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A new Hope rises (Outsane X QB)
- Thread starter Kyubey
- Start date
The Envoys from Beignon appeared onto the Cherusian court. This time, that plump Statesman beamed with smile as he greeted the nobles of the Thousand Halls. Cherus had been allied with Beignon, partially due to the efforts of Ishlene, the Queen of the White Dunes. Wishing only for peace the queen was left with no choice as she allied with the neighboring state. Unbeknownst to many, invasion was imminent had it not been for her plea. The alliance weathered through the Mad King's war, combined with the actions of the legendary hero Garlant and with the backing of the Principality League, the once-mighty country of Saslavan was brought to it's knees. Justice was served for all as those who committed the crime paid for it; with their lives and their freedom.
They say good always prevailed...where was 'good' when her followers, bruised from days in the dungeon, begged for mercy as the blade fell upon their neck? Where was justice when she was raped time and time again? Where was fate to save her, much less end her misery then and there? Micaiah was known by some as the Priestess of Hope. Yet given what she had worn she would be anything BUT a priestess. Wearing nothing more than wispy transparent silks, covering her private portions the girl was led almost obediently before the court. Many did behold her silver hair: she was of Ancient Blood, of the beings who lived before the Scouring.
Yet, here she was, humbled and bruised. The silks hid the ugly scars of her torture. Bells jingled as she was led forward, her labial lips and her nipples pierced with tiny bells ringing to further her humiliation. Cowed and frightened, the girl looked utterly miniscule before the guards who stood steady. The Vizier, a man by the name of Zihark, took a good look at the Silver-haired girl. The fat statesman, named Jugin smiled as he pushed the chain leash along. Still the girl insisted on covering her private parts...despite the many times she had been displayed outside, naked and spread out for all to see!
"A gift to the Prince. A girl of such fine quality." he said, smiling as he curled the chain around his hand and forced her close, licking her cheeks. Zihark showed little emotion. The bladesmen of Cherus were renowned, able to cut down men in the blink of an eye. "Right this way." said the man. Noticing how the plump man began to pant slightly, he took the chain that led to the girl's neck, leading her to his room. He cast a faint glance towards the girl, denoting just how...familiar she was before she was led to the room. There, the man took away her robes, as it had been. She was therefore presented to the Prince: stark naked, body clean and smooth to show the Youth and her beauty.
But beneath that, ugly scars and bruises could be seen that no lotion could hide: a glaring slash on her back, a result of when she was lashed so hard that it dug deep into her flesh. A patch of charred browning behind her neck skin that wrote 'PIG' when she was branded. So, there she was, displayed, naked as she stood before the door, expecting perhaps, for the Prince to come and greet his new slave...
Except for one problem: there was no Prince. The window on the next room was wide open, what looked like rope was bound to one end of the bedpost and leading outside...could someone have broken in and taken away the prince? Better yet...was she willing to make her escape?
They say good always prevailed...where was 'good' when her followers, bruised from days in the dungeon, begged for mercy as the blade fell upon their neck? Where was justice when she was raped time and time again? Where was fate to save her, much less end her misery then and there? Micaiah was known by some as the Priestess of Hope. Yet given what she had worn she would be anything BUT a priestess. Wearing nothing more than wispy transparent silks, covering her private portions the girl was led almost obediently before the court. Many did behold her silver hair: she was of Ancient Blood, of the beings who lived before the Scouring.
Yet, here she was, humbled and bruised. The silks hid the ugly scars of her torture. Bells jingled as she was led forward, her labial lips and her nipples pierced with tiny bells ringing to further her humiliation. Cowed and frightened, the girl looked utterly miniscule before the guards who stood steady. The Vizier, a man by the name of Zihark, took a good look at the Silver-haired girl. The fat statesman, named Jugin smiled as he pushed the chain leash along. Still the girl insisted on covering her private parts...despite the many times she had been displayed outside, naked and spread out for all to see!
"A gift to the Prince. A girl of such fine quality." he said, smiling as he curled the chain around his hand and forced her close, licking her cheeks. Zihark showed little emotion. The bladesmen of Cherus were renowned, able to cut down men in the blink of an eye. "Right this way." said the man. Noticing how the plump man began to pant slightly, he took the chain that led to the girl's neck, leading her to his room. He cast a faint glance towards the girl, denoting just how...familiar she was before she was led to the room. There, the man took away her robes, as it had been. She was therefore presented to the Prince: stark naked, body clean and smooth to show the Youth and her beauty.
But beneath that, ugly scars and bruises could be seen that no lotion could hide: a glaring slash on her back, a result of when she was lashed so hard that it dug deep into her flesh. A patch of charred browning behind her neck skin that wrote 'PIG' when she was branded. So, there she was, displayed, naked as she stood before the door, expecting perhaps, for the Prince to come and greet his new slave...
Except for one problem: there was no Prince. The window on the next room was wide open, what looked like rope was bound to one end of the bedpost and leading outside...could someone have broken in and taken away the prince? Better yet...was she willing to make her escape?
She found it as an insult more than an offering of peace. Handing over a beaten, bruised, raped, degraded, and mutilated woman rather than offering countless virgins that were still pretty. Was she the best her kingdom had to offer? Micaiah followed behind in chains quietly, covering herself still. She may have been tortured beyond tolerance for some, but still she held on to her dignity. Whatever shadow of it remained from before. As she left her prison, she heard the guards making bets on how long it would take for her to cry, to break down and try to kill herself once in the possession of the foreign Prince. As she passed them, she held her head high as her final display of her personal vendetta against them. Once she was out of their view, she dropped her head and sighed silently, remembering she was trapped and she'd always be in chains.
Micaiah stopped before the general, keeping her head down, hiding her face with her veil of silver hair. As she was introduce, she nearly scoffed out loud at the term 'fine quality'. Perhaps before she was captured, but not now. She was worse than "sloppy seconds". She was the worn sock with holes torn open everywhere, greyed fabric and frayed ends. They could patch it up, but it would still be a ratty old sock. As the fat man pulled her closer and licked her cheek, her nostrils flared and her lips curled into a scowl. She wanted to pull away or even slap him, but she knew any act of rebellion against him would lead to to her getting slapped, and she'd rather tolerate him licking her than being degraded with being slapped.
She dared a look up at the man who led her to the room. She caught his gaze for a brief moment before she dropped her head again, veiling her face from his gaze. Once in the privacy of the room, she remained still, standing with her head still dropped. Micaiah couldn't tell if anyone was in the room, so when a moment of silence passed by, she lifted her head and gazed around, getting a bearing of her surroundings. She spotted the open window and stared at it a moment. It screamed 'a trap' to her, but still she had to check. Micaiah walked over to the bed and tugged on the rope tied to it, then examined the knot. It was expertly made. She bit her lip, contemplating it. She was still able to run quite fast, that much she knew. Before anyone knew she had escaped, she could be out of sight from the soldiers, leaving them relying on their hounds to find her. She could lose them easily in the river. Micaiah held the rope as she walked over to the window and sat against it, looking around for any sign of some one who would spot her.
Micaiah stopped before the general, keeping her head down, hiding her face with her veil of silver hair. As she was introduce, she nearly scoffed out loud at the term 'fine quality'. Perhaps before she was captured, but not now. She was worse than "sloppy seconds". She was the worn sock with holes torn open everywhere, greyed fabric and frayed ends. They could patch it up, but it would still be a ratty old sock. As the fat man pulled her closer and licked her cheek, her nostrils flared and her lips curled into a scowl. She wanted to pull away or even slap him, but she knew any act of rebellion against him would lead to to her getting slapped, and she'd rather tolerate him licking her than being degraded with being slapped.
She dared a look up at the man who led her to the room. She caught his gaze for a brief moment before she dropped her head again, veiling her face from his gaze. Once in the privacy of the room, she remained still, standing with her head still dropped. Micaiah couldn't tell if anyone was in the room, so when a moment of silence passed by, she lifted her head and gazed around, getting a bearing of her surroundings. She spotted the open window and stared at it a moment. It screamed 'a trap' to her, but still she had to check. Micaiah walked over to the bed and tugged on the rope tied to it, then examined the knot. It was expertly made. She bit her lip, contemplating it. She was still able to run quite fast, that much she knew. Before anyone knew she had escaped, she could be out of sight from the soldiers, leaving them relying on their hounds to find her. She could lose them easily in the river. Micaiah held the rope as she walked over to the window and sat against it, looking around for any sign of some one who would spot her.
For a brief moment, one could see the movement of guards. As if..looking for someone, both soldiers in some uniform and others wearing cured leather and a variety of arms. Those men...mercenaries. The worst kind of soldier. They plunder as they pleased and sated themselves with slaughter and rape. When the capital of Einshawe fell that day, mercenaries raped and killed without hesitation. Hated and feared by Saslavans, they were reviled as a force that answered to no man. "Where is he?!" shouted one, waving his sword forward. Wary cityfolk scrambled, afraid of falling to their sword. Yet, they made no attempt to attack anyone, instead looking from place for place for someone... but who?
Just then, the rope grew taut, as if...something had latched onto the rope and was using it. Grunting could be heard, steps against the walls audible as the rope creaked. Soon enough, a man with rich ruby red hair got up from the ceiling, robed in green. His cheek bones were somewhat effeminate, mimicking the well-chiseled look of Queen Ishilien, the Ruler of the White Dunes and of Cherus. Could this man be...the Prince?
The Prince didn't even cast a good look at her as he closed the window right after pulling up the ropes. "Who are you?" he asked, locking the door with a wooden bar. While his voice was calm and somewhat alluring, he seemed to be in quite a rush, opening the door to look both ways. "Good. Lyndis hasn't sent her men up here. Fabulous. Now, Zihark just has to distract them an- Put on some clothes, for Rausten's sake!" he said, looking towards the girl still in his room. His eyes did note the Silver hair, but he clearly wasn't interested in that crap. While many would indeed remind her that she was supposedly 'destined' for great things as all descendants of Ancient blood would be, the man made no attempt to even consider.
But...that name...Lyndis. The Sclavendi mercenary who pledged her loyalty, only to flee from the eve of battle! Her right-hand man Joseph was captured and put to the guillotine, one of the few who, not once during their torture, did not curse her name. He firmly believed in their freedom, knowing that his people too have suffered for long. But what would that woman be doing here? Could she be in hiding?
Just then, the rope grew taut, as if...something had latched onto the rope and was using it. Grunting could be heard, steps against the walls audible as the rope creaked. Soon enough, a man with rich ruby red hair got up from the ceiling, robed in green. His cheek bones were somewhat effeminate, mimicking the well-chiseled look of Queen Ishilien, the Ruler of the White Dunes and of Cherus. Could this man be...the Prince?
The Prince didn't even cast a good look at her as he closed the window right after pulling up the ropes. "Who are you?" he asked, locking the door with a wooden bar. While his voice was calm and somewhat alluring, he seemed to be in quite a rush, opening the door to look both ways. "Good. Lyndis hasn't sent her men up here. Fabulous. Now, Zihark just has to distract them an- Put on some clothes, for Rausten's sake!" he said, looking towards the girl still in his room. His eyes did note the Silver hair, but he clearly wasn't interested in that crap. While many would indeed remind her that she was supposedly 'destined' for great things as all descendants of Ancient blood would be, the man made no attempt to even consider.
But...that name...Lyndis. The Sclavendi mercenary who pledged her loyalty, only to flee from the eve of battle! Her right-hand man Joseph was captured and put to the guillotine, one of the few who, not once during their torture, did not curse her name. He firmly believed in their freedom, knowing that his people too have suffered for long. But what would that woman be doing here? Could she be in hiding?
She watched the group move through the street with a blank expression, but she could feel a bitter hatred for them. She wanted nothing more than to pick them off one by one with a bow just to satisfy her blood lust. Micaiah kept still while watching the scene, able to hear what they said quite clearly. Those army men were never ones to be quiet.
Her thoughts were distracted as the rope was tugged from her grip. She stumbled back slightly and stared with shock. Was one of the soldiers climbing the rope? She glanced around the room for a weapon instinctively, but found none. The guards had scowered the room before she had gone in to ensure anything that could be used as a weapon was removed. Cursing her misfortune, Micaiah moved back against the wall, preparing to fight off whoever came from the window. As the Prince came through and closed the window, she stared with wide eyes a moment, confused. He didn't even give her a second glance, plus he asked who she was. Wasn't it obvious? Wasn't that what he was supposed to be in the room for? To accept his gift? A few muscles in her face twitched as she clenched her jaw, remaining silent.
Micaiah watched him move about the room and listened to him talk. Her yellow eyes flashed with an unreadable expression at the mention of Lyndis. Countless hours of festering fury boiled inside her again at the name. She met his eyes when he finally took a look at her and she remained silent a moment before she spoke in a quiet, hoarse voice. "I have no clothes. A sex slave has no need for clothes unless her master gives her some." Her tone was even and controlled, if not a bit bitter. She moved her hands to cover herself. It was obvious he had no interest in seeing her naked, so she decided to spare him the sight. Her hair covered her breasts, so she was as decent as she could be. She gave him a good look over. At least he wasn't as bad-looking as her captors.
Her thoughts were distracted as the rope was tugged from her grip. She stumbled back slightly and stared with shock. Was one of the soldiers climbing the rope? She glanced around the room for a weapon instinctively, but found none. The guards had scowered the room before she had gone in to ensure anything that could be used as a weapon was removed. Cursing her misfortune, Micaiah moved back against the wall, preparing to fight off whoever came from the window. As the Prince came through and closed the window, she stared with wide eyes a moment, confused. He didn't even give her a second glance, plus he asked who she was. Wasn't it obvious? Wasn't that what he was supposed to be in the room for? To accept his gift? A few muscles in her face twitched as she clenched her jaw, remaining silent.
Micaiah watched him move about the room and listened to him talk. Her yellow eyes flashed with an unreadable expression at the mention of Lyndis. Countless hours of festering fury boiled inside her again at the name. She met his eyes when he finally took a look at her and she remained silent a moment before she spoke in a quiet, hoarse voice. "I have no clothes. A sex slave has no need for clothes unless her master gives her some." Her tone was even and controlled, if not a bit bitter. She moved her hands to cover herself. It was obvious he had no interest in seeing her naked, so she decided to spare him the sight. Her hair covered her breasts, so she was as decent as she could be. She gave him a good look over. At least he wasn't as bad-looking as her captors.
For a moment, the Prince looked back at her, as if...pleasantly surprised about the things she said. His eyes did scan her naked form...rounded and modest breasts hidden by slender strands of silver hair, her womanhood exposed, shaven and clean. If the man wanted he could so easily take her down and ravish her fair body...rightfully so, given how something inside of him burned, lust like none other. But as a Prince, his self restraint was most admirable.
His hand at his chin, he looked lost in thought. "Ahhh! I know! You're that fat guy's gift, right? I was thinking it'd be jewels or something else..." he walked close, inspecting her body. He did look curiously at the slender silver strands, running his hand across her hair. Her breasts were revealed sporting bejeweled nipple rings, jingling softly with diamonds inlaid upon them. "...This is no good. I can't put you up for a wager! I have to win back the Cherusia or Zihark is going to kill me!"
The Prince lamented. What would be that retainer's reaction when he finds out that he, of all people, put up the most prized possession of Cherus for a single buy in at a game of bones? Then, he looked right back towards the girl as he threw what looked like sack cloth cut out to be a dress. It was a bit short on the skirt, riding just at her waist showing what precious bits unless she pulled down on the dress. It was rather lowcut, showing a bit of cleavage yet it did fit somewhat well had it not been for the itchy fibre. "Wear this. But before that..." he softly laid her to the bed, taking out...a crude pair of shears. "Stay still, damnit it!" he said, as he softly pushed her to the bed, back against the mattress.
He softly pushed aside the hair that hid her nipples, positioning the shears so that it would cut against the nipple rings. With a tight press the ring came out, as he looked at it close. "Tsk. Not enough for a buy-in. H-hey! Stay still." he said. His manhood hardened slightly as he straddled her body, feeling her breast in his hands as the other clamp gave way as well. "Two diamonds...I'm going to need something else if they're gonna let me buy in."
That was when he turned around to look at her. "Hey, do you mind if I wager you up for a game of Bones? I swear I'll win you back!" Of course, little did she know, that was EXACTLY what he thought betting the treasured sword Cherusia for that game only to lose it to that Sclavendi woman.
His hand at his chin, he looked lost in thought. "Ahhh! I know! You're that fat guy's gift, right? I was thinking it'd be jewels or something else..." he walked close, inspecting her body. He did look curiously at the slender silver strands, running his hand across her hair. Her breasts were revealed sporting bejeweled nipple rings, jingling softly with diamonds inlaid upon them. "...This is no good. I can't put you up for a wager! I have to win back the Cherusia or Zihark is going to kill me!"
The Prince lamented. What would be that retainer's reaction when he finds out that he, of all people, put up the most prized possession of Cherus for a single buy in at a game of bones? Then, he looked right back towards the girl as he threw what looked like sack cloth cut out to be a dress. It was a bit short on the skirt, riding just at her waist showing what precious bits unless she pulled down on the dress. It was rather lowcut, showing a bit of cleavage yet it did fit somewhat well had it not been for the itchy fibre. "Wear this. But before that..." he softly laid her to the bed, taking out...a crude pair of shears. "Stay still, damnit it!" he said, as he softly pushed her to the bed, back against the mattress.
He softly pushed aside the hair that hid her nipples, positioning the shears so that it would cut against the nipple rings. With a tight press the ring came out, as he looked at it close. "Tsk. Not enough for a buy-in. H-hey! Stay still." he said. His manhood hardened slightly as he straddled her body, feeling her breast in his hands as the other clamp gave way as well. "Two diamonds...I'm going to need something else if they're gonna let me buy in."
That was when he turned around to look at her. "Hey, do you mind if I wager you up for a game of Bones? I swear I'll win you back!" Of course, little did she know, that was EXACTLY what he thought betting the treasured sword Cherusia for that game only to lose it to that Sclavendi woman.
Micaiah stared at him blankly as he examined her body. If only he knew. She didn't turn her head or follow him with her gaze. It took all her willpower, however, to not flinch at his touch or pull away. It wouldn't be very slave-like if she were to cringe and hide away from her master's touch, after all. Her displeasure, however, displayed itself upon her face. More prominently when the fat man was mentioned. Of all the men she had the misfortune of meeting, she found him the most repulsive. She couldn't get over how his very gaze made her skin crawl. Micaiah's eyebrows raised ever-so faintly at the mention of betting her. That would be a nice, acceptable way to get passed around. She'd become nothing more than currency and stop to the man who found the pretty penny the shiniest he had ever seen. Her interest in his situation was piqued, however, distracting her from such dismal thoughts.
Micaiah caught the humble dress and examined it. While she should not be one to judge, she did so anyways. What was the point of putting on the dress if it would do little to cover her? She had a better chance at modesty wearing just underwear. As she silently ridiculed the Prince's taste inf fabric and fashion, he distracted her thoughts by laying her down. So would begin the mindless sex. As he pulled out the shears, she openly panicked and began to squirm backwards. She'd submit to being a sex slave for this guy, but there was no way in the seven layers of Hell would she let him mutilate her like her captors did. She scowled as he pinned her down again and cursed at her while bringing the shears to her nipples. The thought crossed her mind to scream, but who would come to save her? She knew she was on her own ages ago.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Micaiah turned her head as if not being able to see the act nor face it would take the pain away. Her body gave an involuntary shudder as she heard the shears clamp down, feeling the cold metal on her skin. There was no pain, though. Micaiah opened her eyes and turned to her now liberated nipple. She started to turn on her side, but he moved her back and straddled her stomach. Micaiah stared up at him firmly, her eyes flinching as the shears clamped down and released the other nipple rings.
Once she was free to do so, Micaiah rolled around and grabbed the poor excuse of a dress and quickly put it on. She tugged down on it desperately and got it to a decent length down for her, but her breasts were nearly overflowing from the neckline. She paid it no mind, finding more comfort in covering her sex and revealing a bit more of her breasts than having everything on display for everyone to see again. As he asked for her feelings on his plan, she lifted her gaze to him and stared a moment wondering what sort of sick game he was playing at. "I'm your... gift," she added a sort of bitter, ironic emphasis to the last word. "You can do as you please with me. If you want to gamble me away, so be it." A few other snide comments rose up in her mind, but being the good slave she was, Micaiah kept them to herself.
Micaiah caught the humble dress and examined it. While she should not be one to judge, she did so anyways. What was the point of putting on the dress if it would do little to cover her? She had a better chance at modesty wearing just underwear. As she silently ridiculed the Prince's taste inf fabric and fashion, he distracted her thoughts by laying her down. So would begin the mindless sex. As he pulled out the shears, she openly panicked and began to squirm backwards. She'd submit to being a sex slave for this guy, but there was no way in the seven layers of Hell would she let him mutilate her like her captors did. She scowled as he pinned her down again and cursed at her while bringing the shears to her nipples. The thought crossed her mind to scream, but who would come to save her? She knew she was on her own ages ago.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Micaiah turned her head as if not being able to see the act nor face it would take the pain away. Her body gave an involuntary shudder as she heard the shears clamp down, feeling the cold metal on her skin. There was no pain, though. Micaiah opened her eyes and turned to her now liberated nipple. She started to turn on her side, but he moved her back and straddled her stomach. Micaiah stared up at him firmly, her eyes flinching as the shears clamped down and released the other nipple rings.
Once she was free to do so, Micaiah rolled around and grabbed the poor excuse of a dress and quickly put it on. She tugged down on it desperately and got it to a decent length down for her, but her breasts were nearly overflowing from the neckline. She paid it no mind, finding more comfort in covering her sex and revealing a bit more of her breasts than having everything on display for everyone to see again. As he asked for her feelings on his plan, she lifted her gaze to him and stared a moment wondering what sort of sick game he was playing at. "I'm your... gift," she added a sort of bitter, ironic emphasis to the last word. "You can do as you please with me. If you want to gamble me away, so be it." A few other snide comments rose up in her mind, but being the good slave she was, Micaiah kept them to herself.
Cold and bitter...what had she gone through to act like this? While her appearance did sort of ring a bell...he wasn't quite sure just where to place it. "Sheesh. I was only trying to be nice to you." he said. Many men would not have hesitated to pin her down and rape her...but he simply ignored her and focused on other issues...well, aside from the fact that he removed the nipple clamps he didn't seem the least bit interested in her. Maybe she was just another gift to play with at another time, maybe?
"Well, whatever. Follow me." he said, walking right outside. He didn't have time to greet Zihark as he walked to the front steps of the castle, where he was soon surrounded by a few men, none looking at all too happy. Their gazes of course focused upon the girl beside him, lustful eyes already playing out what many fantasies they'd do to her, some more brutal than the other. "Tired of hiding yet, kiddo?" asked one, holding his blade steady towards his neck as he flinched. "Hahaha, no. This time I've got something good to wager!"
Of course the attention was then focused towards the silver-haired girl, much to the delight of some. "Heheheh. It'll do. I'd love to fuck her out till her little peach bleeds." threatened one, using his blade to lift her skirt much to his delight when her shaven puss was seen, rings against her lips an added bonus to demonstrate her lack of modesty. "After I'm done with ye, I'll slit your throat." he threatened, but the menacing swordsman who smelled of dung was held back by the man who threatened the prince earlier, accosting the girl as they walked to a small bar.
A few mercenaries were gathered there, a rowdy bunch while a bar maid and her father served them drinks; but not without sustaining a few gropes to her chest and a subsequent squeak. There was little this family could do to resist: if they spoke up it might only get worse. In the farthermost table, a woman in green sat, pleasantly surprised to see the redhead return. That woman...she pledged her loyalty to her cause by sympathizing with the plight of the Saslavans. However, when the enemy was at hand she was the first to flee, leaving some that she had grown to trust. People like her...
"Glad to see you finally came back." she said. Despite the rugged edges, she was a very fair woman, willowy curves that hides her mastery with the blade. She was a woman born to raise children, yet has resolved to take up the blade to fight for herself. "What will you wager this time?" she asked, glancing strangely her way before being pleasantly surprised, seeing the Silver-haired girl by his side. While she did feel the sting of guilt leaving Joseph and the others behind, this was life: she was a mercenary, a woman who would no sooner slit this woman's throat if she was to be paid something higher. "This will be my wager." he said, softly pushing her forward.
The woman had nothing smart to say, knowing that she was a testament to her cowardice. "...Very well. Let's play."
"Well, whatever. Follow me." he said, walking right outside. He didn't have time to greet Zihark as he walked to the front steps of the castle, where he was soon surrounded by a few men, none looking at all too happy. Their gazes of course focused upon the girl beside him, lustful eyes already playing out what many fantasies they'd do to her, some more brutal than the other. "Tired of hiding yet, kiddo?" asked one, holding his blade steady towards his neck as he flinched. "Hahaha, no. This time I've got something good to wager!"
Of course the attention was then focused towards the silver-haired girl, much to the delight of some. "Heheheh. It'll do. I'd love to fuck her out till her little peach bleeds." threatened one, using his blade to lift her skirt much to his delight when her shaven puss was seen, rings against her lips an added bonus to demonstrate her lack of modesty. "After I'm done with ye, I'll slit your throat." he threatened, but the menacing swordsman who smelled of dung was held back by the man who threatened the prince earlier, accosting the girl as they walked to a small bar.
A few mercenaries were gathered there, a rowdy bunch while a bar maid and her father served them drinks; but not without sustaining a few gropes to her chest and a subsequent squeak. There was little this family could do to resist: if they spoke up it might only get worse. In the farthermost table, a woman in green sat, pleasantly surprised to see the redhead return. That woman...she pledged her loyalty to her cause by sympathizing with the plight of the Saslavans. However, when the enemy was at hand she was the first to flee, leaving some that she had grown to trust. People like her...
"Glad to see you finally came back." she said. Despite the rugged edges, she was a very fair woman, willowy curves that hides her mastery with the blade. She was a woman born to raise children, yet has resolved to take up the blade to fight for herself. "What will you wager this time?" she asked, glancing strangely her way before being pleasantly surprised, seeing the Silver-haired girl by his side. While she did feel the sting of guilt leaving Joseph and the others behind, this was life: she was a mercenary, a woman who would no sooner slit this woman's throat if she was to be paid something higher. "This will be my wager." he said, softly pushing her forward.
The woman had nothing smart to say, knowing that she was a testament to her cowardice. "...Very well. Let's play."
Trying to be nice? Well, she had to give him credit for that. At least he didn't lay her out flat on her front and rape her from behind until she could barely stand. Removing the nipple rings was probably the first act of sympathy and kindness she had seen since the little boy gave her a sleeping drug just before she was taken to be raped and tortured again. She never knew what happened to the boy who gave her a moment's grace, but she never forgot it. As he ordered her to follow him, she got up off the bed, adjusted the hem of her dress and followed behind him closely, not wanting to risk being dragged off by some wandering soldier. She glanced back to Zihark briefly before drawing her attention back to the guards that suddenly surrounded them.
She looked at the men that surrounded them and stared at her with disinterest. Micaiah was used to drooling half-wits who thought with their cocks and not with their brains. As one lifted the hem of her skirt, she made no effort to pull it down, but flashed him a furious glare, daring him to do anything to her. The look lasted only a moment before she realized he could do anything he wanted with her. She was just a slave after all.
Micaiah followed them with a little less eagerness that time. She was surrounded by men on either side of her and she had no desire to look at the woman who betrayed her. Upon entering the pub, she gazed around at the mercenaries. A great sense of pity rose up for the family that owned and ran the bar. People had such little respect for others. She watched as the beer wench was groped and squeezed by the men and she pursed her lips together to keep her frown hidden. It was disgusting to watch another human being endure that kind of degradation. It was embarrassing to watch the men act like uncontrollable animals and subject a woman to that.
Her eyes flickered across the room until they settled upon the woman. Her yellow gaze never left, never wavered after that. Micaiah stared unblinkingly as they approached her table. There was something wild, but unreadable in her expression. Micaiah hadn't felt such a burning emotion in her since the day she was caught. It took all her efforts to subdue herself, keep her from jumping across the tables and kicking that woman in the face just for a moment of relief from her pent up anger. Her mind was called back to the current moment as she was pushed forward gently. She took two steps closer, continuing to steadily stare directly into her eyes. When nothing was said to her, her nostrils flared and her lips formed a frown of absolute displeasure. "You're doing well." She spoke in a low voice for just the people around to hear. Micaiah couldn't keep her words to herself, she'd have to watch what she said so no one would beat her.
She looked at the men that surrounded them and stared at her with disinterest. Micaiah was used to drooling half-wits who thought with their cocks and not with their brains. As one lifted the hem of her skirt, she made no effort to pull it down, but flashed him a furious glare, daring him to do anything to her. The look lasted only a moment before she realized he could do anything he wanted with her. She was just a slave after all.
Micaiah followed them with a little less eagerness that time. She was surrounded by men on either side of her and she had no desire to look at the woman who betrayed her. Upon entering the pub, she gazed around at the mercenaries. A great sense of pity rose up for the family that owned and ran the bar. People had such little respect for others. She watched as the beer wench was groped and squeezed by the men and she pursed her lips together to keep her frown hidden. It was disgusting to watch another human being endure that kind of degradation. It was embarrassing to watch the men act like uncontrollable animals and subject a woman to that.
Her eyes flickered across the room until they settled upon the woman. Her yellow gaze never left, never wavered after that. Micaiah stared unblinkingly as they approached her table. There was something wild, but unreadable in her expression. Micaiah hadn't felt such a burning emotion in her since the day she was caught. It took all her efforts to subdue herself, keep her from jumping across the tables and kicking that woman in the face just for a moment of relief from her pent up anger. Her mind was called back to the current moment as she was pushed forward gently. She took two steps closer, continuing to steadily stare directly into her eyes. When nothing was said to her, her nostrils flared and her lips formed a frown of absolute displeasure. "You're doing well." She spoke in a low voice for just the people around to hear. Micaiah couldn't keep her words to herself, she'd have to watch what she said so no one would beat her.
The Sclavendi woman scoffed at her words, pretending her earnest not to regard her in any one bit. She was a coward, yet she showed no attempt to change that. Money was all that mattered to her. Perhaps Joseph was one of the rare ones who stood for ideals but it became apparent the moment the enemy had the upper hand that she cared more about her hide than for the well being of the people in Saslavan. The tense athmosphere did show itself, but luckily the prince worked quickly to get that out of the way. "So, shall we play?" he asked, meeting her in the eye.
He came to this looking like he had a plan, but all he knew was that she could simply take his 'wager' and kick him out. Without a blade at hand or the will to tell his retainer that he had lost a priceless heirloom in a simple game of dice did dissuade him from taking any other chances. "Let's play." she said, much to the cheer of the mercenaries gathered there. "There's going to be some fresh meat for all of you to play with tonight! No more village whores!" joked one, toasting with a pal even as he chipped the pint and spilled some over their hands.
A seat was brought for the Prince, yet nothing, as usual, was given to Micaiah. The Sclavendi woman leaned forward, taking tusk-bone six-sided dice to play with. "I trust you know how to play?" Now that the woman was more focused with the game she casually ignored the furious glare that the Priestess sent her, showing that she cared very little about the betrayal she had so coldly performed. "Most certainly. Though I am not really here to play, I'm going to win everything back and clear you out!" The Sclavendi woman smiled. That arrogant bastard was sure to take a lesson in humility.
And so, her lot was decided by two people throwing dice. There were other tables gambling from Beggar's palm to Beignon Squares, but most were paying attention to the 'loot' that the Prince bought and in the game. "Eheh...whash you're name girlie?" asked one, long face marred with battle scars and a branded side. He was missing a good chunk of his right ear and of course his decently with his hand fondling around her breast, "When our commander wins you over I'll make sure to enter into that little pucker of yours..." he whispered, laughing. The Prince was almost too busy minding the game that he didn't even have a chance to defend her from a few 'stray' gropes.
All in all, the man kept his cool, even as the woman took away every coin he was given. "I win again." And, as if in unison, hands immediately grasped onto Micaiah, hands tugging at the sack cloth as the same man from before leaned in and began to lick her neck, spreading his foul-smelling breath onto her. "Ehehe...we're all going to have fun with you, Commander's orders!" he held her chin close as two men bound her arms with coarse rope, "We are going to fill you from belly to mouth with our spunk!"
"Hold it." the Prince said, just as the Sclavendi woman herself was about to turn around. "I'll wager my right to rule. I shalll abdicate the throne of Cherus to you if you are victorious...however..." he took what looked like the small crest of the royal Prince: he was serious. "...If I win, not only do I get my slave and the sword back...YOU become my slave as well!" Now that was a challenge sure to get into her nerves. But, unlike anyone else, the woman was no fool. "No. I shall stick with my prize."
Her mercenaries took this almost like a signal as her clothes were torn away, body fondled rather harshly even as men began to push her aside away from where they gambled, as if ready to initiate a depraved rape easily with two dozen mercenaries all waiting their turn. "...Hold it. I will wager myself." he said, standing up, hand to his chest. Now, he got her attention. He was such a bad gambler yet here he was, wagering himself?!
Either this man had a plan or he was extremely brave.
He came to this looking like he had a plan, but all he knew was that she could simply take his 'wager' and kick him out. Without a blade at hand or the will to tell his retainer that he had lost a priceless heirloom in a simple game of dice did dissuade him from taking any other chances. "Let's play." she said, much to the cheer of the mercenaries gathered there. "There's going to be some fresh meat for all of you to play with tonight! No more village whores!" joked one, toasting with a pal even as he chipped the pint and spilled some over their hands.
A seat was brought for the Prince, yet nothing, as usual, was given to Micaiah. The Sclavendi woman leaned forward, taking tusk-bone six-sided dice to play with. "I trust you know how to play?" Now that the woman was more focused with the game she casually ignored the furious glare that the Priestess sent her, showing that she cared very little about the betrayal she had so coldly performed. "Most certainly. Though I am not really here to play, I'm going to win everything back and clear you out!" The Sclavendi woman smiled. That arrogant bastard was sure to take a lesson in humility.
And so, her lot was decided by two people throwing dice. There were other tables gambling from Beggar's palm to Beignon Squares, but most were paying attention to the 'loot' that the Prince bought and in the game. "Eheh...whash you're name girlie?" asked one, long face marred with battle scars and a branded side. He was missing a good chunk of his right ear and of course his decently with his hand fondling around her breast, "When our commander wins you over I'll make sure to enter into that little pucker of yours..." he whispered, laughing. The Prince was almost too busy minding the game that he didn't even have a chance to defend her from a few 'stray' gropes.
All in all, the man kept his cool, even as the woman took away every coin he was given. "I win again." And, as if in unison, hands immediately grasped onto Micaiah, hands tugging at the sack cloth as the same man from before leaned in and began to lick her neck, spreading his foul-smelling breath onto her. "Ehehe...we're all going to have fun with you, Commander's orders!" he held her chin close as two men bound her arms with coarse rope, "We are going to fill you from belly to mouth with our spunk!"
"Hold it." the Prince said, just as the Sclavendi woman herself was about to turn around. "I'll wager my right to rule. I shalll abdicate the throne of Cherus to you if you are victorious...however..." he took what looked like the small crest of the royal Prince: he was serious. "...If I win, not only do I get my slave and the sword back...YOU become my slave as well!" Now that was a challenge sure to get into her nerves. But, unlike anyone else, the woman was no fool. "No. I shall stick with my prize."
Her mercenaries took this almost like a signal as her clothes were torn away, body fondled rather harshly even as men began to push her aside away from where they gambled, as if ready to initiate a depraved rape easily with two dozen mercenaries all waiting their turn. "...Hold it. I will wager myself." he said, standing up, hand to his chest. Now, he got her attention. He was such a bad gambler yet here he was, wagering himself?!
Either this man had a plan or he was extremely brave.
When the mercenary blew her off, she felt a rage boil up inside her. Just as she opened her mouth to retort, the Prince spoke, effectively silencing her. Micaiah closed her mouth and stared with a cold indifference towards the woman, like she didn't exist. The Priestess had an inkling feeling he'd lose again. He didn't seem to be the lucky one. First he lost countless times, then his treasured sword... even outside of gambling he was given the worst hand. Promised a treasure of the empire and all he received was a broken, slave woman... now he was going to lose her. There was the faint glimmer of hope that the mercenary woman wouldn't take his offer, but somewhere, deep down inside, she knew that she would be accepted as wager. The hungry eyes of the men she ruled spoke as an answer before even she did.
There it was, the consent to play. Micaiah remained still, knowing she wouldn't have been given a chair to sit on. Her eyes flickered down to the table as she hoped against hope that her assumptions were wrong, that he would somehow get lucky. As each coin was taken away, slowly she felt the hope dissipate. "Win me back," she whispered. It was then that the man spoke while fondling her. She didn't acknowledge his touch beyond a twitch and her face remained impassive. She had trained herself not to show signs of emotion throughout her torture. If her assailants saw no reaction, they either were either rougher with her to make a reaction, or got bored of her. She prayed the latter would happen. "What use is a name if you won't even call me by it?" She answered him, not even turning her eyes to look at him but kept them solidly on the mercenary before her. Still, though. At least they'd know the name of the woman their were raping at least. "Micaiah the Priestess." She finally hissed. The thought that her title should have been stripped from her came to her mind, but she wouldn't give it up.
"Ugh," she growled as she smelled his breath. She wasn't sure what was more disgusting, him touching her or his breath. She glanced around for a stray weapon she could quickly grab to hopefully plunge into his gut before her own. Death seemed to be the only out fro this existence of hers.
As the last coin was taken, his wager was too. Micaiah kept her cool and only made a sound as a stray hand was a bit too rough with her, bruising her side or scraping against her skin with an unkempt finger nail. She was surprised she could feel anything at all. She watched as her hands were bound and sighed inwardly. She knew the "freedom" wouldn't last long. Her gaze flickered to the Prince as he spoke up, offering his rule as his bargain. "Don't be a fool," she whispered, even though he couldn't hear her. "Giving your kingdom to that coward will lead it to ruin. There's no honour to be had in this." Thankfully, the offer wasn't taken.
Micaiah remained still as her clothes were shed and she didn't react at all. Her eyes closed and her face remained blank as she was handled roughly. The only indication to her mistreatment was the soft grunts of displeasure she gave and the gritting of her teeth behind her tightly closed lips. As they began to pull her away, a sense of panic filled her. She was calm on the outside, but she didn't want to be separated from the Prince. He seemed to be the only man in the world--besides his guard Zihark--that could control himself around a woman. The panic was replaced with relief as he spoke up again and they stopped pulling her back.
Her calm composure was lost, though, when he wagered himself. Her brows furrowed and her lips curled downward into a frown. "You can't honestly-" she stopped herself from speaking negatively. For the first time in ages, she needed to have actual hope. Her life was on the line, she knew that much. There was no stopping one of those blood-thirsty warriors from slitting her throat the moment they grew tired of her. She took a calming breath and said. "You can do it, Prince. Win it all back. I know you can." She trembled a little. Having hope in a hopeless situation; that was what she always did and that was what caused her the most pain. Micaiah stared at him, her emotions on her face this time. She didn't want to go back to that life.
There it was, the consent to play. Micaiah remained still, knowing she wouldn't have been given a chair to sit on. Her eyes flickered down to the table as she hoped against hope that her assumptions were wrong, that he would somehow get lucky. As each coin was taken away, slowly she felt the hope dissipate. "Win me back," she whispered. It was then that the man spoke while fondling her. She didn't acknowledge his touch beyond a twitch and her face remained impassive. She had trained herself not to show signs of emotion throughout her torture. If her assailants saw no reaction, they either were either rougher with her to make a reaction, or got bored of her. She prayed the latter would happen. "What use is a name if you won't even call me by it?" She answered him, not even turning her eyes to look at him but kept them solidly on the mercenary before her. Still, though. At least they'd know the name of the woman their were raping at least. "Micaiah the Priestess." She finally hissed. The thought that her title should have been stripped from her came to her mind, but she wouldn't give it up.
"Ugh," she growled as she smelled his breath. She wasn't sure what was more disgusting, him touching her or his breath. She glanced around for a stray weapon she could quickly grab to hopefully plunge into his gut before her own. Death seemed to be the only out fro this existence of hers.
As the last coin was taken, his wager was too. Micaiah kept her cool and only made a sound as a stray hand was a bit too rough with her, bruising her side or scraping against her skin with an unkempt finger nail. She was surprised she could feel anything at all. She watched as her hands were bound and sighed inwardly. She knew the "freedom" wouldn't last long. Her gaze flickered to the Prince as he spoke up, offering his rule as his bargain. "Don't be a fool," she whispered, even though he couldn't hear her. "Giving your kingdom to that coward will lead it to ruin. There's no honour to be had in this." Thankfully, the offer wasn't taken.
Micaiah remained still as her clothes were shed and she didn't react at all. Her eyes closed and her face remained blank as she was handled roughly. The only indication to her mistreatment was the soft grunts of displeasure she gave and the gritting of her teeth behind her tightly closed lips. As they began to pull her away, a sense of panic filled her. She was calm on the outside, but she didn't want to be separated from the Prince. He seemed to be the only man in the world--besides his guard Zihark--that could control himself around a woman. The panic was replaced with relief as he spoke up again and they stopped pulling her back.
Her calm composure was lost, though, when he wagered himself. Her brows furrowed and her lips curled downward into a frown. "You can't honestly-" she stopped herself from speaking negatively. For the first time in ages, she needed to have actual hope. Her life was on the line, she knew that much. There was no stopping one of those blood-thirsty warriors from slitting her throat the moment they grew tired of her. She took a calming breath and said. "You can do it, Prince. Win it all back. I know you can." She trembled a little. Having hope in a hopeless situation; that was what she always did and that was what caused her the most pain. Micaiah stared at him, her emotions on her face this time. She didn't want to go back to that life.