darkest_fate
machina erotica
- Joined
- Dec 17, 2009
- Location
- the INTERNET
They called her Bandit Queen. She'd been a thorn in the side of the growing elvish empire for some time now. The Empress had been expanding her borders, hoping to reclaim forests before humans and their filthy like would desecrate the lands further. The expansion went quickly by human standards, which meant it moved like lightning for the elves themselves. Within a matter of months the elvish empire of Ferule had become worthy of the appellation. The elves had mostly taken forests near their borders, lands that had been border territories up until now. They'd only managed to conquer one or two strictly human kingdoms.
True, some of the elvish lords could be brutal toward their human subject; such was the way of two races dealing with one another. Often elves looked down on other races, particularly the short-lived ones, humans second only to orcs and goblins and the like. However, more and more elves had grown fascinated with the passionate humans, seeing how quickly and fiercely their fires and passions burned. More than one curious elf had drifted close to a particularly fetching human. Often children were born of this union, and frequently said half-breeds were denied legitimacy by either side. With more and more territory being taken, more and more of these half-elves were becoming noticed.
Enter her: Briala, the Bandit Queen. They claimed her to be a half-elf, and she certainly had the build and the look of one. She'd been a thorn in the empire's side, challenging their authority. The bandit robbed almost exclusively from elvish sources, and targeted the rich and powerful far more than any else. There was no fear in her attacks: they were relentless and surprising. It had finally gotten the attention of officials of the empire. Money had soon been offered, with a very strict addendum: the elves wanted the Bandit Queen alive. Having her dead wouldn't do them any good: she would become a martyr. They needed her to live, and, more importantly, they needed her in the empire's hands.
So traps had been set. People had fought. In actuality, it had been a military troop that had all but stumbled onto the Bandit Queen's camp. They'd attacked with elvish fury, but upon seeing women and children, they'd held back enough for the bandits to escape...and the escape had led them right toward a group of mercenary allies.
Like all bands, this one happened to be made of a mixture of races and creeds. Their leader was a scruffy human. Maxwell loomed over most of his men, second only in size to his half-orc second Noogock. His dwarven mail protected him well, and had likely been what had saved his life and turned the tide. True, the Bandit Queen had clearly been exhausted from getting her people free, which had likely been the real reason for her capture. The mercenaries didn't care about the details. They cared about the result.
And the result was a beautiful half-elven female trussed up in the middle of their camp. Maxwell approached her now, squatting over her body. His mussed red hair threatened to fall into his intelligent green eyes: scruffy, yes, but with a sort of appeal that many ladies found themselves drawn to. Noogock didn't have such appeal, and he loomed near his leader. As did another: a slender, whip-like woman who appeared to be all but glaring at the bound bandit. Her skin had a darkness to it that spoke to either dark elf or islander blood, and there was certainly an appeal to her exotic frame. Yet her red eyes bore into Briala with intense hatred.
"Well, well, Briala the bandit queen," Maxwell said, rubbing his stubbled chin. "I have to admit: you're better looking than they said." He chuckled and looked over his shoulder at Noogock. "What do you think? Should we let the men have her or take her for ourselves?"
"The elves want her in one piece," the woman behind said, her voice having a strange sing-song accent to it. "Besides, she's of elvish blood: you know their race is notoriously frigid. Icy winds likely flow forth whenever her legs part."
This had the half-orc chuckling, but Maxwell simply smiled at Briala. "Well, I suppose you could just give us some information instead. Though I'm betting you're going to be all stoic and reserved. Damn shame that we'll have to interrogate you..." he clicked his tongue and shook his head. The half-orc chuckled; the darkling glared, and all three looked at their captive.
True, some of the elvish lords could be brutal toward their human subject; such was the way of two races dealing with one another. Often elves looked down on other races, particularly the short-lived ones, humans second only to orcs and goblins and the like. However, more and more elves had grown fascinated with the passionate humans, seeing how quickly and fiercely their fires and passions burned. More than one curious elf had drifted close to a particularly fetching human. Often children were born of this union, and frequently said half-breeds were denied legitimacy by either side. With more and more territory being taken, more and more of these half-elves were becoming noticed.
Enter her: Briala, the Bandit Queen. They claimed her to be a half-elf, and she certainly had the build and the look of one. She'd been a thorn in the empire's side, challenging their authority. The bandit robbed almost exclusively from elvish sources, and targeted the rich and powerful far more than any else. There was no fear in her attacks: they were relentless and surprising. It had finally gotten the attention of officials of the empire. Money had soon been offered, with a very strict addendum: the elves wanted the Bandit Queen alive. Having her dead wouldn't do them any good: she would become a martyr. They needed her to live, and, more importantly, they needed her in the empire's hands.
So traps had been set. People had fought. In actuality, it had been a military troop that had all but stumbled onto the Bandit Queen's camp. They'd attacked with elvish fury, but upon seeing women and children, they'd held back enough for the bandits to escape...and the escape had led them right toward a group of mercenary allies.
Like all bands, this one happened to be made of a mixture of races and creeds. Their leader was a scruffy human. Maxwell loomed over most of his men, second only in size to his half-orc second Noogock. His dwarven mail protected him well, and had likely been what had saved his life and turned the tide. True, the Bandit Queen had clearly been exhausted from getting her people free, which had likely been the real reason for her capture. The mercenaries didn't care about the details. They cared about the result.
And the result was a beautiful half-elven female trussed up in the middle of their camp. Maxwell approached her now, squatting over her body. His mussed red hair threatened to fall into his intelligent green eyes: scruffy, yes, but with a sort of appeal that many ladies found themselves drawn to. Noogock didn't have such appeal, and he loomed near his leader. As did another: a slender, whip-like woman who appeared to be all but glaring at the bound bandit. Her skin had a darkness to it that spoke to either dark elf or islander blood, and there was certainly an appeal to her exotic frame. Yet her red eyes bore into Briala with intense hatred.
"Well, well, Briala the bandit queen," Maxwell said, rubbing his stubbled chin. "I have to admit: you're better looking than they said." He chuckled and looked over his shoulder at Noogock. "What do you think? Should we let the men have her or take her for ourselves?"
"The elves want her in one piece," the woman behind said, her voice having a strange sing-song accent to it. "Besides, she's of elvish blood: you know their race is notoriously frigid. Icy winds likely flow forth whenever her legs part."
This had the half-orc chuckling, but Maxwell simply smiled at Briala. "Well, I suppose you could just give us some information instead. Though I'm betting you're going to be all stoic and reserved. Damn shame that we'll have to interrogate you..." he clicked his tongue and shook his head. The half-orc chuckled; the darkling glared, and all three looked at their captive.