Lords of Itaea

[Pro_Create]

Belcanto tries another Inn

Belcanto on the White Cliffs of...Someplace

It was an hour or two before a cloudy dusk when the Farmer's Son reached the End of the World.

Before him an angry grey ocean stretched for miles and miles to the horizon. He was too high up to smell its full saltiness, but otherwise his awe was complete and total in all his senses. The sound of the pounding surf against the jagged rocks was especially impressive. It impressed upon him it's fluidity and it's force.

His jaw would have dropped, except Belcanto was certain he'd never get it back. It was a long way down with a very painful stop. And as a poor farmer, he'd never so much as climb a horse! He couldn't imagine climbing down, much less up, any more than he could imagine boarding a boat now that he'd seen with the sea look like.

He shook his head, unable to imaging how one would even board a boat made of fragile wood without it slapping to pieces against the cliffs. The tales his mother told of sailors must not have been true. Impossible! Who could ride upon THAT? Who could pull fish from THAT the way a farmer pulls potatoes from the ground? NO ONE!

Still, it was impossible to look away. He could see now how certain men would be drawn to the sea. Power and danger attracted most men to some degree, and although Belcanto did not think himself as such a man, he would be forced to admit, if asked, that he missed what little power he had had before the fits had begun. If you count knowing one's self and being able to trust one's self as a power.

"I cannot fish this," he said eventually, and backed away from the ciff's edge until the distant horizon fell below the rocky crag, out of sight. He'd fish rivers for his food dozens of times since fleeing Zed's Domain, but not tonight. He'd be lucky if he found an inn to feed and shelter him before sunset, he accepted meekly. He hoped he could avoid another fit and resolved to avoid heavy drink, as he suspected they strenghtened the fits if not outright induced them. From his vantage point atop a knoll atop the cliff, he saw a distant chimney and decided that if it wasn't an Inn, it was probably a safer place to starve til morning then a sea cliff.

Luckily, it did turn out to be an Inn, and a much busier one than the last one he had stayed at. Perhaps the threathened foul weather had called them all in off the road. He sat an empty table heavy with the thought that keeping dry from the rain was more important than a full stomach or a quenched thirst. He unbuckled his cup just as a serving wench came around. Before he could think how best to phrase the question without seeming like an inexperienced farmboy, the wench breezily settled the issue for him as she poured.

"Our rooms are all taken, even the shared beds, so no salty comments. If you want to stay dry, a penny will get you the shelter of a clean horse's stall or the manger."

Belcanto had no idea what a salty comment would be, but he was unconcerned. In his rush to get the cooper into the girl's hand before all the clean stalls were taken, Belcanto nearly inverted and emptied out his pouch. The amber stone, a gold coin wide and four coins thick, bounced out. For a moment, Belcanto lost it. Luckily, he discovered it and snatched it back before the strange man sitting at the next table could do more than just eye it jealously. "Ah-ha!" he said to noone. To everyone, which made him embarassed, but the greedy man next to him eventually looked away.

He gave the penny to the girl, who had not quite noticed to little drama. Belcanto was too much the boy to interest her in any way, uness he was a very good tipper. He placed half his remaining coins on the table and asked, "What is there to eat?" But his voice was quiet and shy and she almost didn't hear him. She sighed, and counting the money on the table, correctly assumed what he asked. "There is goat stew and fish." She also correctly assumed the likely size of him tip, so she did not bother explaining the types of fish available. He expressed an interest in the goat stew, since he'd eaten enough river fish recently to last him the rest of his life.

The girl served him fish and took most of the coins on the table and hustled away to serve the big tippers and huge drunks on the other side of the common room.

He sighed and dug in reluctantly to the fish. Belcanto did not want to complain, but he quickly decided that he had no reason to. It was not bad, nor was it like any fish he had ever tasted in his life. No doubt better than the goat stew.

The wench came back three times and refilled his tin cup. He had relaxed by the first refill; the bar was too crowded for him to see the fire, much less get close to it. The ale was too watery, it seemed, to bring about a fit. He also became a little optimistic. He'd come to the end of the world, where else could he go? Perhaps he could find work here. Surely, the sea must eat a lot of the villages men... he was a strong young man. Strapping was the word his mother would have used. Was their a fishing season like one's harvest season? If there was and this was that time of year, he was certain he could handily get work.

Just as the common room began to get really raucus, Belcanto had decided that it was time to hit the hay.

He was too sated and too guileless to realize that he was followed back out to the barn...

 

[Tseranc]

Olam awoke, and rubbed his aching head. Most of him ached, but his head the worst, and he felt a lump growing on one side. He concluded that he must have hit his head on his way down, vaguely recalling his morning journey. The Sword needed to be tested still, just a prick of its blade would be enough to know, but he felt so week, and the bed was so comfortable….

He panicked. He had not fallen in bed, and only one in all the keep was this soft. He lay in Morgiana’s room, he need not open his eyes to know that. But why? For further punishment for failing to accomplish his tasks, even she could surely not be that unreasonable! Had she discovered his generosity to Frost? No, that was untraceable by any but a guard who might have seen him actually eat the leaf bit, and deduce where it had come from. Maybe she was just worried about him?

That last thought seemed more ludicrous then the rest, why might fret over her wizard’s future usefulness, but not the man’s well being. He finally forced his eyes to flutter open, and his knowledge of his whereabouts was confirmed. He struggled to sit up, week beyond words, until finally he sat on the edge of the bed he had departed last night. The scent of another was here now, a woman. He recalled some small fact about a relatively new slave girl, and Morgiana broke them all in herself, man and woman alike. He didn’t know where to envy or pity the girl he’d never seen, but instead just sat there. His Mistress would send someone to him, if not come herself, soon. He needed energy, as he’d poured all he had into the making of the armor and sword, especially that sword. He felt a bit of his soul had been taken to forge a weapon so evil.

He would wait, and see his fate when She announced it. Until then he sat to rest, eye lids becoming increasingly heavy…

 

[LitShark]

As Slythe dragged the girl into his bedchamber she saw the remains of the old hag. The girl, already covered in blood threw up upon herself, so revolted by the sight.

“After so much grit and fortitude now is not the time for so weak a constitution my dear…” Slythe hissed ominously, “You’ll soon envy the fate that befell that old bitch. She went quickly, your suffering shall be epic after the trouble you have caused me.”

Slythe unceremoniously wrenched the girl to her feet. He then set about clamping her arms in the sturdy steel shackles that hung from the wall. Once Lisheeda was securely bound Slythe stood back to gaze at his prize. She had cost him much to acquire and would repay the distress she had caused him with her own suffering.

Slythe ripped the now filthy silk robe from her body, using it to wipe her face and chest clean of her bile. Once she was clean(er) Slythe’s icy hand caressed the side of her face which was beginning to swell. He wished for a moment he had use of Morgiana’s magician Olam, so that he could heal the girl enough to hurt her again thoroughly.

“You have cut the hand of my witch you impudent little whore. You have no idea how that action vexes me.” Slythe’s skull clad face was now close enough to Lisheeda’s that she could feel his breath on her face, “I prize that girl’s comfort far greater than I value your pathetic little life.”

Slythe’s grip had now moved to the back of her head as he took hold of a fistful of her hair, pulling her head in such a way that she was forced to look into his burning green eyes. The hatred and rage he felt was far more evident in his eyes than in his even and deliberate tone. Slythe would hear this girl scream, sooner or later they all screamed.

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

Lisheeda shackled to the wall of a mad man. . .

Lisheeda breathed in the stench of the blood and her bile that had been smeared on her bruised features. Her blue eyes held his green ones and she blinked as she concentrated on his lips. She shook her head and pulled at her restraints, the look of confusion blanketing the hate in her eyes.

The sting in her scalp added little pain to her suffering, but she allowed the tears to fall, hoping to distract the Lord with her "supposed" weakness. Her fingers curled into small fist and she shuddered as the coolness of the room caressed her blood-stained body.

“You shouldn’t have cut the witch. . .I had no choice. . .You could have jumped. . .She was probably going to push me. . .True. But what will you do now? This Lord is obviously angry with you and will break your spirit. . .No one will break my spirit, even when I scream he’ll still never break me. . . Then you will scream. . .Aye. . .but only when I can stand no more."

The conversation with herself ended as quickly as it had started. She stared into the masked man, holding his gaze and then without thought spit the blood from her cut lip and the remains of her vomit that had clung to her throat and mouth into the Lord’s face. Her lips curled in anger and if he dared to move closer to her, she told herself that she’d willingly bite at whatever skin she could latch onto.

 

[One Eyed Jack]

Pravus cuts a deal

He tried not to look as bored as he felt, analyzing plants. He knew this would ultimately help his cause, but damn it herbs were not dull. Indeed the kitchen gardens were a far vaster then he had assumed, and cataloging them would indeed take days.

“I have just been graced with a lovely idea. Should you promise to hone your skills, in my service, both skills,” he emphasized, “then I will be forced to ensure you’ve all the resources to achieve in that goal, including your own garden.” He was buying her off, but he could see she was so seduced by her own power, that she would not be a costly purchase.

He stepped close behind her, softly speaking into her ear, “Think about it Tharalon, you can grow, practice and enjoy your power; never running or fearing who might be hurt by it ever again.” His hands rested on her hips, hoping his light, expert tough added to the thrill she might feel at such a notion, and didn’t cost him his hands. “You Tharalon, you can stand at my side as we bring order to the land, and be respected, envied for your power, and never hunted again.”

The thrill of the images in his head caused his pulse to race, lands would lay before his feet, his men fearless of battle for they knew who could come to their aid should they be so deserving, fearful of turning back, knowing a touch from her at his command could would deeper then any enemy might hope to. His armies would lay waste to all that resisted - The True Crown might be within his grasp…

“Join my quest Tharalon, aid me, and you’ll never have need to want anything again.”
His hot breath n the back of her neck emphasized each word.

 

[TheScarletBlade]

((Long overdue,Borderline not even expected anymore I am sure.I got in another real life scrap so I have been busy taking care of the repercussions and then my dad ended up getting emitted into the hospital so I have been taking care of him,all that on top of the big holiday rush,so I have been really busy but here it is))

It was late in the night and reeked of hot sweaty bodies and cheap ale.A dim light illuminated the main section of a seedy tavern on the outskirts of the town,almost completely swallowed by the darkness surronding the area,the dim light was barely visable to anyone at a distance,yet the smell and the laughter of the drunk men and the music being played could be heard.It was unmistakable,this tavern was the place.It looked like nothing but a crappy shack,made of rotting wood and with no color,barely held togather and with many patches on the wall,probably where people had been thrown through the wall in a bar fight.It once only a single story building and only had one enterance in the front and there was no door left,probably from people being thrown out forcefully.

The inside had torn up and dirty carepting with five small round tables in the entire place,with a smouldering fire in a small pit,trying to heat the entire room but it could not fight against the biting cold breeze that blew through the empty holes on the side of the tavern that used to be windows.Sitting in the table closet to the fire pit,there was a game of dice being played.Three men of completely different occuptations sat at the table: The first gambler was a mountian of muscles,standing 6'5 with shoulders built like an ox,this man could barely fit in his tunic.He wore a sleeveless black tunic,giving his tree trunked size arms freedom to move.He wore a matching pair of black pants that were definantly to small for him but he prefered to wear them over nothing.He had a massive pretruding chin and a scarred face,one large jagged scar running from above his eyebrown down his cheek,an eye patch covering the empty hole where his eye should be.A massive double handed axe resting against a chair right next to him,the think weighing at least a hundred pounds,he was definantly the most intimadating of the men,his large bass voice booming all over when he spoke.

The second man was definantly of smaller build,but he looked just as tough as the first gambler.He was a short yet skinny guy,standing maybe 5'10 with a slender building yet he had strong arms,his muscles not bulging but definantly strong.He wore a dark green cloak with a hood and a white tunic.He had a black leather belt,a saber with a silver basket hilt resting at his side,the tip of the sheath resting on the ground beside the warrior.He completely look with dark black pants.He wore a golden brooch that resembled a Talon with three claws,the same symbol enbroiderd on his large partners black tunic.The second gambler had a smooth and handsome face,with peircing eyes and well kept hair,though he had a cold look,like that of a man who kills without a remorse.

The third man was a regular old merchant,with graying hair and in somewhat nice clothes.He wore no sort of distuingishing marks that set him apart from any other old man who gambled for fun.There was empty plates and mugs of ale as the men begin to toss dice.Before one hand the the old man turned to his new friends and asked them a question "Your both accomplished adventurers,could you both please answer a question: Who is this free knight,a sword with no lord. A vagrant warrior saves the peasantry? Does he even exist and if he does,who is he?" The old man with sincere curiosity.Being a merchant ment he came into contact with a wide assortment of people and recently a lot of people were begining to speak of a free knight,like some Messiah,like a savior. An invincable warrior who can wipe out entire legions of with a flick of his finger.Some say hes the dead king reincarnated,coming back to bring order to the land.Some say hes the spirit of vengence,sent out by gods above: Immortal and punishing the wicked.

The other two gamblers just looked at the old man in thought and then looked at each other.The massive man just begin to laugh,his laugh shaking the entire place(not literally),sounding like thunder roaring over the sound of the music.Everyone begin to look up from their dice,their meals or their mugs and just looked at the large man,expecting a fight.Everyone but one man turned backed to what they were doing.Everyone accept a man wreathed in shadows in the back of the room.The axe wielding warrior looked at the old man and told him what was on his mind "The free knight? HA HA HA. That like saying their isn't a single prissy magic user that isn't in some dungeon being brainwashed by a warlord or already forced into serving one.There is no such thing as a free knight that can save the poor.Anyone who tried to defy the words of any warlord would end up like the king did: lifeless on the cold floor,in fucking peices.Plus I have already killed his legendary free knight,or well I killed that man who killed him which means I am better than he ever was,so if you want a hero old man,than you should worship me." The drunk axe wielding warrior said as he moved to roll the dice again.

The second gambler was looking around,not listening to the claims of his partner,hearing egotistical talk like that every day of his life having to work with man like him.The second man looked at the man in the corner with inquiring eyes,wondering what the man was doing over in the far table,farthest way from the heat of the fire and just out of range of the dim lights.Looking him over,taking not of his sword,the second gambler turned back to his playing companions and spoke up "The Free Knight is truely a man of legends,well worth all this praise but I can answer your question: hes just a man whos good with a sword and he looks a lot like that man" The second warrior said as he lifted his hand and pointed towards the knight in the back corner.

The two other gamblers in unison looked back at the man sitting in the back and they wondered how he even looked like a knight.Sitting relaxed in the a chair,the man wore nothing but a regular old tunic,that was sort of faded yet it was still a light red and it could be told by the fine way it was made that it was expensive.The buttons made of polished silver,they sort of glimmered in the light and the man's legs could barely be made out,the pants made of a dark black cloth,blending in perfectly with the shadow's cast by the light.With light red and blond hair,a dark black shape rested across the man's lap.It was a sword,but only the second of the three gamblers could make that out by the way the man held it and the way the slick,black hilt-recently polished- retracted the light and the blood red ruby at the end of the blade sparkled,despite the lack of light.The man was no mountian of muscle but he was larger than most men.He had strong yet not broad shoulders and strong arms,hidden by the sleeves of his tunic,the man had a handsome yet cold look,his eyes peircing a visable as he watched the men with intrest.The knight said nothing as he stood up and moved into the light,the men still looking at him.

"It's not nice to stare. I am sure you don't reconigze me but my name is Killian. I am known to man as "Invincable" and "Godlike",A savior,a Messiah but I just prefer to keep to my real title: Free Knight. Bound by no oath to any warlord,a roaming warrior that protects the weak and punishes the wicked.Now its not random chance that I am here and if you figured that out then you know what I am here for....Your master's head." The free knight said smoothly,his words not faltering: Without fear and with no arrogance.Smirking a little bit at the look on the men's faces.Freezing,the merchant just stared as the large axe wielder was already on his feet,his axe in hand and very drunk.

"You cannot be the free knight,he is dead." The man said as he heaved his axe up and into both hands.Flustered,the axe wielding warrior looked at the Free Knight,his hand gripped the axe.The tension was thick enough it could be cut by a knife as he stared down the free knight.Unflinching,Killian made no move for his sword as he stood their.He realized he didn't have time to mess around with this punks but only they could tell him where there master was. All three men were dangerous but the weakest was up first and he very drunk,making him stupid and slow and easily defeated.Sighing dramaticaly,Killian just looked at the large man infront of him and finally spoke up " Well its about time you told me where your master is,I am tired of having you stare at me.You cannot hesitate if you plan to beat me" Killian said as lifted his arms up and out,offering the drunk man a free shot at his chest.

Without fear,Killian just waited as he axe wielding warrior heaved the heavy weapon "Well imposter,its time for you to die because I am the strongest warrior in all of this town and well that means I can destroy you with one swing" Heaving the massive weapon,the large man's muscles caused the weapon to come speeding towards him yet the attack was clumsy and the follow through caused the drunk warrior to stumble.Killian moved with one smooth motion out of the way as the axe swung past him with a big gust of wind and slammed into the ground,sending its drunk wielder foreward and off gaurd.Bringing his sheathed bastard sword up with amazing speed,Killian brought the sheathed weapon down full force on the weak spot between the man's neck and shoulder,the impact sending the drunk warrior completely to the ground,falling down onto the ground right next to his axe.

Killian stood with a cold,deadly look on his face as he looked down at the knocked out giant laying on the ground beside him.Killian tilted his head up to look at the second of the gamblers as he sprung to his feet.The man wasn't even phased by Killian's display as he reached for the golden basket hilt of his saber,taking it in hand and drawing out the curved blade in one smooth action.Smirking devilishly,Killian held his blade up horizontally infront of him and took a hold of the dark black sheath.Pulling the sheath off slowly,revealing the beautifully polished blade of his sword,the ruins carved in the blade of the sword glowing blood red.Throwing the sheath aside,Killian held the smooth black hilt of the blade in both hands.Spreading his legs out a little bit as went into his stance,his left foot foreward,he held the blade at waist level with the blade pointing backwards,a common stance and a brutal one.Springing off his back foot,Killian charged foreward at breakneak speed.Closing the gap between the two warriors,Killian stepped to the side as he moved within killing range,the slender blade of the rapier wizzing past him.His blade shooting around the right side of his body,the blade slipped right under the gambler's blade and right towards his unarmored chest.Cleaving through his flesh and with the percision of a surgeon,the blade slipped perfectly through the man's ribs and cut right back through the man's lungs,popping them completely.The blade not slowing as it severed the man's spine,the blade stuck in his spine as the gambler collapsed to the floor.Gasping for breath that wasn't their,Killian drew his blade out of the man's chest.The bright blade now tarnished with blood,it dripping to the floor as he stood over the second gambler,watching him die.

Turning to the final man,the Old merchant.Lifting his sword with amazing speed,the free knight set the blade right next to the old man's throat "Don't even think about it old man,everyone knows what you planning to do next.You've fought long and hard though sir and your a distuingished warrior,its finally your time" Killian said coldly as the blade shot out like a cobra's strike,the tip slicing through his juglar and his throat,leaving a clean cut across his next.His eyes wide,the old man fell fast first into the table,two large daggers falling from his lifeless hands to clank on the floor.Lowering his blade,Killian move smoothly away from the three men as he made towards the back door,the patrons in the rest of the room having gone silence in awe as the free knight moved slowly to the back door and pushed it open.

Stepping into the brightly lit room,the free knight looked away in disgust.Strapped to the back wall,held their tightly by iron manacles,she was naked and gagged as the local magistrate stood naked over her with a knife,slowly leaving cuts along her body,grinning sadisticly.The young girl was crying from the pain and fighting against the chains which only made the magistrate cut her more.When she noticed Killian,she knew she was saved.His sword covered in blood,Killian was death as raged begin to burn through him.Killian could not stand seeing a woman's tears.Stepping slowly towards the magistrate,the fat old man turned around to look at him with shock,dropping his knife in suprise and slinking away,fearing the promise of death that Killian stood for.Studdering as he tried to talk "If....ifff its money you want,I will give you any,amount you wan...t....please don't kill me" The man said as he finally backed himself into a corner.

"You can train a dog with food,you can buy a person with money but there isn't a man alive you can control my blade!" Killian said as he walked over to stand infront of the man,his shadow completely consuming the magistrate as he cowered in fear.Bringing his blade up slowly and dramaticly,Killian spoke "Magistrate,You are hereby judged for your crimes and your punishment is death" His blade sparkled in the light and with a graceful movement,the blade came down upon the magistrate,the blade cleanly cutting through the man's neck,the impact sending the blade through the man's neck,cutting it completely off from his body.Blood splattering as the blade did its dirty work,Killian looked without remorse as he turned away from the lifeless corpse as it crumpled against the wall.Stepping slowly over to the woman,Killian swung his sword above her,the blade cutting cleanly through the chain,freeing the woman from the wall.Looking down at her,Killian offered only one word "Run" as he walked from the room.

Covered in blood,The knight moved through the room as everyone sat frozen in their chairs,the music stopping dead and everyone eyes on him as he stepped over and picked up his sheath,sliding the blood soaked blade into it and strapping it to his belt.Killian didn't say a word as he stepped through the quiet tavern,past the three defeated warriors.Killian had left the Giant of a man alive so he could warn others,let them know that Killian the Free Knight was comming for them.Killian stepped into the cold pitch black night to already find his horse waiting for him.Nex was a dark black horse that completely blended in the darkness.His full name was Nex Pennae,which ment Death's Wings.Climbling into the saddle,Killian spurred his faithful steed into motion,Riding away from the tavern with amazing speed before the magistrates soldiers could come and stop him,he still had work to do but for now,his objective was complete.

 

[Erotic_Beauty]

The words of 'die whore' fell from the bubbling lips of Morgaina’s prisoner. She wiped the spray of blood from her face and then finished his suffering with the clawed glove as it ripped away the jugular of his throat as well as his windpipe.

"Dispose of this," she growled and removed the offending object, the sharp talons now dulled from its use of splaying open the man’s skin for the last several hours.

She walked over to the window and gazed across her land. "What skills do you have little witch? Has the great Lord Slythe already discovered them? Or perhaps you are nothing but a bitch in heat and he’s already sliding his cock into you." Morgaina shrugged her shoulders. The muscles of her arm ached from the lashing she’d delivered to the prisoner. She was more than ready to feel the arms of one of her many coaxing her back into what they thought of as a more relaxed mood for the female warlord.

She heard the chains being released and then the thud of the broken and bloody body hit the ground.

"Skin it first and then prepare the hide to grace the wall," she said before leaving.

There was no doubt her command would be carried out. If it was not then the men given the task would only join the trophies that lined the stone structure of the underground chambers.

Morgaina stopped in the kitchens and ordered a light broth to be brought to her room along with her morning meal. A questioning look was passed to her from the cook, but she said nothing. She trusted few, but the old man that manned the kitchens had been the one that had hidden her when she was able to sense her father and brothers needs for her, he was one of the few she trusted.

The door to her room was heavily guarded. She nodded to the three men and then walked into her room, shutting it behind her. "You have risen," she said to Olam, her gaze searching his face and running quickly over his body.

"You seem to be better. I have ordered food brought to you. Tell me what progress you have made and what your plans are for my Frost?"

 

[Tseranc]

Olam shook his eyelids back open as She walked in. “Yes Mistress, I’m awake, though barely. Thank you.”

He struggled to stand, but he had not demanded that he do so, so gave up and remained sitting more or less upright. “Frost has a new sword, Mistress, one who’s slightest cut will send chills and fear to the bone. While this effect does not actually increase any harm, it should reflect Frost’s reputation, and give him his edge back.”

He coughed once, and brought himself to the inevitable. “I am nearly done crafting frost a means to communicate to you; his chest armor has been imbued, and now only requires the last touch, the blood of the writer. With this, he can write in his own blood, on its back surface, and the message will appear in a mirror that I have crafted, though it too requires an final touch,” He swallowed, “the blood of the one who will be able to read it.”

He cast his eyes down, hoping she designated someone else to watch over her spy. The thought of collecting Her blood did not thrill him, one false move and his own would surely be spilt on the floor.

Food arrived, as promised, and he took a drink from the water that came with it, draining the goblet without pause. He hoped more would come, but began spooning the broth into is mouth, trying to appear still civilized in front of her. The bowl was soon empty, and he dabbed his mouth and the tray was taken away.

“Thank you My Mistress, I apologize for allowing myself to become so weak in haste to produce these items for your plan.” He didn’t mention that he felt empty having crafted a weapon for the first time. He’d made armor, trinkets and the like before, but never an object that’s sole purpose was to kill. “If it pleases you, perhaps I should return to the armor?” He dreaded the mirror, and painting the backside of it in her blood, blood he knew he’d have to collect sooner or later.

 

[Erotic_Beauty]

Her eyes grew wide at the thought of a blade anywhere near her that was not held in her own hand. She moved from his side and pulled a knife from the hidden folds of her gown.

Her gaze traveled over him and she felt her lips tremble. She bit down, clenching the weak muscle between her sharp teeth.

"There is a goblet, do this now and then you may go. If you require more sustenance than stop by the kitchens and break your fast again."

The blade was the same one she’d used on her father and her brother. It was only fitting that she give it to one that could take her life.

Morgaina thought of calling a guard to watch what Olam did to her, but she thought that if the magician chose to take her life than so be it. When it was time for her to leave this world, then there was little she could do to tempt the fates.

She stepped over to him and handed him the sharp instrument. Her body stiffened as she waited. No pain had crossed her path since she’d become the Lord of her people, at least none that she hadn’t welcomed.

Licking her lips, the pink tongue slipping slowly across the fullness, she nodded her head for him to begin his assault to her person.

 

[Tseranc]

Olam on the spot

Olam stared up in wonder as he reached out for the blade, trying not to tremble. With it in his grasp , he looked it over, and knew which knife she had given him, it hardly ever left her person. “Yes Mistress.” He suppressed the need to gulp for air, the tension driving him mad.

He thought, and focused, on the task at hand, then reached for her herbs. He brought several out, including a much larger piece of the same leaf that he’d provided Frost. He set that aside and pulled out a leather pocket full of sap, to which he added a dried flower and mixed it into the goo. “If My Mistress would, this leaf, if you eat it, will dull the pain, this much and you should hardly feel a thing.” The sap mixture was for closing the wound once the deed was done.

Having handed her the leaf, he took her arm, and rolled it over so that he could place the knife down against her smooth forearm, just below the bend. At her nod, he force the blade through the skin, and hit his mark, the small vein below. He quickly turned her arm over, and captured every drop in the goblet. When he had enough, and dared to take no more, he held the wound tightly in his hands as he pealed a bit of his robe into a strip. He Put the sap mixture over the wound, then bound it in place with the strip of material.

“There should be no mark by morning Mistress.” He handed back the blade, hilt first, wondering if she were irritated enough to drive it into him right then and there. Not waiting for further instruction, he rose, and on wobbly knees walked to the door, holding the goblet with all his worth…he was certain his life depended on it. he made it to his study without error, and only after setting the goblet down safely did he collapse into a chair. He drank several more glasses of water, both to aid his weakness, and calm his nerves. After he had waited long enough, he took a goblet of his own, and walked to Frost’s quarters, where he found the man huddled against he wall.

“I’m sorry to disturb you frost, but I require something of you to finish the armor we discussed.” He held out a knife, looking genuinely apologetic for causing more harm to the man. “I need some of your blood, to bind the creation to you alone.”

 

[LitShark]

Slythe wasted little time in bringing pain to this girl. He responded to her spitting on his mask by headbutting the forehead of his bone mask against her forehead. He would have delivered a proper headbutt but he wanted to preserve as much of her beauty as he could.

As the girl stumbled slightly, backing against the stone wall Slythe grabbed a cruel set of iron clamps, joined by a crude steel chain. A pair of loud snaps signified the clamping down of the small devices on the girl’s tits.

She writhed against her bonds but still made no sound. Slythe was infuriated even further by her silence. The blood spattered mask he wore began to tremble as Slythe’s rage and excitement built. He pulled a flat black flogger from one of the oak tables that lined the walls.

The flogger slowly moved up between Lisheeda’s legs. The cold leather made her try to clamp her legs shut, but in a flash, the flogger struck her left inner thigh, urging her legs back apart.

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

Lisheeda takes a moment to herself. . .

Lisheeda’s head throbbed with pain and she knew another knot was going to form along with the bruises her body was beginning to be covered in. When he left her she thought she’d pushed him too far and he was going to end her life, but instead she was rewarded with more pain. Her teeth clamped down on her lower lip and she bit hard, tasting blood and swallowing the metallic flavor as he seized her breasts and locked them down.

Her eyes shot daggers at his and she pictured his body splayed open, the bloody knife in her hand dripping with red silk. Again he left her and again Lisheeda found herself praying to the gods and goddesses that had long ago abandoned Itaea.

The first bite of the flogger made her jerk her head to the right and her legs quiver in response. Still she swallowed the whimpers and made no move to fight what was going to happen.

“Give him what he wants girl. . .Why? He will still rape me. He’ll still take what is not his to take. . .But perhaps. . . Perhaps what? Perhaps he’ll stay his hand. No, he will not. Look at him. . .Aye, his eyes hold the truth of his soul. Fight him girl, even if it means you bleed from every orifice in your body. Do not give in. . .Thank you.”

Blood had pooled in her mouth as she concentrated on her thoughts and took the lashes the man had delivered. Again she spit the hot liquid out, once more covering her chin as well as her new Lord.

 

[LitShark]

If there was one thing Slythe adored, it was the feeling of his enemies’ blood upon his skin. The girl spat a fresh spray of her warm blood onto his mask, leaving the ominous skull streaked with crimson. Slythe’s cock was beginning to fill with his own blood as Lisheeda’s dripped slowly from just under his eye down the side of his nose. The bloody mask hid his devious smile as he brought the flogger upwards in another battle speed strike up against her pussy.

“You can spit your blood at me until your body is drained dry. It only fuels my desire to spill more.” Slythe began dragging the thick leather up the center of her body as he spoke. “Let’s start slowly… tell me your name.”

SMACK!

The flogger came down on Lisheeda’s left breast causing the chain between her breasts to shake and jingle agonizingly.

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

Deaf and Dumb... yep, honest.

Her hips shifted to the left just as the flogger hit her soft-furred mound. Her eyes clenched at the bite and then she heard his words asking her name, followed by the slashing of her breast. Her nipples were pulled and tears welled up behind her clenched lids. Her red and swollen lips opened and she took in a deep breath to swallow up the shocked gasp that had threatened to leap from her battered self.

Instead she simply blinked at him. Her head moved to look up at her fingers, which she was moving rapidly as if signaling to him in sign. She knew the witch did not speak, surely she conversed with the mad man with her hands. Her gaze moved back to his and she nodded her head upwards, trying to get him to understand her dilemma of being deaf and dumb.

“I am here. . .I know. . .Just think of your friend. . .I am.”

As she made the frantic motions with her fingers, her mind traveled to a village where she had been a child for so long and had played side by side with a boy who would grow up to be the man she desired.

“Where is he now? . . I do not know. . .If I were with him we would have many babes. . .Aye, I’m sure you would.”

Lisheeda implored the man to try and understand her silence and inability to comprehend what he was saying. Her blue eyes were full of both the tears from his lashes, but her own assault on her tender lip and inner cheeks.

 

[LitShark]

The girl was beginning to cry softly now, her fingers crudely trying to sign to him. Deaf? No, she couldn’t be. She was far too aware to be deaf, his men were trained in the art of silence and stealth yet she had managed to get the drop on his scout back at the cave. Perhaps she had seen him first, but even then she must have heard Slythe’s approach to know to flee the cave, furthermore she had used rustling leaves to draw Frost in on his men. None of that was conclusive evidence that she could hear, but Slythe had a feeling… maybe it was because of his dream. In his dream this girl was singing, singing beautifully. The dream had been accurate as to her whereabouts, this girl was far too aware to be the deaf mute she portrayed. Slythe knew what it was to outwardly portray something which one’s soul didn’t feel, he got that same sense from her. Behind her tough shell he knew there was a pearl in there somewhere, he just needed to pry her open.

“What is your name?” The question was punctuated by another painful smack on her other breast. The musical jingling of the chain reminded him of the song from his dream.

 

[brigid_fitch]

Rhonwen

Rhonwen tried not to watch Slythe drag the 'Llittle Blackbird' out of the room. She remembered all too well what that was like and where the girl was going. But, that was a lifetime ago and she'd certainly experienced far worse horrors than Slythe's bedchambers since leaving this place. She'd done her penance and now her life was her own. Slythe was paying her--doubling her pay, now--but he no longer owned her. Rhonwen bent down again to finish dressing the other girl's hand.

"Well, it's going to look pretty nasty for a while--definitely leave a scar--but you won't need a second metal hand." Rhonwen said with a smirk. "And luckily, the blade wasn't poisoned. You'll be fine and the hand will heal after about a fortnight."

The girl made no response--just stared at her blandly. Rhonwen wondered if she was in shock, but decided that wasn't the case.

"I don't know what you hoped to accomplish by grabbing onto our Little Blackbird there--she certainly seemed determined to fly away one way or another." The girl only blinked. She seemed to be regarding Rhonwen with skepticsm, if not utter contempt. "So, do you have a name? I'm Rhonwen and unless you start talking or make some sort of indication that you understand me, I'm leaving you here to find your own way back to your room while I head back to the taproom."

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

Her eyes grew wide in their sockets as frustration mixed with both pain and despair. Her hands again moved in a frantic motion to try and convey she could not do as he asked. A tear fell and then another, but she held back the soft sob. One word came back to her and it was simply focus. She wondered where she’d first heard the quite demand and then lifted her lips in a whimsical smile.

The pull on her breasts and the sting from the flogger made her cringe, but inside her mind she saw her friend whispering to her. “Focus Lishee, you’ll never make a good swordsman.” She had responded with, “Of course not, for I am a girl.” He had followed with a roll of his eyes and then he had simply returned to her lessons. They had been eight, she had been willing to play swords if he was willing to let her teach him to sew. It was the promise that the skill she taught him would be good to know in case he was in a battle and suffered a great wound. The memory faded as she twisted in hopes to avoid another blow from her enemy.

“Give him a name. . .NO. . .He is not believing you. . .He still knows nothing. I will give him nothing. . .

She spit her blood from her mouth, no longer worried about where it landed. Her gaze flew back to his and she lifted a brow, before opening her mouth and once more capturing her lip between her teeth. Then she tossed her head back and waited for the blows to continue raining down on her. She thought of the woman who had hit her and she felt as if she were that woman, she bottled up the strength she’d witnessed in the female’s eyes and used it to fuel her resolve.

“How long will you last?. . Until one of us expires. . . I fear it will be you. . .Either way, I win. . . At what price?” Lisheeda refused to answer herself as the whimpers threatened to leave her clenched jaw and torn lip.

 

[LitShark]

Another attempt at spitting on him only sent a weak glut of blood down her chin and chest, a drop or two barely finding his chest. Still she remained resolute, Slythe liked a challenge. Slythe’s cold hand gently caressed the side of her bruised face yet again, he let his thumb wipe the blood from her chin and as she craned her head back his fingers gently trailed down her neck. His fingertips were surprisingly soft as they drew a line down the center of her body. Once his fingers moved between her breasts they slowed, slowing more and more until they encountered the cold metal chain. He stopped his hand’s decent momentarily.

“Tell me why the caged bird sings… They say it does so to keep it’s spirits up.” Slythe spoke softly now, almost a whisper, his voice oddly soothing as he grasped the chain in his fist. “My bird won’t sing. Perhaps she has another pastime to keep herself entertained…”

Slythe saw her eyes every time he struck her, she was retreating. Retreating inward to somewhere else in her mind, no matter how he bound her this bird would not be caged so long as she had a refuge to hide from him. She was tied and bloody in his bedchamber, but somewhere in that pretty raven colored head of hers she was flying free, happy and warm. He needed to keep her here with him.

Slythe stuck his head out of his bedchamber door momentarily after letting the chain drop harmlessly. “Bring me Kannet, tell him to bring as many of the large war drums as he can carry.” Slythe slammed his door, certain that his orders would be carried out.

“You’ll sing for me my little chickadee. You’ll sing before the sun rises on another day.” Slythe gently slid his fingers down her abs, finishing the line down her body as he spoke. “Now… what is your name?”

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

The Drummer Boys?

Lisheeda trembled as his finger moved lazily down her skin. Her gaze shifted nervously from the trail of moist red liquid as it slipped over the dry crusted blood that had soaked her skin earlier. She licked her lips, her blue eyes reading the movements of his fingers as she listened to him, but made no move to answer or acknowledge him.

When he called for drums, she was staring at the swinging chain that lay between her breasts.

“He is worse than simply evil. He’s a mad man as well. . . Who is this bird that sings? . . I know not what he speaks. . . He is mad I tell you. . .”

A smile lifted from her lips as Lisheeda rolled her shoulders. The ache from her arms suspended above her head was beginning to take its toll on her firm muscles. “Perhaps he is not the only one that is mad. . .What are you thinking now?. . You already know. . .Yes, and it is another foolish plan.”

Lisheeda shrugged her shoulders and then felt the man return to her side. Again his fingers moved over her skin, picking up the trail of drying blood and skating it across her flesh, bringing another shiver from deep within her. She looked up into his green eyes and blinked her confusion as he again asked her a question she refused to answer.

The sound of several men outside the door brought her up short. She studied the door and then blanched paler than her soft tan complexion normally would have allowed. Her eyes darted back to the Lord’s before she closed them, knowing one of her ‘disabilities’ had been uncovered. She focused on the other, praying for the strength to keep her voice hers and only hers.

 

[LitShark]

The girl’s haunting blue eyes fluttered shut in lieu of an answer, she was retreating again. He hoped that another strike to her left breast would be enough to bring her back.

Just as the smack from his flogger stopped echoing off the stone walls a light knock came at his chamber door. “Enter Kannet,” The young frail man entered, dragging a giant drum behind him. “Set up right next to her, when I snap my fingers I want you to beat that drum as hard and as loud as you can… we need to keep our little song bird focused.”

Slythe set down his flogger and grabbed a cat of nine tails.

“Last chance to tell me your name before the real fun starts.”

 

[Katamari Roller]

Brita stared at her own hand. It hurt. It hurt so much Brita bit her lower lip gently, trying to mask that pain with another. But it didn't work, so she guessed she would have to deal with it. After all, she had been through much, much worse.

The white-haired woman talked to her. Brita turned to look at her visage. No, to stare. The woman was unbelievably beautiful. Her hair was silvery, and her eyes blue. And the contrast with her tanned skin just made her all the more beautiful. Brita felt a tinge of envy, and another of jealousy. Slythe had hired her very little ago, most probably... Brita almost lost the words she pronounced, so entranced she was in her thoughts.

"So, do you have a name? I'm Rhonwen and unless you start talking or make some sort of indication that you understand me, I'm leaving you here to find your own way back to your room while I head back to the taproom."

Brita quickly nodded, and then grabbed a a few strips of bandages the apothecary had nearby. Brita had trouble to handle them, now her one dexterous hand was hurt. Brita looked at it, wondering how she could carry on with her life for the time being with her gauntlet serving as her only means to grap and hold things. Still, for something like this...

Laying the strips on the table she was sitting next to, Brita used the bandages to write her name on it. She hoped Rhonwhen knew how to read, because otherwise it would be uselessto do this, and the pain in her hand only made it worse for her. Still, did she really regret holding onto that girl's ankles? It might have been better to let her run, but she wouldn't have survived out there with her flimsy sex slave uniform, no food, and with Slythe's men going after her. The slave herself had dug the hole was in, and Brita could do nothing to help her now...

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

Bellatonia

“Fun? . . He is mad.” Lisheeda glanced at the young man that had come in with the drum. She knew immediately that help and freedom did not lay in that direction. She then understood what this new Lord was attempting to do. She closed her eyes and simply nodded her head, as if she were inviting him to do his worse. She wasn’t sure how long she would be able to withstand the cat o nines, already the ache in her arms had caused her to roll her shoulders and shift uncomfortably.

Her fingers were growing numb as her hands remained above her head. The knot on her forehead was aching and her face, the bruising and swelling were taking a toll on her senses. “Perhaps you will pass out. . .He would just throw water in my face and reawaken me. . .Give him something. . .But . . . I said something. I didn’t say yourself.”

“Bellatonia,” she whispered, her mother’s name falling from her torn and tattered features. She refused to look at him. Her eyes still closed and her head lowered as she prayed that he’d accept her answer before she passed out from the intense pain that was ricocheting around her head.

 

[Nibbles_n_Tits]

Tharalon and the Snake in the Garden

Tharalon was in awe…

She had expected to be impressed by the kitchen garden; she knew it would be larger than anything she had ever seen, possibly larger than anything she could imagine but…

“My lord, do you know who laid out this garden? The variety of plants, it is astounding. Who tends it?”

She moved eagerly from growth to growth, kneeling, sniffing, tasting, and obviously expecting no answer from Pravus. The hand of a magician or witch was evident in the garden, the patterned lay out and its particular alignment was singular to users of magic. Rare plants grew in abundance, nearly gone wild from lack of use. There were plants that Tharalon had only heard of but never seen, their uses hinted at by old women around the evening fires. She saw plants so similar to ones she knew that she wondered if they shared the same properties. It was an amazing collection of treasures surrounded by rows and rows of turnips and beets.

In her enthusiasm, she forgot about Pravus. Her cheeks regained the color they lost entering the palace and her face recovered its natural animation as it plainly wore her pleasure; she was nearly breathless with giddy excitement. Her hand shook as she reached out to touch the Nelos flower, so beautiful, yet so deadly if prepared properly. When he spoke, she felt as if she was waking from a beautiful dream and thrust back into harsh reality. She could not turn to face him, she was too unwilling to let go of the dream…

“I have just been graced with a lovely idea. Should you promise to hone your skills, in my service, both skills,” he emphasized, “then I will be forced to ensure you’ve all the resources to achieve in that goal, including your own garden.”

She felt him move behind her, she felt his breath on her neck as he whispered in her ear. Her body stiffened but she did not pull away. His words were holding her in place and she knew it.

“Think about it Tharalon, you can grow, practice and enjoy your power; never running or fearing who might be hurt by it ever again.”

She knew she had to pull away as his hands rested lightly on her hips but it was all too much… She loved her family and was afraid for them, she believed the tracker – Pravus would hurt them to get what he wanted, he would hurt her. The tracker said be a guest not a prisoner, take the offer. The offer… the garden, the chance to learn…

“You Tharalon, you can stand at my side as we bring order to the land, and be respected, envied for your power, and never hunted again.”

Her body started trembling, fear and anticipation conflicting with everything was raised to be, everything she had been taught, everything she thought she was. She closed her eyes, she would not look; she would not see what she might become. She was not being tempted, she was being forced; she had no choice.

“Join my quest Tharalon, aid me, and you’ll never have need to want anything again.” His hot breath at the back of her neck emphasized each word, strengthening and bolstering her own denied desire.

Her voice was soft but not too soft to hide her guilt as she clutched at all she had left, “I need to choose the… subjects. I cannot hurt innocent people, I just cannot. I will not… unless they are willing.”

 

[LitShark]

The caged bird sings at last!

"Ah! At last we hear our caged bird's song!" Slythe mocked holding the sides of the girl's face "Bellatonia, you are my sexual servant from this day forth, your only purpose in life will hereafter be my sexual gratification."

Slythe grabbed a length of rope from the dresser and very carefully bound one of her wrists tightly. He then used the rope to pull the girl's arm behind her back before grabbing her other wrist and pulling it behind her back as well, binding them tightly together.

Slythe held her wrists tightly as he pulled the girl over to his bed. He shoved her forward so that she was bent over at the waist. He held her there by her long raven colored hair as he yanked it tightly toward the head of his bed. He tied her hair to the bedpost, leaving her unable to lift her face from the sheets.

"I will now have your chastity, and our friend here will ensure that you feel every minute of it. Do you understand?" His words were like daggers and the sharp sting from his downward slap against her ass emphasized that he was not playing games. "I do expect an answer songbird. Do you understand?"

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

Bellatonia/Lisheeda

Lisheeda hissed, but answered the Lord with a gruff, “Just get on with it.” Her willingness to accept the inevitable still sickened her, but she still plotted and schemed in her head.

She lay still, her hair the anchor that stung the most. Her hands tingled as the blood rushed back to the digits and she flexed them several times, before taking a deep breath and readying herself for his attack.

“Will you scream again?. . He’d like that wouldn’t he. . .Are you ready?. . When is one ready for rape? . . Some like it. . .I am not going to be that woman. . . Are you sure. . .Do you doubt me? . . No little one, I have learned never to doubt you. . .Then believe me, this woman will not find enjoyment in the forced touch of this vile act.”

Closing her eyes, she began to hum a quiet tune, one she’d grown up with and one that meant the world to her. She breathed in the scents of the room. The musty odor, the stench of the man, the scent of blood and dried bile that rested along her smooth skin. She swore to herself that the drums would only add to the beauty of her song and so she waited for the pain that the women of the village often spoke off. . . most said it was over quickly, she wondered if that were true.