The Rovers [Closed for FomHarFyre and Myself ]

[Light Ice]

Our story begins in the great, green fields of Telandrial. Stretching for miles across the plain's rolling hills, Telandrial's wheat grasses and farmlands were the golden shoulders upon witch Daton's proud kingdom had been built upon. The bountiful crops fed its peaceful people, and had done so for centuries. The endless sea of tall grass reached well behind the eastern horizon, to the very bounderies of Daton's rule, coming to a halt as wheat grass turned to bramble, giving way to the looming darkness of Thorizian's woods. A most gloomy of places, the ancient wood was watched by an army of archaic oaks and cedars, their wide leaves shading the depths beyond from any of the sun's warming rays. The farmers feared it, and Daton's Kings had grown to keep its secrets and observe it with the most fierce of respect.


And as peaceful Telandrial's fields were, they were but the kingdom's arms. The head and heart, cast of cool, hard stone, was Pelanis City. Called Daton's Crown by elders, it was constructed for Daton's Kings by the Greater Dwarves, it's towering walls and multiple tiers had been constructed to look like a great white crown, with towering gates of iron and stone that took a team of twenty horses to open. It was a marvel to all of the realm, a towering fortress dwelling carved into the stout bones of Circle Mountain. And inside it dwelled a few thousand of Daton's finest people, proud and strong, enjoying their comfortable lives and comfortable homes.


And times -were- good, despite the greatest drought in the kingdom's long history. Several fields had already died to the sun, sickly brown stalks that had fallen over and withered in the heat. Their workers had been taken by neighboors, and the smaller harvest would be shared. This misfortune would be survived, and by some preyed upon.


The Rovers continued to reap the benefits of the stifled harvest, their foraged goods and peddled wares becoming goods of increasing desire within the many outlying villiages that surrounded Pelanis. The came with wagons and carriages, carts and curries. A steady train of peddlers and tradesmiths. We begin amidst this group of opportunistic merchants, nestled in the confines of Brosa, a small village just outside the bounderies of Thorizian wood.



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"I'll kill you!" He screamed, hanging from the wooden sill of his house's second story window, shaking a gloved fist at the shape that has just burst from his door. The shrieking sobs of his wife can be heard, a young girl at the age of twenty, with the covers of their bed drawn to hide her shapely frame and protect the remnants of her modesty.

The most of it has been cast away, and evidence of her infidelity dampen those sheets. Still more, however, shines on the young body of Guusal Rabbon. The twenty-one year old rascal darts through a nearby alleyway, passing by several gasping women before stumbling over the low-lying chicken fence and into the fields surrounding Brosa's humble housing. Naked, save for a thong of darkly cured leather tied about a muscled bicep, he struggles for the cover of the woods beyond, dissapearing into it with a broad smile pulling at his lips.

He struggles then, pallid gaze flicking steadily upwards toward the treeline, to dress. His nimble fingers steady despite the thrill arcing through him, making his prick stand proudly before him once again. She had denied him for so long, but eventually fallen. As they all did, from villiage to village. He could smell her perfume on his skin, the sweetness fading surely to the familiar essence of deerhide, and age old scent of freshly burned cedar. And on the day of the Summer Festival! What a lout! The poorly mannered and timed conquest of the Blacksmith's young bride was daring even by his standards, and he would enjoy the jealous awe of his brothers and companions when he returned to camp.

Glancing up as he finished tying off the vest his mother had made for him, he turned and started through the thick foilage. Around him the woods seemed to open up, as if inviting him deeper. How he loved to run through them. The feeling so strong that he nearly passed by the camp entirely, seduced by the temptation to explore further. Perhaps if he-

"Boy! Damnit! Did you spend a night in the town again?!" Scolded his father, the thickly bearded man standing plainly before him. The look on the exasporated hunter's face was one that Guusal had seen before, and he could only grin in response. The gray that had started to streak into the old man's thick hair seemed to have come only after he had turned sixteen, and plenty of The elder Rovers had theories that revolved around Guusal's habits to be the cause.

"But, Pa, did you see that one?!" He began defensively, striding through a thick bramble and breaching the small clearing. The home was a quaint one, built of logs and mud, with an angled roof and river-stone fireplace. The smell of roasting meat drifted easily from the cabin's lone, forward window. While to the right, hanging on twine, were cured hides of various animals. The majority of which were deer.

Guusal's father stood a few feet away from them, near a growing pile of cedar logs, the axe in his hand was massive by most standards, but Balar Rabbon was a mountain of a man, and his paws were more than capable of wielding the weapon. That voice, booming from the depths of a barrel chest, was tinted with frustration. "Lad, they -just- were married a few damn days ago!"


Guusal snorted as he moved to grip the other axe, its head much smaller, fitting his average build perfectly. "That ain't my bloody fault." And with a soft 'crack' he split a log and tossed the halves neatly on the pile his dad had worked on. "She gave me the smile." He reasoned, rubbing his hands and glancing up to his father with a softer gaze, looking for approval.

The older Rabbon merely sighed, nodding in concession. "I ain't ever seen a boy get more of those smiles, Goose. But I warn you, they're your weakness. You keep this up and one of those skirts will be the end of you." He lodged the axe in the larger stump. "Get inside and help your ma cook, your brothers will be back from the hunt. We are supply the meat for the feast tonight."

With a faint, proud smile, Guusal moved toward the cabin's door and pushed inside. Moving easily through the pots of stewing vegatables, he pressed a kiss to his mother's cheek, before starting for the fireplace and the meat roasting beyond. The Festival was something he'd looked forward too for days, a chance to meat the other kids he had known most his life. The Rabbon's were the resident peltsmiths of The Rovers, and five years to the day had left their wagon trail to take up home here and trade their skins in Pelanis. Five years since Guusal had seen the children of his childhood, including Calen and Darrik.


And then of course, the girls he had tormented as a boy. They'd be grown up now. A thought which had not escaped the young man, not in the slightest. With a wicked, anxious grin he began to work, eager to return to Brosa. Eager to dance with the girls that would be there. It was a rare thing for The Rovers to be invited to join a town in their feastday, and the prospect of such a large number of girls in one place boded well for him. Depending, of course, of how quickly word spread through the town about his work on the Metalsmith's wife, three of the tavern girls, and more critically his nearly consistant romps with Tessa, daughter to Gordon, Mayor of Brosa.

 

[fomharfyre]

Sadira

The sun-browned hand carefully takes up the scurrying spider that it had disturbed by plucking away the ripened berries of its bushy home. Silvery eyes regard the creature as it lay Trembling on her up turned palm. Patiently the hand remains motionless; time passes as birds call to their mates around the odd pair, yet still there is no motion. Until finally, the little spider relaxes it’s tucked in form to look up at the strange creature with its glittering eight eyes.

“There now, little cousin. No reasons have you to fear me yes? My kind would not hurt you, guardian of the berries.” her soft lilting voice cooed to the tiny creature on her palm. “There you go, my picking is done for your home, and you can go back to protecting the tiny berries once more.” Gently, she set her hand down onto the bush and after a moment, the creature unhurriedly wandered off back into the bush.

“Sadira!” A woman’s voice carried from up the grassy road that winded its way through the golden fields of Telandrial. The girl’s head looks from the bush to the brightly colored wagon that is just disappearing over the top of the rolling hill. “I hear you MehMeh!” she laughingly replied, cupping a berry stained hand around her softly full lips. Taking a moment, she covers her berry filled basket with her shawl, insuring that none of her harvest would be lost. With that task done, she kicks up her booted heels and runs down the road, her rich dark hair coming loose from its bun as she races up the hill. Standing at the top of the hill, she releases an undulating cry, rejoicing in her freedom and life.

That night the family made their camp at the side of the road. Sadira’s berries were a welcomed addition to the usual fare of rabbit and what leafy greens the girl can forage as the family traveled the road. Her hands flashed as she worked her clever weaving on the basket before her, using the light the fire provided to good purpose. Silently she listened to her parent’s conversation as they were also bent to similarly homely tasks.

“Now this will be a fine time in Brosa, I expect that our goods will be sold faster then we can set them out to be displayed. That leaves ample time for merry making and I am expecting to see some old friends at the feast tomorrow evening.” her father was telling her mother, his long ebony hair pulled back from his face with a decorated strap of leather. Few streaks of silver can be seen in his hair, and finely trimmed beard. He seems almost ageless, yet his daughter is almost a woman grown. Eighteen seasons on the road having blossomed her into a young spring rose, ripe for the picking of a hot blooded rover lad, though he would have to get through her protective father to reach her.

Nodding absently to him, the older woman kept to her task of sewing a bit of ribbon to the cloth she has in her hands. Reaching down with her strong teeth, she bites the thread away and shakes out the fabric. Holding it up to the light of the fire, she eyes it critically before looking over at the silent girl who is just putting the finishing touches on her basket. “Cub, come to your Mehmeh, lets see this on you girl.”

Rising from her seat that had been pressed into the long golden grasses, she pads her way barefoot to her mother before the fire. Her golden hands reach back and quickly undo the stays on her supportive but beautifully embroidered bodice, bright in colors and finer then any city girl could dream of owning. Her mothers embroidered good fetched incredible prices and her beautiful daughter was a fine way of displaying both her talent and her mothers own beauty which has only increased with the passage of
time. Sadira, slide her skirts and chemise down, before bending over to hand the fabric to her mother once more. Standing erect, she is naked having no under things to worry about as is the way of her people. The firelight gleams over her dusky skin, rounded and toned. Her sloping shoulders slide into well formed yet delicate arms. The soft roundness of her breasts are peaked with soft rose, her nipples hardening with the caress of the breeze over them. Her stomach is rounded and soft, utterly feminine. Her swelling hips frame the shadowy region of her womanly center, covered in a forest of dark fur, there are some glimpses of the rose that awaits there in. She shows no shyness as she stands before her mothers and fathers appreciative gazes, she is their child, the essence of them both. There is no shame in her skin and form. Tiny she is, like her mother, standing only about five feet.

Her mother hands her the bundle of cloth. A new snow white chemise, a beautiful white bodice, her Mothers best work to date, covered with dark loping wolves and brilliantly colored flowers. There are many skirts, multicolored to be layered over her hips, reds, golds, and even a darker blue to match with the bodices colorings. Sadira pulled them on reverently, savoring the feel of the new linen on her soft skin. Eventually she stands dressed and her mother rises, tutting over a ribbon on the skirts which she quickly applies her needle to, and then she nods in satisfaction. “Turn around cubling, let me see you move.” her mother ordered good-naturedly.

Spinning around, the girls skirts flare up around her perfectly. With a flourishing bow towards her laughing mother and father. “Adelina, your work is exceptional as always my love.” Her father says as he lifts her mothers hand to his lips. Rolling her eyes, Sadira turns from the scene, walking over to the gentle horse that pulled their wagon. “Ai, their at it again Tully.” sighing deeply, she presses her her cheek against the horses nose, stroking his chin with her hand. Her silvery eyes look up to the
brilliantly star studded sky, washed with the dancing colors of the ever present ring that arched always from horizon to horizon. As her parents delved into their desires openly by the light of the fire, the rover girl sent a silent wish to those that watched, may she too find such a love one day.

The girls dreams were fitful that evening, fire and death danced in her mind. As she prepared herself for the half days journey that would take them to Brosta and the feast, she tried to put the images out of her mind. It would do little good for her to dwell on such things when there was selling and dancing to do. There should be quite some lads at the feast for her to torment. But she is hoping to see one in particular. Barely able to remember him, she just remembers what she called the boy who would push her into puddles, and pull at her braids, sending her into tears. Gusa... oh she had plans for him. If she recalled correctly there is a rather deep river flowing near the village of Brosa, all she has to do is lure him out there and give him a good shove. Laughing at her thoughts, she picked up her pace at her chores, eager to be on her way.

 

[Light Ice]

They crawled across the road like beatles, bouncing slightly on their massive wheels as they traversed the battered, pitted road that ran straight through the broad expanse of the fields and to Pelanis' massive gates. The majority of which showed surpreme signs of wear, with chipped paint, and wood so battered by dust and grit that the wood seemed to have been died its dull, muddy color. His steps were soon casting shadows out before him, an exaggerated sylhouette of his masculine frame. His broad shoulders the size of a giant's, looming ten feet tall. And while amusing as it was, Guusal forced himself to turn and face the sun as it fell below the horizon. It's last, spectacular gasp sending slivers of vibrant color streaking across the clouds, seeming to light them from below.


The massive sides of venison he carried, fresh and wrapped in clean burlap to keep the blood and oil from the sleeves he wore, were beginning to strain his muscled limbs, their sinuous lengths flush with the heat of work. It was a feeling he was well accustomed to. They had teased him about those sleeves, wearing them to the festival was a foolish thing, his brothers laughed. But Guusal thought the better of it. Roguishly handsome, with those sharp, dark features, the element of danger and lethality that he carried with him had won him many a lass. The sleeves, thick leather that ran from his upper bicep to his wrist, had seen years of use and showed it, a few overlapping bits of the harsh material had been worn through. On his legs were simple, mud-brown deerhide leggings, which yielded to the simple black vest he had worn specificially for the evening affair. The ties that ran up it's center were left partially undone, revealing a good amount of his bronzed, rippled flesh. It was enough to blush the girls, he'd learned that years ago.


They had walked where the others had ridden, and his family bore the evidence as they crossed into the town's gathering. Across the entrances of nearly every home and storefront were joyous, well-maintained buntings of blue and red, a few of The Rover's themselves had mirrored the jovial decorations and hung them upon their wagons. The gesture had a sad hint to it, though, when one looked upon such a pleasant banner strewn about a battered wagon. That was the way though, rarely did the more true of Rovers get wealthy.

The Rovers were a rough addition to the town's gay affair, complete with a massive tent strewn about the center of street to harbor the long tables used to seat everyone. Food was piled high, fresh and succulant, a celebration worthy of the most fine occassions, and the feastdsay provided the town, clearly, with a means to let go. There was even a dance floor made of unfinished pine planks.

Town found the Rabbon family with obvious curiosity, their sweat-covered features dark with a lifetime in the sun, their steps quiet from years of walking in the woods. Rarely were they seen in town, save Guusal himself. And he knew his family hated his habits. It mattered not, however, because the moment he set the deer's flanks down upon one of the cook's large meat tables he noticed several of the younger maiden's stealing glances at his body. The smile he threw in response set them into a fit of nervous giggles. Things were going very well.


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By nightfall he had filled himself on the heaps of food piled about, and was steadily mixed with several fine girls in swift and joyous dances. Already images of their skirts gathered up about their waste as they lay in a hay loft were flitting through his head, and the lewdly visible erection straining the leather attempting to confine it was immediately pointed out amongst a few of the girls. The size, the strength, and how unashamed he was of such a thing seemed to melt the sense in their heads and make their knees week. One even kissed his cheek as they spun about to the music.


Guusal smiled that crocodile's smile and leaned, attempting to claim the darling blonde's lips with his own, seeking to pillage her soft mouth with his astute tongue, to draw the moisture from it and leave her breathless and wanting. To finish the hunt he had started.


But instead he was pulled away.

"Goose!" Snorted the eldest of his nine brothers, jerking a finger toward their father, seated on the small promenade, working his fiddle furiously with the gathered magicians.

He could only wince as he watched the display, for as the old man's fingers plucked more and more fiercely at the strings, the more they began to glisten in the dim light. Blood.

"Damnit, Adenuil!" He seethed, abruptly furious. "The hells you askin' me for? You best tell ma, she'll get him down." And she would, they both knew it. But if their parents left, they would leave, and the result would be unused hay lofts and a wasted evening. Quickly he sidetracked his mother with a dance, twisting her about as she laughed, barely concerned with the set of missing wagons in camp, and the lack of showing from several Older friends.

 

[fomharfyre]

Sadira: Captured

Puffy white clouds sailed lazily in the azure sky above, while the sweet melody of the meadowlark whistled in the brushy pines that bordered the edge of the wild forest and the rolling plains of golden grass. Suddenly the screams of terrified women could be heard, shattering the peaceful beauty of the day.

“PehPeh! No!” Sadira screamed in anguish as her father was hurled from the seat of their wagon by the impact of the large black arrow that seemed to sprout from his stomach. The screaming roar of angry men rang through the boundary of trees as five dark-clad strangers rushed the wagon. Frightened, the stout little horse reared its front legs and took off, as the terrified girl slid from the wagon to the side of her father.

“Sadir-!” cried out her mother as the wagon jolted forward, the momentum sending her flying back onto the hard wood of the wagon’s cover. Slumping down motionless, crimson blood dripped from her head onto the seat as the wagon bounced into the darkness of the trees, leaving Sadira alone with the approaching men.

“Shite!” cursed the taller of the men, as he gave a disgusted look up the road into the woods before turning to look at the girl who was cradling her dying father in her arms and weeping pitifully on the side of the road. He was impressive in size, his bulk matching his length in proportion. His ragged leather armor was adorned with daggers on a bandolier about his chest and a sword sheathed at his side. Unstringing his bow, he tucked it onto his back while the other similarly attired men ran down the road after the wagon. Walking slowly towards the weeping girl with an angry frown, he grabbed her arm and hauled her up from her father to pull her against his chest, his fetid lips descending towards hers.

“Die you filthy bastard!” The anguished girl growled out as she shoved the dagger she had slipped from her father’s belt toward the man’s leather-covered stomach.

With an indulgent laugh, the bandit’s large, calloused hand gripped her slender wrist and twisted, causing her to cry out and drop the dagger limply through her fingers. Smirking down at her agonized expression, his other massive hand hauled back and slapped her across the face, splitting her lip with a spray of blood. She sagged limply in his one-handed hold on her wrist; dazed from the fierce blow he laid upon her.

Her father cried out as he tried to gain his feet, his hand reaching towards the hilt of the sword he kept at his side. Laughing sardonically, the dirty-blond bandit pushed Sadira roughly to the ground, where she lay limp and unmoving. He drew his sword from his side in an easy movement, and before his prey could shakily unsheathe his own, he sliced through the air. Her father’s head rolled to the ground a second before his body toppled over. Leaning down, the chuckling man wiped his blade on the tunic of his headless victim and sheathed it in a practiced motion.

Turning to the mercifully unconscious girl, the man sank into a crouch and ran an appreciative hand over the rounded peaks of her linen covered breasts. “Daven!” a manly voice shouted from up the road.

Turning his head, the man squinted his eyes into the light of the sun that was just setting behind the trees of the forest. “Move yer stinking arse, did you get the goods” he shouted back.

“Nah, the horse clean bolted!” the smaller man rolled out from between his heavily bearded lips.

Snarling, Daven bent down and picked up the unconscious girl into his arms and slung her effortlessly over his broad shoulders. Rising to his feet, he gestured to the gathering men. “Come lads, pick the body of any worth an let us be off with this small prize!” He slapped Sadira hard on the rear and trotted off without a glance back.

 

[Light Ice]

The music came to a draw, and in the corner of his eye Adenuil was convincing his father to tend to his bloodied fingers. His mother, pressing a kiss to his cheek, offered him that adoring look . That motherly look. All at once the spice in his blood went soft. It was amazing how she could do that. Nostalgia, and he couldn't escape it now. As heavy as the scent of spiced pies in the air it pulled him down, drowning him in memories of his earlier years.


But the quiet reverie was shattered with screams. Screams. Blood-curdling, shrill little sirens as a pair of women collapsed in each other's arms amidst a steadily growing ring of people. Several of the elder Rovers pushed to the front, the women recognized, and already concern was etched into their features. Even Guusal's father had joined, lingering close, concealing his wounded hands.

"There, there, lass." Offered Chandrita Condulaon, a brewer whose jovial nature and lucrative business had earned him many friends. His words, however, were not recieved.


"Bandits!" The first woman wailed, "Murder!"

"Three wagons hit this night, kill them all dead, except Petrin's little girl! They took her!" The second finished, shaking badly in Condulaon's paunchy arms, his large, bloated fingers struggling to console her.

Gasps went out and through the line, the news pulling a flinch from Guusal. The girl was most likely dead, raped and left somewhere tied. It was a fairly common practice, and as the whispers went on around him, he couldn't help but grow a bit cynical about the entire situation.

He knew that girl. But he couldn't place her name.

"Rabbon! Rabbon!! You can track them, yeah? You're the best in Gondor!" Hurried Chandrita, as he rose to his feet with his aide available to do his beck and call.


He felt his father step through, and the discussion was brief. The old man thought he would go, but Mama Goose protested to the point of tears before he finally submitted Sighing in disbelieve, the man turned away.

"Guusal can do it." His father offered suddenly, and his mother gave a growl against him.

The twenty-one year old shot his teacher a sharp look, distrust suddenly blazing in his eyes. "Damnit, Da! This is a door, of all doors, needs you."

"My fingers are raw, boy. You need to do it. You need to do it because I can't, and you're the next best at it. You keep away from any trouble, you just come back tell us where they are." Replied his father, and he couldn't help but dip his head. "Take Adenuil with you, boy. You'll be alright."


And that was assuring, to have Adenuil along would ensure that if he made an error, his older brother could correct it.

With a reluctant dip of his chin he agreed, and quietly began to move off. Gathering his things, he went to his father's bundle and drew out his dad's hunting horn. The ivory horn was held upon his frame by a strap that ran from his shoulder. He moved surely, and quietly in the night, stealing out the village and toward the road. The tracks spoke clearly when he came across them, and it wasn't long that It was a half hour later he came across the body, a man, beheaded.


A frown tugged his lips as he regarded the lifeless face staring back at him, Petrin. He remembered more than the name now, recognition of his daughter, the way he loved his family. His heart went cold, and he glanced toward Adenuil.

"We'll return to bury him, we've to find the wagon." He said, and Adenuil could naught but nod in reply. The grizzly scene had shocked him badly, and the sudden edge to his younger brother's voice seemed lost.

The wagon trails were deep, as were the prints of the horse. He expected they would run on for days, but it was not so. Fourty minutes later they came upon them, the animal was exhausted, and lay within its hitchings before the wagon. The cover was ripped from arrows, but the materials within seemed intact.

Guusal frowned, and quietly he worked his way to the horse and unhitched it. Adenuil was picking through the wagon with his eyes, searching out.


"Goose!" But Guusal was already rising, having heard the faintest of groans from the wagon's interior. Stepping up onto the seat, he brushed open the canvas curtain, looking upon his brother, and the dazed woman in his arms.

"The girl's gone." Was his accessment, cool and hard. He had already imagined at such. Sadira would be what, eighteen now? Nineteen? Her name, it hung so easily on his lips now. I couldn't imagine what the delicate thing would face.

"Take her home, Adenuil, and get Da and the others to come back for the horse and wagon." He demanded, and his brother nodded once again, conceeding to the authority of his younger sibling.

"But what of you? You're really following alone?"

"Aye, they've too big a start on us. Any further and the trail will go cold and that girl's life will be forfeit. I may catch them by tonight if I move fast enough. Give me your quiver." And he took it from Adenuil wordlessly, throwing it on his other shoulder. He had thirty arrows now, more than enough, he hoped, to get by a few days alone in the wild.

And then, without so much as a glance, he headed off, jogging steadily back towards the corpse of Petrin, and the tracks nearby.





----------

They carried her for hours, until they made camp. Around them, the owls called, a chilling sound that was broken only by the assuring crackle of the burning pine and cedar they had piled onto their fire. The raid had gone badly, and they were all frustrated.


The four men, however, were not entirely enraged. The young girl that lay on the dirt before them was stunning, her dark hair shrouding her face, as if to protect the porcelain skin beyond from their hungry gaze. Daven was the first to step forward, his strong hand arcing out to swat her cheek, the sound of her flesh smacking sending a crisp clap through the woods.

"Wake up, bitch." He snarled, before looking back to the lesser three. "She's mine until Jackie-Boy arrives, see if he had more luck, and if she's screaming don't let him come in. I ain't done yet."

With a sudden yank, he grabbed her by her hair, dragging her off into the second largest of the tents, a lamp inside being lit.

The criminals had a camp of eight men, and Daven was a second mate of sorts to the villianous Dagger Jack. Dagger Jack's raid had been more successful, and the two wagons he had taken full of loot would arrive in less than an hour.

The men drank while Daven loomed over his prize, her body tiny compared to his own.

And in the darkness Guusal stole steadily closer, moving with the woods as though it were apart of him, and so swiftly one might wonder if he was riding the stiff, easternly wind.

 

[fomharfyre]

The Ravishment

Her silvery eyes fluttered open as she is dragged into the tent. Her hands fly to his wrists as he pulls her entirely by the length of her sable-dark hair. The tent flap closed behind them as she in terror cried out in a pained scream.

“That’s right girl, scream.” The lascivious man said to her in a tone of filthy silk. He pulled her up from the floor, lifting her bodily by her hair. Twisting her head back, his lips part around hideously browned teeth as his tongue darts out to lick up at the blood on her broken lip. “Louder bitch!”

Frozen as his fetid breath assaults her senses, Sadira can only tremble helplessly in his painful grip as his other hand slides up her stomach, to cup over her rounded breast with a bruising force.

Thoughts of her father falling from the wagon and the pained cry of her mother fills her mind, unfreezing her into action. With a disgusted noise coming from her throat, she hauls back with her arm and aims a surprising punch at his eye with her tiny clenched fist.

 

[Light Ice]

Perhaps he could have moved, but he chose not to. The selfish cruelty in him building with every jerk of her frame, every fighting twist. The impact was a sharp sting, but she lacked the power to hurt him. His eye blinked a few times to refocus, before he backhanded her so sharply that the sound of his hand meeting her cheek clapped up and startled a few of the men outside. One gave an approving mumble, jealousy in his eyes.

He watched her sway under the impact, kept concious by rage. Reaching for her, his stubby fingers curl as they claw across the top of her chest, hooking the hems of her dress and yanking roughly to force the shoulders onto her forearms. Her hands strike weakly at him agian, driving into his shoulders, but with a sharp tear the ties at her back yield, and the tightly formed material loosens, dropping past her ample breasts and freeing them to sway faintly in the cool air. The pile of her fabric resting in a bunch at the arch of her hips.

Before him, the slender girl trembled, the tearing of her dress baring her and at once stripping her to that vulnerable state. His hulking frame, not at all what she'd ever considered attractive, with a sloping browline and wide, flat nose. Primative and hard in appearance, dull brown eyes, craters in his face from poorly maintained skin, and stubby, unskilled fingers. Those fingers gripped her arms and dragged her, pushed her down under him, his body laying awkwardly on her own, offending her slighter build with his weight.

He could taste the fear and hate lifting from her, and it stiffened the average sized length in his trousers fuller, grinding it lewdly into her as his breath went rugged.




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Guusal crossed the trail and swung wide left of the tracks he had found, knowing he was drawing close. From his keen eyes he could see that he'd closed to within an hour of reaching them, and with night fall, it was a matter of time. They hadn't wavered from their course, a straight line along a commonly travelled trail, it's hook went left into the deeper woods, and he ran parallel to it now, when they appeared they would do so on his right hand side.


Subconciously he unstrapped his bow from the confines of its holder, sliding the ashen length of it about in his hands, he leapt over a fallen tree, landing with the faint snap of branches beneath his feet and continuing on. As he took the grip in his hand, wool wrapped for comfort, he had already drawn an arrow on the string.


In his mind he could see Sadira being tormented, her braids pulled by men who took turns ravishing her and abusing her. The image pushed him on, his powerful legs stamping the ground fiercely as he sprinted through the underbrush. He had to stop them. On his father's name, he would stop them.

 

[fomharfyre]

The girls mind went blankly into shock as she felt what seemed a huge pole of steel being ground against her hip. Her breath comes in panicked gasps, pressing her rose peaked breast into his hand as he twists it brutally, causing her to give a sharp cry of pain.

The intense ache in her breast brings her mind back into the present and she lifts her fingers to claw madly at his face, her nails sharply dig in and draw a trickle of blood to drip onto her face as he laughs at her feeble attempts to defend herself from his unwanted attack.

Her legs are shoved open by his invading girth, delicate and weak her struggles soon tire her leaving her panting breathlessly underneath her ravisher’s clothed body. Her shapely legs draped almost lovingly about his waist as he bends his torn face to her and slips his tongue into her lips without her protesting. He moans, as he tastes the sweet fruit she devoured for breakfast still on her tongue among the salty tang of her blood. But then suddenly her teeth clamp close hard on his slimy tongue as she bites him with all the tender strength in her slender jaw.

Unable to pull his tongue back into his mouth without ripping it apart, the man wordlessly screams and takes her head into his great hands. With a great effort, the man slammed her head into the ground, causing her to fall limp into unconsciousness, her teeth parting and freeing his bloody tongue.

Howling with rage, the pained man pulls back his fist, ready to crush the lovely girls skull. Just as he is about to release, a hand closes on to his fist and restrains it.

“Daven, you know better then to treat your toys like this.” a smoothly cultured voice purred into his ear. The man looked behind him, blood flowing down from between his lips. “And she is such a pretty little bit too. Quite spirited it seems.”

The lightly built man released Daven’s hand and places it softly on his chin, tilting his head back. Hard black eyes in a face framed by silken blonde hair, gaze down at the ruin of the larger mans mouth with a glint of sardonic humor.

“My, what a wild cat she is” he glanced over to where the girl laid, his eyes flowing over her features and to her revealed breasts. “Delightful... assets as well” he cooed with a appreciative lick of his tongue over his full patrician lips. “Leave us and have that tended to” he snapped to the larger man, releasing his chin to crouch down over the prone girl.

“Bu-“ the bloody man started to speak, when suddenly a sword blade cuts very slightly at his neck. His trembling eyes flow up the sword to see it held by the blonde man.
Without another word, he tucked his shattered dignity and left.

 

[Light Ice]

Bandit Jack

It was a near constant obsession, to be wealthy again. In his eye he could see his family returned to prominence, he could feel the eyes upon him, respect given. For too long had his once proud brothers labored, his sister gone wed to a two-bit merchant, and his fortunes unravelled. And he preyed, and he preyed, and he preyed.


But Jack had realized fully that he would not be the one to accomplish this. The ground work was in place for a truly devious coupe upon the Treschard families and their businesses. And so he had taken an alias, and with assistance of a few lesser reputed cohorts, hatched the deal that would have the merchant caravans crippled by next summer. It had gone almost too well.


And he deserved the treat that Daven had returned with, her lucious figure enticing his eyes to roam fully over the creamy flesh of her slender frame. He reached, almost tenderly to her hands, taking them and laying them out above her head. That voice, a gentle croon against her ear as his warmth hovered over her, his scent sweet, like some of the finer men she had seen in Pelanis the last time she'd visited. He was cultured, and the silks he wore beneath his dueling vest hinted at an appreciation for the finer things.

"Easy, my little dear." He soothed, fastening straps to hold her wrists taught above her, binding them above her head. The gesture forced her back to arch just slightly, thrusting her ample breasts into the air, nipples teased by the cool breeze flicking through the tent and reaching outward for more attention. He answered by strumming his fingers lightly over earch, watching the girl's body tremble as the sensations shot through her. One hand lifting to her lip as he speaks, wiping it clean of her blood, attentative. "Too damaging, such an untaught touch."


He didn't appreciate the bruise on her face, but the light was low and he could tolerate it. Besides, the rest of her was flawless, lean and soft, with a small thatch of dark fur leading to the promised flesh between her thighs. He slid his fingers through it, caressing the hair with a lover's touch, before his fingers began to brush down over her womanly slit, teasing the pouted petals with deft digits. "You've never known the touch of a man. It's a shame, your first must be this way. Daven is a careless brute."


And he meant every word. That sympathy hung a moment, before he drew his fingers back and licked them clean, eyes bearing down into the prone girl beneath him. "Scared, child?" He asked, in that melodic voice, laced with concealed malice. He would have her sobbing when he was through, and her body shaking. He could see it. Soon.

 

[fomharfyre]

Thoughts raced through Sadira’s mind as the gentle touch of his hand touched her where only her own has been for as far as she can remember. He is a handsome man, one who she would not minded having court her in another situation.

He seems so kind but why is he not freeing her? Why does he touch her body in such a shamefully intimate way? Why did the other man leave so easily? This man whoever he is seems more dangerous to her then the fumbling brute that killed her father. At least she had a small revenge for her father; the metallic flavor of that man’s blood still lingers on her tongue.

He asks her if she is afraid. She the daughter of Petrin and Adelina afraid! The idea is as foreign to her as the touch of his finger sliding past the soft folds of her flower and stroking with teasing circles around the opening to her inner places.

“Never am I afraid of such as you root-kin!” she snarled at him before drawing her lips back to spat into his face. Laughing, he takes his hand from her inner fold and wipes the spittle away from his eye before running it along her cut lips. Leaving the scent of her inner flavor to be licked away by her tongue as she moistens her lips.

With an almost tender hand he strokes her cheek for a moment, then his fingers tighten in a bruising manner and pulls her lips to his in a bruising kiss. The grip of his fingers pries her jaw open, allowing him to slide his tongue into her mouth with a ravaging fervor. Unable to close her teeth on his tongue, the girl struggles underneath him, pressing her naked breasts against his vested chest, her hips arching towards his pressing her heated slit against his growing hardness under his leather trousers. She presents a wanton image, almost seeming like she is begging for him to take her, beautiful in her instinctual struggles to escape.

 

[Light Ice]

Entranced, Guusal continued through the thick foilage, his body parting branches and brambles thick enough to halt all but the stoutest of men. He, a dark figure clad in well-weathered leathers and bent low to the ground, slid between such obstacles with a predatory grace. And his speed, such numbing quickness, kept the sounds of his feet well behind him.

Leaping back onto a smaller trail, Guusal sprinted right by a rabbit that had been devouring a small thatch of strawberries to the side of the road. He was gone before the rabbit recovered from its fright and skittered aside.

It did not take long for the glow of the Bandit's fire to be seen, and immediately he halted his pace and knelt against a fern. It's lazy fingers draped over his shoulder, the hunter quietly worked his bow free from the harness upon his back. His fingers toyed with an arrow as he considered pondering all the while. Looking up, he surveyed the series of small tents, one slightly larger than the others, and regarded the half dozen men by the fire as they drank and talked.

---------------------------------------

Jack's eyes danced as he drew back from the girl's trembling frame, those fingers curling more painfully into the tender hollow's of her jaw, pinching on nerves not usually handled. He could see her eyes watering from the torment, and the humiliation. His other hand produced a dagger from his belt, the cold, steel blade glinting in the firelight as it passed through Sadira's dress. The fabric her mother had so carefully crafted split easily against her captor's weapon, falling aside to leave her bare. And all at once she was beset by modesty, her hands moving to cover her. To put a barrier between them.

He would not be denied.

Had his family not been destroyed he would have a thousand merchant daughters, he thought, the malice and frustration of his inner dialogue seeming to reflect in the cold darkness of his eyes. He was pushing her then, guiding her back until she was forced to sit upon the bed's edge. And then he drew near.

The sweetness of his breath as it rolled warmly along her cheek, across her ear, and down into the curve of her bare throat. The words, laced with cruelty, accompanied the press of his hips between her silken thighs, forcing the girl to part about him. Her struggles lessoned as he came further, seeking to strangle her heart and crush her resolve. Pouring such pestilance into her ear. "Your family is dead, girl. Your friends will be. Why do you resist?"

ANd as she attempts to clench around him, he states his dominance with a sudden, mighty lunge. Torn from Sadira's very soul, with the brief instant of Jack's insistant cock, is her claim to maidenhood. Her wet core, soaked from fear and forced realization, clenching him painfully tight.

 

[fomharfyre]

Screaming in pain and sorrow, Sadira claws her fingers down the back of her ravisher as he thrusts into her once virgin sanctuary with his stiff rod of man-flesh that could be a burning torch for all the fire she feels flowing through her. Her maiden’s blood eases his passage as he relentlessly pushes into her protesting body.

“Yes, scream for me my beauty. Let me hear the sweet symphony of your anguish. It is a balm to my soul.” He whispers almost tenderly as he leans up with her impaled on his pulsating cock and withdraws slowly. Savoring the feeling of her tight passageway surrounding him, he groans softly as his head leaves her warmth and the cool night air touches his blood coated rod. He looks down at her for a moment, looking at her pale tear streaked face and torn lip with a shudder of pure desire at her helplessness underneath him. Then with a cruel sneer, he shoves his cock into her once more. Thrusting deep with one stroke he buries himself fully into her, his balls slapping her ass. She cries out in agony once more, her hands digging deeply into his back, drawing blood to the surface. With a hiss of pain he takes his hand and squeezes her throat tightly, cutting off her air.

Gasping, her hands slide to grasp uselessly at his wrist, trying to pull him away from her throat. Her silvery eyes are wide with panic as she makes soft noises from deep in her throat. Watching her struggle, the man laughs as he pulls back and thrusts into the suffocating woman underneath him.

Suddenly there is a shout from outside the tent…

 

[Light Ice]

Searching for a Shadow in the Dark

It felt so natural in his hands, an unpolished length of mahogany wood wrapped in worn leather, so well used that permanent dents remained where Guusal's fingers found their path. The knocking of the steel-headed arrow on the string was second nature, requiring hardly a thought, as was the draw that sent a familiar tension up through his arm as he fought the bow to pull that arrow fully back. The wood creaked softly in protest, but he knew that as well.


But what he did not know, were the feelings of rage arcing through him. Because he had heard Sadira's cry. He had heard her sweet voice lifting from that tent. And in his eyes he could see his failure. So close. So close.

And he did not know what it would be like to kill a man, but now was the time. He would never be more ready.

The shot was good from the moment his fingers loosed it, and the arrow parted the darkness with a speed unmatched by most. The steel head punched easily through the standing man's leather jerkin and thudded solidly as it buried itself deep into the flesh of his chest, leaving his eyes to come wide. Where had it come from? His friends noticed nothing until he fell, back spreading dirt beneath his weight as his eyes rolled back, the life leaving him that quickly. His heart impaled.

He was shifting positions already, even as the men shouted. Even as their swords came free. Precious few realized the danger, and took shelter. The rest stood over their murdered friend.

----------------------------------------

Jack laughed as the girl's features went white, struggling for air as he forced his cock into her body with relentless force. There was no better a way to celebrate his upcoming promotion with his group, his steady bids to gain control of the Bandit ring coming to fruitition. A large amount of them would soon arrive, and he would be refreshed, with bounty and beauty. Her virgin's blood would be left on his dick until the next evening. The thought made his hard flesh twitch inside her.

"Daven!"

The cry was abrupt and strangled, dismal, and was echoed again by another as there was shuffling about outside. He was so close. He thrust again, and the girl whimpered, sagging now as the lack of air took her strength. Again, her body rocking in response to the impact of his hips to her own. Her soft flesh bruising around his fingers.

"Where is he!?"

Again, from outside, but this time with the sound of drawn swords. Trouble. Pulling from the girl, he released a sudden groan at the absence of her pussy from him. His hand found his slick shaft and stroked, allowing the last few drives to free the thin, watery seed from his body and splash it across the tattered remnants of her dress. There, gasping for air between her sobs and naked, Sadira would be left... one hand shackled to the Tent's solid center pole. She was locked away, an animal, helpless.

Fastening his britches and swordbelt, he moved to step outside, only to leap back as Alek, a younger of the group, fell before him and just inside the tent's confines, a trio of arrows buried in his chest, and one low in his belly. He twitched a moment before going still.

With a low sneer, Jack stepped back from the tent flap, and drew his sword, the elegant weapon an heirloom of his once great house, and whetted to a razor's edge.

-----------------------------------------

The hunter had taken five of them from the darkness, and the rest were not coming out from behind their barrels and wagon wheels. Strapping the bow back into place on his back, Guusal carefully removed his Adenuil's empty shoulder quiver and lay it on the ground.

He moved quietly through the brush, working steadily out and to the camp's side. He could see their figures hunched down, clenching swords. Watching as the last of their staggering companions fell into the tent where she had been. Was she alive?

Yes, she had to be. He would not fail her again.

Silent, and lethal, he prowled tight to where one man lay, his back pressed to the barrel and his eyes darting about. He did not hear Guusal's long, curved hunting knife come free from the leather holding it to his other thigh. And by the time his eyes rolled upward to see his attacker, steel slid through the flesh of his throat, splitting it open and allowing a thick rush of his blood to rush forward.

The last remaining man was handled more roughly, his back against the wagon, using it to keep from sight. And then his body jerked, a sword exploding from his chest, bloodied, impaling him from behind. He fell away, and the blade came with him, ripping at the canvas it had struck through, and showing a glimpse of the leather-bound figure inside the wagon. Now, and only, remained the tent.

In his hand was that hunting knife, for in truth a sword was foreign to him, but the raven-haired woodsman went forth all the same. The tent flaps parted around his rugged frame, and fell shut behind him. For a long moment his eyes studied Jack, weary of the blade in his hand. Weary of the way he stood. And then his attention briefly flitted to Sadira, crumbled and chained, battered...

Something snapped inside him, all that quiet rage coming to a head and spilling over. The white-hot hate blazed to fire in his eyes, and he pounced with a wolf-like leap.

But Jack was a learned man, and his sword easily picked that knife from its path with a sharp flick. The sheer ferocity of his attacker, however, left for no counter. The impact of the feral foe's body into his sent them both stumbling, grappling in the dim light.

Guusal continued to attempt and wrestle him to the ground, a hand on the wrist bearing his sword, keeping its blade pointed to the sky.

And to Jack his attacker was a wild man, uncultured and foul. He drove an elbow into his chin in an attempt to put distance between them, but found none. He was trapped now, and he knew it, locked in this struggle with a creature that seemed to have no thought to his own safety, and devoted entirely to Jack's end. To the end of his family.

 

[fomharfyre]

Painful flashes of light spark inside of her skull as she takes in deep gasping breaths of needed, longed for air. Her entire body was afire with agony lashed nerves. Feeling him pull his rod out of her tormented body was almost a pleasure even as she stiffened before him. Waiting the next impalement of her battered soul. Her silvery eyes flutter open when she feels wetness splash onto her ruined dress and skin. Was he adding a new humiliation and pissing on her now? Marking her as some low filthy animal?

Groaning weakly, the girl focuses her eyes on the retreating back of Jack as he nears the tent flaps. Her eyes blurred and not focusing in the dim light of the lantern attached to the post of the tent. Something fell to the ground just inside of the tent, it was hard for her to tell what it was, it looked like a man but what are those sticking out from him. Is he dead?

Sadira watched as Jack back into the tent once more, preparing for the inevitable attack. Glancing away she looks to the manacle that binds her wrist to the thick tent post. The chain rattles as she tugs at it uselessly, the rough iron biting into her tender flesh.

Hissing his displeasure at the noise she made, Jack backed away from the tent flap and prepared to give her a solid kick in her stomach when the wild stranger slipped into the tent and caused all things to remain still for a moment. The moment the dark stranger looked at her time halted for an eternity to Sadira. Her eyes focused as she takes a strangled inhale of air at the sight of the blood covered, strong hands of the man who stares at her with increasing fury in his pale eyes. In that moment, her eyes traced the handsome ruggedness of his features, the strength of his shoulders and the tapered muscles to his hips and lower. He appears to her as a dangerous man, wild and untamed. Frightening her more then the known danger of her rapist. She is absolutely vulnerable before him. Her naked body revealed to his gaze under the flickering light of the lantern. Her wrist trapped and shackled leaving her bound like a sacrificial animal at the feast of two ravaging gods. She is a prize that is very reluctant to be won by either of the men who stand frozen before her.

Then as she blinks, time rushes forward in a confusing blur of images. Two men; One dark, one light; Grapple together in a deadly battle before her. Gasping she painfully gets to her knees, pulling at her wrist, trying to escape the deadly dance that is unfolding itself before her frightened eyes.

 

[Light Ice]

And in the darkness there is naught but the savage grunts of the struggling men, their muscled frames twisting about and bouncing from one side of the tent to the other. Gaining some leverage, the hunter shoves hard, driving with the corded muscles of his legs and forcing Jack's lithe figure to give, backing up steadily until his spine slams into one of the large chests in the tent's periphery.

One of the drawers is knocked free, and clatters to the ground, spilling jewelry and other trinkets that have been stolen aside. A blood stained doll coming to rest atop the dishevelled pile.

But the sinister swordsman retaliates sharply, bringing his knee between Guusal's leather-clad thighs and delivering a blow sharp enough to drive the breath from his lungs. The pause is all he needs to bring that arm about, sword flashing with indescribable skill, the blade parting leather and flesh as it skips along Guusal's ribcage, blood spilling down his side.

Staggering back, Guusal stepped around Sadira's prone frame, using the pole that she is bound to as a barrier between he and Jack, the swordsman sneering with contempt. That blade lashes out, a forward thrust, one narrowly avoided, and the Bandit grinds his teeth, arcing that blade across, horizontally, seeking to end the bought with a killing stroke.

Just above Sadira's head the blade strikes, slamming into the wood with a resounding 'thunk'.

As he attempts to yank it free, Jack's hands remain upon the hilt, and Guusal takes this opportunity. Blows piston down on Jack's face and chest, driving him to releasethe sword and abandon it for hard punches of his own. The two twist, exchanging blows, until finally they tangle up once again.

In the still of the room, everything hangs on this tense moment, lingering as neither manages to gain an upper hand. Then, with a harsh twist of his body, he throws Jack to the floor, bouncing him off the camp's dry ground.

The bandit brandishes a dagger, pulled from the depths of his belt, but it is too late. With his palm closed about t, he lashes out, only to feel Guusal's palm slam his wrist to the ground, pinning it.

The other hand, drawing forward, grabs the man's forehead and drives it into the hard ground. There, a few feet from Sadira's battered frame, the Wolf loses himself. The solid thuds of Jack's head against the hard floor is heard, but drowned out. Even after the motionless Jack releases his dagger, Guusal drives that head down.

Again, and again, and again, the rage bubbling out of him, raw and angry, until finally... right before Sadira's eyes, the half-concious Jack's head cracks, and blood spreads over the clay.

 

[fomharfyre]

The falling jewelry catches her eyes and a sob clenches her throat as she sees the blood covered doll. It was a toy that she herself lovingly made for a newly born cousin a few months past. How did it get here, there was no word that anything had befallen their family. Suddenly the fight catches her attention once more, the blood that spills from the feral strangers chest splatters onto her as he steps around her, placing her between him and her violator.

She lifts her silvery eyes upwards as a sword is slammed into the wood where she was ravished just moments earlier. Screaming in panic, Her thoughts race as she tugs at her chained wrist, the iron cutting into her soft flesh and drawing rivulets of crimson blood that drips down into the soft clay of the ground.

The men tussle like shadows in front of the terrified woman. Jack she knows and hates with enough passion to be jealous of the rugged stranger that is pounding the blond man’s skull like a melon into the ground. Her eyes cannot look away as the man’s skull splits open before her. The night is silent as she looks up at the growling man before her, fear freezing her motionless. Her eyes trace his face, fearsome in its rage, she is afraid of what she will see when he looks at her.

 

[Light Ice]

The lamplight played dark shadows across the ground, and Jack's frame began to twitch as the life filtered out of him. The blood ran hotly at first, spilling out and leaking toward one of the tent's walls, before slowing, and then stilling. His legs stopped kicking, and he grew entirely limp in the thickening puddle, rusty-coloured vitae slowly collagulating.


It was only then that Guusal loosed his large hands from the man's head, rising up in a feral crouch and looking down upon him. Dark, ringed tendrils of ebon hide his wolfish features, sun-bronzed and weary, a day of solid travel in his legs. The corded muscles of his thighs flexed visibly beneath him, deer-hide stretching around their powerful girth.

Vaguely aware of the intense stare offered in his direction, Guusal wordlessly drew up Jack's keys. Releasing the girl from her bonds, he lingered over her to assist her in pulling them from her wrists, being sure she didn't slump weakly to the hard ground. Clanging as they fell, the shackles dropped to the cold clay, passing like her traumatic experience to ruin, and memory.

And he stood there like the new menace, cool and seemingly without compassion as his feet pushed him up from his kill. Gripping her bicep he lifted her, surveying both of her wrists with a dark frown before his thumb found her cheek. He jerked her head sharply to the side, without pain, but allowing him to quickly survey her bruises. She would be fine, she could travel. Gesturing to the myriad of scattered, stolen things, that voice came, a rustic baritone that remained sharp, and clear. "Quick, dress, pants and a shirt, good boots. Don't take anything that'll slow you. Leave it all. If it is to be returned, it will be, but not this day."

Briefly, their eyes met, the intensely pale depths of his blue gaze meeting her own before he dropped his attention to her bared curves, noting her beauty, and the hint of blood on her inner thigh. The fury in him visibly returned, and wordlessly he bent, strong fingers clasping Jack's ankle, dragging the deadman from the tent.

While she dressed, he hung the man upside down from a nearby tree with that bitter fury. Dangling, Guusal regarded him callousedly for a moment as the blood left him, before moving to the horses nearby. His best bet was to scatter them, and take one, but he could not force himself to do so. The majority of the unfortunate beasts were left behind incase help arrived to return them to their former masters, but a great, roan-colored stallion was pulled out, borrowed, though a drop in Guusal's stomach made him feel as though the former rider was long dead.

"Causca." He dubbed it, without hesitation, and the animal did not seem to object. He offered its throat a strong pat before moving across the bodies and recovering his arrows. They had precious little time to flee. They would be hunted, he knew it.

Pausing, he glanced back to Jack, and approached him, abruptly stuffing a hand into the man's pockets. After a brief moment, he withdrew a pouch of coins, some tobacco, and a small piece of paper, a map, marked with small chests in various places. The rest was dropped, but he regarded the paper intently, eyes swiftly flitting over the contents.

"Shit." He muttered, as realization dawned on him. He had to get that map back to Pelanis, and quick, or...

No, Pelanis would never do. They'd get ambushed on the road a day before they reached it. They had to head north, to the Garrison, through goblin country. He was all but finished making his decision when the tent flap rustled, and swiftly he stuffed the map away into the pack at his hip, regarding Sadira as she returned.

"Where are we going?" She asked quietly, the words timid. What horrors worked their way through her young heart, he did not know. His pity for the dark-haired beauty grew, and he moved to bring the horse toward her. Answering even as he lifted her, feeling her threaten to sink into his arms, he sat her side-saddle atop the animal's back. There was no need for him to acknowledge the pain she would be feeling, the image of her virgin's blood leaking down her thigh was fresh in his mind. Riding as a lady would ride was the only way. If she was aware that the mercy was cogniscant, she didn't let on, and wordlessly he drew up behind her and steadied her on the animal's bare back with his arms, hands on the reigns. A moment later they were moving, the animal walking lightly through the woods.

 

[fomharfyre]

As the old threat died before her eyes, a new fear blossomed into her heart. Wild and dangerous he seemed to her with his sweat filled ringlets of black hair, the blood that covers his large and strong hands. His clothes brought a flicker of memory to her but she is disrupted from her musings by the shock of his touch against her skin. His hands they are hot and smear her attackers blood over them as he released her from the iron shackles that had torn into her wrists.

Gasping as his hand touches her cheek, as gentle the touch is it sends fire shooting through her mind. His words come; the voice sharp and deep sends tremors through her body. The lilt of his tongue brings something to her mind that is lost as his eyes capture hers in a breathless instance. It was as if she dove into a lake of ice, his eyes were almost to beautiful to belong to a man, yet there was not a thing feminine about his rugged features and the firm lines of his body. He is intensely male to her, strong where she is weak and something in her yearns to display her body to him and so she does. Unconsciously, Sadira lifts her chin and throws her shoulders back as his eyes trace along the lines of her rounded breasts and hips.

Then he is dragging her rapist from the tent and she is free from his intense presence. Clothes, she needs clothes. Rummaging around, she finds a pair of leather breeches meant for a boy from the way it is cut. She lips them on with a hissed breath as she fits it snuggly against her torn slit. The leather clings to her curves in a shameful manner, nothing is hidden, and all is enhanced. She finds a plain linen shirt and pulls it on, tucking it into the trousers. She knows that she will need to run fast and hard, her clothes must not snag on anything. She finds a leather vest and slips it on, it pushes her breasts tightly to her, and reliving some of the pain she feels in them. Her small boots are nearby and she slips them on. A perfect fit and a small charity in this horror she has found herself in.

Slipping out of the tent she regards the man who has her now. She will not think of him as a savior, for she learned from her father that you can not trust a man who would be willing to kill another man for what he has. She was Jacks for a short amount of time, and it is clear to her by his words that he came for nothing else. Why did this man come for her? Killed to posses her? He is familiar aye, but that does little to comfort the woman. His eyes are on her now; cold as ice yet holding a trace of pity that sends terror through her heart. She needs to escape, to find her kith and let them know what has happened.

“Where are we going?” She asked him in a submissive voice, hoping to mollify him into thinking she is docile. Her shock has worn off and she is left with the knowledge that her father is dead, she is a ruined woman and can only assume her mother has met a similar fate as her father. As he lifts her onto the horse, she is impressed by the very strength that he possesses. He is a dangerous man, she thought to herself. You cannot trust him. The horse began to walk away from the camp and she knew that she had to act now.

Leaning forward on the horse, the girl quickly whispered to him words that are to soft for Guusal to hear, “dance for me, cousin! Prance your feet and spin around”, It is command taught to horses of her people for entertaining the root-folk, and it is as effective this night as any and the horse calls out an echoing neigh and dances up onto his feet. Cursing, the man fights to control the suddenly rearing horse, one of her hands holds tightly to the mane of the horse and the other slips to the side and pulls up on the cinch, the weight of the saddle pulling the man from the horse. Smoothly her legs wrap around the horses girth and her fingers are quickly picking at the straps that hold the reigns to his head. Loosened she calls out another command and the horse lands to his feet and begins to run into the woods.

 

[Light Ice]

He almost marvels as the sudden ferocity in her dark eyes, the softness leaving her beautiful features as the words slip from her lips. Oh, he could hear them, but there was naught to be done. One moment, the reigns are in his strong hands, and he is fighting Causca's powerful frame down with skilled fingers. The next, he is slipping to the ground with the saddle beneath him. In the vertigo of his fall, he spots the loosed buckle clacking in the air.


Curse her!



The impact is heavy, but he keeps his wind with a faint groan, leaves and twigs snapping beneath his weight as he lands upon them, his leathers absorbing some of the impact. If he had the moment, he would have admired her clever trick, but the hunter rises with an unnatural quickness and lashes out a hand. The animal has taken nearly a full stride before his long fingers curl about the reigns, and the momentum takes him firmly from his feet, nearly tearing that muscled limb from the socket as he's thrown through the air.

Head jerked harshly down, Causca plants his feet and skids to a stop, leaving Guusal tucked beneath him, nearly trampled. Breathing heavily, and now slightly battered, he releases a low grunt and reaches to Sadira's slender ankle, clasping it firmly and offering a sharp yank, enough to displace her now and send her to the back amidst a surprisingly forgiving bed of fallen leaves.

In an instant, his frame straddles her own, fingers seeking to entwine with hers and pin them firmly to the earth below.

"Damnit, Sadira, enough! We do not have time for this! It is I, Guusal Rabbon! Now steady your heart, and let us be off!" The words, while filled with emphasis, are low and concise, labored only faintly with a ragged, breathy pant.

 

[fomharfyre]

Safe

Freedom her soul cried out to her. Escape her instincts pleaded to her. The man has fallen hard to the ground behind her and the horse is running now. Then the reigns are being pulled and the large stallion is stopping. Quickly her fingers fumble at the bridle but it is held to tightly. There is something grabbing her ankle, she looks down into the piercing gaze of that wild stranger. Their eyes hold for just a moment before she is pulled hard from the back of the bemused animal and crashes down into a pile of leaves.

Her breath is pushed from her at the impact, though the leaves cushion her battered body greatly. Before she can react he is over her, pressing her into the ground. Her mind panics and she struggles uselessly against his iron grip. His legs are on either side of hers, straddling her thighs and keeping her bucking body down with just his weight. He is to strong for her to push away, yet she keeps trying. His face is a breath from her own, his dark hair hanging about his face, casting shadows across his features in the poor light. His breath is not foul to her yet that is not what brings her to lay still underneath him, frozen in instant shock. It is his words.

Rabbon! That is a name known to her well. Friends of her family they have been for generations. He has not come to claim her for his own, to ravish her as the bandits have. He came to save her, one man against so many! Why did he risk his life for her? Guusal… that name, so familiar to her. She blinks up at him in a confused stupor until realization feels her with a sudden inhale of breath. Gusa! The boy who used to torment her by pulling her braids, pushing her into puddles and teasing her mercilessly was a man grown, and he is holding her most intimately at the moment. Gusa Rabbon rescued me? She thought to herself… Then the realization fills her with a rush of relief, she is safe.

Tears fill the silvery eyes of the young woman underneath the sable haired man. Her head falls back to the ground as sobs escapes her throat, fear, pain, and sorrow finally making their way through in a release of tears. The only thought filling her thoughts being that she is safe.

 

[Light Ice]

He offers her no tenderness as the tears fall, for the years that have past were not kind. The loss of two brothers has tempered him into a creature built souly on survival, and his father's harsh teachings left him rough and instinctual. The tears spill down her cheeks, her body wracked with sobs, but he moves to the saddle, gathering it up and the simple bedroll tied on the back, along with a skillet, and pot, and other small cooking wares.

Slowly then, he gathers her up, and assists her onto the powerful animal even as her great sobs shiver up through her, warming her with his body as he settles behind her, leather creaking faintly to accept his ruggedly built frame.. Guiding the horse into a brisk canter, he idly wraps his arms about her hips to keep her from falling to the side. As the emotions pour from her, she leans heavily back into him, and he can feel her face turning into the leather vest that covers his compactly muscled chest, her hair nearly pressing into his mouth, hovering close.

He can smell her hair with each sharp inhalation, nostrils flaring in a primal attempt to indulge in more of her.






She is slow to settle, but they ride for hours, and eventually the horse's soft strides and the rhythmic feel of his chest rising and falling against her small shoulders seems to still her. It is then her eyes slide toward his own, and abruptly his keen gaze is fixed upon the silver-shined centers of her red-rimmed eyes.

In that moment, with ringlets of dark hair laid against her cheeks, she seems more beautiful than she ever has before. The sweet, awkward girl he knew so long ago is gone, replaced by a woman whose beauty is as pronounced as the misery in her weary face.

Again she shifts, this time drawing more firmly back into him, and the rounded rise of her leather-bound bottom presses fully into his crotch, and Guusal is forced to shift, hiding the slow stiffening of his thick length from her as he speaks, abruptly aware of how firm he is being.

"We camp in the clearing up ahead, we need sleep." He explained, in that curt tone, before allowing her to watch as once again his eyes roamed her slender frame, and tightly bound curves.

Sadira, how she had grown! As his sharp eyes worked the vest, and linen undershirt, he was abruptly aware of how full her chest was, how thin her waist, and the soft round of her hips that seemed sinfully flawless. It was almost as if she had royal blood in her, the beauty not one seen to the villages. She shamed every girl he had ever tossed wish, and there was a familiarity in her eyes, a frustration with life's hard turns, that he undertsood. He understood it well.

"I found only one bedroll to be clean, you will see to it, and the rabbit I have caught, while I manage with some shelter and wood."

 

[fomharfyre]

Camp

Her thoughts are filled with sorrow as the horse takes his smoothly rolling steps. She will never know again the love of her father, his gentle manners and laughing humor. Aye, he shall live on through her but she wanted him to be there for her wedding and the birth of her children. They shall never know what a great man he was for themselves. Mehmeh.. is she still alive? How did Gusa find her and why did he come alone. There were many men in the camp, how did he defeat them all? She is unaware of how her thoughts have turned to the man behind her. Slowly, his masculine scent surrounds her, marking her as his own to any creature that would dare come close enough to her to smell such. Her mind turns on how much he has grown; his chest is firm against her side, mortal, yet more reassuring then a wall of stone.

She lifts her eyes towards his own and she is once more caught within their feral spell. There is no softness in his gaze; he is all strength and power. She feels drawn towards him as she was repulsed by the men who ravished her. The woman unconsciously shifts closer to the warmth of him as the coolness of the night penetrates into her aching body. She is exhausted in spirit and strength. Her tears complete, she can only watch in a vague curiosity as he traces her body with his animalistic gaze that causes an ache down below that she does not understand. She shivers under his frank appraisal. His words rumble through his chest and she nods. It is fair, the tasks evenly divided between the two of them. She knows well what is expected of a woman by her people, the Rabbon’s are an odd lot for the rovers, staying bound near a village, but they are there for many reasons, one of which providing a safe place to camp in this hostile region. The village is a bit smaller then many, but it is the largest in the area.

She waits on the horse as he swings down, carefully and with more care then one would expect from his firm gaze, he picks her off the horse and rests her on the ground. He then walks away, leading the horse towards the small creek that runs through the edge of the clearing. Sighing wearily, the girl follows him and removes the bedroll and rabbit from the saddle of the horse. The steps of the animal had startled the poor creature from the underbrush and Guusal had thrown a knife into it before she could even take a breath. She walks down the stream a ways, her leather clad hips swaying with each step before she bends to the ground and begins to gather large stones for the fire pit. After a while, she has a merry blaze going from the wood that the man had gathered and she sets to preparing the rabbit for a much needed dinner, though the way her jaw aches, she doubts she will partake of it. She knows that the man will need his strength restored after all he has undertaken on her behalf. With this in mind, she sets to work with a good will.

 

[Light Ice]

Hitched beside the stream of cool water, Causca quietly set to indulge in the respite offered. As it drank, Guusal cleaned his hands and arms, tugging off his leathers and regarding the forest clearing with a sharp, appraising eye. The heavy foilage nearby would give cover to their low fire, shelter from any wind, and the thin canopy of the surrounding trees would allow him to survey and plot the stars so he could navigate them safely throuch the goblin ridden countryside. They would enter it in the morning. He had made the decision -not- to tell her.

Striding toward the camp quietly, he bent to gently stokes the fire with logs gathered nearby, regarding Sadira's features in the soft light as she moves from the bedroll. She has arranged it skillfully, on flat ground, and his faint smile shows of approval when she regards him.

The rabbit has finished, for she is quick and deft, and idly he takes his portion and eats, regarding her intently before thumbing a sliver of the sweet, tender flesh between her split lips. "Eat." He encourages, and orders all at once, the words low and firm as she struggles with it. "You need strength for our travel."

With a simple shift, he moves then, taking up one of her hands while leaving the other free, fingers producing his waterskin and a few rags. Gently, with a practiced touch, he cleans the harsh abrasions and wraps them in soft linent, covering them and speaking, his eyes still levelled on her fingers and palms. "Your mother is alive, and safe. You will meet with her when we return. How do you feel, little one?" But the question is unneccessary, his fingers working her flesh softly, revealing the extent of the damage done to her soft skin.

The injuries slight, he seems relieved, releasing her hands with his own and allowing his gaze to once again part the darkness to her own, admiring openly the soft lines that form her sweet face in the campfire's dancing light. The tongues of crimson fire twist, and writh nearby them, warming their camp.

 

[fomharfyre]

A cold bath

Her hands deftly smooth the bedroll into place. She had made certain there were no sticks or stones underneath it. She had lived far to long on the road to not take the time to insure her comfort while she sleeps. She looks up at the man who tends to the fire. He is a handsome man now that she feels free to think of him as someone safe. Guusal Rabbon.. Gusa.. Was it only a day ago that she was dreaming about pushing him into the river? Now here she was making a camp with him, only hours from her rape and the death of her father. Live is certainly strange.

Sighing softly, she gets up and moves to the fire, turning the makeshift spit and testing the meat for doneness. She moves the fire-roasted rodent to rest on one of the flat stones that circle the crackling flames. After a moment of silence, he picks up a portion of the meat and eats it while watching her in silence. She feels nervous under his frank regard. There is something possessive in his eyes, she has never seen such a gaze on her so openly. There is nothing hostile however; this man will not hurt her. Then he moves and is pressing the sliver of meat to her lips. Commanding her to eat. She tries to and succeeds in mashing the tender flesh with her tongue and swallowing it. He frowns at her as she refuses to take another bite.

The woman watches his eyes as he gently tends to her wrists, the actions almost tender. It is his words that shock her with relief. Her mother is alive! She takes a deep intake of breath, feeling at once immense pity for her mother, her husband dead, daughter taken and the worst almost realized. She was brutally raped yes, but her childhood enemy spared her life. He is asking her a question and she blinks out of her thoughts.

“I.. I hurt Gusa.. I feel dirty… so dirty.. let me bathe in the stream?” the woman asked him, lowering her eyes to the ground.

“Do not go beyond the light of the fire.” he replied simply, never taking his eyes from her.

Nodding her acceptance the girl shakily rises to her feet and slips off her boots. She treads barefoot over to the merrily running stream and with her back to him, eases her vest from her body. Then she slowly peels her tight leather trousers from her legs. The linen shirt she wears proves to be overly large on her slender frame. It covers her quite properly until the tops of her knees. The wind blows a little through the sheltered clearing and billowed the fine fabric up allowing him a glimpse of her shapely backside before she dips her toe into the water and walks out until the water is at her calves. She unbuttons the shirt and lifts the cold water over her breasts and hips over and over. Her hand very tenderly washes her most private of areas, lifting the cool and soothing water and washing away the blood. It does not pain her overly much she realizes. The bruises hurt worse. It seems a woman’s body is made to receive a man’s even brutally. After a while she buttons up once more, always aware of the hot eyes lingering on her without shame. It sends a thrill through her, the thought of that man sitting by the fire, watching her bathe. She is not ignorant of the games of man and maid. She watched her parents often enough to seek releases herself, watching them in the night. She turns towards the fire now, stepping back out of the water, cleaner now but wet. She does not realize that the thin fabric of her shirt has gotten wet from the water on her breasts and from her fingers buttoning it. As she nears the fire, it is quite translucent and clings to her erect nipples in a sensual way.

 

[Light Ice]

And in the dancing firelight he watched her, fascinated as she washed away the signs of her stolen maidenhood. It was a stark contrast to the way such things were supposed to be taken, with bloodied wedding night sheets bundled up and secured in some safe place, kept by the newly claimed wife like some kind of monument to her chastity. She would never know that feeling now, for the evidence of her passing from girl to woman now drifted with the water of the stream.


She did not redress her lower half, leaving her shapely legs to glisten in the firelight, beads of fresh water rolling down the inside of her silken thighs. And he watched as her eyes held his, encouraging him silently to admire her. She enjoyed so fiercely his attentions, there was no doubt of that.


"I killed him for hurting you."


The announcement was a sudden break in their intimate moment, as his eyes lifted to briefly admire the entirely visible curves of her ample chest, hungrily flicking over her taught nipples before his eyes pierce her own, blazing with feral intensity.


"And I will see to your safety."


But it was a time for rest now, and with his mission stated so easily, he began to draw the leathers from his powerful form, revealing the sun-bronzed flesh and taught skin, stretched along compact muscles that left deep channels in their wake, a body magnificently sculpted by a life of harsh labor and earned pleasures.

He watches as she stands, unsure of what course to take, with his frame all but entirely bared save the deerhide pants that have been so finely made for him. Faintly amused, he slides into the bedroll's soft, warm center, leaving only a breath of room on either side, that compactly muscled frame taking a familiar place there. The words that leave him a soft command, strong and assuring. "Come, share my warmth, and my bedroll, girl. You will sleep sound and safe tonight."

His claims are quiet, but fiercely strong. The commands leaving no room for arguement, and allow her to submit without complaint. For in truth, he knows she desires desperately his powerful frame to sleep against, to feel that strength about her. the safety. His words, his way, allowing her to throw aside propriety. She is with an animal now, and his rules are the ones that matter.