Lords of Itaea

[RedHairedandFriendly]

Pushing away the weaker side. . .

Lisheeda’s body ached. Her head pounded, the shouts she’d given even filled her with pain. The clamps on her breasts, the tug of the chain, the pull of her scalp and the sting of the cane ricochet throughout her body. She felt the third slap and once again screamed, letting her voice carry around the room. She pulled her head back, feeling several roots being pulled from her scalp. That pain was obsolete as her back burned from where she’d been struck.

“Give him what he wants. The hours grow late and you grow weak. . .No. . . You are stubborn. . .I am free. . .Free? What did freedom get you? A home in a tree, a meal of berries and bark? Freedom is overrated. . .No, I will die or collapse before he wins.” Her inner voice stopped talking to her for a moment and Lisheeda tightened her body as she waited for more strikes to fall on her skin.

She heard her mother’s name and smiled to herself. “He doesn’t have you. Don’t you see that?” She said nothing refusing to answer the weaker side of her mind. With a deep breath she pushed back into him, as if inviting him to unleash his fury on her.

 

[Nibbles_n_Tits]

Tharalon

As Lord Pravus looked up at her with his predatory grin, Tharalon realized he had caught her intentional slip, her implied acceptance. Her acceptance of his offer was real enough; Tharalon was just smart enough to know she was not bright enough or experienced enough to play a game of deception with the Lord of the Red Hand. However, his rapid assumption would possibly eliminate the need for her to ask and answer unpleasant questions about her new ability.

“Please, have a bite to eat first, simple meals today I’m afraid, with all the preparations being made. Sit, please,” Running her fingers along the rich fabric of her gown, Tharalon slid easily into the seat next to him. “I’m pleased you’ve made your decision, very pleased. I can assure you it was the right choice.”

“I agree my Lord. Once I had the time to consider the matter without distraction, the choice became quite clear.” It is the right choice, right for my family, right for my homeland, and right for the people I can help… So what if it is good for me too? It is not as if I will be experimenting on innocent people…

As the servants brought in the lunch, Tharalon looked at the papers cast before Lord Pravus. Maps, list, and illustrations that made little sense to her… “I am eager to prepare a few things from the garden, healing plants that will be convenient to have on hand, especially while I test my other talent.”

The Lord waved his hand over the papers, “Sadly, we will be leaving shortly, tonight in fact. This was far sooner then I expected, but it seems that the Dark Forces had been scouting our newly acquired lands, and causing havoc. I intend to put an end to such in no uncertain terms. I’ve spent the last two years building up the largest navy in the world, and over the course of the next week, those ships shall carry every available soldier to the mainland. Our homes should be well protected by our ships, while we ready for whatever that toad of a general Slythe has in mind.”

Tharalon drew a sharp breath and dropped her spoon back into the soup bowl. She turned to look at him, to use his expression and his body language as a gauge to judge the depth of the danger they faced. There was nothing there; he could have been planning a particularly detailed social event for all the emotions coming from him. She could see he is focused, excited, and confident, there was no fear in him, – the only fear she sensed was her own. How can he act as if this were a thing of little consequence? A gathering of the Dark Forces is a threat to everyone; can he truly be so confident?

“You should leave the gardener with any instructions on how to care for and cultivate your garden, and bring any samples you wish. We shall reside in a mighty fortress, and oversee its final construction. You may begin a new garden there, to tide you over until we may return home. I am quite certain that your powers of healing shall be in great demand – I expect you shall learn much more of your talent, and find just how deep it runs. As for the other side of your skills – well, I’m certain that suitable candidates will be found during the course of our time there.”

A move from the luxurious and secure palace to a mighty fortress in a contested land, a new garden, a chance to heal, and a chance to explore the other side of her ability under challenging circumstances, it could be a great adventure or a horrifying nightmare. She watched and listened as he explained the maps to her and pointed out danger spots, and items of interest, their effects on his strategy and the tactics he would use against the Dark Army. She was sure that he would keep her as safe as he could while using her abilities to his best advantage; and she found her interest drifting towards excitement.

“I have a cousin, she has no unique talents beyond an interest in plants, but she know a great deal about the kind of plants that I need. If she was here, she could help me look after the garden and free more of my time for other pursuits. But that can wait, I do not yet know how much time gardening will require."

After lunch, he surprised her by taking her hand and leading her through the garden, her garden. She knew it was not a gesture of trust, she doubted he ever trusted anyone freely. He took her hand show her that he did not fear her and that despite her talents he had more power over her then she had. However, as she lost herself in the attractions of the garden, she could think of no reason to betray him.

As he turned to leave her to her plants, he stopped and told her, “Oh, by the way. I’ve taken the liberty of having your family moved to a private estate. They will not want for anything again, and live comfortably under my protection. They shall be kept informed about you, and you many visit them as our time allows. Sadly, they will still be on their journey to their new home, while we travel to the shore. But I wanted you to know they are safe.”

Nothing in his tone implied a threat to her parents; nonetheless, she knew it was in the air, cast by his predator’s smile. He would hold them as surety, a veiled warning to insure her obedience. Oddly, she smiled, relieved to have the sword hanging over her head and at least partially absolving her of responsibility for her choice to follow him.

“Thank you, My Lord; I can rest easier knowing they are protected in your good care. There can be no danger now that someone will use them to get to me and, through me, to you. We can both feel more secure with this arrangement.”

As he turns to leave her to the garden, she calls to him. “Oh, My Lord, before the situation becomes violent, I would like to know how, or in what order you would like my ability to be used. I assume I am to heal the men of the Red Hand before the common soldiers but if there were others of value to you, I would need to be able to identify them quickly.” She shrugs, “If you think there is a need, just keep me informed.”

 

[LitShark]

Slythe Zathu

Slythe roared with wicked laughter as he began moving his cock within her dry hole. The friction caused him discomfort but he was sure it was nothing to the agony it must have caused her.

“Call me Master and we can get this all over with!” Slythe ordered as another strike landed upon her ass, “You’d better think of this moment right now the next time you think of trying to run from me, or hurt my elite soldiers and magicians.”

Another whoosh and smack accompanied his words. The cane landed clear of her other marks, raising a new welt from fresh flesh. This one was extremely stubborn, the next time he took her he knew that a different strategy would be required.

His balls began to boil as his seed rose in them. This would degenerate into an all out beating soon unless she began following orders.

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

Bellatonia and the Master

Tears fell freely from her eyes and she swallowed the words of hate that threatened to spill from her lips. She remembered he called her Bellatonia and she knew her body was no longer bringing forth the juices of her sex. Deep inside her soul she was still Lisheeda, and she knew she could only take so much more from the brute that lay the cane across her back.

She flinched and took a deep breath. “You’re soldiers are anything, but elite, and your magician tried to push me out a window... Master,” she muttered, the last word, not caring if he heard her or not. She knew he was angry. She a small woman, a mere slip of a girl had taken down his most trained guards and managed to wound someone he cared for. She locked the knowledge deep inside her and felt a sense of pride wash over her.

Lisheeda turned her head, slightly, ignoring the pain that tore at her scalp. Her gaze locked with his and she bared her teeth. The swelling around her lips and eyes did not distract from the hate that poured from deep within her. “You told me I was to be your sex slave, here only for your sexual gratification. . . know this,” she swallowed and held herself stiff, “never will you break me . . .Master.” She turned away fully expecting to be beaten for her insolence.

 

[LitShark]

Slythe Zathu

Slythe smiled at the girl’s gall. She still had such fire within her, in this moment she reminded him of how Rhonwen had once been. Thought he had not succeeded in breaking her, she had demonstrated that she now was well aware of her place and knew how to address him. He leaned forward and lightly ran his tongue between the teeth of his mask and lightly traced the edge of her ear.

“Listen well little one…” His voice was a husky whisper, “I will bend you to my will, the less you fight me, the less pain you will be forced to endure.”

This lesson was over and Slythe was reasonably satisfied with the result. Being called Master by this belligerent little shrew, who had feigned the inability to speak before, had brought his seed up into his shaft which was being rubbed raw by her dry folds. He reached up to untie her hair from the bedpost and used it to pull her back onto his cock as he sprayed his hot seed deep into her in jet after jet.

“I am done with this slut! Fetch me guards to escort her to the dungeon. She is still too dangerous to be held with the other slaves.” Slythe returned to command mode in a flash as he stood her up by her bound wrists. “You have done reasonably well this time… your screams and tears have pleased me. Next time I will expect far less of this pesky spirit from you. You’d do well to accept your new life and try to adapt.”

With that said Slythe took hold of the chain again and removed the clips from her tits in one agonizing yank, pulling them off with horrid snapping sounds. He then used a small string that extended from the back of the “Egg” in her ass to slowly and agonizingly remove it. After opening the capsule he was surprised to find the bug still alive… it was almost as resilient as its host.

“As a reward for your performance today I’ll allow you this pet.” Slythe placed he bug atop her head just as guards arrived. “Good, take extra care with this one, she has already murdered your brothers in arms.”

As the girl was led out of his quarters to the dungeon he dismissed Kannet as well. Slythe was eager to find out if Brita was alright, as well as share that drink with Rhonwen.

 

[Gothmaster]

Frost had passed out right after Olam drained him of the blood he needed. The drug a servant girl had given him took effect and he slept dreamless for a couple of hours. He was awoken by the brutal handling from a guard who shook his shoulder.

"Get dressed and ready to go." The guard told him and turned to leave Frost to some privacy.

Frost sat up in the bed. His body still ached but not as much as it did a few hours ago. Whatever they had done to get him ready for his mission had taken effect. He searched the room and found his black leather armour beside the bed. On top of that was a brand new broadsword in a black leather sheath. The grip was strapped with plain and strong leather, It was processed so it would not easily slid of his hand by sweat.

He took up the sword from the floor and drew it. The blade was covered in runes and was almost blueish in color. It did not weigh as much as most swords in that size did. He practiced some swing and block movements to judge the balance in the blade. The balance was masterly accurate. A small smile formed on Frosts lips. Olam had done well. He sheathed the blade and put it on the bed.

He went over to the mirror and examined his appearance from different angles. What he saw was disturbing. Whip marks all over his back and shoulders and bruises on his chest and stomach. The only area that seemed to be without marks was his face, it only showed that he hadn't shaven for a few days.

He turns from the mirror with a frown and dresses in his leather armour. He takes on his well worn boots and finishes by strapping the sword sheath to his hip. Finally ready for the mission he opens the door and wait for the guard to take him away.

The guard beckons him to follow as he and another guard walk through some empty back streets.

"The mistress don't wan't anyone to see you leave." The first guard say to Frost.

Without meeting anyone they soon stood outside a secret back entrance where a brown horse await them.

"Farewell Frost. Hope to never lay eyes on you again." the guard snarled before he and his friend turned back inside.

Frost ignore the guards and mounts the horse. Many thoughts enter his mind as he steer toward The forest of the dead.

The closer he come to The border of Lord Slythe, the more alert he become. To them he are just an enemy and he would be defenceless against an arrow in his throat. He ride without caring to hide his presence. Impossible to do with a horse anyway. Hopefully the scouts of Zaloh will find him soon enough. Before he die of boredom.

 

[RedHairedandFriendly]

Lisheeda takes a breather. . .

It didn’t take long for the guards to have a willing slave on their arms. She felt the beetle crawl into her hair, but said nothing and reacted to no one as she was led down several long halls, and then into the moist and dark dungeons that were barely lit with torches that hugged the rocky walls. Once she was pushed into a small cell, she fell to the ground and found the creature that was attempting to nest on the top of her head. She squeezed the life from it and then tossed it at the now locked door.

She lowered her head and cried softly as she became more aware of her fate in life. She crawled to one corner of the dark room and curled herself into a tight ball. Only then did her voice return to her, but it spoke only to her head and her words were not heard by any.

“Are you done now? Or will you continue to fight him?. . Until another option presents itself, I will continue to fight. . .You are bruised and torn. Give up. Let him use you as a vessel. Let him think he’s won, but return to me. I will keep you safe. . .You? You are me. Look where I have led myself.”

Lisheeda winced as she turned to press her hot cheeks against the cool wall. “Freedom will come faster if you cooperate. . . What do you mean? . . Did you not hear him? He said ‘other slaves’ . . . So, I am not ignorant. I know there are others. . . You are ignorant. If he puts you with others, then in time you will be able to find a way to use this freedom to your advantage.”

Lisheeda stopped talking to herself and began to think. In time she fell asleep, her wounds open and her skin badly bruised, but deep inside, her will and strength began to grow as plans formed in her mind.

 

[LitShark]

Meanwhile... on the outskirts

The sound of thundering hooves stirred the still black night. Birds fled the trees as they heard Frost’s approach and the dark branches swayed and shook in the wind. Low lying fog swirled around the path Frost cut through the forest.

Eyes were on him from the very moment he rode across the Zaloh boarder. The “Shadow Guards” the most skilled and silent of all the Dark Forces, stalked the rider silently from the treetops. They communicated with eachother via hand signals, following his approach from several angles.

With a descent no louder than the sound of a whisper one of the black clad assassins leapt from the trees and mounted the back of Frost’s steed, whipping a heavy black bag over his head and sliding the razor sharp steel edge of his poisoned katana against Frost’s neck. Moments after the first man had a blade to Frost’s neck another Shadow Guard fired a bolt from a crossbow, which entered the horse’s head from behind the ear. The bolt turned the horse off like a light and the creature skidded to the ground on its belly.

“Do not move a muscle if you value your life Frost” The man behind Frost whispered into his ear. “Who came with you? What are you planning?”

Quiet footfalls began closing in on all sides around the two men sitting astride the dead horse. The bag was used as a means of keeping Frost’s head still as the reinforcements closed in.

 

[Erotic_Beauty]

She sat down next to the woman who had given her birth. She reached behind her and picked up a comb formed bone. She swept the long white locks several times, smoothing tangles and then kissed her mother’s head.

"I almost slipped today," she whispered.

Her mother said nothing, just sat there staring at the wall in front of her.

"I almost thanked a man."

Morgaina recalled the words she’d almost muttered to Olam and closed her eyes. She lowered her head to her mother’s shoulder and breathed in the scent of soap.

"What would they say if they saw me? What would my enemies do to me if they knew how weak I truly am?"

She placed the comb back on the table and then began to weave a braid in her mother’s hair. "Mother, can you hear me?" she asked. She never got an answer.

"Olam will come with me next time," she whispered, "he is working on something to return you to us."
Once the braid was secure, Morgaina walked around and picked up the book the maid had been reading. She stayed by her mother’s side, reading for several hours, before her throat grew dry and she sighed heavily.

A knock on the cottage door brought her out of a daze she had gotten lost in. She rose and called for the maid to attend her mother, then she opened the door and closed it quietly. Squaring her shoulders she looked at the man who had disturbed her visit.

"Yes?" she hissed.

The man lowered his head and then rose. "Reginald is coming this way. I sent Donaluta to meet him."

Morgaina lifted a brow, wondering what would bring one of her top warriors to her side. She mounted her horse as did her other guard and headed away from the cabin. When she reached his side, she learned Frost had left the keep and word of a soul eater was running loose and one of their scouts had word that Pravus’ men were taking up arms.

She ordered all the men to return to the keep, save one, who was left to bring her mother back to the castle, where Morgaina would protect her.

 

[Katamari Roller]

Brita sighed at Rhonwen's observation. Things did change, but humans didn't live long enough to notice... or their observation skills faded with time, as Chronos dropped his mantle on them. Still, Brita felt a sudden pang of homesickness. How would everyone back at home be? Had they received news of her disappearance after so many months?

Brita felt herself go weak with the fumes of alcohol. Slumping on a rickety stool, she rested her shoulders against the huge table beside it. A dark wood carved by nature and the passage of time, and rowdy customers. Now Brita remembered why she tended to avoid taverns and the like, her resistance to alcohol was less than normal. It might have something to do with her magician condition... after all, she had not lost too much blood.

So... the barman knows her... how?

Rhonwen was not new to Slythe's fortress, it seemed. But, what did she do back then? Apparently, she was just a servant girl, a bar wench... yet how did a wench become a mercenary? And what was with her white hair?

Her white hair... like snow in a storm... Brita felt almost sleepy, and her eyes narrowed as she watched Rhonwen's hair. It was beautiful, and reminded her of home so much...

 

[Pro_Create]

Belcanto does not apear in this scene...

As the ample innkeeper woman fucked his brains out, Little Lackland tried to figure out exactly how he had come to this point, flat on his back.

Sweaty, exhausted, parched and even a little dizzy... he even took a moment to wonder if he really minded. But it was very hard for the would-be warlord to think.

He knew that it had all started with that list.

1> Wait for Judders, traveling merchant
2> Take job as sword arms, guarding the merchant train.
3> Kill Judders when you get to Verdant Valley
4> Continue to Bentii.
5> Sell Goods and Amber Gem to finance Army.

“Amber Gem,” Little said softly, as if that were her name. Dimly, he was aware that she was smiling pleased that he had produced a random non-sequetur.

Earlier in the morning, when Veni had reached in between her huge breasts and pulled out the small piece of parchment, it had still been warm when he held it in his hands. He remembered how casually she mentioned that along with the many sex secrets the skinny boy had thought her, there was this strange list he seemed to be reciting while she laid in the afterglow. She hadn't remembered it until later and then had felt compelled to write them down in order to better concentrate on fucking Freddie's brains out. She hadn’t known what it had meant at the time, except that Judders was her deceased husband’s best friend, and therefore, cared not a whit about him. In fact, the thought of Judder’s slaying appealed to her greatly... and when Little had told her his tale, she knew who the list was meant for.

The fact that the list had come by way of the skinny farm boy in the barn, had bothered him on an instinctual level. “Power wants to be used,” his father had said. The plan, of course, totally neglected carrying the soothsayer out of Molovica. Veni had readily volunteered a cart suitable, but he hadn’t quite decided that he was going to follow the plan. But before he could fully reason out his reluctance, he came to item five... and his lips then, too, had said it quietly. “Amber Gem.”

In his part of the world, amber wasn’t just an expensive shiny rock... and it was expensive. Amber was considered, or had been considered in days gone by, as frozen droplets of the nectar of the gods. Local alchemists and healers swore by them and what few tales that were still told of the missing gods often mentioned amber gemstone studded jewelry. For Little Lackland, amber meant wealth and he knew his crown as a warlord should be a simple gold circlet with a single, perfect amber gemstone mounted on it. It was an image he had had of himself since childhood... as a Warlord, he knew he must have that stone.

And, as a shrewd highway man, he knew he could not, would not simply leave it behind.

So, more wine was poured into the older woman and the story of the gemstone soon poured out of her with liquid ease. Hidden in her bedroom in such a way that her lazy first husband would never find, Veni claimed, was a thumb-sized amber gem. Inside was a small dragonfly, somehow, merged with the stone. It was a gift from her maternal Grandmother, insurance against the day when her no-good husband walked out on her. Since she was absolutely certain that Freddie was never going to leave her, she felt she was free to give it to a worthy cause... and since she preferred her current Warlord, she was quite happy to give it to Little.

No doubt, of course, she’d remove a possible distraction to her young husband’s attentions. Freddie had remarked that she was very practical and the adventure of overthrowing an old warlord might be tempting to Freddie once the eventual boredom set in.

Later, with the new happy couple off on chores (Veni to treat the wounds of the witchboy and Freddie hovering nearby jealously, Little Lackland had wandered into the bedroom of his half brther and new sister-in-law. He had just wanted to keep his options open. Theft wasn't a concern; the gem was going to be a gift to him anyway. He told himself that he didn't fully trust Veni as she had been under the spell of the witchboy... but while this had a great deal of merit, he knew in his heart that it was greed that drove him to at least find the hiding spot of the gem.

Greed he was ok with.

But, before Little could begin his big search, Veni walked in on him. Shocked, he put on arrogance, which he knew he wore well, and then went for insulting and concern for his ittle brother. "I've come to see what witchcraft you used to snare my little brother."

Somehow... somehow... this pleased the woman greatly, who took it as a challenge, because the next thing he knew, he was on the corner of the bed, mostly naked and getting his shaft massaged by her pale ample breasts. Pressure without tightness, cool silkiness, and random scratches against his balls with her nails... these things he had liked, but really only to get him hard. She pulled at his balls, and circled her fingers between him and his testes. She twisted and he went to howl, but there was a tit in his mouth and he chewed instead. Much harder than he would have normally, for having his own jewels snatched so was as shcking an affront as ever a woman had done to him. He did not have much room left for shock to hear her moan with delight to have her breast savaged so.

He had a moment to think, well, this is going to be interesting.
A ribbon was wrapped around his pouch, making his balls like a little piece of red ripe fruit, as she slid her tongue and mouth up and down his fleshy staff. He fingers tried to guide her but he could think of no way to enhance her performance, so a part of him felt stupid for it. The constraint of his precious gems stopped distracting him for a moment, as he came close to erupting his sticky load. He would enjoy making sure it all got into her mouth, he had thought.

But just before his climax took place, she flipped a finger into his ripe, taut fruit and he jumped a bit within his skin. Precum trickled from his penis tip, but now her sharp nails were dancing, taping, and flicking the tight skin of is tortured balls. The force increased and then there was twisting. He gasped and grabbed her head, intending to shake her and tell her to stop. Instead, all he managed to do was force her head down onto his tight balls. They slipped into her mouth hot and angry and she suckled and coled them. She then bit and sucked and pulled.

Little would have cried out, except that would have been unmanly. He didn't think she'd actually bite off his balls... but... well, he had to wonder, if she did, would it be worth it?

The man forgot everything, including his own name, when she returned to work his dick back up into a lather. She worked him like a woman sharpening a kitchen knife and this time when he thought he'd cum, his balls ached in their constraining harness. Some things moved deep inside of him, but whatever dance his body did to explode a geyser failed to happen. This frightened him a moment, but his erection did not slacken. In fact, it throbbed larger still and it almost hurt, but his need for release hovered just at the actual climax or below.

He reached down, eager now to help spread his spunk. His fingers reached under her hair and found another string tied to his base. He hadn't noticed that being done! Before he could rip at it, however, Veni took his hands in hers and straddled him. She slapped her mature buttocks onto his balls, and his spear found his mark as simple as that. With it home, Little moaned in ecstacy. There was a ring of fire circling the base of his cock and balls, but her pussy was slick and welcoming and warm. She pulled his hands to her breasts, and he massaged and guided her while he did so.

Sometimes, she would almost pull away, leaving his shaft in the cool air for a moment. There was something in the oil that burned in the breeze, and this too heightened his pleasure. In no time, he worked up a sweat and was begging for release. His balls pulsed, trying to appease their master, but the ribbon kept them at bay. He realized, vaguely, his balls were now being held hostage to his lady's pleasure. He was near the end of his endurance nearly an hour later... his tears were a clue... but he was a helpless and otherwise not minding it a wit.

She moved and did things. He was bent inside of her more than once, and he now the ribbons were burning even more hotly, but it was still a small price to pay. He was dizzy and his arms fell away from her bruised udders. He wished he had the strenght to reach up and bite them, to leave more of a mark on her, but he might as well wish for gold or a magic wand. There was almost nothing left to him.

Veni leaned onto his chest as she pumped away. Her hands compressed his aching ribs, making it hard to fill up with air. He grew even more light headed instantly. It was almost like becomng instantly drunk. He dimly realized that she could kill him like this, if she were patient enough. Suddenly she slowed down and reached behind her, massaging his protesting balls. He whimpered, unable to draw more of a breathe with her other hand still pushing forcefully on his lungs. His need to climax was now overpowering. His cock was vibrating within her folds and he knew it was weeping precum as easily as he wept tears.

Then there was a rip and his bals danced madly as the ribbon was pulled free. The damn burst and the cannons of Little's loins blasted gallons of spunk into Veni's warm pocket.

The greatest ejaculaion of my life, he thought, and then vaguely realized that he couldn't remember anything about his life before bedding Veni. Nothing at all. In fact, this realization used up his very last erg of energy. He passed out, gasping for breathe.

 

[LitShark]

To the Taproom

After Lisheeda was dragged from his bedchamber, Slythe found himself alone in his room. There were far too many things that needed to be looked to for him to simply stand around by himself, he needed to find out if Brita was alright and if there was time share a drink with Rhonwen.

Slythe strode out into the hall where Kannet was busy loading up the huge drum onto his back. Slythe patted him soundly on his back and nodded, one of the highest compliments he paid to his soldiers. The two moved in opposite directions as Slythe worked his way toward the infirmary to check on Brita’s status.

“How is she?” Slythe demanded of his lead physician.

“How… How is whom my Lord?” The confused old bespectacled man asked nervously, only aware of the dead soldiers and hag who he had recently shipped to the morgue, terrified that his ignorance would place him next in line.

“Brita! My witch, her hand was cut. How is she?”

“I humbly beg forgiveness my lord but she has not been into the infirmary tonight. I… I think I saw her following that new mercenary toward the tap-room.”

“The… DAMNIT!!” Slythe fumed as he turned on his heel from the infirmary, leaving a room of empty beds and a very relieved physician.

Slythe quickly navigated his way through the small stone hallways quickly with long purposeful strides. As he made his way into the taproom he was relived to find Brita safe and looking comfortable but horrified to see her swaying slightly with a chalice in front of her.

Careful not to alarm the girl Slythe wrapped his arm around her gently and pulled her close. Slythe also pushed the chalice of ale away from her and glared furiously at the bar man for a moment. Slythe lifted Brita’s hand gently, careful not to touch her bandages as he investigated her wounds.

“Does it hurt? Are you alright?” Slythe asked softly, letting Brita answer with her own unique form of sign. “Did you let her drink? I thought I made myself very clear that nothing be done that could jeopardize her ability to use magic!” Slythe seethed at the bartender.

“Relax boss, she didn’t even have a sip. She’s just been watching this one drink like a fish.” The man replied calmly gesturing to Rhonwen who had already drained several cups.

Slythe relaxed as Rhonwen gave a passive gesture of greeting. Pulling up a stool to sit amongst the two beautiful women, Slythe grabbed himself a mug of ale and carefully detached the lower jaw of his mask.

After setting the frightening looking jawbone upon the bar Slythe lifted the cup to his lips. Few ever saw even a part of Slythe’s face, Rhonwen certainly hadn’t before this moment. Horrifying scars and burns over his jaw and chin made his skin look like some horrifying landscape of agony. Even the Dark Lord’s salt and pepper goatee was missing patches of hair where the skin was dead and only scar tissue remained. Ale trickled down his chin through a long cleft in his lower lip where it looked as if he had been fish-hooked, in fact that side of his face looked to be held together by a few gold rings which pierced through both sides of the tear in his face.

 

[Gothmaster]

Frost had sensed danger but could not judge where it came from. Before he had the time to react he felt the horse buckle under the weight of the man that dropped on it's back. The black bag that was drawn over his head effectively took away his sight as well as orientation. Seconds after the ambush was initiated he felt the cold steel of a blade pressed against his throat.

Frost sat motionless on the horse as it fell down, dead. Assassins. The scum of Zaloh. He was sure of it. If it had been brigands he would have been dead. Or more likely they would had been dead. Frost smile slightly under the bag. They obviously wanted him alive. Easiest way to kill him would have been with an arrow.

“Do not move a muscle if you value your life Frost. Who came with you? What are you planning?” The man behind him asked.

Frost kept still but answered as honestly as he could. "I am alone. If you take me before Slythe i will tell him why i am here. I only talk with your master about why i am here."

 

[LitShark]

Wrath of the Shadow Guards

The rank of “Shadow Guard” was the highest honor any Zalotian could ever aspire to and those who reached that status regarded one another as brothers. In addition to fierce loyalty the “Shadow Guards” were also known for their egos and short tempers. Over the years the one known as Winter’s Frost had slain in excess of a dozen SGs, and now that he was captured, defeated, lucky to be alive he had the audacity to make terms for the exchange of information? This did not sit well.

The shadows quickly converged upon the pile of dead horse flesh and two immobile riders and in an instant Frost was bound tightly, wrists to ankles and the bag tied around his neck tightly enough to greatly restrict his breath. Their victim securely bound the Shadow Guard chose this dark moment deep within the Forest of Despair to revenge their fallen brothers and drive this cocky smirk from the wretch’s voice.

All swords were slid into their sheaths as the black clad ninjas assembled in a small ring around the blinded, immobile man. The man who had first mounted Frost’s steed stepped forward, his face was covered by the skull of a bear.

WHAP!

The sound of the man’s athletic leg whipping through the fog mixed with the bass thud of foot-on-face impact. This one sound served as the bell in a heavyweight boxing match, for it was followed by a hail of blows, kicks and strikes from sheathed swords. The beating was savage and stemmed purely from emotion and hate. Dust swirled within the ring of men as smoke bubbles from a cauldron. Frost’s savage mugging continued for several agonizing minutes, him laying, hogtied in the dirt, helpless to defend himself.

***

As the 9 main guards of the Shadow Watch vented their rage upon Frost, the 10th and youngest darted from treetop to treetop, flying back toward Slythe’s keep to inform him of this capture. The truth was that the men were genuinely unsure whether they would be rewarded or reprimanded for bringing a man as dangerous as Frost into the keep alive.

The smaller man flew through the sky as if he were a bird, a mistake easy to make as his face was hidden by the massive skull of some ancient hawk which must have grown to monstrous size.

Once the man reached the keep he spent several frustrating minutes trying to find his Lord. To his utter shock he came upon Slythe lounging in the Ale House, sitting amongst several beauties. The young man bowed low, touching his face to the dusty stone floor as he waited for Slythe to acknowledge him.

“What is it Hawk? More news of this schizophrenic wanderer who may possess magic?”

“My Lord… The Shadow Watch has apprehended the one called Frost. I came back to inquire whether you would prefer him brought back alive or dead.”

“Frost?? Winter’s Frost?? Be certain you have him well pacified before you do anything… The man’s sword has drunk the blood of countless souls who would have swore they had him captured. If you can bring him back alive with relative safety for you and your brothers do so. If you cannot, bring me his remains, but whatever you do, do NOT let him discover the path up the mountain. Go quickly, take a few swordsmen with you!”

Slythe’s orders were clear to Hawk, and after gathering 5 swordsmen from the barracks he raced back to his brothers.

 

[Katamari Roller]

“Does it hurt? Are you alright?” Slythe asked softly, letting Brita answer. She simply nodded, with a sheepish grin. Of course, that was a yes to both questions. “Did you let her drink? I thought I made myself very clear that nothing be done that could jeopardize her ability to use magic!” Slythe seethed at the bartender.

“Relax boss, she didn’t even have a sip. She’s just been watching this one drink like a fish.” The man replied calmly gesturing to Rhonwen who had already drained several cups.

Brita felt her senses smothered by a warm blanket, almost choking in it, and she just felt an inmense peace. And joy, when Slythe paid her attention. She almost felt like a puppy, when she buried her head between his robes, against his chest. A gentle sigh escaped her lips as she closed her eyes. The alcohol in the air was too much for her, it simply made her dumber, a secondary effect of her magician powers.

If a really drunk man blew his breath on her, that would probably be enough to make her collapse... so she hoped Slythe wouldn't drink too much. Brita got the impression she was forgetting about something, too, but Slythe's warmth was too much to ignore. Sitting up properly again, she smiled at him, shaking her head a bit while pointing at her wound with her creaky gauntlet, taking importance off it. If a Snow Woman couldn't survive this, then she wouldn't be a Snow Woman to start with...

 

[LitShark]

Slythe Zathu

Setting down his cup, Slythe’s crooked lips twisted into a kind smile toward Brita as she dismissively waived off her wound. Slythe planted a gentle kiss on the top of her head before pushing his cup away and replacing the jaw-piece of his mask. He stroked her hair gently as he looked up at Rhonwen.

“It appears my quiet little dungeon will be welcoming a new guest.” Slythe was curious as to what Rhonwen felt about Zaloh’s rapidly growing might. “Morgiana’s assassin and errand boy Frost has just been apprehended by my shadow guards. Care to observe a spirited interrogation my dear?”

***

Hawk returned to his brothers with the swordsmen a few leagues behind him, unable to keep up with his speed.

“Lord Slythe wants him alive if we can do so safely, otherwise we are permitted to kill him.” Hawk had missed the epic beating his brothers had dealt to this devil, it didn’t stop him from delivering a good stomp to the back of Frost’s head for good measure.

“That’s enough Hawk. Boar, disarm him and let’s take this bastard back to Lord Zathu.” The man who must have been named Bear said.

In a flash all ten men were upon Frost again, his sword was pulled away, and he was lifted by his restraints onto Boar’s shoulder. The position was incredibly uncomfortable for Frost but none of the shadow guards cared.

Just as the swordsmen arrived upon the scene, panting and out of breath; the Shadow Guards leapt again to the treetops and were dashing back to the keep. The swordsmen groaned their displeasure and turned around, jogging back from whence they had come.

 

[Pro_Create]

Belcanto Trussed Up, Inn and Out Part 2

Freddie stood in the smokehouse and appraised the skinny farm boy. Veni had dressed his raw wounds and had made some very nice wrist restraints using some wool and horse tack. The naked, skinny boy now hung from the cuffs in the sunlight that came thru the door way. He alternated between standing on tip toes and letting his arms take his weight.

This was a good thing, Freddie decided. The boy needed his exercise.

Freddie tried not to obsess over the fact that this boy had bedded his woman. He didn't mind that in the larger sense because he hadn't yet fucked her himself. Otherwise, Freddie would have gutted him then and there, watching the pink and blue things spill from the boy's belly as the skin grew even paler than the maggot white it was now.

No, the thing that was hard to swallow was... other than youth (and Freddie wasn't all but five years older) the boy didn't offer much in the way of looks from what Freddie could see. The boy's manhood wouldn't even have been visible if he had even a decent amount of hair down there. In fact, if one squinted, the witchboy looked like a tall 12 year old girl.

"Please..." the head beneath the hood whispered. "I didn't do anything."

Freddie felt a pang of sympathy. The boy had been tortured by his father, Little had said. Freddie had been tortured by his father once, to see if he would break under interrogation. Freddie hadn't broken, although his bunghole hurt horribly everytime he thought about it.

He also lost his taste for warfare that night and, once he discovered that no one else in their camp had been tested so (and, my, had that required careful phrasing) he began to hate his father. Why had his father done THAT to him?

Well, looking at the boy here, Freddie wondered if he might have an answer. "What's your name, witchboy?"

"I'm not a witch." The boy croaked, trying to protest loudly. Little plans had the boy doing without water for awhile. Everyone knew spells required even speech and Little reckoned that the less the boy could speak clearly the safer he was. Which had some merit, but honestly Freddie thought Little might want to try being a little nicer to the witch if he wanted the witchboy to serve him. "My name is Delfane Belcanto. I'm a simple farmer."

Freddie thought about giving his name in exchange, but decided not to. He had looked something like this boy when his father had "tested" him years ago. He had grown out of it, but he was curious... had the test in part been because he had looked like a girl... just a bit?

He decided that he could forgive his father, in part, if that was the case. The life of a highwayman could be lonely... Horses were even sometimes at risk!

Freddie spun the boy around on the hook and the boy gasped and protested weakly. He spread the boy's rump and moved so the sunlight went where it had never gone before.

And, looking at the tight virgin puckered hole, Freddie knew his father hadn't cum here either.

A most surprising rage took over Freddie and for a moment, he was overwhelmed with a sense of betrayel he couldn't fathom. He wanted to rape the boy then and there, as if that would somehow punish his father.

Belcanto whimpered and moan as Freddie undid his britches... but, his own meat kept a calmer head. The whimpering reminded him too much of being on the wrong end of a cock. Instead, he punched Belcanto in the back and hitched his pants back up.

He punched a hanging ham and then slammed the door behind him. The smokehouse was a much better place than the barn, but now he regretted suggesting it. Now, all these stupid feelings were in his head.

Somehow, he knew it was all the Witchboy's fault.

As soon as one of the men came to relieve him from watchduty (they needed the boy alive and he seemed pretty fragile), he'd go find Veni and fuck her brains out. Yes, that was a good plan.

 

[One Eyed Jack]

“I will have my medics choose out the men most deserving of your skills, and bring them to you in a separate room. I suppose it might be true that your talents could be best used on the field of battle itself, but I’m simply not willing to risk you. So, you shall enjoy the comforts of the fortress and the wounded shall be brought to you.”

He walked back to her and reached out to run his fingers through her fiery hair, in an almost possessive and almost gentle manner. “My dear, so young and striking, I would not risk you to the battle front even if you had no magic, but then you’d have a rather different life too I imagine.” He meant it as a compliment, though he doubted it would be immediately taken as such.

In Molovica a commoner could be taken by any member of the court and placed within their ‘service’ – which was essentially a slave, though the family of that individual were almost always adopted and cared for, for having provided such a fine specimen. These additions to the various slave programs keep the breeding pool fresh, but the ‘outsiders’ added to a harem were almost always scorned at first by those born to their task. But Pravus had no need to enslave her, though he was scheming not only to bed the red haired witch for his own enjoyment, but also to bare him an heir – one that might capture her skills.

He withdrew his hand, and silently was grateful to find it unharmed. Every touch of this woman was exciting in a way no other could match. He’d seen the hand of the guard she attacked, and had to hold back a shudder just remembering it. She could give and take life, he was certain of it. Every touch became a risk, and every risk a thrill.

“I apologize, but I really must depart to make preparations. Please enjoy yourself as you can, your items will be taken care of by the palace staff. I will send for you tonight, and we shall enjoy a carriage ride to the shore.” He turned and left to make his arrangements.

 

[Nibbles_n_Tits]

Tharalon

“I will have my medics choose out the men most deserving of your skills, and bring them to you in a separate room. I suppose it might be true that your talents could be best used on the field of battle itself, but I’m simply not willing to risk you. So, you shall enjoy the comforts of the fortress and the wounded shall be brought to you.”

Tharalon felt the knot of tension leave her shoulders, as Lord Pravus explained he would not require her to practice her skills on the battlefield. She knew it was where she could use her healing ability to best effect but despite the twinge of guilt, she was reluctant to face the dangers of being so close to a battle. With the self-delusion that was rapidly become another of her primary skills, Tharalon considered her unwillingness to stem from the fact that she wasn’t certain she would be able to stop herself from hurting someone unintentionally if faced with the highly charged emotions of fear and anger that dominated combat. Concern for her personal safety had nothing to with her reluctance, and as Lord Pravus decided she was remaining in the comfort and safety of the fortress, she was once again not responsible.

However, she was feeling rather well disposed towards the Warlord as he informed her of this. Perhaps that was why she did not startle or flinch when Lord Pravus pushed his fingers through her hair. She had not expected his touch to be so protective and soft nor had she expected to find it so….not unpleasant and it brought a rare blush to her cheeks.

His words add an air of confusion to her blush, “My dear, so young and striking, I would not risk you to the battle front even if you had no magic, but then you’d have a rather different life too I imagine.”

It is a few blinks before the full weight of his implication settles on Tharalon and her understanding is obvious as the new pink of her cheeks turns a full red. Pride in her abilities was a greater flaw in Tharalon than vanity, but every girl likes if someone thinks she is pretty. When it does not mean she is going to be a sex-slave or a captive in a harem. Blinking wide-eyed and red-faced, Tharalon opens her mouth to speak only to discover she does not know what to say.

“I apologize, but I really must depart to make preparations. Please enjoy yourself as you can, your items will be taken care of by the palace staff. I will send for you tonight, and we shall enjoy a carriage ride to the shore.”

Finally, Tharalon managed an undemanding, “Yes, my Lord” as she bobbed a simple curtsey.

She stood for a few moments, watching the tall and lean warlord walk away, her eyes caught by the way his black coat hung from his broad shoulders and swung easily with his long-legged strides. As he moved from her sight, she shook her head and began her search for the gardener. There were clippings she needed to take, some would be very useful at the keep, and she did not want to leave the castle without them. She intended to be prepared, in case she couldn't heal the damage she caused.

 

[Erotic_Beauty]

Reaching the keep Morgaina quickly made her way back to her rooms, pulling her cloak from her as she stomped down the wide hall. Once there she was met by one of her servant girls, who assisted her in changing from the richly adorned gown and into a simple tan doublet and gray jerkin. She pulled on hose and breeches, then a pair of sturdy boots.

“Find Olam and bring him to my study,” she told the girl and then left the room, pausing briefly to speak with her lead commander.

“More rumors have come in,” the man whispered, as he accompanied her to the room.

“Yes?” she asked, waiting with very little patience in her voice.

“They say a witch is about to be sold to the highest bidder.“

“And where is this group?”

“They claim to be on the border of Entaca, the side of Lord Pravus.“

“So that is why he scurries. Perhaps it is time to finish off the weakling and claim back the lands he won so long ago.“

She reached her study and threw open the door, pulled several maps from the books that filled the shelves and placed them on the table so she could better see the picture her mind was conjuring.

“Where in the name of all that is Holy is Olam!” she shouted.

 

[brigid_fitch]

Rhonwen

Rhonwen had been happily enjoying Jonas' fine ale and two goblets-full was barely enough to even make her cheeks flush. Now that the wardrum upstairs had stopped, she could finally relax and just enjoy the much-missed brew. She was amused by Brita's reaction to just sipping the foam from her own cup--she seemed already about to pass out. The girl hadn't lost a lot of blood and couldn't be in that much pain, but surely no one was that much of a lightweight! No matter, at least the girl wasn't plying her with questions and seemed content enough to just observe and catalogue information on her. If only she weren't so damned obvious about it, Rhonwen thought.

While the mercenary thought about teaching Brita a thing or two about subtlety, Slythe stormed into the room. Rhonwen kept silent, pretending to be as drunk as Jonas implied to his Lord; the better to watch and observe. She barely acknowledged the evil lord, looking at him with well-feigned sleepy eyes as she tried to mask her surprise at Slythe's reaction to Brita. He was tender with her, almost patriarchal as he worried over her wound and lashed at Jonas for allowing her to drink. This was new--something she hadn't seen before. And then he removed the lower part of his mask.

She had heard rumors of Slythe's hideousness, but had never seen it for herself. She had always assumed they were merely tall tales told by the slaves, exaggerated to imply that the malignancy of his soul had manifested in his outward appearance. In all her years of battle, Rhonwen had never seen scars like that, at least on the living. And now that she'd seen them on Slythe, she wished only that she had been the one to have dealt those ugly wounds. It was small solace, but she took satisfaction in knowing that at least someone had given the devil his due. As Slythe cooed over Brita, a guard announced the arrival of an intruder into Zaloh. Slythe dealt with the guard and then turned to her.

“Morgiana’s assassin and errand boy Frost has just been apprehended by my shadow guards. Care to observe a spirited interrogation my dear?”

Rhonwen's head snapped up, instantly alert at the sound of Frost's name. Although they'd never met, his reputation was almost as well-known as her own. It would be a shame that they would finally meet while he was in custody--she would have preferred it be on the field of battle. But she was still intensely curious. Why in the world would he come here, she thought? The man was as skilled and as stealthy as they come--it was impossible that he would merely be caught, even by Slythe's vaunted Shadow Guard. No, Frost had come here of his own volition and Rhonwen was determined to find out why.

"It should prove interesting, Slythe. I've always wanted to meet that bitch's lapdog." She drained her cup and set it back down on the bartop, belching loudly as a compliment to Jonas. She stood up and started walking towards the stairs as Slythe gathered Brita up from the barstool. "But call me 'my dear' one more time and I'll beat you senseless with your own jawbone there."

 

[LitShark]

The replacing of his jaw-piece hid Slythe’s smirk as Rhonwen reprimanded him. That same fire still burned in her, bringing back fond memories of stifling those flames and bending her to his will. Now she required a gentler touch, she needed to be coerced. Nonetheless Slythe was certain she would again warm his bedsheets.

“My apologies Rhonwen… Let’s greet our guest.” Slythe said, rising from his stool.

Slythe took Brita gently by her hand as the three made their way to the main chamber, just as the shadow guard carried their bound prisoner through the fog at the entrance to the cave.

 

[Gothmaster]

Frost Cursed as he helt the foot connect with his ribs. He fell over at his side, unable to see his assailants and unable to protect himself as his hands where tied. The beating was savage and brutal and was not over for a few minutes. He curled up in a ball as the Shadow guard's let their hatred take control of them. He clenched his teeths as he felt many of his old wounds spread open again.

“Lord Slythe wants him alive if we can do so safely, otherwise we are permitted to kill him.” Frost heard a man say before he got stomped down to the ground. Good thing he had the bag over his head or he would be tasting dirt right now.

“That’s enough Hawk. Boar, disarm him and let’s take this bastard back to Lord Zathu.” The man that must be Bear searched Frost's unmoving body and took the sheath containing his broadsword. When he couldn't find any concealed weapons the big man slumped Frost over his shoulder.

Frost was aware that he was carried but he had no sense of exactly where they took him. Every movement hurt in both his old wounds and new bruises as the man wasn't the gentle sort. It must have been quite a walk as it felt like hours before he was dropped on a cold floor. Frost was tempted to ask if they had reached the destination but he kept his mouth shut and tried to sit up. Almost up he fell down to his side again. I took three more attempts to succeed. They would not have the pleasure of seing him beaten down he thought with determination.

 

[One Eyed Jack]

Pravus ready to go

Pravus left the young witch, who was a physically delightful as her powers were useful. He chuckled to himself in the hall as he marched to make his preparations, thinking to how the girl blushed at his little compliments.

He thought to himself how young Tharalon was but putty in his hands. A kind word, an escape for her morals to blame him, while tempting her desire to explore her power. If only that bitch Morgiana could be so easily manipulated, then he could take the war immediately to that creep Slythe and put an end to the ‘Dark Forces’ theatrics.

The hustle of palace servants and staff officers brought him from his daydream, and back to focusing on the present issues. More report came in for him to read and judge the value of, some speaking of another witch, and that this was what Zathu was after; while others claimed that bandits were masking themselves as Dark Forces to intimidate their victims. In any case he’d know soon enough. With his own boots on the battleground, whatever Morgaina, Zathu, or misguided bandits had to offer would be swiftly dealt with in cold steel – and now Tharalon to back them up.

As the day wore on, he found a few moments of boredom as others made ready for war, he thought back to the pretty witch now nearly as good as his pet – a dangerous pet to be sure, but beast was worth keeping that was not deadly? Pravus conspired to have Tharalon’s assign servants slowly alter and switch her dresses to more revealing, and daring designs. If she blushed at a mere kind word, then she’d soon enjoy feeling alluring at all times in his presence – knowing his eye was already drawn to her. Bedding a witch was far more complicated and time consuming, though somehow the challenge seemed exciting.

Pleased with himself over his plot, he made his way down to the courtyard where his carriage waited. Two battalions were already on the march since mid day, and would arrive at the docks late tonight – The Red Hand would already be aboard their ships, and Pravus would join them late tonight.

“Summon the girl, tell her I await her company.” He instructed a palace maid, then added, “Tell her at her leisure. No hurry, we’ll depart as soon as she has seen to all that she needs to.” Knowing full well all but the garden issues would have been taken care of for her, it underscored how little she needed now that she had signed on with him.

 

[Pro_Create]

Belcanto Hangs In There

Belcanto had ceased to struggle some time ago. Powerless to escape, he accepted that all he could do until he was allowed to do more was to try to make himself comfortable. He stood on his toes for awhile. He let the wrists support him. He traded off, back and forth, trying to keep the blood flowing.

Being a hostage was hard work.

Eventually, he fell into a sort of daze. The smokehouse wasn't a sweatlodge, but the air was closed up and stifling with all the vents closed. Air came in, but it wasn't quite enough for someone who wanted to hyperventilate or plead for his release. It was just enough to hold off brain damage.

His blood sugar dropped. His lips cracked. His skin dripped salt until the sun outside set.

Belcanto had been quiet for awhile now, but in the dark, under the hood... his eyes began to sparkle.

"You won't live to see the deadly frost touch the grass outside this door," the boy said. But there was no one to hear him, not even young Belcanto himself.