name now. Veni and a man worthy of Veni was, even now making is way to the Inn. Her Inn. Their Inn.

Dawn lit the kitchen and Veni awoke upon the floor, potato sacks for her pillow and an apron her blanket. She shivered with delight and,upon throwing off he apron the morning air touched her cleft and stirred the dying embers of the fire that had played there last night. She gasped happily and wondered, "magic or pepper?" Her boy lover was no where to be seen, but that was ok. He shared visions with her, his destiny lie elsewhere, and a woman could get too spoiled with a lover who all the right things to do. And,tempting as it might be if he had stayed, she preferred Love as her destiny. True love. And, with the oils and the visions the boy had shared with her, she knew that sex would no longer be a dreaded duty.

"Hello? Anyone here?" a voice called out from the common room. The voice from her dreams. Veni smiled and, taking a moment to brush rosemarie from her left tit, decided that she was ready for a quick bounce with her future husband. She stepped from the kitchen and greeted him with nothing but a smile.

****

Belcanto rushed out of the house as soon as he heard the stirrings in the common room. He was embarrassed to have suffered a fit in the Inn and did not want to meet the Innkeeper's Wife and see, no doubt, pity in her eyes. Or anger. He probably owed her a pretty penny. He checked his pouch and discovered, as he walked down the road, that he had six coopers, three silvers, and a roundish piece of amber. Had he had this much yesterday? No, he thought not, but would not let himself think further about it. And, this... wasn't his shirt. He sighed. The fits had made him a thief. He had to keep moving...

...but where to?

 

[Tseranc]

Olam bowed as their mistress left, presumably for the night. He walked up to Frost, now restrained by the guard, and waved them off to release the man. “You can have him when I am done, as the Mistress said.”

He hoped Frost understood that he would do what he could for the man’s comfort, but like the rest of her servants, he’d do nothing to bring harm down on himself. “I’ll require your armor, just the chest piece will do. It shall be returned to you and serve a much greater means of protection. I shall imbue it with your blood, in such a way that when written on, in your blood, your message shall appear on a mirror here with Morgiana. I’m certain keeping in touch will be vastly more important for your continued health then blocking the blows of a mere sword.”

He studied the man for a moment, and snapped his fingers, when the idea struck him. It almost seemed if he had pulled it from Frost’s own head. “You are Frost, a man who’s name and skill has chilled many a foe to the core. I will give you that ability literally. A weapon that chills and frightens when cut by it, perhaps this will give you back the edge you seem to have lost, and the added reputation could be attributed to your future association with the Dark Forces.”

He looked Frost up and down once more, and satisfied that the objects he suggested would fit the bill, he stepped back. “How do these sound Frost? Will you be able to use them to their greatest advantage, and strike deeply into the heart of the Dark Forces? These are all I can offer for your quest, as where you are going is in as much opposition to my talents as their lord is to our Great Mistress.”

He reached into a pouch on his belt and handed the largest guard a small vile, “Should he pass out, force this down his throat, it will quickly bring him back, and enable you to finish your task without killing him. Lady Morgiana would be displeased should he die before he even departs or lands. If he remains conscious the entire time, give it too him at the end. Call for me if you have any concerns over his welfare.”

Before turning to go he stopped and offered his hand for Frost to shake. “You are brave to go where you must, I wish you a quick journey, and success.” In his hand was a tiny bit of a leaf, that Olam had ‘accidentally’ let stick to his palm. Should Frost have his wits about him, that small partical could be transferred to him and, if ingested, numb a tiny bit of the pain that was about to come to him. “Fare thee well, friend.”

 

[Gothmaster]

Frost stood motionless as the guards let go of his arms. He seized the man up and down. He never knew what the sorcerer was up to. He was like everybody in Morgiana's service. He never stood up to her. At least he had never done so in Frost's presence. But somehow he seemed like a kind man. A man that was unhappy with how Morgiana dealt with situations and peaple.

Frost listened as Olam described how he would imbue his armour and how he would aquire a new weapon. If the situation hadn't been so serious he would had a pleased smile on his lips. Now he just nodded.

“You are brave to go where you must, I wish you a quick journey, and success.” Olam held out his hand for Frost to shake. For a moment Frost just stared at the sorcerer's hand. He was not used to touch males, except if he meant them any harm. Finally he gave in and shook Olam's hand. To his surprise he felt a leaf against the palm of his hand. He just looked at Olam who turned away with the words. “Fare thee well, friend.”

"Thank you." The words coming from Frost's tongue surprised him. He did not have any friends. It was to big a risk to care for anyone. It was more than likely that he would be sent after those he cared for sooner or later.

The two guards grabbed his arms and led him outside. Their grip was harder than needed. Frost had no intention of breaking free. He followed them to a pole and they released him there. Frost saw a third guard approaching with a whip and some rope. He felt the leaf in his hand and wiped his mouth with the palm of his hand, letting the leaf slide in. He chewed it quickly and swallowed it. It tasted bitter but if it worked against some of the pain it would surely be worth it.

The guards tied his arms around the pole and ripped open his tunic and pants at his back.

"50 lashes our mistress have ordered. Bring it to him lads." The guard's voice told of malice and hatred. Not so strange as Frost had a role that many guards envied him. To Frost it was very ironic as he had been glad to be freed from service.

The punishment started with 10 lashes toward his back. Frost clenched his teeths against the pain and leaned his head at the pole. Then they divided the lashes to his buttocks and the back of his knees.

"That was 25 lashes. Rest and let Pietro take the next 25." Frost held back a cry of protest. The last 10 lashes had lacked the strength of the earlier ones. Now it was a fresh arm that would deliver the rest of the lashes.

He felt as his back was a hugh open wound and prayed that he would be able to be awake the whole ordeal. When the guard finished with the last lashes Frost couldn't stifle a cry and fell toward the pole.

He was almost unconscious as the guards untied him. One large guard knelt by his body and helped him sit up. He took up a small vial that he forced to Frost's mouth. Having no choice Frost gulped down the liquid. A hot feeling spread through his throat down to his stomach. A second guard came and helped the large guard to get Frost to his feet and they led him away.

 

[Tseranc]

Olam took the man’s chest armor, and went down to his study with it, tossing the item on a long table. He quickly went to his books, selecting several and flipping though to refresh himself on what to use, and do. The books themselves, he valued above nearly all else Morgiana had acquired – they were from ages long past and held knowledge no one in hundreds of years had seem.

He left, now knowing exactly what he needed, and visited the blacksmith, giving him instructions as to how to forge a new broadsword, and gave him a powders to use as he worked the metal. Next stop was the cellar, with all the herbs, plants and minerals that Olam was permitted to keep, and took various amounts of different ingredients with him as he journeyed back to his study. Mistress Morgiana would expect the work to start immediately, and so he did. He worked the leather armor for hours, pressing and rubbing his newly mixed chemicals into the backside of the piece. Finally, nearly exhausted he stopped, having done all he could until he had one more reagent – Frost’s blood, enough to paint and stain the underside of his armor completely.

Since he knew frost would be recovering, he took the time o go check on the poor man in dungeon, ensuring his health so that he could be tormented further when his Mistress awoke. Tomorrow, the sword would be delivered to him, and he would collect Frost’s blood. With nothing more to do, he stumbled back to his small chambers, and fell asleep, never having removed his robes.

 

[One Eyed Jack]

Pravus's dinner plans

He had attended to a dozen other tasks after he dismissed Vonar. The running of a nation came with rewards, but also it came with nagging chores. Conquering it had seemed much easier then building it into a more refined war machine.

But in the back of his mind he pondered this new witch. He had been told a few thing of her; that she was beautiful and sharply observant. He dismissed these as his servants trying to please him in advance. He’d judge for himself soon enough.

Just before the servants began running about to prepare for the evening meal, h snapped his fingers to summon one of them.

“Fetch the witch, ‘invite’ her to dine with me tonight, I’ll take my meal in the private dining room. Oh, and ensure she has something appropriate to wear. I don’t feel like conversing with a simple farm girl tonight.”

Pravus had a already issued instructions for the girls family to be found, and escorted to the reserved estate. There they could live in comfort so long as she was a faithful minion, and should anything befall him, everyone there died. That last part was not advertised, but only a great fool did not know it to be true.

He returned to his chambers and let himself be washed by several of his slaves, many of which were barely hiding the contempt they had for another, ill bred, woman in the palace. Rumors spread fast, even under his rule. He was dried and dressed in loose, black baggy pants that tucked into his calf high riding boots, and a form fitting black coat, trim and cuffs in blood red. He put on his signet ring, the only jewelry on his person, and left for his meal.

When he arrived the food was already set out in dome covered silver trays, and wine was ready to be poured. He took his seat and waited for his prize to be delivered.

 

[Nibbles_n_Tits]

Tharalon

“Ouch…” Tharalon snatches the brush from the servant’s hand. “I am quite capable of brushing my own hair.”

Tharalon’s long red hair had hung in a single long braid until the servants arrived and informed her that she Lord Pravus was inviting her to join him for dinner. The old man warned her Pravus would summon her, but he did not mention anything about dressing requirement.

The first servants had bustled in with warm water and large coarse towels; they stripped Tharalon before she had time to object. They washed her firmly and impersonally, with a detatched manner that was more annoying than embarrassing. Only when those hands became to familiar and the touch to personal did Tharalon sharply slap them away.

“Lord Pravus expects…” started the oldest of the servants.

“Lord Pravus may expect his guests to be clean….”'.. but he is not going to check every body part... 'but I doubt he cares who does the washing. Now, just give me the soap.”

Tharalon, pleased with the sweet smelling soap, washed quite happily, once she demanded the servants face the wall. Feeling pleasantly clean and smelling of spicy flowers, she tried to make it up to the servants by sitting patiently while they brushed out her long red hair but apparently, the servants were out of patience with Tharalon, so several painful tugs she took the brush.

Lastly, a fresh gown arrived for her to wear. A sleek gown of green velvet; it laced at the sides and was pulled tight by the servants until it fit snuggly to her lithe figure. Her hand went immediately to the neckline, tugging at it, she tried to pull it higher, but the lacings held it firm and low, exposing a generous amount of cleavage and white flesh.

One the way to Lord Pravus’ dining room she tried to remember what part of the old man’s advice she was going to take but the nervous knots in her stomach had driven most thoughts from her head. Despite her anxiety, her steps faltered only once and she lifted her chin a little higher while pulling her hair forward to cover her chest. Her escorts brought her to the private dining room but did no more than open the door. They waited for Tharalon to enter then closed the door behind her.

He sat at the head of his table, and she took a sharp breath as soon as she saw him…This is it, be smart, think, act. Do not just react.. listen… pause… do not be impulsive…think.... She lifted her chin and set her shoulders back as she stepped into the room, her steps were unhurried, although her heart beating run-now.

“My Lord…” she sunk to a graceful but imprecise curtsy.

 

[One Eyed Jack]

Pravus the charming....ish

The green gown contrasted her pale flesh and fiery hair in a dazzling display. It very nearly took his breath. He tried to think back to a time when a young woman graced his palace, and was free enough to be allowed actual clothing – but al the instances of such were merely nobles who were trying to gain his favor by offering a plot to kill a rivaling tart.

“My my, they told me I had a beauty as a guest, but I figured it was merely flattery. I can see I was mistaken. Please, sit My dear. As I am sure you know, I’m Pravus, and you I hear are Miss Tharalon Dale, daughter from a farming and fishing community.” He wave his hand to her seat, not far from his, along the side of the table, and took his own at the head. “You may sit, my dear. And let’s eat while our food is still so fresh.”

He removed the domes off several trays revealing, what he guessed was, more food in one sitting then she had ever seen, and prepared to perfection. Duct, beef, and fish from her hometown, accompanied various fruits from throughout Molovica. “I try to sample a little something from throughout my domain every night. When I get bored, I add more to my domain.” He was not boasting, or showing off, just laying the work for his dinnertime discussion. This was a meal about conquest after all, might as well start out honest, by now she new the stakes.

“So, those are my skills, now I’d like you to tell me all about yours. I’m rather eager to know far more about you.” He would have been the epitome of delightful charm, had his eyes not betrayed the wolf behind every word.

 

[Nibbles_n_Tits]

“My my, they told me I had a beauty as a guest, but I figured it was merely flattery. I can see I was mistaken. Please, sit My dear. As I am sure you know, I’m Pravus, and you I hear are Miss Tharalon Dale, daughter from a farming and fishing community.”

As she rose from her genuflection, Tharalon would have blushed at his flattering words had apprehension not already given color to her cheeks. She wove her fingers together to keep then from shaking too obviously.

“Yes, my lord Pravus, I am Tharalon Dale.” She kept her chin up and managed to get her gaze as high as his nose but she could not take that final step and meet his gaze. She meant for her voice to be strong and assured but even to her own ears, it was soft, cursedly hesitant.

That's the way to do it, girl. Prove to him how bright you are by repeating everything he says, just like the Pirate bird. Maybe you can throw in few profanities for good measure next time.

He wave his hand to her seat, not far from his, along the side of the table, and took his own at the head. “You may sit, my dear. And let’s eat while our food is still so fresh.”

“Yes, my lord. Thank you.” Her voice was less hesitant but still too soft for her liking but an improvement. She moved smoothly to the other side of the table and took a seat as indicated. She tried to project confidence in her movements and her body is more cooperative than her voice had been.

Your patients, think of your patients, you stupid girl. For them you could always appear confident, always sound assured, no matter what, no matter how doubtful, no matter how serious. Do it now.

She smiled as she lowered into the stiff formal chair. It was not a relaxed or happy smile, it was the slow tranquil smile of someone unwilling to be rushed, and she was starting to find her calm center again. It was strength and determination that led her to takes risks to help others, and remain composed in the face of panic, it allowed her to help others, she hoped it would allow her to help herself. She watched as Lord Pravus uncovered dish after dish of food, it was an impressive display but such an incredible waste for just two people; she hoped the servants would enjoy the remainder, not just the palace dogs.

“I try to sample a little something from throughout my domain every night. When I get bored, I add more to my domain. So, those are my skills, now I’d like you to tell me all about yours. I’m rather eager to know far more about you.”

He was a charismatic man, with good looks and personal charm, she would have felt at ease with him were it not for the predatory look in his eyes. She wondered whether he was the strong Alpha leading his pack or the lone hunter feeding on anything he desired.

“Yes, your servant made you eagerness quite clear; indeed it would have been rude of me to refuse such a flattering invitation.” Do not go too far, girl. Remember where you are. She lifts a fork and pokes at a piece of a familiar fish, the little bit of home brings a smile to her lips. She continues, her voice gains a liltte conficdence as she rememebered the word of the tracker, “I am just a simple girl from a small fishing village. As a child, I learned to make healing remedies from my grandmother, and we sold them, and a few charms, to the people who needed them…”

You cannot hide it; he will learn eventually and not be pleased you tried to keep it a secret. Who will suffer while you try to hide it? Who will suffer when the secret is out? Will he take it out on you or will your family pay too?

“A few years ago, I showed the gift for healing without the standard remedies; I could heal some people with my hands alone. I was starting to imbue small items when I decided to leave home; I somehow made an error and hurt someone instead of helping them. I do not know how I did it, so I have not tried it since then.”

 

[Tseranc]

Olam rose from his bed early, far before a bird would think to rouse the rest of the keep with its sweet song. He had work to do and dared not delay it a moment. He’d only been asleep for perhaps two or three hours, but it would have to do.

Quickly he went to the blacksmith’s shop and entered, knowing the man was still asleep. On the bench lay a broadsword, its grip not yet carved and wrapped, but Olam took it anyway. It felt lighter then it was, and had an almost blue tint to its dull metal, but aside form that was still just another blade. The minerals he had had the smith work into the metal gave the weapon properties of water, which would soon be used to summon the icy effect he had planned.

He took a jar and brush with him from his study and went to greet the sun as it presented itself in the courtyard. Sitting on the cold ground, he began painting swirling runes along the length of the blade on both sides. When he was satisfied that the runes were set and would not smear, he lay the weapon across his lap and held it at each end while he began chanting.

His chanting continued, as his eyes went pure white, never seeing the sun that now shone down on him, its rays etching the painted runes deep into the metal on both sides. After nearly an hour Olam snapped back to the conscious world and found his work complete.

Drained of all energy, he struggled to stand, but carried the sword cradled in his arms like it were a newborn babe. He rested against walls along his way back to the blacksmith, for the grip to be affixed to the final product, and left the enchanted weapon where the plain one he had taken had rest hours before. Leaving, he pushed himself toward Frost’s chambers, as he still needed the man’s blood to complete the armor.

Olam collapsed from fatigue in the hall leading to both Frost’s quarters in one direction, and Mistress Morgiana’s to the other.

 

[LitShark]

Slythe Returns Order.

OOC: Sorry for the delay, my Greyhound ticket snuck up on me. I’ve been on a bus for the past three days. I’ll give notice before I go back. Updates will be regular from now on.

Slythe was pacing his quarters menacingly. Where the fuck was the girl? He could think of no reason why it should take his men so long to bring her. Just as he was about to open the door and peek into the hall, Yetta the hag peeked inside.

Yetta’s yellowed and gnarled teeth were curved up into a delighted grin, Slythe looked at her with concern but prepared himself for good news.

“My Lord… The slave girl has fled, she’s trying to…” The hag struggled to contain a knowing cackle, “Scale the side of the mountain to escape.”

“WHAT? You dare dally in your duty to keep me informed about the girl and then bring me such news as this with a casual… even delighted countenance?!?!?” Slythe seethed with rage. “You have had a free ride under my charge for far too long you old cunt.” Slythe punctuated his indignation by tossing an axe from the wall and splitting the old woman’s head like a cantaloupe, she was no longer smiling.

The sound of Slythe’s chamber door slamming against the hall’s stone wall echoed through the halls. Slythe’s rage boiled over and out of his mouth in the form of a long wail as he moved through the halls observing the havoc that the young slave girl had wreaked upon his guards. One was dead and the other was holding his hand and sniveling like a small child.

“Instead of whining over your boo-boo your life might have been spared, had you pursued the girl.” Slythe mocked as he drove the pointed and unenchanted end of his staff through the man’s throat, spraying blood over the already blood soaked hallway.

Slythe then followed the bloody footprints and trails through the dust into the room where his girls were. The slave girl was slumped against one wall while his trusty witch was slumped against the other, bleeding profusely from her good hand, and Rhonwen in the middle apparently responsible for the semblance of order that reigned.

“You have served me well in this Rhonwen, next month your wages will be doubled.” Slythe said as he moved past Rhonwen gently caressing her cheek slightly. “You have earned all the ale my cellar has to offer, I only ask that you help poor Brita to the medic before you take your well deserved reward.” Slythe moved over to Lisheeda, his lips curled into a hateful sneer as he took up a fistful of Lisheeda’s hair. “Leave this one to me.”

The agony of being dragged by her hair abruptly shook Lisheeda back into consciousness. She kicked and struggled against his grip as Slythe dragged her through the stone halls to his bedroom, where she would assuredly leave all of this strong willed rebellion once and for all.

 

[One Eyed Jack]

He enjoyed several of the meats arrayed before them, and bit down a laugh when she had chosen to first partake of the fish that was most familiar to her. The conversation seemed pleasant enough, and at least she had chosen honesty over hiding her talents.

“So you can both heal, and wound, how very exciting. How very useful, to a man in my position.” His grin was not help back, even as he added more food to his mouth. He decided to change the subject, letting her indulge in the wine a bit more – perhaps her tongue would loosen further then. He doubted it, seeing as she had come from being a bar wench, but old habits died hard.

“Did you get a chance to see the gardens? I’m told they are nearly in full bloom, though I’ve not had the chance to visit in some weeks. If you’d like, perhaps after our meal we could adjourn to stroll through them?” He sipped his wine, and resumed he feast, all while admiring the woman next to him. She was a splendor just to look at, but to think on what values were added to that package thrilled him. “In fact there are many precious things here in the palace, trophies, collections, and art. All are your to enjoy while you are my guest.”

Having eaten half the duck, a good portion of the beef, and all the fish was gone; he raised his hands up and clapped twice in the air. Instantly servants rushed out to clear away plates and platter, and replace them with a selection of deserts and sweet wine. Pravus sliced up one of the cakes, and put a piece on her plate and one on his. “You must try this, it’s truly wonderful. The chef has attempted to explain it to me several times, but I’m afraid his secrets are just too deep for me to understand. In any case, it’s a treat.”

After both of them had fresh wine poured, he began his dessert. He’d waited long enough with pleasantries, and about half way into his cake he felt the point of her being here needed to be once again brought up. “So, do you believe you could refine and hone your talents? Some men are born to fight, but while they have some skill, only training and discipline bring out their true potential. Perhaps the same is true of you?”

 

[Nibbles_n_Tits]

Tharalon

“So you can both heal, and wound, how very exciting. How very useful, to a man in my position.”

Tharalon ate well, considering her agitation. After the fish, she sampled a variety of food from the table and when she found something she liked, she indulged her taste for it. However, despite all she ate, she drank sparingly, even though she was tempted on numerous occasions to bring the glass to her lips to cover her nervousness or give her restless hands something to do. Drunken sailors and fishermen were not myths and she had seen enough of each to be aware of the effects of wine and other spirits.

She nods her head, in a graceful bow, “I am sure many of your people can benefit from my ability.”

“Did you get a chance to see the gardens? I’m told they are nearly in full bloom, though I’ve not had the chance to visit in some weeks. If you’d like, perhaps after our meal we could adjourn to stroll through them?”

“My lord, I have done little but sleep and dress since my arrival. I was exhausted; I slept little last night, and found the bed in my room to be quite comfortable. It was too comfortable for me to resist.”

Perhaps, silly girl, that was a little more information than he needed. Do you really think Lord Pravus gives a damn how or why you slept?

Made nervous by her thoughts, she continues. “I would like to see the gardens, but the formal garden and the kitchen garden. I still have an interest in herbal and practical remedies; sometimes it is helpful to use the old ways to supplement my healing. The gardens here may be hiding useful botanical treasures. I am eager to see what they hold.”

“In fact there are many precious things here in the palace, trophies, collections, and art. All are your to enjoy while you are my guest.”

“What I have seen of your palace is quite lovely.” She looks down at her plate for a moment, but does not tell him how pleasant her room is.

She draws quiet calming breaths, trying to settle her anxiety as he continues to eat. Unwilling to eat much more, she sips occasionally at her wine, allowing a little of its warmth to flow through her. Watching with interest, she sees how quickly and efficiently the servants remove the remains of dinner and replace it with dessert.

“You must try this, it’s truly wonderful. The chef has attempted to explain it to me several times, but I’m afraid his secrets are just too deep for me to understand. In any case, it’s a treat.”

She smiles weakly as she pokes her fork into the piece of cake Lord Pravus served her and finds it quite tasty but a little dry. The dessert wine is a lovely accompaniment, and she sips at it to wash down the crumbs.

“So, do you believe you could refine and hone your talents? Some men are born to fight, but while they have some skill, only training and discipline bring out their true potential. Perhaps the same is true of you?”

Well, girl, here it is. It is time for the final truth.

Uncertain what to say or how to begin, she sips her wine while she tries to collect her thoughts.

“I had some training in healing from my grandmother’s mother when I first started to show the ability. Although, my talents quickly out paced hers that initial training was invaluable. It gave me the standard framework, she taught me the basic uses, and on that, I was able to work as by ability grew. She taught me the rules, and I expanded them. The ability still grows. In the beginning I could take away bellyaches and cure minor injuries…” The foolish pride she takes in her healing skill becomes obvious in her voice, “but now, like last night, I healed a man whose injuries should have, would have killed him. No doctor, no matter how well educated or experienced, could have saved him but I did….”

She finally realizes how arrogant she sounds, and reaches for the glass of sweet wine, trying to hide her embarrassment as she takes a few more sips.

She voice is softer as she continues, “As for the other… I do not know how it works. Without a mentor to teach me the beginnings, the framework, the rules, it may never develop. ”

 

[Gothmaster]

Frost drifted in and out of sleep. Those times he was awake his body ached all over. He felt hands putting salve on his backside. After each time the salve was massaged at his wounds the pain subsided which let him sleep a little more. His sleep was filled with dreams. Dreams that turned to nightmares without warning. Dreams that had Frost running through the forest with an unknown enemy at his heels. Each time he turned around he saw nothing. He only heard the follower breaking branches as it came after him.

Frost woke up with a stifled scream. Not for the first time. He felt the ache of his body still but it felt better. He could move a little easier and he sat up in his bed. He wiped away the sweat that covered his face with his forearm. Despite the pain he would survive. The punishment of 50 lashes could easily kill a man. He was thankful that he had avoided the fever that was so common after such an event.

His clothes was removed and he was totally naken. With a sigh he lay down on his stomach.

 

[One Eyed Jack]

He grinned as she began to boast of her skills; clearly she found her art alluring. The only mare on the conversation was her lack of will toward her darker side.

“My dear, I am pleased you’ve enjoyed your stay. I’d like you to remain here, and we can work on these talents of yours. While there is a temporary cease in hostilities, make no mistake, there is a war going on. I’m certain you will have ample opportunity to hone this healing skill of yours, and perhaps that alone will turn the tides in our favor. But this other skill, this inflicting of harm, you are very good, I’ve seen your work. That half-witted guard’s hand was nearly completely crippled. I’ve an entire prison for you to practice on, perhaps even learning to undo the damage…my that would be an effective torture for spies, would it not?!”

His excitement got the better of him, and his fist pounded the table, making plates jump into the air. “My apologies, I’m a bit anxious see what you can do. You see, I’ve been without any supernatural aide in my campaigns, while that wench Morgiana has kept her little demon man in check and producing trinkets and potions for her armies, and Slythe has that metal-handed bitch that basically grows him money – you’re the first edge I’ve received. It may well be you who can enable a small island nation to expand past these fools that think themselves so important.”

He stood, and offered his hand to her. “Let’s go to those kitchen gardens you sought. I’ve been too animated for your first night here. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen the kitchen gardens.” His smile was an attempt at charming, but deep down the gears of his mind were working on how to best expand her powers, best use them to achieve his goals, and a little closer to the surface, was how to remove that gown and bed her, without withdrawing a stub. She might well be forbidden fruit, and that made him want her al the more.

“Shall we?”

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

Lisheeda and the Lord of Doom!

Lisheeda’s unconsciousness was rudely awakened and her first inclination had been to bellow her outrage, the only thing that kept her from doing so was the pain that ripped through her jaw. Three, no four times, she thought to herself; she’d been hit in the face and three of those times it had been her jaw. Her lips were cracked and bloody and the only sound she could pull from the either broken or just severely battered bones of her face were soft growls or low whimpers. These sounds fell on deaf ears as other noises drowned them out, such as the heavy footprints of the evil that dragged her through the blood spattered halls.

Her gaze grew wide as she saw the dead guard, the one she had merely wounded. When they passed by them, the robes she wore, already soaked with blood became more wet with the slick substance and she felt it finally seep through the material and onto her soft brown complexion.

“Good he can rape you while you wear another’s blood. . .Rape, no it will be worse than that. . . well that is your own fault. . .I am not a slave. . . I know, I know, you are a free woman. . .YES. . . You’re only free because you ran before the other used you; look where you are now, no lover and soon to be everything you never wanted to be. . .I will gain my freedom again. . .You will try again after all this. . . Yes. . .but how many will die by your hands. . .As many as it takes, I will not be his for long. . .You try his patience. . .Then perhaps he’ll find me too much to handle and give me to his men. . .That would be better? . . Well they sure do die easily,” ending the conversation with herself just as she was pulled into the Lord’s bedchamber.

She saw the body of the old hag, her head split open and the matter spilling out from the gaping hole. Immediately she began to throw up, the food she’d eaten spilled from her lips and covered her chin, rolled down her neck and splattered her bloody robes and the stone floor she’d been dragged across.

 

[Erotic_Beauty]

The light spilled into her room and Morgaina turned away, her body snuggling closer to the woman that lay between the thick blankets with her. A whimper came from the girl and Morgaina moved her hand over the tender sex that she had abused several times during the night.

"Still sore?" she asked, pulling her hand away and then pushing it up to squeeze the hard nipple.

"A little Mistress," the soft spoken girl whispered.

"It will pass," Morgaina said and then abandoned the slave to ready herself for the days events. "You may go now. One of my men will come to you to begin your training in the arts of seduction. You will be used to entertain guests as well as myself when the need arises."

She watched the young girl leave her bed and saw the evidence of her virginity spread across her legs. Morgaina’s rights were no different than any warlord. The virgins belonged to her, just as if she were a man.

Rolling her eyes she laughed as she thought of how many men were under her control. What did they think of her, she wondered as she made her way to her washing chambers.

The pool of water was ready for her, built over a layer of rocks that were heated with flames. She stepped in and washed away come and blood that had covered her body. Once she was clean she was assisted by another woman, who aided her.

The gown of yellow and pale green was a contrast to the dingy colors of her keep. It was also a great contrast to the hard woman beneath the fine clothing.

"Bring Olam to me," she told the woman, only to hear her answer he’d not been seen this morning.

Morgaina’s eyes slanted and she showed her annoyance to the girl with a quick slap of her hand.

"What good are you?" she hissed and lifted the hem of her gown and proceeded to walk away.

Her mood was foul when she came across another of her servants. "Mistress," the young boy cried, immediately falling to his knees and kissing her slippered toe.

She kicked him away and waited to hear what news he had to give her.

"The wizard is dead!"

Her eyes grew wide in their sockets and she felt her heart suddenly tightened. She picked the lad up with one hand and lifted him in the air. "Tell me where he is!" she demanded. "The hall; right down there," the boy pointed and then was dropped from her tight grasp. She ignored his cry of shock and pain as he landed on his wrist and the snap was heard down the hall.

"For your sake you had best hope he’s not dead," she growled.

She quickened her steps and finally reached the body that lay in the shadows of the hall. Dropping to her knees, her hands ran over Olam’s body. She turned and called back to the lad that he was not dead, but merely weak and needed care. The boy was told to find someone to carry the wizard to her chambers where he would rest.

When the man arrived she made sure he understood that his life was short if the magician was not in her bed when she returned. Her next stop was at Frost’s chambers. She walked in and glared at his body, nude and covered in salve.

"Who ordered this?" she demanded of the girl that kept watch over the assassin.

"No one Mistress, it is just the normal way of doing things," the timid voice answered.

"He can not go to the enemy looking like we cared for him. What purpose does that serve? Wash it all off, he is to suffer for his failings, not bask in the healing effects of our herbs." She walked over to Frost’s bed and studied his barely conscious figure.

Bending down she whispered, "They say you didn’t scream,” her breath touched his cheek and she ran a finger across his jaw. “If you betray me, I’ll make sure you scream."

Morgaina didn’t know if he heard her or not, but she knew he would feel the pain of his cleansing. She looked at the girl who was readying soap and water to wash off the numbing salve.

"Salt water will work to cleanse the failings from his body," she hissed and then left the room to begin the questioning of the man she held in her dungeons.

Her anger was high and she knew that the young man would probably die before she was done with her questioning.

 

[Nibbles_n_Tits]

Tharalon

“My dear, I am pleased you’ve enjoyed your stay. I’d like you to remain here, and we can work on these talents of yours. While there is a temporary cease in hostilities, make no mistake, there is a war going on. I’m certain you will have ample opportunity to hone this healing skill of yours, and perhaps that alone will turn the tides in our favor. But this other skill, this inflicting of harm, you are very good, I’ve seen your work. That half-witted guard’s hand was nearly completely crippled. I’ve an entire prison for you to practice on, perhaps even learning to undo the damage…my that would be an effective torture for spies, would it not?!”

Prisoners and spies, criminals and agents of your homeland, girl, think of it, he offers a chance to test the other side of the coin. Aid and injury, comfort and pain, imagine being able to control both….

Tharalon had begun to lose herself in contemplation, when Lord Pravus brought a pounding fist down on the table, knocking her from her reverie.

“My apologies, I’m a bit anxious see what you can do. You see, I’ve been without any supernatural aide in my campaigns, while that wench Morgiana has kept her little demon man in check and producing trinkets and potions for her armies, and Slythe has that metal-handed bitch that basically grows him money – you’re the first edge I’ve received. It may well be you who can enable a small island nation to expand past these fools that think themselves so important.”

“It is dangerous to abuse the powers the gods give us, I am not…comfortable with the idea of inflicting pain to test the abilities. I think the power is dark… wrong… It scares me, having it may mean…” She shakes her head, “I do not know what it means. I do not even know if I can do it again.”

He knows you have it, stupid girl. Do you think he is going to let you keep it to yourself? He has plenty of ways to inflict pain, and death, if you are unwilling to show him what you can do, he will be eager enough to show you what he can do. Do not be fooled by his charming manners, he is a predator, a killer. It is in his eyes. Deceitful and conniving, remember what the tracker said – give him what he or he will take it – in a most unpleasant way. Think of a way…

“I would like to see the guard, see his hand…” She frowns, as she realizes she is both dreading and eager to see what she has done. “If I can repair the damage I have done, if I can heal the injuries I cause, I think I would find it less objectionable…. On the right sort of prisoners, maybe volunteers… who could be pardoned for their pains…”

She sinks back into her chair, realizing she is contemplating inflicting pain, causing injuries – trying to justify it, make it the right thing to do, when she knows it is wrong. She tells herself people will suffer if she does what he wants, or they will suffer if she does not. At least if she agrees she may be able to keep some control, or negotiate satisfactory terms. That is what she tells herself, curiosity and the encouragement of the niggling little voice have nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.

Lord Pravus rises to his feet and extends a hand to her, “Let’s go to those kitchen gardens you sought. I’ve been too animated for your first night here. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen the kitchen gardens.” The smile he gave her was charming and inscrutable, warming and chilling. The smile she forced to her lips was simply tentative, given because she wanted to smile. She was tired of frowning and worrying, and hoped a visit to the garden would loosen the knot in her stomach and release the tension in her neck.

“Shall we?”

“It will be my pleasure, Lord Pravus.” She put her hand in his as she rose from the large chair. “I can only imagine that the kitchen gardens must be enormous and require many days of exploration before they can be fully viewed.”