The Scandinavian
One Very Lost Viking
- Joined
- May 13, 2020
- Location
- Guess Where
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Adventures in Umbraland (Juumbled & The Scandinavian)
- Thread starter The Scandinavian
- Start date
OP
OP
The Scandinavian
One Very Lost Viking
- Joined
- May 13, 2020
- Location
- Guess Where
Konrad took a deep breath, exploring his senses, centering himself and preparing his body for what must be done. Feeling the iron cuffs digging into his wrists behind him, already rubbing the skin raw. The pounding on the side of his head where he had been knocked out. The stink of blood and feces emanating from the small pile of bodies in the corner of the room. Probably the old couple and their aging daughter whose money he had taken to allow them to travel alongside him. For protection.
Beyond the worm-ridden door set in the stony walls of the cellar - or cave? - he heard voices raised, some in merriment and some in anger. He couldn't parse the words, but the unique cadence was unmistakable. Dwarfish. They inhabited these hills in small, clans that kept to themselves and ruthlessly guarded their territory, unlike their cousins in the south. People here had known to stay out of their way for hundreds of years, so far as he knew. It was just the way of things. Even as peasants had started disappearing on the road a couple of years back, nobody had thought to suspect the damn dwarves...
Well, they'd pay for breaking with tradition, and for not slitting his throat when they had their chance. There were few things in the world more despicable and deserving of death than a highwayman.
To that end he shifted himself carefully on the rocky ground, wary of jostling the chain that bound his hands through a small hoop in an iron piton hammered into the rock. It had held fast even as he pulled at it with all his might from the awkward position, and was no doubt what made them confident enough to leave him in here, knowing he could wake up.
Well, they would see, wouldn't they?
Konrad angled his left hand along the ground, bending his entire thumb under his palm and starting to apply the weight of his body, slowly crushing the joint against the stone. The pain in his head flared up as the nerves in his hand screamed, but he swallowed the growl threatening to burst from his throat, gritting his teeth. Even as the bone gave way with a sickening, agonizing snap, the only thing that escaped from him was a low groan.
Even more painful was the process of wrestling his now-ruined hand through its manacle, pinning it down behind him with his weight and pulling at his wrist until the joints compressed and slid free, scraping the skin off his knuckles in the process.
Taking another deep, unsteady breath as the aftershocks of the pain wracked his body, he placed the hand back down on the ground, palm first, and shoved hard, feeling bones pop back into their sockets and suppressing a howl of rage and agony, cradling it afterwards. It would need time to heal, and would be weak and painful to use, but he could still grip something if he had to. And now he had options.
After a couple of moments of recovery, which was all he dared to take, he sat up and turned around to face the piston in the wall, nestled tightly between slabs of rock. His next obstacle. Looking around, he spotted a gnawed bone from some long-forgotten meal, chicken perhaps, and pulled the chain through the small iron hoop until he had enough maneuverability to reach it, wincing as he gripped it tight in his left hand. Wedging the bone into the hole along with the chain, he used it like a lever to slowly, painstakingly press the metal back and forth in its socket, wrestling it left and right, ignoring the jolts of pain, trying to be quiet as the piston gradually came loose over several minutes of work until he could pull it out.
Leaving him with a chain half the length of his own body capped by the piston and the empty cuff, all hanging from his right wrist. But at least he was free.
Having no idea what else to do with it, he carefully wrapped the chain around his forearm to keep it from scraping across the floor as he stumbled over to where the bodies lay, looking them over for anything he could use as a weapon. No such luck. They had been thoroughly looted and pillaged. The women's sparse jewelry was gone, and everything but their raggedy underclothes removed. As he suspected, all three had apparently bled out from clumsy but efficient cuts along their throats, though from the bruises along her thighs and a certain unmistakable odor Konrad guessed that the daughter hadn't received as quick a send-off as her parents. He was glad he hadn't been conscious for that part.
They had been good people. Humble. Wanting nothing more than to leave the border in the south before tensions boiled over again and another war took yet more family and property from them. A sentiment he had definitely understood and sympathized with. Even respected. And the daughter had certainly seemed to appreciate his company, which had been flattering even though she had been almost a decade his senior.
Strangers or not, their safety had been his responsibility and heir deaths were a stain on his pride and honor, and stung like a dagger in his own heart. And he ached to avenge them.
It was then that he looked over to the fourth body lying on the floor, and realized that it wasn't a corpse at all, but a slender girl bound tightly with both rope and rags, lying seemingly unconscious next to the dead family, her ribs visibly rising and falling under a dirty shift.
He didn't recognize her at all, and it was impossible to say how long she had lain there. Her skin looked healthy enough but very pale, and a messy bun of black hair had come partially undone when someone had tied a thick rag around her face and ears. The shift around her form showed plenty of marks of dirty, greasy fingers pulling and squeezing at her, but from the way her feet and knees were both tied together with thin but sturdy rope and good knots it didn't' look like she had been used for the dwarves' pleasure. She had, in fact been restrained far more thoroughly than he had. The bastards had even tied her thumbs together, though her slender form hadn't quite merited the iron chain. Not that the manacles would have fit her, anyway.
Slowly, carefully, he reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder and felt her flinch, either suddenly awake or on some unconscious instinct. He ignored it, sliding his fingers under the wrappings covering her face and began peeling them away. He couldn't just leave her like this. Even if she couldn't help him win their freedom, she had a right to decide whether she wanted to be left alive to their devices if he fell. Giving her that choice was the least he could do, grim as it may seem.
"Be still and quiet, and don't be afraid of me. My name is Konrad Veremund." he said in a low, hoarse voice that made the words sound vaguely threatening as he worked and felt her shifting under his hands, occasionally hissing at the pain in his thumb, keeping one eye on the door in case they were interrupted. His voice carried a subtle accent with strangely harsh vowels and soft consonants, with the 'V' in Veremund coming out sounding closer to an 'f'. Clearly, he was not native to the region. "I was on my way north from Ember's Crossing when they took me, along with my... companions."
As he lifted the cloth away he was met by a lovely face half-hidden under tussled and sweaty black hair, biting down on a leather gag, wide and exotic amber eyes trying to focus on him. That was... slightly unusual.
Not that Konrad had any right to be concerned. What a sight he must be, as well!
Crouching over her, red hair and beard all over the place with dried blood encrusting the right side of his face, he must look like some kind of mad barbarian. Moreover, unlike the peasant family's underwear his had actually been good-quality cotton, and he had thus woken up completely naked. As he brushed her hair aside to fiddle with the gag the movement cleared her view of his body, all hard angles, long limbs and compact muscle covered with fine red hairs that congregated on his chest and below his stomach, where his flaccid cock hung in the air less than a foot away from her face, not at it best, but certainly not unimpressive either.
"I'm going to try to fight and get us out of here." he murmured as he carefully removed the leather strap keeping the gag in place, freeing her mouth, ignoring his own nakedness. His lips quirked up for a moment, trying to catch her eye. "Normally I'd never ask a woman for aid in battle, but right now it would really help if you know something about these fuckers we can use against them."
Then he started working on the ropes restraining her limbs.
Beyond the worm-ridden door set in the stony walls of the cellar - or cave? - he heard voices raised, some in merriment and some in anger. He couldn't parse the words, but the unique cadence was unmistakable. Dwarfish. They inhabited these hills in small, clans that kept to themselves and ruthlessly guarded their territory, unlike their cousins in the south. People here had known to stay out of their way for hundreds of years, so far as he knew. It was just the way of things. Even as peasants had started disappearing on the road a couple of years back, nobody had thought to suspect the damn dwarves...
Well, they'd pay for breaking with tradition, and for not slitting his throat when they had their chance. There were few things in the world more despicable and deserving of death than a highwayman.
To that end he shifted himself carefully on the rocky ground, wary of jostling the chain that bound his hands through a small hoop in an iron piton hammered into the rock. It had held fast even as he pulled at it with all his might from the awkward position, and was no doubt what made them confident enough to leave him in here, knowing he could wake up.
Well, they would see, wouldn't they?
Konrad angled his left hand along the ground, bending his entire thumb under his palm and starting to apply the weight of his body, slowly crushing the joint against the stone. The pain in his head flared up as the nerves in his hand screamed, but he swallowed the growl threatening to burst from his throat, gritting his teeth. Even as the bone gave way with a sickening, agonizing snap, the only thing that escaped from him was a low groan.
Even more painful was the process of wrestling his now-ruined hand through its manacle, pinning it down behind him with his weight and pulling at his wrist until the joints compressed and slid free, scraping the skin off his knuckles in the process.
Taking another deep, unsteady breath as the aftershocks of the pain wracked his body, he placed the hand back down on the ground, palm first, and shoved hard, feeling bones pop back into their sockets and suppressing a howl of rage and agony, cradling it afterwards. It would need time to heal, and would be weak and painful to use, but he could still grip something if he had to. And now he had options.
After a couple of moments of recovery, which was all he dared to take, he sat up and turned around to face the piston in the wall, nestled tightly between slabs of rock. His next obstacle. Looking around, he spotted a gnawed bone from some long-forgotten meal, chicken perhaps, and pulled the chain through the small iron hoop until he had enough maneuverability to reach it, wincing as he gripped it tight in his left hand. Wedging the bone into the hole along with the chain, he used it like a lever to slowly, painstakingly press the metal back and forth in its socket, wrestling it left and right, ignoring the jolts of pain, trying to be quiet as the piston gradually came loose over several minutes of work until he could pull it out.
Leaving him with a chain half the length of his own body capped by the piston and the empty cuff, all hanging from his right wrist. But at least he was free.
Having no idea what else to do with it, he carefully wrapped the chain around his forearm to keep it from scraping across the floor as he stumbled over to where the bodies lay, looking them over for anything he could use as a weapon. No such luck. They had been thoroughly looted and pillaged. The women's sparse jewelry was gone, and everything but their raggedy underclothes removed. As he suspected, all three had apparently bled out from clumsy but efficient cuts along their throats, though from the bruises along her thighs and a certain unmistakable odor Konrad guessed that the daughter hadn't received as quick a send-off as her parents. He was glad he hadn't been conscious for that part.
They had been good people. Humble. Wanting nothing more than to leave the border in the south before tensions boiled over again and another war took yet more family and property from them. A sentiment he had definitely understood and sympathized with. Even respected. And the daughter had certainly seemed to appreciate his company, which had been flattering even though she had been almost a decade his senior.
Strangers or not, their safety had been his responsibility and heir deaths were a stain on his pride and honor, and stung like a dagger in his own heart. And he ached to avenge them.
It was then that he looked over to the fourth body lying on the floor, and realized that it wasn't a corpse at all, but a slender girl bound tightly with both rope and rags, lying seemingly unconscious next to the dead family, her ribs visibly rising and falling under a dirty shift.
He didn't recognize her at all, and it was impossible to say how long she had lain there. Her skin looked healthy enough but very pale, and a messy bun of black hair had come partially undone when someone had tied a thick rag around her face and ears. The shift around her form showed plenty of marks of dirty, greasy fingers pulling and squeezing at her, but from the way her feet and knees were both tied together with thin but sturdy rope and good knots it didn't' look like she had been used for the dwarves' pleasure. She had, in fact been restrained far more thoroughly than he had. The bastards had even tied her thumbs together, though her slender form hadn't quite merited the iron chain. Not that the manacles would have fit her, anyway.
Slowly, carefully, he reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder and felt her flinch, either suddenly awake or on some unconscious instinct. He ignored it, sliding his fingers under the wrappings covering her face and began peeling them away. He couldn't just leave her like this. Even if she couldn't help him win their freedom, she had a right to decide whether she wanted to be left alive to their devices if he fell. Giving her that choice was the least he could do, grim as it may seem.
"Be still and quiet, and don't be afraid of me. My name is Konrad Veremund." he said in a low, hoarse voice that made the words sound vaguely threatening as he worked and felt her shifting under his hands, occasionally hissing at the pain in his thumb, keeping one eye on the door in case they were interrupted. His voice carried a subtle accent with strangely harsh vowels and soft consonants, with the 'V' in Veremund coming out sounding closer to an 'f'. Clearly, he was not native to the region. "I was on my way north from Ember's Crossing when they took me, along with my... companions."
As he lifted the cloth away he was met by a lovely face half-hidden under tussled and sweaty black hair, biting down on a leather gag, wide and exotic amber eyes trying to focus on him. That was... slightly unusual.
Not that Konrad had any right to be concerned. What a sight he must be, as well!
Crouching over her, red hair and beard all over the place with dried blood encrusting the right side of his face, he must look like some kind of mad barbarian. Moreover, unlike the peasant family's underwear his had actually been good-quality cotton, and he had thus woken up completely naked. As he brushed her hair aside to fiddle with the gag the movement cleared her view of his body, all hard angles, long limbs and compact muscle covered with fine red hairs that congregated on his chest and below his stomach, where his flaccid cock hung in the air less than a foot away from her face, not at it best, but certainly not unimpressive either.
"I'm going to try to fight and get us out of here." he murmured as he carefully removed the leather strap keeping the gag in place, freeing her mouth, ignoring his own nakedness. His lips quirked up for a moment, trying to catch her eye. "Normally I'd never ask a woman for aid in battle, but right now it would really help if you know something about these fuckers we can use against them."
Then he started working on the ropes restraining her limbs.
Last edited:
- Joined
- Mar 18, 2019
The muffled sounds of feet stomping along the rocks in expensive, likely stolen, boots were barely audible to Lethe den Ulv, or more commonly, “the witch” that had been propped up along the wall awkwardly some odd days ago. Each time she was man-handled it was different. Some of the captors used caution and tried to avoid touching her at all, while others threw her violently to and fro. Her senses were so dulled and certainly difficult to focus on when her stomach screamed in desperate growls for sustenance. Even so, the most telling signs of the Dwarves returning to wherever it was she'd been taken were the vibrations along the ground. Her confidence was lacking, however. It was difficult to spell cast without her hands, voice, or sight, but if she tried hard enough she was certain she could still achieve something. At one point, she'd considered shapeshifting, but not knowing where she was made her situation near impossible. If she took the form of a wolf, there was no guarantee they wouldn't lance a spear right into her side. No, such things were far too risky, and as it stood, from what she could gather, a witch was worth a good deal of coin to the right buyer. As a woman, she had a chance to survive.
Every few days they injected her with something in a crude needle that sustained her hunger for a time. Such things were likely the reason she hadn't wasted away yet, so her initial response of struggling against them had faded. They hadn't tried to rape or kill her, so she waited patiently, allowing them to poke at her. The injections had a strange effect on her mind, though, making her incredibly tired and dizzy. Dwarves were far too crafty. She tried to recall how she had even gotten into such a mess. She had been traveling, taking a pass into an area she had never explored before, seeking rare materials for a potion. But it seemed her captors were also in the area looking for a rare find. She supposed they'd found one: her. Unfortunately, in Umbraland, this was par for the course. People went missing all the time. Unless one lived in a major city, it was unlikely anyone would be searching. As it stood, Lethe had been living alone. There was no man she wanted to keep around long enough to actually care if she didn’t come home within a reasonable amount of time. What a shame. Such a thing could have come in handy, though most men would likely just die at the hands of the monsters that stole her away.
The Dwarves were quiet, sneaky, and managed to take her by surprise. She wasn't being careless, either. Her best recollection of the event left her puzzled. One moment she was moving along the shadows, noting the vegetation, keeping to herself. Then, the next thing she knew, Lethe was surrounded. With a wave of her hand, she had shielded herself, but something broke through from behind. The rest was far too fuzzy to remember. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so quick to use magic, but on the other hand, it may have spared her life. Her proper clothes were missing, leaving her cold and loosely covered. They stole her coin purse, her weapon and shoes as well. She woke up tied tighter than a hog. Losing track of the days came quickly from the first injection and forward. She'd been picked up a few times to keep from getting sores. She suspected they had some form of medic on their squad of ruffians. Most of the callused hands that grabbed onto her didn't feel like they belonged to one that was skilled in such a way— until the needles came. Though the thugs seemed to take over with it after sometime, enjoying the task of stabbing into her, perhaps.
The ground rumbled with a rush of thuds and stomps. A lot of them had come in at once. It wasn't usual, but there wasn't much to do about it. Another injection punctured through the already bruised and battered skin of her arm, raw from the bindings and being scraped along the stone walls. If she could see, she was sure it'd be in doubles at the very least. Whatever they kept giving her, it made her dizzy, like she'd downed a few mugs of ale within only minutes. As the entrance to her living hell had opened, she could just make out the pitch of screams, but aside from the cloth around her face, they had done their best to hinder her by pouring wax into her ears. Again, far too delicate a thing to do unless a cleric or medicine man was involved somehow. She didn't feel pain there, so however it was done, it didn't burn her insides or cause pain, just annoyance and discomfort. Over time, from shifting and pushing her ears against her shoulders, she had at least wedged the stuff loose. So, unfortunately, she was able to hear the muted sounds of a woman being tortured.
Lethe faded out sometime during the cries that dwindled further as the door shut. More feet shifting about brought her back to consciousness. Again, she had no real indication of how much time had passed. There was a lot of dragging happening, loud chains that clanked and rattled loud enough for her to hear. The witch wondered if she was being moved to a different place. Chains weren't something they'd used on her before, but she didn't care to underestimate the brutes. They lifted her up and she groaned. The gag that pressed firmly in her mouth masked most of her noises. She was thrown, but not chained. Her body landed in a heap against other bodies that still felt warm but didn't move. The air left her body from her landing. It was already so difficult to breathe. Perhaps the last needle was sending her to her death after all. She wiggled for only moments before her efforts felt too draining. She laid there, her body chilled but still warm while the others grew colder and colder, lifeless against her.
There wasn’t much more to do but sleep. Her will was too far gone to fight her restraints. Lethe had expected a faster turn-around with her captivity. They should have sold her off by then, but they had not. She had waited too long, grew far too weak to attempt anything smart in order to escape. Why were they keeping her? She didn’t even dream anymore as she slept, if she even was sleeping. But from the blank, dark depths of her silence, a touch of a hand grabbing her shoulder caused her to flinch. Perhaps it was the death that surrounded her that caused such a reaction out of her, she wasn’t sure. Her body had become a toy for the fiends that played with her, tossing her about like an old doll. But the hand that met her was more gentle, and perhaps more surprisingly, large. The Dwarves didn’t necessarily have small hands, but they certainly didn’t wrap around from the front of her shoulder and down past her shoulder blades. That same hand traveled up, toward the side of her face. It had to be a man, she thought. But was this a buyer? Was she finally being purchased and allowed to leave such a wretched place?
His words were a bit raspy and strict as he all but demanded she listen to him. She didn’t see a real point in acting out when she was so close to having her face free enough to breathe a bit of normal air, rank as it was. She could hear some of the actual words he spoke, but her hearing was still obstructed. But, finally with his slow efforts, he’d freed her face and she opened her, once bright, amber eyes to see what there was to see. She’d spent so long in the dark it all hurt. She could see the silhouette of the man there, he was rather tall, but she had to close her eyes again. She winced. He was fiddling with the gag. The corners of her mouth had long since been cut into and were incredibly tender. But as he freed her, she exhaled like a person that had been held under water for far longer than they should have been. She began to move around more, the prospect of being free suddenly far more in sight than the man before her or his dangling cock that might have caused her to flinch away from how near it was to her face; even a man that wasn’t a stranger had to spoil her a good deal before he was allowed to do any of that. But, the nudity led her to believe that he, like her, was a prisoner. He wasn’t a Warlock, though. She hadn’t spoken in so long, or even tasted water, Lethe wasn’t sure she could speak. She twitched her fingers as he began to free her further. She wondered if she could help him at all, not that she could hear his request of her. She turned her head with the energy she could muster to look at him. It was far too dark and her eyes too poor to know his exact features. She noted a scar along his face and a strong jaw with facial hair.
Lethe could feel the ropes around her wrists begin to give. Her spirits lifted even more. Her body screamed to pull and rip free from the position she’d been stuck in for so long, but in reality she was rather stiff and almost felt stuck in place. She whimpered from the pain and from the idea of not being able to recover enough to punish each and every one of the bastards that had kept her there. After some time, and awkward maneuvering, her hand lifted to her ear. The wax was in a precarious place. If she hit it wrong, she could jam it further into her ear canal. Lethe considered magic and whether or not she had the strength, but as her body began to fight off the effects of the injection, her fingers tingled as both magic and proper blood flow began to reanimate her digits. It was remarkable her body had any form at all. She was too thin, in need of a month’s worth of meals at least. Her hair was matted, filthy and sweaty. She didn’t want to think about the smells that were in the air or even wonder how many of them were coming from her own body. The ashed markings that painted her ghostly skin were still there, very much like tattoos, but not placed on her skin by man. They were the markings of a witch— clear enough indications of a magic user, though the patterns differed from person to person. Lethe had a very clear V shaped design, with a singular dot beneath it, in the center of her forehead. Her arms were also covered in lines, swirls and dots that, once freed, were clearly not streaks of dirt, but tribal markings. As she began to draw magic, the patterns along her skin began to glow a soft blue color, though it was dim. Regardless, it was enough to clear her ears of the wax as she pulled them with an invisible force from within. Her hands trembled and she grasped onto the arm of her savior. She’d missed his name, unfortunately.
Every few days they injected her with something in a crude needle that sustained her hunger for a time. Such things were likely the reason she hadn't wasted away yet, so her initial response of struggling against them had faded. They hadn't tried to rape or kill her, so she waited patiently, allowing them to poke at her. The injections had a strange effect on her mind, though, making her incredibly tired and dizzy. Dwarves were far too crafty. She tried to recall how she had even gotten into such a mess. She had been traveling, taking a pass into an area she had never explored before, seeking rare materials for a potion. But it seemed her captors were also in the area looking for a rare find. She supposed they'd found one: her. Unfortunately, in Umbraland, this was par for the course. People went missing all the time. Unless one lived in a major city, it was unlikely anyone would be searching. As it stood, Lethe had been living alone. There was no man she wanted to keep around long enough to actually care if she didn’t come home within a reasonable amount of time. What a shame. Such a thing could have come in handy, though most men would likely just die at the hands of the monsters that stole her away.
The Dwarves were quiet, sneaky, and managed to take her by surprise. She wasn't being careless, either. Her best recollection of the event left her puzzled. One moment she was moving along the shadows, noting the vegetation, keeping to herself. Then, the next thing she knew, Lethe was surrounded. With a wave of her hand, she had shielded herself, but something broke through from behind. The rest was far too fuzzy to remember. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so quick to use magic, but on the other hand, it may have spared her life. Her proper clothes were missing, leaving her cold and loosely covered. They stole her coin purse, her weapon and shoes as well. She woke up tied tighter than a hog. Losing track of the days came quickly from the first injection and forward. She'd been picked up a few times to keep from getting sores. She suspected they had some form of medic on their squad of ruffians. Most of the callused hands that grabbed onto her didn't feel like they belonged to one that was skilled in such a way— until the needles came. Though the thugs seemed to take over with it after sometime, enjoying the task of stabbing into her, perhaps.
The ground rumbled with a rush of thuds and stomps. A lot of them had come in at once. It wasn't usual, but there wasn't much to do about it. Another injection punctured through the already bruised and battered skin of her arm, raw from the bindings and being scraped along the stone walls. If she could see, she was sure it'd be in doubles at the very least. Whatever they kept giving her, it made her dizzy, like she'd downed a few mugs of ale within only minutes. As the entrance to her living hell had opened, she could just make out the pitch of screams, but aside from the cloth around her face, they had done their best to hinder her by pouring wax into her ears. Again, far too delicate a thing to do unless a cleric or medicine man was involved somehow. She didn't feel pain there, so however it was done, it didn't burn her insides or cause pain, just annoyance and discomfort. Over time, from shifting and pushing her ears against her shoulders, she had at least wedged the stuff loose. So, unfortunately, she was able to hear the muted sounds of a woman being tortured.
Lethe faded out sometime during the cries that dwindled further as the door shut. More feet shifting about brought her back to consciousness. Again, she had no real indication of how much time had passed. There was a lot of dragging happening, loud chains that clanked and rattled loud enough for her to hear. The witch wondered if she was being moved to a different place. Chains weren't something they'd used on her before, but she didn't care to underestimate the brutes. They lifted her up and she groaned. The gag that pressed firmly in her mouth masked most of her noises. She was thrown, but not chained. Her body landed in a heap against other bodies that still felt warm but didn't move. The air left her body from her landing. It was already so difficult to breathe. Perhaps the last needle was sending her to her death after all. She wiggled for only moments before her efforts felt too draining. She laid there, her body chilled but still warm while the others grew colder and colder, lifeless against her.
There wasn’t much more to do but sleep. Her will was too far gone to fight her restraints. Lethe had expected a faster turn-around with her captivity. They should have sold her off by then, but they had not. She had waited too long, grew far too weak to attempt anything smart in order to escape. Why were they keeping her? She didn’t even dream anymore as she slept, if she even was sleeping. But from the blank, dark depths of her silence, a touch of a hand grabbing her shoulder caused her to flinch. Perhaps it was the death that surrounded her that caused such a reaction out of her, she wasn’t sure. Her body had become a toy for the fiends that played with her, tossing her about like an old doll. But the hand that met her was more gentle, and perhaps more surprisingly, large. The Dwarves didn’t necessarily have small hands, but they certainly didn’t wrap around from the front of her shoulder and down past her shoulder blades. That same hand traveled up, toward the side of her face. It had to be a man, she thought. But was this a buyer? Was she finally being purchased and allowed to leave such a wretched place?
His words were a bit raspy and strict as he all but demanded she listen to him. She didn’t see a real point in acting out when she was so close to having her face free enough to breathe a bit of normal air, rank as it was. She could hear some of the actual words he spoke, but her hearing was still obstructed. But, finally with his slow efforts, he’d freed her face and she opened her, once bright, amber eyes to see what there was to see. She’d spent so long in the dark it all hurt. She could see the silhouette of the man there, he was rather tall, but she had to close her eyes again. She winced. He was fiddling with the gag. The corners of her mouth had long since been cut into and were incredibly tender. But as he freed her, she exhaled like a person that had been held under water for far longer than they should have been. She began to move around more, the prospect of being free suddenly far more in sight than the man before her or his dangling cock that might have caused her to flinch away from how near it was to her face; even a man that wasn’t a stranger had to spoil her a good deal before he was allowed to do any of that. But, the nudity led her to believe that he, like her, was a prisoner. He wasn’t a Warlock, though. She hadn’t spoken in so long, or even tasted water, Lethe wasn’t sure she could speak. She twitched her fingers as he began to free her further. She wondered if she could help him at all, not that she could hear his request of her. She turned her head with the energy she could muster to look at him. It was far too dark and her eyes too poor to know his exact features. She noted a scar along his face and a strong jaw with facial hair.
Lethe could feel the ropes around her wrists begin to give. Her spirits lifted even more. Her body screamed to pull and rip free from the position she’d been stuck in for so long, but in reality she was rather stiff and almost felt stuck in place. She whimpered from the pain and from the idea of not being able to recover enough to punish each and every one of the bastards that had kept her there. After some time, and awkward maneuvering, her hand lifted to her ear. The wax was in a precarious place. If she hit it wrong, she could jam it further into her ear canal. Lethe considered magic and whether or not she had the strength, but as her body began to fight off the effects of the injection, her fingers tingled as both magic and proper blood flow began to reanimate her digits. It was remarkable her body had any form at all. She was too thin, in need of a month’s worth of meals at least. Her hair was matted, filthy and sweaty. She didn’t want to think about the smells that were in the air or even wonder how many of them were coming from her own body. The ashed markings that painted her ghostly skin were still there, very much like tattoos, but not placed on her skin by man. They were the markings of a witch— clear enough indications of a magic user, though the patterns differed from person to person. Lethe had a very clear V shaped design, with a singular dot beneath it, in the center of her forehead. Her arms were also covered in lines, swirls and dots that, once freed, were clearly not streaks of dirt, but tribal markings. As she began to draw magic, the patterns along her skin began to glow a soft blue color, though it was dim. Regardless, it was enough to clear her ears of the wax as she pulled them with an invisible force from within. Her hands trembled and she grasped onto the arm of her savior. She’d missed his name, unfortunately.
OP
OP
The Scandinavian
One Very Lost Viking
- Joined
- May 13, 2020
- Location
- Guess Where
A witch? No wonder they kept her bound and gagged.
The mix of terror and excitement that flashed through him as he spotted the glowing markings under her sweaty bangs and through the fabric of the dirty shift dissipated again almost as quickly. Obviously she was in no state to turn their captors into frogs, or stone, or cockroaches. Looking at her, she hardly seemed to have the strength to clutch his arm. They had a moment of shared confusion as she looked back at him uncomprehending before flakes of - wax? - began breaking away from her ear canals.
Rearing back a little, he raised a brow at the strange spectacle before giving her a light shake, still speaking in quiet, if not particularly soothing, tones. "Miss? Hello? What's your name? I said, do you have any idea what's out there?"
He stood up, slowly, gingerly pulling her to her feet. They needed to get going. Waiting for one of the dwarves to check on their captives would be useless, the others would hear the commotion and be on them in seconds. The element of surprise was too important if they wanted to get out of here with their freedom, and they could loose it at any moment. His body was tense, demanding action before weariness and weakness set in after that stunt to get out of the cuffs.
"Do you know how many there are? Do they have mages of some kind? How did they take someone like you?" he whispered, trying to get her to focus as he maneuvered them toward the door, trying to peek through the holes and gaps in the wood. A fire was lighting up the room beyond, making it unlikely that anyone out there would spot them looking out from the relative darkness of the... jail, he supposed.
The words still meant nothing to him, but he could count at least four voices. Which didn't help much. How large was the complex or cave system? How many more could stream in from side passages or adjoining halls even if he took down the four? Damn it, if he could just find his sword he thought he could slay any number of potbellied, amateur, hillbilly halfmen, but naked and unarmed...?
The mix of terror and excitement that flashed through him as he spotted the glowing markings under her sweaty bangs and through the fabric of the dirty shift dissipated again almost as quickly. Obviously she was in no state to turn their captors into frogs, or stone, or cockroaches. Looking at her, she hardly seemed to have the strength to clutch his arm. They had a moment of shared confusion as she looked back at him uncomprehending before flakes of - wax? - began breaking away from her ear canals.
Rearing back a little, he raised a brow at the strange spectacle before giving her a light shake, still speaking in quiet, if not particularly soothing, tones. "Miss? Hello? What's your name? I said, do you have any idea what's out there?"
He stood up, slowly, gingerly pulling her to her feet. They needed to get going. Waiting for one of the dwarves to check on their captives would be useless, the others would hear the commotion and be on them in seconds. The element of surprise was too important if they wanted to get out of here with their freedom, and they could loose it at any moment. His body was tense, demanding action before weariness and weakness set in after that stunt to get out of the cuffs.
"Do you know how many there are? Do they have mages of some kind? How did they take someone like you?" he whispered, trying to get her to focus as he maneuvered them toward the door, trying to peek through the holes and gaps in the wood. A fire was lighting up the room beyond, making it unlikely that anyone out there would spot them looking out from the relative darkness of the... jail, he supposed.
The words still meant nothing to him, but he could count at least four voices. Which didn't help much. How large was the complex or cave system? How many more could stream in from side passages or adjoining halls even if he took down the four? Damn it, if he could just find his sword he thought he could slay any number of potbellied, amateur, hillbilly halfmen, but naked and unarmed...?
- Joined
- Mar 18, 2019
Lethe winced painfully as the strange naked man shook her. Was he daft? She had no real idea of the state she was in, or how she really looked, but she could barely move and he was trying to make her somehow recover faster by grabbing onto her shoulders and jostling her head around. Her vision spun for a moment and she shut her eyes to center herself. It was, perhaps, fortunate her stomach had been left empty for Gods knew how long, or she might have added the contents onto the list of smells that surrounded them. She opened her eyes with a bit of a glare, though her sight still had dark splotches where she couldn’t make out what she was seeing. She might have snapped at him, but her throat was so dry that the desert sands had a better chance of responding to him. She slowly, painfully, moved her hand to her throat hoping that even if he was a tad simple he would understand she couldn’t speak.
When he lifted her up, he was at least more careful with her than before, thankfully. But as he tried to have her stand, her ankles wobbled under her weight and she fell against the man’s body. She was in no real shape to move, especially not fight. Escaping would be far more difficult for her than she realized as she tried to look around, clinging to the clammy skin of her savior. Perhaps she could muster up enough magic to give him strength. Even if she spent time trying to make herself better, her body would still be weak from not using her muscles in such a long time.
The witch clung close to the man as she left him to ponder their escape without her help. She focused on how to best serve him, instead. Her energy was low but her will to survive was urging her to spend what little she had on her only hope. Her fingertips pressed against him more firmly as she began to infuse him with a buffer of magic that would increase his strength by three. It wasn’t nearly as helpful as her spells in full power, but it would have to do. Her head then slumped heavily against him. He’d need to leave her somewhere if he was going to fight against the gang that held them. She wasn’t sure what their operation looked like, but she wondered if there was a different way out that didn’t involve taking on the band of well equipped thugs. They appeared to be in a cave, or underground, but it did appear to wind further down, or perhaps up? It was difficult to know. Lethe body began to press further into the stranger as her body began to give out.
The room in which the man began to investigate was blocked off by a battered wooden door. There were clearly slots to see through, and enough light in the next room to give a good picture of the layout if one were to get close enough. But getting closer also increased the chances of getting caught, too. There were five Dwarves inside of that chamber, two drinking and laughing at a tale being told by a third that had stood with one foot on his chair and the other carelessly stomping onto the table as he caused it to lean back against his heel, threatening to topple over the mugs that rested on its surface. One of them was trying to sleep through their noise with a chair leaning back against the wall, just out of the line of sight from the door. The last seemed to be leaving the room as though he was going somewhere else. There was only one clear exit to be sure, though it was difficult to know what else could be hidden in the room until entering.
When he lifted her up, he was at least more careful with her than before, thankfully. But as he tried to have her stand, her ankles wobbled under her weight and she fell against the man’s body. She was in no real shape to move, especially not fight. Escaping would be far more difficult for her than she realized as she tried to look around, clinging to the clammy skin of her savior. Perhaps she could muster up enough magic to give him strength. Even if she spent time trying to make herself better, her body would still be weak from not using her muscles in such a long time.
The witch clung close to the man as she left him to ponder their escape without her help. She focused on how to best serve him, instead. Her energy was low but her will to survive was urging her to spend what little she had on her only hope. Her fingertips pressed against him more firmly as she began to infuse him with a buffer of magic that would increase his strength by three. It wasn’t nearly as helpful as her spells in full power, but it would have to do. Her head then slumped heavily against him. He’d need to leave her somewhere if he was going to fight against the gang that held them. She wasn’t sure what their operation looked like, but she wondered if there was a different way out that didn’t involve taking on the band of well equipped thugs. They appeared to be in a cave, or underground, but it did appear to wind further down, or perhaps up? It was difficult to know. Lethe body began to press further into the stranger as her body began to give out.
The room in which the man began to investigate was blocked off by a battered wooden door. There were clearly slots to see through, and enough light in the next room to give a good picture of the layout if one were to get close enough. But getting closer also increased the chances of getting caught, too. There were five Dwarves inside of that chamber, two drinking and laughing at a tale being told by a third that had stood with one foot on his chair and the other carelessly stomping onto the table as he caused it to lean back against his heel, threatening to topple over the mugs that rested on its surface. One of them was trying to sleep through their noise with a chair leaning back against the wall, just out of the line of sight from the door. The last seemed to be leaving the room as though he was going somewhere else. There was only one clear exit to be sure, though it was difficult to know what else could be hidden in the room until entering.
OP
OP
The Scandinavian
One Very Lost Viking
- Joined
- May 13, 2020
- Location
- Guess Where
Konrad frowned as he looked her over, ignoring the glare. They didn't have time for her to collect her wits at her own leisure. When she refused to answer him he had worried that she might be simple or confused, and that he'd made a big mistake trying to appeal to her for assistance. She seemed lucid īenough now, and her hand moving over her throat at least answered the mystery of why she wasn't responding. Even if it didn't actually help.
"Great." he grunted, trying to balance her on her feet and already regretting that he hadn't just left her on the floor. She would only slow him down and endanger their escape. His blood was up in preparation for the fight, and her feebleness as she collapsed against his chest sent a flash of annoyance and resentment through him. It was always the same. He owed this woman nothing, but people still thought that just because they hadn't built the muscle meant that they shouldn't help carry the load. For a moment he'd thought that a witch would be different, but now he was about to fight for their lives and she would just sit here and listen in bemusement because she couldn't stand a bit of dizziness.
He was about to mutter some half-assed apology and lower her back down to the floor when small, slender fingers poked at his stomach, making him stiffen as she prodded his solar plexus. His mouth opened to ask another useless question tinged with anger, and "Wh-" was all that managed to escape his lips before a rush of power surged through him from his core to the tips of his fingers and toes and the top of his head, infusing the fibers of his muscles with a strange, unnatural energy far beyond adrenaline.
"What in the blazes..." Konrad breathed, almost forgetting to keep his voice low, looking down at her slumped form. She had turned into a feather in his arms, and somehow in spite of that the sensations of her body against him seemed to have doubled or tripled in complexity. Her hair tickling his skin, the shift rubbing against his hard stomach, and her warmth seeping through the fabric against his body and member struck him far more starkly than they had a second ago, as if he was covered in new, sensitive skin that amplified each and every aspect of her touch.
That took him a good few moments to parse, before he noticed that this new awareness of his own body was not quite limited to his own body. Through the contact between them he thought he could feel her overpowering exhaustion, and a painful knot of dry emptiness in her throat so defined and pervasive that he worried it might actually be some kind of permanent damage, or at least that it would be if not tended to soon. She wasn't just being lazy or cowardly or weak. Her imprisonment had taken an enormous toll, and she was clearly at her limit, at the very end of her strength.
Moreover, this insane sensitivity extended beyond even the two of them. The ground beneath their feet was softly vibrating, as was the shoddy wooden door in its stony frame. For the first time in his life, he realized how interconnected everything in the physical world was, forces impacting each other constantly, and so much more subtly than he knew...
It was testament to how overwhelmed he felt by this sudden flood of impressions that it took him yet another couple of seconds to also realize that the enormous, solid cave wall opposite the door, right next to where he had been chained a minute ago, was suddenly completely gone. In its place was an opening in the rock about ten feet across leading deeper into the ground.
During the war he had heard of magics that could call forth images and confuse even hardened men who trusted too much in their senses. Stories of wicked mystics from the south who had masked or conjured up terrain to the advantage of their soldiers and the disadvantage of their enemies, leaving the opposing forces helplessly disoriented or bottlenecked just when they thought they had planned around nature's obstacles.
Maybe this was some mirage the witch had conjured? Though he couldn't see how it might help them escape. Still moving carefully, supporting her against his chest and resisting the urge to shivee as his cock brushed deliciously against her belly, he stepped towards the back of the cave and reached out where he thought the wall had been, grasping only air. So... the wall had been an illusion? But how could that be? She had seemed completely restrained and incapacitated when he had woken up right next to it.
Konrad perked up his ears, listening at the mouth of the opening but hearing nothing, even though the dwarves' voices rang behind him with far more clarity than before, and though the reverberations in the ground - and the air! - spoke of some expanse. It suddenly appeared that fighting the dwarves in their own home might not be their only option. It was still taking a chance, of course, and he loathed the idea of leaving these bastards to abuse and dishonor his equipment.
Weighing the choices was pointless, though. Knowing that this avenue had suddenly sprung into existence, his gut told him that running was the wiser course of action. So he did.
"A thousand pardons, miss. Try to hold on." he said as he scooped her up in his arms and started legging it down the tunnel, ignoring both the feeling of nausea he sensed sweeping through her and the sharp rocks digging into the bottoms of his bare feet as he bounded forward with perfect efficiency in spite of her weight, taking long and easy strides under the effects of her spell.
"Great." he grunted, trying to balance her on her feet and already regretting that he hadn't just left her on the floor. She would only slow him down and endanger their escape. His blood was up in preparation for the fight, and her feebleness as she collapsed against his chest sent a flash of annoyance and resentment through him. It was always the same. He owed this woman nothing, but people still thought that just because they hadn't built the muscle meant that they shouldn't help carry the load. For a moment he'd thought that a witch would be different, but now he was about to fight for their lives and she would just sit here and listen in bemusement because she couldn't stand a bit of dizziness.
He was about to mutter some half-assed apology and lower her back down to the floor when small, slender fingers poked at his stomach, making him stiffen as she prodded his solar plexus. His mouth opened to ask another useless question tinged with anger, and "Wh-" was all that managed to escape his lips before a rush of power surged through him from his core to the tips of his fingers and toes and the top of his head, infusing the fibers of his muscles with a strange, unnatural energy far beyond adrenaline.
"What in the blazes..." Konrad breathed, almost forgetting to keep his voice low, looking down at her slumped form. She had turned into a feather in his arms, and somehow in spite of that the sensations of her body against him seemed to have doubled or tripled in complexity. Her hair tickling his skin, the shift rubbing against his hard stomach, and her warmth seeping through the fabric against his body and member struck him far more starkly than they had a second ago, as if he was covered in new, sensitive skin that amplified each and every aspect of her touch.
That took him a good few moments to parse, before he noticed that this new awareness of his own body was not quite limited to his own body. Through the contact between them he thought he could feel her overpowering exhaustion, and a painful knot of dry emptiness in her throat so defined and pervasive that he worried it might actually be some kind of permanent damage, or at least that it would be if not tended to soon. She wasn't just being lazy or cowardly or weak. Her imprisonment had taken an enormous toll, and she was clearly at her limit, at the very end of her strength.
Moreover, this insane sensitivity extended beyond even the two of them. The ground beneath their feet was softly vibrating, as was the shoddy wooden door in its stony frame. For the first time in his life, he realized how interconnected everything in the physical world was, forces impacting each other constantly, and so much more subtly than he knew...
It was testament to how overwhelmed he felt by this sudden flood of impressions that it took him yet another couple of seconds to also realize that the enormous, solid cave wall opposite the door, right next to where he had been chained a minute ago, was suddenly completely gone. In its place was an opening in the rock about ten feet across leading deeper into the ground.
During the war he had heard of magics that could call forth images and confuse even hardened men who trusted too much in their senses. Stories of wicked mystics from the south who had masked or conjured up terrain to the advantage of their soldiers and the disadvantage of their enemies, leaving the opposing forces helplessly disoriented or bottlenecked just when they thought they had planned around nature's obstacles.
Maybe this was some mirage the witch had conjured? Though he couldn't see how it might help them escape. Still moving carefully, supporting her against his chest and resisting the urge to shivee as his cock brushed deliciously against her belly, he stepped towards the back of the cave and reached out where he thought the wall had been, grasping only air. So... the wall had been an illusion? But how could that be? She had seemed completely restrained and incapacitated when he had woken up right next to it.
Konrad perked up his ears, listening at the mouth of the opening but hearing nothing, even though the dwarves' voices rang behind him with far more clarity than before, and though the reverberations in the ground - and the air! - spoke of some expanse. It suddenly appeared that fighting the dwarves in their own home might not be their only option. It was still taking a chance, of course, and he loathed the idea of leaving these bastards to abuse and dishonor his equipment.
Weighing the choices was pointless, though. Knowing that this avenue had suddenly sprung into existence, his gut told him that running was the wiser course of action. So he did.
"A thousand pardons, miss. Try to hold on." he said as he scooped her up in his arms and started legging it down the tunnel, ignoring both the feeling of nausea he sensed sweeping through her and the sharp rocks digging into the bottoms of his bare feet as he bounded forward with perfect efficiency in spite of her weight, taking long and easy strides under the effects of her spell.
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