Grimsages Exiled Lands IC (NSFW)

[Grimsage Matt]

The reasons one could be sentenced to the Exiled Lands, to be thrown beyond the borders of the world were as varied as the people that were left there to die. Yet, in the end, there was only one reason that was needed. They were able to afford the fees, and bind you to something worse than the half-life of slavery, as you came by caravan and ship, until at last you were bound to the crosses in the middle of a desert as vast as the eye could see, the wind mournfully sighing as it crossed the dunes.

The men that bound you together had not been gentle, hands lingering and groping at flesh as they leered and spoke that it was a great shame that none of them were merely made into pleasure slaves, to be broken on their cocks. They laughed like a pack of malformed hyenas, as they swigged at waterskins, and one of them, looking directly at Carmen, pulled down his trousers to reveal a cock that was ugly and stunted, even as he grunted and began to piss at the base of the cross.

"A gift of water, from your beloved's!" There is a pool now, of urine, quickly vanishing into the sands, even as he holds up the very arming sword that she ran away with. "After all, they do not wish for you to die to soon, oh pretty one!" The pack of men laugh uproariously at that, even as they mount their camels and ride off, boasting and lamenting that none of the four had been raped, as the clouds of dust vanish in the distance.

Yet, as they were on the crosses, they may be able to free themselves, to wiggle and try and break their bonds, as the sun begins to beat down on them. For now, they are in the Exiled Lands, and shall they meekly await death, or seek out life with savage will? Will they triumph... or be left to rot among the bones of the past?

 

[Ahlanna]

K'sevri

K'sevri eyes the men with disdain, caring nothing for their jibes and words. Taunts were a way of life for those considered too small for war, especially those that dared struggle against conventional wisdom. And though the Ophirean was no iconoclast by nature, she knew where her strengths were, and it damn sure wasn't patching hulls.

Though, she was forced to admit - one problem veering off the beaten path was the occasional ravine. And this particular chasm seemed rather pointless and stupid. Why exile and __then__ crucify someone? What sense did that make? Surely there was petty vindictiveness in there somewhere, but K'sevri couldn't figure out what payoff the man in question – and let's face it, only a man would come up with something so elaborately foolish - would get out of this.

Nevertheless, it didn't really matter all that much at this point. What mattered now was getting loose from these leather bonds. If she could just bend the right way …

 

[Cherubian]

Asenath's mood was similar as she watcher her tormentors ride away. The faces of the two that had groped her were etched into her memory. One day she would find them. Then she would fuck them. And then she would kill them. But that was for another day. At the moment there were more pressing concerns.

There was little point in dwelling on the why. The desert dweller knew she had to get out of the scorching sun as soon as possible, find shelter and water or she would perish. And the first step on that path was to get off the cross. Apparently the men that had bound her had been too occupied with her toned body and not bothered to tie the ropes too tightly. She already had wriggle room, and nimbly began to twist her arms and shoulders, trying one angle and then another as her lips was set in a firm line, her face an expression of pure concentration. It took less than a minute before her left hand slipped free.

From there it was trivial, and moments later the Stygian girl's bare feet dropped into the sands beneath. Straightening herself up she turned to survey the other captives. She knew none of them, but she did know about the strength that numbers can provide. So she looked up and flatly asked "Anyone need assistance?"

 

[Silverbird]

Third upon the crosses was a dark-haired, dark-skinned Zamorian woman by the name of Citra. Her young body was fit and supple, but marred by fresh bruises and old scars. These were not the injuries of a warrior, but the telltale signs of a legacy of cruel abuse; lashes, burns and knife-cuts intended not to incapacitate, not to kill, but simply to inflict pain. Her head hung low, a curtain of tangled hair hiding her face. Her upper body slumped limply from the cross, as far as the restraints permitted. She didn’t say a word in response to the men’s jeers and laughter, nor visibly react as they groped at her exposed flesh. In fact, she had barely spoken three words throughout the entire journey, and those only to meekly acknowledge the men’s barked commands. It would be obvious to anyone that her spirit had been entirely broken; she had lost all hope, and at this point was simply waiting for death to claim her.

But the obvious does not always tell the entire story.

The house of Akmenoteph had taught its lessons - stay quiet, conserve your strength, do nothing to draw attention until your opportunity arrives. As the men’s dust cloud receded over the horizon, Citra began to move. She didn’t lift her head, didn’t draw back her body or struggle obviously against her bonds, but she did begin to carefully twist her arms. The men had been crude, impatient and distracted; she was sure they would not have done a good job. Her arms wiggled, pushed forward and back, probing for weakness. Whatever mistake they had made, she would find it. However long it took.

The sun beat down. One of the other women slipped free, offered her assistance, but Citra did not immediately speak up to accept that offer. She was sure she could do this. Perhaps if she twisted back the other way...

The ropes bit harshly into her wrists. Her bonds were damned tight.

Mechanics

Untrained thievery test to escape vs TN 10: 11, 16.
No successes.

 

[Ahlanna]

… then freedom was surely at hand!

Evidently it wasn't always the worst thing to be underestimated. While their work would no doubt bind an average-sized woman, they had left the restraints loose enough that a figure with a smaller hand – and K'sevri was definitely that – could, if sufficiently nimble – and K'sevri was that too - wriggle her hand loose. It wasn't even really that hard.

Soon, she is tumbling free. But fortunately the sand is soft and yielding. One of the others, the big one, had tugged loose – it was a bit of a surprise the cross survived the encounter, really. In any case, she was moving to assist the others, and that meant K'sevri could focus on different priorities.

First, to scan the horizon for any threats. And second, to look for any sign of water. While escape had come quickly enough that the little group wasn't in desperate need this moment, she doubted that would last for long under the implacable desert sun.

 

[Grimsage Matt]

Two of them would be free of the crosses, one by force and the other by cunning, landing in the sand. Still, around them were the others in the group, and close by, the remains of another, a group of three ragged and parched husks on the cusp of death. Though, given how they looked, and how little they breathed? Calling them alive was more a formality, as they were not dead quite yet.

There is, reaching to the west most likely, scattered stone tiles, the remains of a highway, broken and sundered by the long march of ages and partially buried by the shifting sands. Yet, side from some rocks. jutting from the sands, and the wire like remains of a single bush near the other cluster of near corpses, there was little to be seen where they were at the moment.

 

[Tenshi]

Carmen clenched her teeth at the insults hurled her way. Her Zingaran blood was hot with fury—a heat that the pinches and fondles redoubled. With her nipples stiff from the ill treatment, shame redoubled her fury again.

Carmen's pride was all she had left. She glared at the man making an animal of himself at her feet. Only as he was riding away did her control snap, "Stumpy, shriveled cock!" she screamed. "You couldn't thrust that thing deep enough to break my hymen! Come back with my sword you swine born of a monkey's turd!"

Carmen was a sienna skinned beauty. Youthful and soft, only the proud height of her huge breasts hinted at the powerful tone of the muscles underneath that pillowy flesh.

Once, Carmen had cultivated her beauty as a point of pride.

Later, it became her weapon. If there was anything she was ashamed of, it was how she had used that weapon. It had been a dagger to cut purses, not a sword of righteousness.

Now, with her beloved sword carried away by a limp-pricked bastard, it was the only weapon she had left and it was starting to sizzle in the harsh desert sun. Carmen took a few deep breaths to calm herself. Then she started to twist her wrists. What one girl had done with cunning, and another girl had done with might, she now strived to achieve her own way. Carmen had learned more than sword play at her father's feet before their mutual betrayal. The athleticism she had cultivated made her the match of any gymnast and many circus acrobats.

 

[Matariel]

On a final cross next to them was a fourth woman of Hyrkanian heritage. Her tan skin and almond-shaped eyes readily betrayed her as such. Just as the others she has been stripped naked, the captors took even her tribal clothes for all that they were worth. In this nude condition, the woman was revealed as having a not-so-little something extra between her legs. Her skin was bruised in several places and when she awoke with a faint groan the way she lifted her head seemed somewhat sluggish. Looking left and right she muttered a quiet "Manling bastards" before attempting to slip free from her bonds.

She did not have what most would consider a warrior's build but there was clearly some definition to the muscle under her skin. After a short while of struggling she let out a heavy sigh "Beaten, lost and horseless in an unfamiliar land... it would seem I savor all the curses." A few moments of grunting and exerted gasps finally saw the woman tumble to the ground.

 

[Grimsage Matt]

As the group looked over the area surrounding them, a thought would occur to Asenath. A road likely meant water, even if it was largely buried and overgrown. That, and she could make out, in the distance, what seemed to be peaks to the north, rising from the sands. Closer at hand, there was the suggestion, still somewhat far off, of buildings. And many of those who dwelled in one place did so near water, or at least a well. If she wished to quench her thirst, it would likely be a good bet to head north.

 

[Cherubian]

There was no time to lose. The sun wuld not grant them any leeway, at least, and so the Stygian, after briefly raising an eyebrow at the rather unusual and not at all ladylike appendage the Hyrkanian girl exhibited, went over to the Zamorian who was still struggling with her bindings. Inevitably standing very close toher she reached up to free first one, then the other arm with little trouble, and as she did so she spoke "I am Asenath. And you are?" in her native tongue.

Now that everyone but the three almost-corpses were freed one way or another it was time to settle on a direction to head towards. They would only get this one shot. And so she did her best to recall what a life in the desert had taught her, remember the lectures fromtheir scouts, scan the horizon for and hints that could aid her decision, pair this with a trust in her intuition ...

... and finally pointed north.

"There's a road over there. And, unless I am mistaken, also buildings. Our best bet to find water before we succumb to our thirst should be there. Even if buildings mean adversaries." They were in the Exiled Lands after all, so whoever dwelled there likely was not the most friendly sort.

 

[Silverbird]

"Citra."

The Zamorian finally rose her head as Asenath set to work on her bindings, watching the Stygian warily through tangled hair. Her dark eyes put the lie to her dispirited posture; those eyes were sharp, hardened, defiant. She stayed otherwise silent as her arms were released, but once she had slipped free onto the hot sand — placing one hand briefly upon her rescuer to steady herself — she muttered a low "Thank you" in the Stygian's own tongue.

Now freed, Citra pushed her hair back from her face and turned her chin skyward, closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath of the burning desert air. Standing upright, her shoulders drawn back, she was surprisingly tall; certainly taller than she had seemed throughout their journey to this place. After a moment, her chin fell again and her gaze followed Asenath's pointed finger to the north. She nodded her agreement.

"Better than lingering here," she added, with a short glance around at the others. She was clearly a fluent Stygian speaker, with only a hint of her own native accent. Her eyes lingered for a moment upon the three still tied to their crosses, before she turned back to the north and began to walk resolutely forward. There didn't seem to be much reason for debate.

Despite the burning sands beneath her feet and the scorching winds against her naked body, a grim smile found its way onto Citra's face. She wasn't dead yet.

 

[Grimsage Matt]

As it was, for those of the group heading North, there was something very close at hand, something that could serve to validate some of their choices.

It was, a tablet of stone, right beside the broken and swallowed road. And yet, as they approach, the lines on it begin to glow, to pulse in time with their own beating hearts, as a voice whispers into their ears. It was not a human voice, and yet, while firm it was not cruel, or at least, so could an echo of some ancient voice try and convey a greater depth of emotion. Yet, as they looked around or move forward, that is not the only thing of note, not the only thing on this road north to the city.


There, some three hundred strides away, is another scene of bodies. This time however, it would seem that the pack of jackals did not even give them the hope that being tied to a cross offered for escape. No, these souls, lacking bracelets around their wrists, were impaled here on spikes, some with arrows riddling their body. Yet... those arrows were of different makes, from vastly different parts of the world.

But, it is what is on the rock before it that stands out, almost an offering of sorts, to whoever happens across it.

There, waiting for all who would take it, was a single water skin, and a note. The note, strangely enough, was understandable to all who would try and read it, even if they were entirely illiterate!

Scrawled Note

I am beaten. Left to rot among the ruins of the past.
There are others here. Slaves, bandits and cannibals. Exiles from lands I've never heard of. Some of them try to scrape a life from the wasteland, scrabbling in the rocks and sand for their own place. I cannot go on. The life that I left behind haunts me.
The sun over the glittering spires of Belverus is forever denied me. The smell of my daughter's hair. I will pass the ghost fence and this cursed land will finally end me.
To whoever reds this note, I leave the last of my water and this message.
Stranger you have my pity. You do not know how cursed you truly are.

Loot

A waterskin and 1 days worth of drinking water! Note, thats enough water for one person, not the group

 

[Matariel]

The Hyrkanian stood up straight at her not-so-impressive height of five feet or so. A quick glance around revealed that there was nothing of particular interest (or rather nothing that would lend to higher chances of survival in the present) around the crosses and so she set about following the other two women.

"Hey, wait up a second" she said in her home tongue, although all could understand. She chose not to dwell on the odd sensations she got whenever the others spoke. Seeing how bad the arrows are she chose to let others try their deft fingers at that job.

"I have no idea who the two of you..." a glance at their remaining companion "Three of you are, but north is bound to be better than remaining here. My mothers chose it fit to grant me the name Marhyan." After a brief moment of quiet she cleared her throat and added "We should try to take the arrows back. Shafts might be useless, but heads could be useful"

 

[Ahlanna]

K'sevri, with her whopping four foot, nine inches of height is easy to miss. Seeing no clues of her own about the best direction to take, she has no objection to tagging along with the others. Long raven hair slides in front of her figure - not exactly able to protect her modesty, what with nothing to cover below – but still it can somewhat conceal her nipples.

As they come upon the … ruins, she supposed, her eyes flit around, one hand raised to shield them from the dust on the wind.

Her head tilts at the oddly endowed Hyrkanian's words. Of course, they had no bow, but it was conceivable that could change in the future. Nor did they have a quiver, and K'sevri was unsure how long it would make sense to lug around such fragile and worn pieces. That being said, it would hardly worsen their situation, so long as they did not take much time to do it. And at least one of the others seemed focused on the pillar, so perhaps they had a moment.

 

[Matariel]

Marhyan gazed to K'sevri with a soft smile and nodded slowly "Besides, there is some cloth over there. We could all do with some, if not to protect our modesty, then to protect our tender bits. I swear to all the gods, if one more grain of sand hits me down there..." she sighed.

"Anyways, the four of us should probably stick close. Even with fists and stones to throw, four women are safer than twice two, yes?"

 

[Silverbird]

"Provided they can all be trusted," Citra muttered darkly. It wasn't that she was suspicious of the others, exactly — they were all in the same boat here, after all, and she already owed the Stygian her gratitude — but trust wasn't something that came easily to the former slave. She'd known too many who'd betray those around in a heartbeat, if they thought doing so would win them the master's favour. The others seemed friendly and helpful now, but that did not mean they would remain so.

Of course, these gloomy musings were largely just an idle thought. The bulk of Citra's attention was focused on the strange stone tablet, that seemed to whisper ominous warnings and beat in time with her own heart. What did it mean? Was it just a remnant of some ancient civilization, or had someone placed this here — and if so, why? While Marhyan and K'sevri worked at reclaiming the scattered arrows, the Zamorian woman stood before the relic, captivated, her heat's beat growing louder in her ears. Her eyes traced carefully over the tablet's carvings, looking for any meaning she might be able to discern, and she reached out her hand, perhaps unwisely, to trace one of the pulsing lines.

 

[Grimsage Matt]

As Citra looked at the tablet, at the whisper of the words, she recognized at least some of this from scraps of lore she had seen in her masters scrolls! This was not the work of human mind or hands, but a relic of the Giant Kings themselves, an ancient pre-human race who ruled in Stygia before they had largely been overthrown by the Leumarians and fled into the north to found the grim realm of Acheron, whose very name is a byword of sorcerous lore and terrible knowledge so profane and potent that even three thousand years after its fall echoes and whispers of its dread are seared into the north, where those who delve too deeply can awaken horrors that merely slumber across the ages.

So, as her hand touches a relic likely older than the land of her birth, and which may have been raised even as her ancestors struggled to emerge from apedom, or had but begun the steps to being more than crude beasts of the wood, she is struck with a terrible sense of age and majesty. Yet, that feeling soon passes, as she remembers little bits of lore.

The giant kings were followers of the old serpent, Set, it was true, yet aside from their great store of mystical lore, they had advanced engineering and a mastery over the physical world. They built great aqueducts and cities, and could gardens were the crops grew suspended in the air! As it is, if anything remains of their city, it would likely be a great store of arcane lore and be seated near abundant water.

 

[Tenshi]

Carmen managed to twist her arms so that her hands lined up with the sides of the rope--a dificult feat of flexibitly--then tug and wiggle free. She dropped to the sand with a growl, bosom bouncing.

The sienna skinned girl groaned. "That was a thoroughly unpleasant journey." She took a few stretches. Looking around at her companions she noticed they Hyrkanian's extra part and muttered something about, "The boys never did want me to see those drawings."

She turned to the broken girl as another fellow victim--Asenath--went to release her, and helped the muscular girl out. Together they lowered the broken girl to the ground and Carmen gently supported her 'til she got her balance. "Citra," she replied with a soft smile, "Asenath. My name is Carmen."

The sienna skinned girl gently soothed one of Citra's marks. "My father once killed a man for marking his slave like that," she said with a grim face. "My father's backhand sent the man reeling. Then he said, 'Apologies to your slave or draw your sword."

She chuckled and shook her head, "Father said he only meant to scar the man where he scarred his slave and force him to apologise, but he didn't regret killing the brute. I'd never been so proud of him."

She shook her head, "I'm sorry. That was improper. Let's get going."

When they reached the scene, she threw the waterskin a thirsty look. "We should share that... But... Does anyone know the proper way to ration it?"

Later, she headed over to the banner. She carefully untied it from the standard and tried to identify the heraldry. "This will make a full skirt for one of us. Without scissors or at least a knife, i don't think we can break it down for all four of us to share without ruining it completely."

 

[Ahlanna]

Moving around the area, K'sevri carefully works several of the arrows out and sets them aside in a little pile. As much as she hates to admit it, the daggers are probably more use than actual arrows, given that they don't exactly have a bow with which to launch them.

Still, that doesn't prevent her from being peeved with the situation, and it creeps into her voice as she responds to Carmen's questions, and indirectly to Marhyan's comment.

"With regard to water, the answer is we don't. We haven't been out here long enough to drink any of it yet. We need to get to shelter, and if we haven't found a source of water before, we send out our best scout with the skin. Four people exerting themselves under this sun will exhaust the waterskin four times faster than one."

"As for a skirt, t'would be better to make something to hold things in. We've already got these … ", motioning to the arrows, "… to attend to. And who knows what else we'll find before shelter and water? We have not so much abundance to afford wasting or abandoning resources for comfort."

Never much of a talker, K'sevri is direct and to the point. Musing and socializing are not for times when death stalks you.

 

[Matariel]

Even though the arrows were not ready to be used either as ammunition or shivs just yet, Marhyan saw plenty of use for them. Cutting tools was the first thing that sprung to mind. Still, the others were right, repurposing their bounty of crappy metal was not their most immediate problem so she simply coughed to hopefully get their attention before speaking.

"Nevermind the water for now, there is barely a sip there if we split between four of us. We should start moving and if someone feels up for a stroll, they are by all means welcome to run ahead. But whatever we do, let's just stop deliberating directly under the sun. North?"

 

[Silverbird]

Carmen hadn't received much of a response for her troubles — only a sharp, unfriendly glare from the Zamorian woman, just before she turned wordlessly away. It wasn't clear whether Citra's ire was a reaction to the hand upon her scar, or to Carmen's story, but in either case it was apparent that the Zingaran's friendly gesture had not been received in the spirit with which it was meant. As they began their trek across the sands, Citra had kept her distance.

---

The Zamorian let out a low breath as she slowly removed her hand from the stone tablet. She was not one for sentiment — it was a weakness that a servant of Akmenoteph could ill-afford — but even so, she could hardly deny the weight of this tablet's history. To think that such ancient things could still exist in this world...

… or that she might have such luck as to stumble upon one. Citra’s grim smile settled upon her face once more as her thoughts turned to Giant Kings’ legendary sorcery. If anything of their city remained, any scraps of that power to be found, well — now that would be something, wouldn’t it?

Of course, right now she would settle for finding their water. Turning her back on her tablet, she strode to rejoin the rest of the group — and continued walking straight past them.

“North,” she agreed with Marhyan’s words as she passed by, without breaking stride. The sooner they found shelter, the better.

 

[Cherubian]

"North" Asenath confirmed as well.

The Stygian had spent the time to work on the pole that held the banner which carmen had undone. It was heavy and unwieldy, but it also was long and sturdy, and if one of the others could indeed fashion a knife out of the arrow heads it could be given a pointy end. Which would make it a notable improvement over fighting with her bare hands. In particular an improvement with a lot more reach. That should carry her until she could take a real weapon from the corpse of a slain foe.

There was not much else to do at this place. The water better be kept for emergencies, and for now they had to press on to reach shelter and a real source of water before their endurance would give away.

 

[Tenshi]

"Well, there was heraldry on here once. it's blank now. Sun bleached to the point that all i can see is a faint smudge."

Carmen worked quickly. Deft hands gathering the banenr and knotting it just so. "Okay, put the arrowheads and the water in here and lets get going."

 

[Grimsage Matt]

As the fabric was made into a crude bag with which they could carry their possessions (which, given their situation, a days water and weapons for all was wealth indeed), they would head north, into the ruins of antiquity. There was a sense of age among these ruins, of the stone reaching from the sand like the broken ribs and bones of some ancient beast. There is almost the feeling that some of the sand came from the ruins themselves, as ages of wind and sand scoured and ground down, creating more sand with which to bury and grind away the remains of civilizations past.

Yet, it is also a silent one walk, passing into these roads of the long departed nation. There are no other exiles here, no beasts, no sign of a living civilization or even barbarism clinging to the ruins as a shelter against the winds and sun. In a way, save for their own voices, this path is a silent one, only the ghosts who could not escape watching, and the vultures far above, circling and awaiting their feast.

Yet, as you come to a hill, the broken path climbing its flanks, there is a sound indeed from up ahead, the slapping and tearing of some predator having its way with a carcass, though the view is obscured first by the top of the hill and then a thin patch of fibrous plants. Yet, whatever it was, it seemed to busy feasting to hear or notice them. Or perhaps, it merely did not care what the scavengers were up to, so long as they stayed their distance.

Without a closer look, there was little way to tell.

 

[Tenshi]

The sienna skinned girl breathed hard. The sun was really starting to sting her soft skin. "This place is amazing... Spook to."

She walked with the other girls for a while. She was about to suggest that they seek shade behind the stony pillars and continue to explore after sunset when the snarlign and slurping reached their ears. she frowned and drew the other girls back, then spoke very softly, "I'm not the sneakiest, but I know how to move. Would you like me to sneak up there and take a look?"