𝓇𝓊𝓂 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒿𝑒𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓈 [cyrodilicbrandy & Agnes]

[cyrodilicbrandy]

[𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕪𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥]
​

In the Rialto Bay, Antiva
Vincento D'Arugula's merchant galley, the Queen Asha
6.00 Steel
High noon​

---

​

Lucia had many complaints in this moment, the least of which was the unrelenting beat of the sun directly overhead. For much of her journey home, she'd barely paid any attention to the crew aboard the Queen Asha - why should she; any respectable Antivan lady did not concern herself with people who were not respectable - but she did envy them in that, as men, as sailors, they were able to do away with their shirts entirely, some even pulling up their breeches to their knees in an effort to stop themselves from baking under the blazing sun. Lucia did not have that freedom; Maker, she had very little freedoms. She had spent the last few years in Orlais, under the matronly eye of the Comtesse Solange. She had learnt the intricacies of courtly love, learnt something of the Great Game - though she knew she never would have been destined to become a proficient player - and learnt that young women across Thedas, noble or common, were very lucky if they were able to be independent. Still, she had been allowed enough leisure time to learn certain skills, practical ones, not just sewing or painting, for the Comtesse, though sometimes something like a schoolteacher in her attitude, was indulgent when her charges showed promise; Lucia accompanied physicians to patients and learned the basics of applying bandages, administering medicines and poultices, and the like. Her father wouldn't be best pleased that she was 'debasing' her hands in something so... earthly, but as one of the few things she was able to choose to do, she could say that she enjoyed it immensely.

Sweltering in her silk and damask gown, every little thing was quietly infuriating to her. The rocking of the galley, though she'd since gotten over the sea-sickness, the constant shouting back and forth between the crew, the incessant squawking of seagulls overhead; the sooner she was off this ship, the better. They weren't far now, D'Arugula had informed her this morning, as she emerged from her cabin, and he made it very clear he expected to get into no trouble within sight of the port - pirates were clearly just as much trouble near Antiva than they had been when she'd left for the Comtesse's estate. Still, they wouldn't reach Antiva City for a few hours and then she had another short journey overland, before she would have finally reached the Adorno estate.

As much as she wanted to get off this thing, away from the sweaty sailors who insolently looked at her like she was a piece of meat, Lucia wasn't much looking forward to her homecoming. Her father, a widower of five years, and of extensive merchant property, saw Lucia as something expendable. He was more focussed on her brothers, one older and one younger, and even her bastard half-brother, Antonio, had more precedence. Perhaps, if her mother had not died, her father wouldn't have undergone such a change; blind-sided by having to finish raising a teenage daughter, she shipped her off to Orlais, which would look good on paper next to her dower when she was finally of marriageable age. And here she was, returning home, only to be very soon packed off to yet some other place, where a man maybe thirty years her senior would be the one to curtail her freedoms. Such was her destiny, and that was one of her many complaints.

It was then that a clamour was raised, even more ear-splitting and annoying than it had been before, men running hither and thither across the ship - Lucia was pushed, hissing out a "Watch yourself!" as the sailor moved away, paying her no notice. It seemed as if a panic of sorts was rippling through the crew, and Lucia turned her head this way and that way askance, before D'Arugula hurried up to her, his tanned face wrinkled into a worried expression. "My lady Adorno, it's best if you go down below now - seems some ships bearing no known Antivan heraldry have been spotted on the approach, hard to tell with the way the sun is hitting the water. Anyway, my lady, please - if they be pirates, seeing a lady such as yourself..." Lucia's attendants had scurried away, into the cabin, like the little rats they were, but Lucia liked to think she was made of stronger stuff, and with a stubborn set of her face, she stayed where she was, resolutely. "Good ser," she began, her voice determined. "If they are indeed pirates, it's likely some of your men might need medical assistance; I can staunch their wounds. I'm quite resolute." The captain stared at her, aghast, before turning on his heel with a muttered: "Blasted woman!", all politeness for her rank and status demolished by her determination. Still, Lucia could feel her heart beat in her chest as if it was going to burst, and anger too. She was so close to home!

 

[Agnes]

In the Rialto Bay, Antiva
Hector Villanueva's galleon, the Madrigal's Mercy
6.00 Steel
High noon

---

Hector stood still as a statue, standing at the bow of his ship, the Madrigal's Mercy, one foot firmly planted on the railing of the deck, light grey eyes peeled for any and all signs of the target. A little bird in Cumberland had sent word that a particularly wealthy merchant ship was sailing northward along the Rialto Bay to Antia City, carrying spices and silks exported from Orlais, along with some weaponry. Good steel was always in need, especially now as the merchant princes scrambled to consolidate their power in the vacuum left behind by Queen Madrigal's brutal assassination. They were also wanted by pirates who very much seek the same as the merchant princes, as much of the royal fleet and army was preoccupied with finding the assassins and investigating the crows, the whole of Rialto Bay was left for pirates to run free.

Hector Villanueva was one such opportunist. Three years ago, he'd been a simple privateer, working on a nameless ship with nothing to show for his ambitions. He became captain of said ship after a violent mutiny, which ended in the former captain being decapitated and his bones being made into a dagger - one that Hector now wields on his lower back. 'The Bonesmith', his new crew dubbed him, and his self-proclaimed ascension of power couldn't have come at a better time. Soon after he became captain, Queen Madrigal was assassinated, throwing the whole of Antiva into chaos. Hector took advantage of it and managed to make away with a majestic galleon stolen from the royal harbour in Antiva City, repurposing it and naming it the Madrigal's Mercy; a cruel joke upon the queen's fate, who was found impaled with four swords in her bed, one of which was a replica of the Sword of Mercy Hessarion used to end Andraste's life. A symbol of forgiveness and peace, used to butcher an innocent. How fittingly poetic.

And here he was, a scant two years later, standing as a terror upon the seas.

But his intentions for picking this particular vessel, the Queen Asha, he believed it was called, stretched to more than just luxuries and steel. No, the little bird had one more nugget of information, one that turned a good opportunity into a great haul - there was a noble lady aboard, some young lass bearing the sigil of House Adorno. Now, he didn't know who she was, and in truth, there was no need to; her family name would be incentive enough. Weapons and silk fetched good prices, yes, but these old merchant princes were more than willing to fork over a good chunk of their fortunes if it meant their little girls would be returned to them unscathed. And the Bonesmith was a businessman before anything else.

"A vessel approaching portside!" called out Raul, his first mate, and instantly, Hector's eyes flicked to his left, where there was indeed a galley sailing against the wind. Too fancy to be any regular ship, too small to belong to anyone of importance. "That's the one," the captain stated definitively, and in an instant, the quiet, dosy ship burst into life, the whole crew rushing to their positions, Hector himself making his way to the wheel to steer it towards the Queen Asha. The sails unfurled with a majestic glamour, the black cloth catching the winds and propelling the vessel forward, a black flag with a white skull wearing a tricorn adoring the pole where the was once the Antivan royal heraldry. The other two ships in his fleet, smaller brigs that served as shadow vessels to house supplies, prisoners and whores, pulled up on either side of the Madrigal's Mercy, and soon the trio of ships was heading full speed towards the lone merchant ship, the bow of the main one primed to ram into the hull of it.

Yet, it seemed that the Queen Asha also had a competent captain at the wheel, as the vessel swerved right at the last moment to deflect most of the blow into the side of the ship, though the damage was still significant; splinters of wood went flying everywhere, and the men aboard the Madrigal's Mercy cheered viciously as the other ship was rocked to the side. "Steady!" Hector called hoarsely, leaving the wheel and jumping onto one of the ropes on deck, taking out his flintlock to shoot a single bullet into the sails of the enemy ship. The sound was a deafening roar, and the barrel of the gun was left smoking in the aftermath; the gunpowder filled bullet ripped through the cloth, setting it on fire and taking the wind out of the sails, though by that point the ship was practically stationary, surrounded from all directions but their left.

"Well met, Captain D'Aragula!" he shouted amidst the cheers and jeers, which caused his men to quiet down a bit. "My name is Hector Villanueva; you might've heard of me as the Bonesmith. We, the gallant crew of the Madrigal's Mercy, have come to liberate you Orlesian pigs of these cumbersome luxuries. Now, you will see that you are surrounded and outmanned. I am a harsh man, but I am not cruel. Surrender peacefully, and we will spare your men and your passengers. We want your goods, not your lives." He paused, stormy grey eyes glazing over the men aboard the ship. He counted no more than twenty; easily outmatched by his crew, fifty strong. "If your foolish sense of gallantry compels you to fight, don't. There are better fates for a man like you than to end up with your femur made into a dagger, my good ser."

 

[cyrodilicbrandy]

D'Arugula had hurried away into some form of action, leaving Lucia behind to fend for herself; her light grey eyes training upon the rapidly approaching ship, her small hands balling the beautiful damask of her skirt up as her heart pounded within her chest, within her head. There could be no mistaking that these ships were fully trained on this small, yet richly apparelled galley, even with her lack of knowledge; there were three, though it was the galleon that was truly threatening. She could tell it had once been an Antivan ship - the style and gilt along the sides made that much clear. Orlesian-made vessels, especially those not part of the navy, could not compare. As the flags unfurled, Lucia added yet another complaint to her seemingly never-ending list of them; for it only confirmed what D'Arugula had worried said to her, but now there was a trace of fear beneath everything, as well. Lucia was a noble lady, daughter of a rich merchant house in a land filled with rich merchant houses to be sure, and yet that meant she could fetch a pretty ransom price. But that didn't automatically mean she would be treated honourably, and her ladies, who had scurried below decks in the first wave of action, were bound to get the raw end of the deal.

Lucia was engrossed by her thoughts as D'Arugula skillfully steered the Queen Asha to the side, to avoid the worst of the damage that the galleon would do, yet there was still a hit, and Lucia fell backwards with a cry, landing firmly upon her arse, somewhat dazed. From the attacking ship, she could hear the sound of cheering, and she pulled herself up from the floor, face clearly disgruntled. Perhaps it could have been said of Lucia that she often got annoyed or mad about the wrong thing, at the wrong time, but she was too stubborn to change, and she couldn't help brushing off her skirts as she thought, with ire, of the amount of splinters now hidden amidst the fabric.

Caught as the Queen Asha was, the sails destroyed from something that sounded like a tiny cannon, the crew had now stopped rushing to and fro, and it seemed as it everyone was holding their breath; D'Arugula hurried to the railing, his face set with determination, hand upon the hilt of his rapier. Don't be a fool, man, Lucia thought. A deep voice rang out between the two ships, quieting the raucous sounds from the bigger one, until the only additional sounds were the waves of the sea and errant gulls overhead. The owner of the voice announced himself as the Bonesmith - Lucia was nonplussed, for it sounded like another over-the-top pirate name, but from the quiet muttering she heard start up around her, they were aware of him. The situation now seemed to hinge directly on D'Arugula's actions, and though Lucia was not the most devout of women, she made a silent prayer to Andraste that the man would not be a fool. They were hopelessly outmatched, surely he would see that!

Unfortunately, the captain of Queen Asha was a fool, more interested in his pride than his life, and he squared his shoulders, hoarse voice calling out to the Bonesmith, challenging, displaying a sense of bravado the bloody fool might have actually felt. "The Bonesmith, you say? Gallant? You sail the seas, robbing and raping, and it will end today, Rivaini scum! Mayhaps I will use your bones for my dagger! Men!" The captain drew his rapier, and this spurred his crew into another bout of action, the yelling deafening in Lucia's ears.

"Espèce d'imbécile!" Lucia cried out, the fear hammering through her entire body; if this had been resolved peacefully, she would have accepted (with poor grace, naturally) being handed over as a hostage for a solid ransom, making it clear she was not be touched. But if her years in Orlais had taught her anything, if the the stories of wars and battles and sieges through the ages were anything to go by, men became wild once their blood was up. Women of status were not often spared from the savagery of men. She dithered on the spot for a moment, her breath coming in quick gasps, before she dashed behind a large deposit of barrels, skirts flying. Maker, oh Maker, she prayed, eyes shut tight, hands clasped together so tightly her knuckles were bone white

 

[Agnes]

He had expected the captain of such a luxuriously gilded ship to be a brave old fool, and he was not disappointed. It would've been safer and more economical to go with something a bit understated, but alas, these kinds of ships had to appeal to the tinted eyes of the rich, after all. Nevermind that all this gold and glitter would be scrubbed away by the winds and salt with time, nevermind that they would need a competent man steering the ship at the wheel, though they seem to have actually given thought to the latter part. Old and stupid he may be, facing off against him when he was outmatched, outmanned, and surrounded, but he seemed to be a man of the seas, and Hector would give credit where it was due. His false sense of bravado, however, was laughable. And laugh, the captain did, his hoarse, unamused laugher ringing out over the silence of the sea like a raging thunder, the gulls left squawking and fluttering. "Oh, that's rich coming from you lot, feasting and drinking and fucking and sailing around in golden boats while your country starves. At least we take from the rich and actually pay our whores!"

In truth, Hector did not like to fight. He was not averse to violence nor was he some kind of pacifist; no, his apprehension to combat stems from the fact that it's pointless. Needless deaths, damaged cargo, and a generally bad way of going about the trade, especially when one considers the fact that good crew members were hard to come by and expensive. As of this moment, they were without a physician to patch up the wounded - their last one having drowned when they were at port - and Hector knew the outcome would be ugly if his men were to get injured. Infection and rot were ruthless killers out in the sea. Yet, he still had a reputation to uphold. The Bonesmith does not back down, does not flee, does not lose a battle. As the crew of the Queen Asha rallied to their captain's raised rapier, Hector pursed his lips. If a fight was what they desired, then a fight is what they would get.

"Looks like we got a bunch of pigs who need slaughterin', boys!" The pirate's voice carried authority, and despite his plans to take the ship quickly and quietly having gone awry, the man sounded as driven and crazed as ever - one could even say he looked bloodthirsty. Out came his own weapon, a sabre of steel, of impeccable make and quality, once belonging to the man he killed to take his mantle. A badge of his station, the blade was possibly his most prized possession of all, and it whistled like the wind as it slid out of the scabbard, steel sliding on steel. His own men roared their cries, twice as loud as the crew of the Queen Asha. "Bad choice, my good ser. I will be drinking rum out of your skull tonight, right after I rape every single woman on your pathetic little brig. Men!" Hector, too raised his sword and pointed it at D'Arugula, before making a cutting motion across his own neck.

Then suddenly, all hell broke loose.

Men from both ships swung towards each other. Hector himself deftly held onto the role he was on and swung in a wide arc, landing on both feet right in front of D'Arugula. The scant few passengers remaining on the deck fled down into the hull, screaming, as Hector's pirates began to swarm the deck of the Queen Asha, fights breaking out all across the vessel. Already, blood was being spilled; grunts and cries of pain began to fill the once peaceful sea air, bodies splashing down into the water and sinking into the depths below. Hector, in all his splendor and clad in a deep red coat that singled him out amidst the sea of dirty beige and brown. Twirling his sabre, he walked slowly towards his opponent, eyes wide open and alert. No words were needed, and at that moment there was an unspoken understanding between them. One of them would die today. Hector, certain as he was in his superior swordsmanship, knew it would not be him. As such, he allowed the other captain to make the first move - a gentlemanly act, if you will.

Steel clashed steel. Parries, ripostes, feints, stabs, every single touch of the blades rang out terribly around the two men. The silver-haired man was no stranger to fighting, but the merchant captain was, and it showed in the subtle differences in their movements. Villanueva moved fluidly, as one with the wind, while D'Arugula was stiff, but strong, like an immovable boulder. But the wind eventually grinds stone to dust, and so it was. Slowly and steadily, Hector took the upper hand. A small cut on the thigh. A hit to the nose with the pommel. A dirty kick below the belt. Blow after blow, the half-Rivaini wore the old man down, until he let slip a gap in his defense. There was no hesitation as Hector made a singular thrust at his neck, driving the whole sabre through him, severing his jugulars, windpipe, and esophagus, cutting bone even. The man's eyes were wide open as he gurgled and choked on his own blood, crimson spilling from his lips as the younger man cruelly twisted his blade, destroying the entirety of his neck. Flesh ripped and blood spurted as he drew the blade back, and D'Arugula fell to the wooden deck, dead.

"Enough!" The sound echoed, and the sound of fighting died down as men of both ships turned to look at Hector, holding the freshly severed and bleeding head of the Orlesian captain, the outcome of the battle essentially decided. "Your captain is dead. Your sails are destroyed. The battle is lost. Surrender now, when you still have a life to value. Lay down your weapons, and we will not harm you. Think about your wives and mistresses and children, men. There is no use in fighting for a dead man." Callously, he tossed the head towards the sea of bodies, where it bounced and sprayed blood everywhere, eyes fluttering endlessly as the nerves were still shot.

 

[cyrodilicbrandy]

Lucia, her back pressed against the barrels, face as white as death, heard the Bonesmith's answer to the old fool's challenge; clearly he, and his men, were only too happy to rise to the occasion, his voice hoarse and with an edge of ruthlessness to it. Lucia was not familiar with the Rivaini accent or language; in some ways it held a passing similarity to Antivan, or so her language teacher had told her. But she could understand his words, his intent well enough, though a part of her wished she couldn't. Since Lucia had been old enough to understand the use of noble daughters, the idea of the value of her virtue, along with all of the necessary ladylike talents she was expected to excel at, was her most prized possession. During her mother's last pregnancy, the one that killed her, Alessandria had sat down with Lucia, the mother-daughter talk that every lady of status was expected to have with her daughters. Lucia learned that day what marriage entailed, why it was needed, and Lucia's own duties towards her husband both in and out of the marriage bed. Heavy stuff, for a twelve year old girl to learn, and during her time in Orlais, she guarded herself and her heart with aloof aplomb, her mother's words a constant refrain in her ear whenever some noble scamp or the other tried his seduction games: 'Before marriage, you lose your virtue; after, you give it away - which would you rather do, my dearest girl?' Though Lucia knew that her husband would be some fat gilded noble at least twice her age, she knew the answer: she would rather surrender it to her husband, as she was destined to do - even if she despised him - than have it ripped from her.

And so, the Bonesmith's words made her stomach clench in fear; her previous assessment of the kind of treatment she and the other women aboard the Queen Asha was clearly true, horribly true, and Lucia's dainty hands pressed to her lips to quieten the harsh breathing spilling from them - though, in fairness, she wouldn't likely be heard over the sound of the fighting. The clashes of steel and yells were bad enough, and would not have been terrifying at all if she had not been mere metres away from where it was all happening. She had travelled to Antiva City many a time as a girl, her mother taking her along for a shopping trip, to socialise, things like that. And Antiva City was not a peaceful city; the ladies had been surrounded by bodyguards, and were almost entirely safe, yet Lucia had seen a few fights break out in the streets, steel flashing in the midday sky. That had been almost exciting to little Lucia, for it almost seemed to her like the brawlers were doing steps of their own dance, a dance Lucia would never know. But on the Queen Asha, much more was at stake than a purse or two of gold. The worst part was when someone gave a high, thin scream - and ended in a bubbly gurgle. Lucia didn't need to see what wound the man suffered to know what had happened. Her own medical abilities were scant; mostly she had spent her time mixing up herbs and vials, or changing someone's bandages. Once, she had to reset a young man's broken arm, and even his scream had nothing on the sounds around her.

From where she was hidden, she had no idea how the battle was going; all she knew is that she was almost sick with terror. And then, one of those horribly thick screams came from behind her, closer than the others; with a thud, a man collapsed to her right side, wearing what was once a light grey tunic. Now, though, it was dark with blood, the blood gushing from his throat, cut open. Lucia's stomach flipped over, but her grey eyes, though wide and terrified, could not look away from the man. He was one of D'Arugula's crew, or had been. The light left his dark eyes, leaving them dull, his hand stiffening around the dagger in his outstretched hand. I saw a man die, Lucia thought numbly, her own hands dropping to her skirts and bunching the fabric between her small fingers. And I'm hearing them die all around me. Surely she would wake up, sometime soon.

And then, through the sounds of fighting - she thought the sounds were slightly fewer and far between, and she told herself it was her imagination, except she knew it was because men were dying like flies - the voice of the Bonesmith cut through, loud and brutally final. Lucia's body went cold - if he was still alive, and calling for an end to the fighting, then D'Arugula --- and the pirate's next words confirmed her deep fear. Maker, oh Maker, she said internally. D'Arugula was dead, many of his crew were dead, and the pirates would have free reign on the goods and the prisoners - and she was one of them. A defeated silence had befallen the crew, and slowly she heard the sounds of swords and daggers drop to the wooden planks, the sound of the waves around them deceptively peaceful. The victors, now jeering and chatting amongst themselves, began to round up the defeated, and Lucia felt another wave of sickness wash over her as several entered into the cabins, where she knew her maids were cowering. She felt uncharacteristically faint, even as her mind raced - she was a noble, her ladies were not, not quite. She would fetch a high ransom, for she was her father's only daughter, after all. All she had to do was... what did she have to do? These men were ruthless, bloodthirsty, raping murderers. Would gold really appeal to their nature after they saw her? Lucia was vain - Comtesse Solange had amusedly told her that no husband wanted a vain wife, but knew Lucia was too stubborn to change - and she knew she was highly attractive; it was just a fact. She couldn't just stand up and announce herself; what if they put their blood-covered hands over her before she even had a chance to tell their captain who she was and how much money she would fetch? It was, she thought dryly, hatefully, almost like a dowry discussion.

Her eyes fell on the dead man's dagger, and scooted forwards in her cumbersome dress to pull it from his hands; in death, his grip had tightened, and with a soft grunt, and using both hands, she finally pulled it free from the body. Her hands were now sticky with blood, and she saw with disgust that the blood had coated the hem of her dress; another complaint upon the many. Lucia had no idea how to use a dagger - enough to know that the pointy end was not the part you held, and her dainty hands clasped the hilt as she fell back against the barrels, chest heaving as she tried to calm her breathing. Footsteps approached closer to her hiding place, and a boot came into view, kicking aside the dead man she had just looted. The rest of the person who owned those boots appeared, and his mouth dropped into an 'O' for a moment, clearly not expecting to see a noble lady cowering back here. And then his face changed, his expression a leer, and Lucia, her small body bubbling with rage, lifted the dagger towards him. "Do not touch me," she hissed, her voice filled with venom. Clearly, however, the sight of this small woman brandishing a dagger at him was amusing, and despite her attempts at slicing at his hands, he deftly managed to avoid them and curled his calloused, strong hands around her wrist. Lucia hissed again, spitting curses in Orlesian at him, as the man pulled her from her hiding spot.

"Captain!" he yelled, his voice thick and gritty. "Found one a'them noble ladies - this one's feisty-- ow!'" The ow burst from his mouth as Lucia leaned her head forwards to sink her teeth into the hand that held her, and the taste of sweat and blood washed over her tastebuds, stomach roiling again. Using the moment, she backed up, dagger firmly clasped in her hands. She was angry - had he not grabbed her, maybe her rage wouldn't have bubbled up. How dare he touch me? Her grey eyes were almost wild, flitting between the men she saw, over the multitude of dead bodies, and finally towards the captain of Madrigal's Mercy, the Bonesmith, so he styled himself. Her hands shook, but she kept her eyes trained on him as she spoke, the front of her dress heaving with the intensity of her breaths.

"I am Lady Lucia Adorno, daughter of Marcus Matteo Adorno, owner of extensive merchant property in Antiva." She paused, needing to take in a deep breath, feeling eyes on her, feeling the blood on her eyes get tacky and darken. "He will pay for my ransom, if I am unharmed." That part was the important part - for herself, and for her father. For herself, it was the pure terror of being manhandled, of being... no, she wouldn't think of it. For her father, there was a more practical reason; if she was returned home, spoiled and, Maker forbid, enceinte, she would no longer have any value. That, too, was important to Lucia. Her sense of self-importance, confidence, vanity - it would all shatter should the unthinkable happen.

"I am not to be harmed. In any way." Lucia repeated, letting out a breath she wasn't even aware she had been holding.

 

[Agnes]

The rest of the Queen Asha's crew weren't as foolish as their captain. Knowing they were defeated, the weapons clattered to the ground one by one, surrendering themselves and the goods they carried. Even pirates had some semblance of honour in them, and most seamen knew this. Hector too, was applicable to this. A murderer and a thief and a scoundrel he may be, but he was not cruel. A waste of a good life to be killed for someone else's entertainment. Better to offer them a place on the crew, or to ransom them off to whoever would take them. A small, triumphant smile on his face, he slowly wiped away the blood on his sabre along the hem of his long, black coat, and resheathed it with the crass elegance of a man who has done it countless times before.

"Not too many casualties on our side," announced his first mate Raul, walking up to him and sporting a nasty gash on his arm.

"Mhm. How many?" asked Hector, not bothering to inquire about the wound.

"Three young'uns who joined us when we last docked at Llomerynn. Brothers, died in each other's arms. The ones whose mother begged us not to take 'em, I think."

"Poor woman. Might be good to pay her some compensation next time we're there." The captain pointed at the ruined sails of the Queen Asha. "Think the lads can patch it up? A ship like this could fetch a thousand sovereigns at least."

The first mate shrugged. "You shouldn't've busted the sails in the first place. We had 'em surrounded. But, it's nothing we can't fix in a few hours. Might be a few takers in Rialto. I remember some merchant offering two thousand for a good, sturdy ship."

"Not exactly sturdy, but it might do. Round up the prisoners and lock 'em in, yeah? I'll go check in on cargo and look for that Adorno girl." He slapped him right where he was bleeding, causing the other man to wince and curse quietly in rapid Rivaini. "Good man."

Leather boots creaking on the bloodstained wood, Hector walked away from the captain's perch to go down to the deck where the prisoners were being tied up and walked over to the Madrigal's Mercy, counting heads as he strolled over to the cargo hold. A lot more deaths on their side. The bodies were looted for any valuables and then tossed overboard, letting the sea take what they didn't need. He heard women scream and cry and whimper from inside the hold, presumably because they hadn't ever been handled roughly in all their dainty, sheltered lives. Hector did not truly care. He warned his men not to touch important men and women, but the commoners, the kind that no-one would miss... well, they wouldn't be missed in the first place. Still, though, no one likes broken things, be it people or merchandise, and he made it clear as such. They can have their whores when they dock.

"Captain!"

A call from behind the barrels caught his attention. Out came one of the men, Federico, dragging what seemed to be a very well-dressed lady - a noble, no doubt. His face then went through several stages; surprised, then worried, and then finally amused as the woman bit down on the man's arm. Is this what the noble ladies of Orlais were doing nowadays? "And prone to biting people too, looks like," he said laughingly, both impressed and amused by the woman's gall. It didn't escape his notice that she was brandishing a dagger at them, eyes burning like a madwoman and growling like a cornered cat. Quite the spectacle, all things considered. Most women simply begged pitifully.

"You'll be fine, Fed," he quipped to the man, who was nursing his hand and spitting some very creative expletives comparing her to a gutter whore. Turns out, she couldn't be more different from a gutter whore, as she soon announced herself as Lucia Adorno, the very woman he was looking for, and went on to give a very detailed recounting of her stature and her father's wealth. The grin on his lips grew to a sneer, almost, walking towards her with a callous disregard for all the words she spat out at him. Silvery grey eyes flitted down to the cut, in her dress, her impressive chest heaving with every anxious breath. Well, with a bosom like this, he couldn't very well fault poor Fed for thinking she was a whore now, could he?

"You are not to be harmed... or what?" the captain sneered, hands on his hips as he lazily circled the woman, eyes wide alert for any sudden movement she may make. His demeanor was relaxed, but his mind was anything but. "Daddy won't take you back if you're not pretty anymore? If you've been spoiled? Touched by unsavoury men?" A harsh laugh spilled from his lips. "With all my respect, mi señora, that it is just sad to think of." Slowly, he began to walk towards her, eyes trained sharply on the bloody dagger in her hands. "But luckily for you, you happen to be exactly who we're looking for, Lady Adorno. And we also plan to do exactly what you suggest and ransom you back to your rich father for all his fortune. But don't think for a single moment," he paused, right as he came to a stop in front of her. "That I will not harm you, because if you ever run your mouth like that again, if you ever go around brandishing daggers and biting my men, I will make sure you wish I had tossed you off this ship instead. All your daddy's wealth and power can't protect you when you're on this ship. Understand?"

A single raised eyebrow, and an outstretched hand. "Now give me the dagger before you cut your pretty hands. You're not even holding it properly."

 

[cyrodilicbrandy]

His words stung almost as much as the insolent way he looked at her. He didn't know how close to the mark he was, after all. A nobleman's daughter, she might very well have been, but the relationship she had with any of her family, now that her mother was dead, was fraught at best. Her older brother ignored her entirely, something her younger brother had been learning from him, and she didn't even see anything of her half-brother. As for her father, he used to pay her attention - buying her dresses and dolls for her birthdays, giving her cursory hugs and kisses, but he had never really seemed... interested, in her. His sons, legitimate and illegitimate, were more important than Lucia. Only her mother lavished love and affection upon the girl, followed by Comtesse Solange - and she had neither of them with her, now. She knew her father saw Lucia only in what she could bring to the family in gold, titles, and the like and if she were somehow harmed, that value would decrease exponentially. The idea that her father might refuse to ransom her if he assumed she was no longer a maiden made her stomach curdle, and the hands that held the dagger faltered a little, lowering it.

Amongst that feeling of fear for her safety, for her future - emphasised further by the cries and whimpers of her maids below, whom the men had clearly found - there was anger, disgust. The captain, the Bonesmith - what a stupid name - had let his grey eyes linger over her as if she were fine art on display, like... like meat. The sneering had been bad enough, although many people in Orlais sneered - it was almost like a national sport. And Orlesians often didn't say what they meant, or mean what they said; it was what made the Great Game so difficult for naive young players, or fools. The Bonesmith was clearly not one to hide behind his words - he meant what he said. Lucia's legs shook, and she could feel a chill crawl down the back of her neck, gooseflesh rising up on her skin. From him, she could almost sense a wave of harshness, and even the confirmation that she would be ransomed to her father did little to quieten her fears. The man loomed over her, his voice dark and cold, and Lucia felt her mental will slowly break apart under the force of his presence.

Another moment passed, and with a sigh that caused her shoulders to dip, making her look even more diminutive, she loosened her grip upon the dagger - she was trying to be calm, and perhaps on the outside, now that her breathing was slightly more steady; this was, after all, her reality now. If he thought she was going to become entirely passive, however, he was surely mistaken. Clearly, brandishing daggers when she wasn't even holding it properly was not the way to go, and his warning about her running her mouth pretty much ruled out all of the ways she could push back against him - but she knew she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she looked back and did nothing. Her mother's words were ever a constant echo in her head.

Still, it felt like defeat.

Even more so when, with a few words and a nod towards the man who had grabbed her, Lucia found herself being tied up, the harsh coils of rope digging into the fair skin of her wrists. She struggled at first, ready to let off another string of hissed words, but the Bonesmith raised a single dark brow at her, and she stopped squirming, her lips pursed together. It was so humiliating, and if she were a weaker woman, she would have been sobbing. The leers and lecherous laughs the crew who saw her bound caused her round cheeks to flush with anger, and with one last flaming look at the Bonesmith, she was led away roughly, onto the other ship.

---

If she had to guess, she had been kept in this cabin for maybe forty-five minutes, maybe an hour. Lucia couldn't quite tell, the sun was still shining almost directly overhead, so it hadn't been too long. But the rope had long started to chafe her wrists to the point where moving her arms in any way caused the skin to ache with rope burn. She'd been here long enough that her eyes had taken in pretty much every part of the cabin; it was mostly sparse, the bed left much to be desired in the ways of comfort, but the room still had an air of importance in it. Bottles of alcohol, in varying degrees of emptiness, lined a slightly crooked shelf, and there was a pile of discarded clothes by the foot of the bed. She could smell sweat and booze in the air, though it didn't help that Lucia herself had been sweating profusely all day, and then the punchiness of fear sweat coated her skin. The very simple, and terrifying, fact that she had been brought here, and not just another part of the ship along with the other prisoners, could have been taken differently, were she something of a fool; she was, after all, nobility, and the idea of being locked away in the brig with other people shoulder to shoulder would have been inexcusable in the eyes of many an Orlesian noble. However, the look in the Bonesmith's eyes, before she was brought here - that was the terrifying part. Bitterly, she supposed she should be glad she would only have to try and fend off a single man, rather than three or four. Still, as she sat on the splintered wooden floor, dress in disarray and revealing her décolletage shamefully - though with her hands bound she could not fix that - she had to admit that she was terrified.

 

[Agnes]

Try as she might at playing a heroine, Lady Lucia Adorno was nothing more than a little girl, and a pampered noble that had never had to work a day in her life at that, and it showed. She did not have the grit, the mongrel in her to actually use the dagger in her dainty little hands to stab this sneering man who regarded her as an object rather than a person. Hector's demeanour was one of a man so absurdly sure of his victory before the fight had begun, hands outstretched and chest bared with confidence, open to a strike of the blade that never came. Nothing escaped his sharp, trained eyes - the way she trembled ever so slightly under his oppressive gaze, the gooseflesh upon her skin, the little defeated sigh that followed the loosening of her grip on the weapon, and the fear and anger and disgust in response to the screams of her maids from below deck where his men had found them, and as if to drive home the point, the pirate's thin lips curled into a cruel smirk at the whimpers and pleas that echoed up.

Her surrender was as assured as the capture of the ship she was on. "That's what I thought," said Hector lightly, seeing her lower her stance and her eyes, though those pretty greys suggested she was far from done. With a trained finesse, she grasped the blade and took it from her, tossing it in the air with and catching it with an efficiency that suggested he had thrown quite a few knives in his lifetime. "There. That wasn't so hard now, was it, senora Adorno?" A smug grin followed his condescending tone, and with a tilt of his head towards Fed, who was still pathetically nursing his arm, gave an order so he may move on to more pressing matters than silencing uppity noble ladies. "Fed, tie her up and bring her back to the ship. Be careful not to harm her. The lady herself said she's only worth as much as her body, after all." A round of laughs and jeers erupted around him, the crew obviously very pleased with his verbal abuse of the woman, and Fed, who was visibly incensed by the woman, roughly grabbed her arms behind her back and started wrapping rope around those pale, milky wrists. Seeing her struggle, Hector raised a single brow at her, the expression enough to let her know he won't tolerate any more words from her, though she still glared at him even as she fell silent. With a change of heart at the last moment, he said, "Actually... bring her down to my cabin. A lady of such status cannot be expected to share a living space with the common rabble now, right?" The laughs were not as loud as before, as most men were smart enough to know that the Bonesmith deciding to take a woman into his private space never spelt good news for the claimed woman, especially when she was a young, bountiful, feisty little thing such as Lady Adorno. Nodding in quiet understanding, Federico roughly hauled her away to the Madrigal's Mercy, and Hector turned back to business, rounding up the prisoners and taking stock of the Queen Asha's cargo, and most importantly, harvesting Captian D'Arugula's femur.

He has to live up to his name, after all.

---

It took the better part of an hour to sort through everything. Barring the incident with the Adorno girl, nothing worthwhile really came up during the process, perhaps a few stragglers here and there who tried to make a break for it and subsequently got caught and thrown unceremoniously into the holding cells on the other two ships. None were as crazy or daring to draw a dagger upon the pirates, however. For all their vile words and despicable acts, Hector and his crew did hold up their word, not harming a single one of the prisoners as they were marched to where they would be spending their time for the next few weeks. Well, the cooperative ones, at least. More than one ended up with broken noses and lost teeth for their stupidity, though a few instances of very public brutality was enough to cow the rest into obedience. As suspected, the Queen Asha was carrying significant value in cargo - the Rialto bay was a very ludicrous traded route that connected Antiva city with much of Thedas, after all - but the main prize would be the woman currently locked up in his cabin, as Hector suspected the good Lord Adorno would pay a handsome fee for his precious daughter, despite what he may have said to break her morale. The prick was a merchant prince sitting on mounds of gold that would let him live luxuriously ten lives over.

With his crew busy repairing the decimated sails of the Queen Asha (completely Hector's fault, Saul told him irritably as he hauled cloth), the captain decided to pay the poor damsel in distress a visit, if only to see if she had decided to temper her tongue and play the demure ingenue. He sincerely hoped she hadn't, lest he be deprived of his fun before he could enjoy it. The man walked in with an air of utter contention, boots creaking against the wooden floor and coat billowing behind him in the wind. He did not pay any mind to the woman bound on the floor at first, instead opting to walk over to his desk, where a great many maps were strewn over the surface haphazardly. Casually swiping a bottle off a shelf, he sat down on the desk and took a hearty swig of the rum, sighing happily, before he crossed his legs and finally glanced over to the woman.

"Now that's quite a sight, isn't it?" he mused idly, eyes drifting lazily across her frame, paying particular attention to where part of her bosom had slipped out of her dishevelled damask dress and smiling like a predator sizing up its prey. He took another drink before he stood up, walking over to her with a deliberate slowness, every footstep a menacing forecast of the fate that awaited her. He came to a stop in front of her, his tall frame completely towering over her prone, small one, and promptly squatted down to her level, still hovering over her even then. "I don't know what the good lords and ladies of the courts of Orlais and Antiva would say if they saw a lady in such a state of undress," he chuckled, a rough, calloused hand, reaching over to brush across her exposed chest. "Ahh, but where are my manners? Hector Villanueva, at your service. Better known as the Bonesmith to many. And you, Lady Lucia Adorno, made a very terrible mistake in trying your chance with me." He paused, grey eyes staring into their identicals, before smiling sneeringly. "Do you know what happens to insolent girls who know not to keep their mouths shut, Lucia?"

 

[cyrodilicbrandy]

Lucia was still struggling fruitlessly against the rope that circled her hands when the door to the cabin opened. Immediately, startled, she ceased her wriggling, hearing the rushing of her heartbeat in her ears. In walked the captain, that sneering man who had towered over her as she'd brandished the dagger at him, and Lucia once again felt the itchy prickle of fear run along her spine. He ignored her, at first - and her damnable pride was stupidly stung; the bastard had her tied up in his cabin, planning on doing Maker knew what to her, and yet she wasn't even the first thing on his mind. It was as if she was a piece of furniture that had always been there. She bristled silently, eyes dark and thunderous with anger, usually plump lips pressed together in a thin line. But when he finally turned to her, his voice a low drawl, she realised she liked it better when she seemed beneath his notice.

His eyes insolently lingered over her small frame, especially her exposed chest, and Lucia could feel the apples of her cheeks flush furiously, once more wriggling her arms in an attempt to loosen the rope so that she might cover herself up. It was no use, though, and all she could do was shift backwards against the wooden floor as the man - the Bonesmith, as he had so confidently announced himself earlier - approached her position, crouching to her height, or taller, for he must have been nearly 6 and a half feet tall. A monster of a man, she thought, in height if not deed - but the way his calloused hand possessively caressed the top of her chest, she felt a sinking feeling in the bit of her stomach that he would live up to that assessment. With a hiss, she shifted backwards sharply, but didn't go far - her back pressed up against the bedpost, and without her hands to fend him off, she had to resort to bringing her (rather short) legs up to her chest in an attempt to prevent him from taking further liberties.

Lucia was not a foolish girl, not exactly. She was, however, a proud and vain one, and the simple touch of his hand upon her bare skin seemed to eradicate much of the fear she had been stewing in between her capture and his arrival. She cared not for his name, some Rivaini mouthful that wasn't worth remembering, and once more he sneered at her, his voice cruelly questioning. 'Lady Lucia,' she corrected him, her voice sounding prissy in her own ears, and immediately she internally scolded herself for her pride - Comtesse Solange had always inferred it would get her into trouble, and she supposed that day had come. Villanueva's question was a rhetorical one - again, Lucia was not exactly a fool. She knew enough of the troubles women faced in the hands of men, though never expected it to happen to her. Even as her pride was talking for her, she felt another shiver of fear. Mentally, she did not think she was a weak woman. Her maman had died when she was only twelve, after all, and the lack of care and attention she'd received from her father in the short months before he packed her off to Orlais were enough for Lucia to understand that she had to bring walls up within her to prevent any unpleasant feelings. This, though... this situation... well, it was utterly different from being embarrassed in front of hundreds of dancers or making some kind of fashion faux pas. She could bring those walls up, yes. But she could not do that for her body.

 

[Agnes]

Hector would admit, the woman had a fire to her. A fire that, unfortunately for her, only served to further stoke the pirate's twisted desire for her, which grew with every passing second, every scathing remark and every angry hiss of her pretty lips. "Lady Lucia," he breathed mockingly, offering her the sycophantic grovelling she was no doubt used to, before barking out a harsh laugh that shattered the little illusion. "Not on this brig, you aren't. You're about as much a lady as I am a chantry sister." Taking another swig of the bottle, he let his hands wander again, this time even crasser and repulsing than the last, reaching in under the low cut of her dress to cup and grope her breast, chuckling quietly at the helpless state of the woman, her adorable little legs offering next to nothing in fending off his assault. "Fuckin' wonderful assets you have though. You'd give the whores in Antiva city a run for the money, eh, Lady Lucia." His calloused fingers found her little nipple, stiffened from fear, and trapped it between them, pinching it cruelly.

"Looks like you have some problems still, keeping your mouth shut. Let me make it clear again, then." Withdrawing his hand, he stood up to his full, menacing heigh, absolutely dwarfing Lucia's little frame. Combined with his bulky cloak and sneering countenance, he was quite the terrifying sight indeed. Oftentimes, he did not have to intimidate women. Most whores were more than willing to jump into bed with him, no doubt having heard of both his deep coffers and his reputation. No, it was on men his visage usually brought terror, cowing them to their knees with a single utter of his word or a quirk of his eyebrow. But he would make an exception for this one, he decided. Nothing was more satisfying than breaking the spirit of a strong soul such as this one.

"You are nothing. Not a lady, not a hostage, not a prize, nothing. On this ship, you are what I say you are. If I say you're a two-silver whore," he growled, taking a step forward, "then you're a two-silver whore." And to expound upon his verbal battering of the woman, Hector decided to take things for a physical turn - something for her to remember and stew during her stay aboard the Madrigal's Mercy. Reaching into one of his many pockets, he fished out a single five-silver coin. Tossing it in the air, letting it glimmer in the sunlight, he caught it again and tossed it towards the woman. The silver piece hit her exposed chest and then dropped to the ground before her, clanging on the wood. "For your troubles. Keep the change."

That would serve as a warning for what was to come.

Then, in a sudden burst of movement, the large monster of a man was upon the bound damsel, his hands gripping those beautiful midnight tresses and pulling the woman up to her feet, dragging her across the floorboard before throwing her onto the bed. "Now. To teach you a lesson about talking back to me." Up went her dress, hiked up to over her waist, exposing her whole lower half, her modesty covered by her elegant undergarments. Should've known. Even her fucking panties were high strung. "Go on, then. Scream. Will daddy not take you back if you're impure?"

 

[cyrodilicbrandy]

Lucia's throat felt closed up, and it was hard to breathe; what breaths she did manage to make sure shallow and shaky. The fear curdled in her belly, her pallor a sickly pale as the man only continued his verbal and physical torment of her. The hand trailing over her buxom chest was bad enough, but the mocking tone in his eyes and voice made it a thousand times worse, and unlike back in Orlais, she could not find the presence of mind to retort with some quick witticism. His slender, rough fingers cause a stiff nipple between them and roughly pinched - a yelp broke free from Lucia's plump lips, but as bound as she was, she couldn't move further away from his cruel touch. And then, it seemed he had decided she needed to be broken down more.

He stood to his full height, a man who would tower over men who were on the higher end of average, and Lucia felt even smaller than her diminutive size under his sneering shadow. The verbal beatdown continued, and Lucia tried, tried to hard, to block out his words, the sheer dismissal of her as a person of worth, a lady, a girl - because that was what she was. She wasn't even aware of the tears that had spilled onto her round cheeks - but she wouldn't sob outright, not yet. Even now, there was a part of her, naive part of her, that hoped he, this man, was just being cruel for fun, that he did know her worth as a hostage. He would tease her and make her cry, and then go and sit down and write the ransom note to her father, who would jump at the chance for the safe return of his only daughter.

Until he pulled out the coin, flipping it for a moment, before tossing it at her. It his her humiliatingly between her breasts, before dropping to the floor where it rolled ominously. Her stomach dropped like lead, and she was shaking her head when his large hands tangled themselves in her hair, pulling her roughly to her feet. 'No - get - OFF - me!' She cried, wriggling and struggling in his firm grasp, to no avail. Her hands thrashed in their binds, uselessly, only serving to make them sore as they pulled and rubbed against the rope. She was still struggling when he threw her onto the bed, where she landed with a muffled grunt. 'Stop, stop!' she screamed, the words both an order and a plea, her legs kicking frantically as he yanked up her dress, exposing herself in a way that not even her maids were privy to.

'You - bastard!' she screamed, her voice shrill and her accent thick, before devolving into a string of admittedly very unlady-like Orlesian, spitting and hissing like a feral cat cornered by a trapper. She would fight, she was strong - all things she tried to tell herself even as she fruitlessly fought back against the captain's physical strength.

 

[Agnes]

To Lucia's credit, there was some merit to her fruitless wishes. Hector, as a rule, preferred money and power over simple pleasure. Most noble ladies that had the misfortune of falling into the cellars of the Madrigal's Mercy were treated with a modicum of respect, more often than not, because the captain largely preferred to ransom them back and forget about them rather than cloud his mind by dealing with them personally. If he wanted a hole to fuck, there were several willing ones on the many brothels of the portside cities where pirates like him reigned as kings. But, most noble ladies knew when they were beaten. They yielded and asked to be treated with respect, and were granted their requests. Most noble ladies did not brandish a dagger at their captors and most certainly did not continue to run their tongue when they were bound and alone with a man who could, quite literally, cut them into pieces.

Suffice to say, Lucia Adorno was a special case. And by Andraste's tits, Hector would enjoy breaking this one, money be damned. And he would do so bit by bit.

"And what does that make you, Lady Lucia, trapped under a bastard? Last time I checked, it wasn't in fashion for noble ladies of Orlais to be fucked by bastards."His fingers still entangled in her hair, he gripped them tight and pushed her down into the cheap mattress, effectively suffocating her. "If I'm a bastard," he drawled, lazily going about as if he was talking with a close friend while enjoying a glass of rum and not taunting a captive whose life was quite literally in the palm of his hand. "Then I believe that makes you a whore." Finally, he pulled her back up to let her breathe a little, being the gentleman he was. "You don't even breathe unless I let you. Let that sink in. Try to use your pretty little head the next time you want to run your mouth. This is the second time I've warned you. There won't be a third." And as the crew of the ship knew, Captain Villaneuva never goes back on his word.

Having made his point, his eyes then travelled to her exposed bottom, where her curvy, rounded ass was shamefully put on display, only partially covered up by a pretty white lace that probably cost more than what it took to feed a whole family for a week. There was no subtlety in his actions as Hector reached for the elastic of her panties and pulled it down to her knees, revealing the pink folds of her pussy and the tightly clenched ring of her asshole, both of which, according to the lady herself, had been unclaimed. Hector chuckled. "You clean up nicely," he complimented, dragging a thumb from her sex to her anus, the digits almost tender amidst his harsh handling of the woman.

"I am a harsh, but fair master," he stated, dragging his finger over to her hips where he grabbed a healthy handful of her pale derriere, revelling in the softness of her flesh. Maker, she really was one exquisite quality. He almost felt bad about taking her. "Obviously, you're more protective of your chastity than even your own life. Goes to show how twisted you wealthy folks' minds are. If you show me you've learned your lesson, then I will spare you the humiliation." He released her hair, and backed up a step and folded his arms, allowing her some freedom of movement. "Tell me you know your place, and I will take your mouth instead of your womanhood.

 

[cyrodilicbrandy]

Hector was clearly unperturbed by Lucia's explosive temper, the futile kicking and fighting back, and her stomach only sank even further inside of her as his mocking tone continued. He was someone who enjoyed pushing buttons, someone who enjoyed testing boundaries, finding the best places to poke and prod until there was a weakness to exploit, before ripping it asunder, the way a wolf tears open the throat of its quarry. And he had well and truly found Lucia's vulnerabilities, only helped by her own mouth. He pressed her face into the cheap, scratchy mattress, her cries muffled as she tried to continue to breath. All she could smell was sweat from the old fabric, her chest constricting with each futile attempt to pull in air. Her legs kicked several times, and for the most part she wasn't even paying attention to his barbed words. Panic started to settle in once again on the edges of her mind, just as he pulled her head back off of the mattress. The air filled her lungs, although the way she breathed in was wheezy, her heartrate making her heart feel as if it would explode.

As she hastily sucked in air, his hands pulled down her underwear, and it was only when she felt the tip of his calloused thumb run over those secret parts of her, did she come back to the present. She felt sick, so sick, in being touched like this, by some stranger. Hector's hands trailed over her as if her body was a fine piece of fabric that you could touch and savour the feel of before you put it on, and the depersonalisation made her feel small. No doubt that was how he fully intended her to feel. And yet, his casual aim at possessing her still made the anger coil through each and every one of her nerve endings. Lucia felt almost on fire with the strength of her anger, her hate, her disgust, for this salt-slicked monster. Another attempt to kick back against him with her short, pale legs, blindly aiming for something that might make him pause, at the very least. He let go of her hair, though seemingly not because of her legs' wild flailing and stepped back somewhat. Like a worm, like some pathetic creature, not like a lady at all, she wriggled upon the mattress, turning her head over her shoulder to glare at him. Her face was contorted with the full force of her anger, and even as a small desperate part of her mind screamed at her to give in and allow him the barest of liberties to prevent herself pain and shame, her pride seemed greater than her honour in this moment.

It seemed to her that, regardless of how she responded, he would likely be the kind of man who would simply do what he wanted, regardless of whether he had promised to do something, or not. And so his offer, such as it was, to 'take her mouth' should she simply roll over and acquiesce, was pointless in her eyes. No doubt he would simply tire of one act and take her by force anyway he chose, no matter whether she obeyed or defied him. Having reached that conclusion, she continued to spit and hiss at him: 'Va te faire foutre, connard. My father will find out how you've treated me, and you can wave this life goodbye as you hang comme le monstre que tu es.'

 

[Agnes]

Hector clicked his tongue. "I'm beginning to think you're simple," he sneered, thoroughly enjoying the way she wiggled her pretty little ass on the bed and tried her best to spite him with her words, which ultimately would only seal her fate. "Well, if you insist on being an uppity little bitch, then I'm happy to oblige." Her beautiful face was contorted in fury, her raven tresses falling haphazardly down her face, framing her as something of a feral beauty. Hector's own rugged, handsome face twisted in a sadistic grin, taking her rejection of his offer as justification to well and truly teach her a lesson, though both he and Lucia knew he would do what he wanted regardless. On that front, the lady was quite correct.

"Spitting Orlesian now, are we?" he drawled, still standing behind her, letting her stew in the anticipation while he toyed with her. "Not even going to speak your mother tongue? Tsk. How shameful, Lady Lucia." And then, a harsh laugh at her mention of her father. "There are only two things that can happen with your lord father. Either he gives me your ransom and scurries away with his tail between his legs, or he tries his luck with me and loses his life at the end of my blade. And I promise you, dear Lady, that I will make you a necklace made of his bones." He let the threat hang in the air, letting a few silent moments pass between them before he moved again.

"Now, I assume you're not going to choose how I take you. Fine by me." He stepped forward again, rolling his eyes impatiently at the way her legs kicked futilely at his shins. "Stop struggling like a pig. The faster you accept your place, the better. It only gets worse." His hand found her wrists, bound together by rope, and pushed them down onto her waist and into the mattress, effectively pinning her to the bed with one hand, while the other worked to remove his breeches. The cloth dropped to the ground with an ominous whoosh, though it was drowned out by Lucia's frantic screaming. "That's it. Scream. Let everyone know what I'm doing to you. Let everyone know I'm claiming you. What was it they say... 'Only worth as much as your maidenhead'?"

His manhood was already erect, his handling of the dainty lady feeding into his sadism and arousing him virulently. He loved pushing buttons and breaking people, and Lucia would now know this fact firsthand - so it would come as no surprise to her that even when he was raping her, he wouldn't give her the dignity of making it quick and straightforward. Instead, he dragged it out like some fancy Orlesian theatre play, firstly by pressing the cock against her exposed ass, lining it up between her cheeks and letting her feel every single inch of his hot, hard length. And then, a harsh slap upon her pale, bouncy flesh, leaving it pink and rippling at the strike, followed up by two more to draw out as much sound from her as he could. "Hurts, doesn't it?" he taunted, moments before he lined his cock against her pussy, letting her tremble in anticipation.

 

[cyrodilicbrandy]

The threat of her father's potential fate should he tussle with the captain of Madrigal's Mercy made her stomach flip over not once, but over and over; it almost seemed unending. In truth, though she would never admit this, not even to herself, she wasn't entirely confident of her father's abilities at all. Not as a fighter, not as a father, even. When her mother had been alive, he had been attentive to Alessandria, for she had given him sons, and seemed to hold her in high esteem for her own self. Lucia was almost a sidenote in her father's eyes. Less important, but still something of a treasure - but one to be traded away. And it only got worse when her mother died. Lady Adorno had barely been buried before Lord Adorno sent the bereaved Lucia to Orlais. It was a package deal - she would learn all of the skills required for a courtly life, and he would no longer have to see the girl who looked so much like his dead wife. So when she said that her father would jump at the chance to pay her ransom, or fight for her honour - or what would be left of it - Lucia almost couldn't even believe it herself. So she had no retort to that.

He told her to stop kicking, but as long as she could move her legs, she would not. She would not just lie there, limp, letting him 'claim' her, as he so cruelly said. So her legs kept flailing, even as he painfully took hold of her bound wrists and pressed them into the mattress. Just one of his hands was too strong for her to push back against, and she wasn't aware that he had removed his breeches until she felt something warm and heavy press between her ass cheeks. That made her pause, for just a split second. Never before had she even seen a penis, not even anatomically in those thick and boring tomes in Comtesse Solange's library. Other girls might giggle and blush over such a thing, but she was a girl more obsessed with worldly pleasures than pleasures of the flesh. And up until now, there had been a sliver of a chance that the Bonesmith may have been, just maybe, been bluffing for some entirely cruel reason. She had not truly thought that was the case, of course, and it was only when she felt the head of his cock press up against her virgin pussy that it hit her. Her flesh went cold, eyes widened in their sockets, even as shocked and pained cries left her plump lips from the stinging slaps he administered against the ample flesh of her ass.

Lucia couldn't breathe - her chest felt full and empty at the same time, and her heart hurt, beating inhumanely fast within her chest. What breaths she could take in her short and hyperventilated, but even then, she sputtered out curses in Orlesian. A trapped animal often does not know when to stop fighting back, whether the hand reaching for it is friendly or not, and it was the same with Lucia Adorno in this moment. Amidst her curses, a single world came out sounding entirely different - 'Maman!' - childlike and plaintive, before her teeth crashed together, grinding against each other as she tried to prepare herself. But she had no frame of reference, and as she shivered and tried to thrash about on the bed, she told herself she wouldn't cry. Bad enough this man captured her, worse that he was laying his hands upon her, worse still that he was going to violate her - but she could not countenance him seeing her cry.

So through her gritted teeth, the eighteen year old daughter of Marcus Matteo Adorno and Alessandria Adorno hissed a soft: 'Va au diable.'