To Catch a Thief (Elaebryn × Rania Lark)

[Elaebryn]

The town was the center of commerce for miles around. Trade wagons and pilgrim caravans come and go with the seasons, often with guards accompanying them. Farmers and messengers ride in and out every day, often with nothing of value. Neither make ideal targets for an enterprising rogue. The real money's in scamming wayward nobles out on the town and robbing errant savages in from the wilds. The former have more money than sense, and the latter can be tricked with shiny baubles. But confidence games require showing one's face and exposing oneself to the danger of being caught. Quiet thievery, on the other hand, is over before the target knows it began. The same general rules of preference still apply, and so the discerning cutpurse waits until the ideal mark presents itself.

It was on an unremarkable mid-winter day that such a target arrived in the market square, dressed ridiculously in a "sexy armour" ensemble of fur, leather straps, plate, and scales that does nothing to protect vital areas. In other words, not just an ignorant savage from out of town but an adventurer! And adventurers have plenty of gold, even and perhaps especially those in ridiculous outfits. The woman arrived by foot and alone, making her an even more tempting target — with no one to watch her back, and likely tired from the road, she'd surely not have her wits about her. And upon closer inspection, she even wears her coinpurse on her belt in plain view!

With such an ideal mark, one must hurry before another, less cautious thief makes the attempt.

 

[Rania Lark]

Anya wasn’t some run of the mill pickpocket. Orphaned at a young age, she had fought and survived off of the coppers from those generous enough to give to her. However, as she grew, the coppers were not enough to keep the pangs of hunger away. So she turned to thievery. First it was simple folk, peasants walking through the town to attend to their farms or go to the market. Then, she grew more bold, pocketing the gold from the nobles too stupid to notice that some of their riches went missing. But her thievery began to take a turn as she began stealing from harder and harder targets. Barbarians that came to town to trade their furs for the timber and armour to build their villages.

Today was no different as a lone traveler entered the town early in the morning. Ayla took notice of her swollen purse immediately, a smirk coming to her face. She wore a simple brown wool tunic and trousers that ended in leather shoes. Her brown hair was pulled back into a braid that ran down her back to meet the bottom of her shoulder blades. She carried a simple short knife in the leather belt around her waist, emphasizing her feminine curves.

She walked silently up behind the stranger, following her into a crowd of market goers, the perfect distraction to alleviate some of her load. Once they were well within the crowd, Anya reached out, slipping her hand into the leather coin pouch at the other woman’s belt, grabbing hold of whatever coins she could.

 

[Elaebryn]

Fortune was capricious toward the thief this morning, for just as a finger slipped past the mouth of the coinpurse the woman whose waist it was attached lurched suddenly and ungracefully to the side.

A stubborn pack animal somewhere ahead had begun a commotion a short while ago, and just now it had struck another which had blindly bolted into the crowd. The thief's mark, as with others in the throng of people, are shuffling out of the way lest they be trampled by the frightened mare. Quick reflexes, skilled fingers, and swift feet allow Anya to filch three gold coins from among those nearest the opening of the coinpurse before it and its owner jerk away from her grasp. Then there is the issue of avoiding the horse, which is easily accomplished but which separates the thief from her target.

Three gold coins and no consequences is an unqualified success, but that fat purse surely hold dozens or perhaps hundreds of them. And the damned fool doesn't seem to have noticed the theft, for the mouth of the coinpurse remains loosened. But for how long? The promise of free money beckons like a siren's call as the barbarian woman merges back into the crowd to go about her business once the ruckus has subsided. As luck would have it, the barbarian woman seems to be headed toward a side street at the edge of the market square — likely intending to visit an inn away from the noise and traffic.

 

[Rania Lark]

Anya pulled the 3 gold coins out of the wanderer’s pocket just as a mule kicked a mare sending the crowded market into a panicked shuffle to clear the streets from the panicking animal. Quickly pocketing the shiny new money, Anya searched again for her mark, the adventurer’s purse still heavily weighed down. The greediness and lust of a potential payday guided the thief to follow the stranger through the crowd, pursuing her into a quiet side street lined with inns and brothels.

Slipping up behind the adventurer once again, Anya reached out, her hand descending into the purse to retrieve more of the enticing gold coins. She intended to remain against the crowded market but the other woman was moving too fast and with her eyes firmly focused on the prize this theft could net her, Anya accidentally fell into the trap of pursuing the woman at close range as her fingers curled around another handful of the greed-inducing gold.

But Anya knew that being alone in such a constricted area was a thief’s worst nightmare, so she attempted to pull the gold out and stumble forward as a drunk, a distraction from the pickpocketing action hidden beneath a drunkard’s clumsiness. So that was what she did. Leaning forward, Anya feigned a stumble, brushing hard against the wanderer’s shoulder as she pulled her hand from her purse, her fist full of the coins that held so much promise.

 

[Elaebryn]

It is not until the thief makes an overt noise that the farce is broken, the trap sprung, and a forearm deceptively strong for its size flung forward.

A fistful of gold is easily taken, the already-loosened mouth of the purse opening to accommodate wrist and fist. The barbarian woman seemed none the wiser, even as the pair of them trod in tandem across cobblestone pathways strewn with detritus and offal. She did not even seem to notice when the street walkers and hustlers called out not just to her but to the pair of them, playing the whole time the role of a quiet dolt who merely grinned at plunging neckline or swollen codpiece.

Only once the thief withdrew her hand and shuffled her feet against the grimy stone did she react, as though she had held her action for just such a contingency. Where just moments before she seemed a cotton-headed simpleton, her face grew gaunt and her features somehow more harsh as her body sprang into motion. This is how the thief Anya beheld her once her vision cleared — a stalwart, taciturn visage of quiet enmity and chained aggression wrestling against her better graces to break free and wreak havoc — for in her sudden movement she had struck with great vengeance and furious anger, the leading edge of her forearm catching the smaller woman by the throat as she lunged forward to pin the thief against the wall of an adjacent building. Fire in her stare, her face presses up against Anya's with teeth bared like fangs for several long seconds made longer by the crushing force of muscled arm against vulnerable gullet. The sudden flurry of motion had been so fast that Anya might be forgiven for not noticing that she very visibly still held the clutch of coins in her fist, marking her complicity for any to see. The whores certainly seemed to notice, and this sudden excitement had drawn a small crowd of around a dozen ladies of the night eager to relieve the tension evident in the proceedings. But they all wisely kept their distance, knowing enough of the world to only offer their services to the victor of whatever may transpire.

Seconds pass like hours when one's airway is constricted, when teeth flash and anger burns in one's face. Perhaps one's life flashes before their eyes, or one's internal organs relax and spoil their clothes. And in one moment of powerlessness, had the thief not been incredibly lucky to have preyed upon a barbarian with at least the basic understanding of civility, one might have found their neck crushed or their face ripped open or their body pummeled into an unrecognizable mass of broken flesh — for in these moments, the fiery-haired barbarian seemed to swell in size and visibly shake from the exertion of consciously avoiding violence. This eventually reaches a climactic reprieve, whereupon the enraged woman strikes the masonry inches from the thief's face with her own clenched fist hard enough to physically shake the building and crack the stonework.

"Drop it," she says with venom proverbially lacing her words — and saliva physically spanning her bicuspids. "Thief."

The wild woman does not force the issue. She in fact withdraws once she has delivered her demand and made her show of force. With a deep breath that visibly swells her breast and hardens her abdomen, the barbarian crosses her arms and actually steps away. But she keeps her fiery gaze trained on the breath-starved thief she had just a moment prior slammed against a wall, and every muscle in her body seems on edge — trembling! waiting! — for the opportunity to strike again. Her demeanour seemed to beg for a reason to unleash her clearly potent prowess, to administer violence unfettered to the waif she has caught.

 

[Rania Lark]

Anya grabbed hold of as much gold as she could, pulling her hand smoothly from the leather pouch, a smirk crossing her lips for but a moment in victory before she felt the unusually strong shove of a forearm pushing up against her throat as she stumbled back against one of the stone walls of a brothel of the village. She was trapped. And with the whores and vagabonds closing in, there was no escape.

Anya’s intense gaze matched that of the barbarian that held her firmly up against the wall, a stark contrast between the two as Anya was small, lithe, quick while this captor was large, muscular, strong. If it wasn’t such a dangerous situation, Anya would have found the opposition quite entertaining in and of itself. However, her theft had gone away. Greed had clouded her judgement and pursuing such an individual away from a crowd was an error that could very well prove fatal in that moment.

The barbarian then began to press her forearm against Anya’s sensitive throat, pressing her airway to severe constriction and eliminating the intake of breath that every person required for survival. Anya’s smirk long since disappeared, transforming into an agonizing silent scream as her eyes began to bulge as her lungs struggled to find any shallow breath to sustain her life. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as if the movement would bring in air but none could pass the constricted throat. Her mind began to cloud once again, her body failing as her empty hand moved up to grasp at the strong arm holding her tight against the wall.

It was in this cloudiness of mind that Anya felt pieces of stone fall into her hair from the wall, the impact lost on the rapidly depleting thief. And then the arm was removed and Anya was able to take in a loud, gasping breath as she collapsed to her knees on the ground, her hand still grasping tightly to the stolen gold coins. And the demand came forth, the demand to drop her riches. Coughing and sputtering as her lungs burned furiously from the rapid intake of oxygen, Anya obeyed. Opening her hand, the thief dropped the coins to the ground with a recognizable clatter.

Once the coins were out of her possession, Anya began to scramble back up to her feet using the stone wall where, up until moments ago, she had been pressed against, to support her trembling limbs as her survival instinct began to rear its head.

 

[Elaebryn]

Dozens of gold coins from several regions clatter to the ground and roll hither and twine. Some of the more brave among the onlookers scramble forward to scoop up those that come to rest furthest from the pair of women, but the bulk of them fall still in a loose ring around Anya. The barbarian woman meanwhile maintains her posture, hands clasping elbows as arms crossed just beneath her bosom lift and accentuate her breasts. She and the rest of the small crowd watch with unmasked amusement as the waif coughs, sputters, and scrambles back to her feet.

"I wonder how much your cunt is worth," she says loud enough for the crowd to hear. And then suddenly she's shouting. "What do you say, boys! Who will give me ten silver for the waif?" That many times that much coin lies strewn about her feet highlights the ridiculousness of the situation. "Don't be shy, lads. She certainly won't be!" Jeering and laughter from the crowd rise now to accompany the scratch and scrape of coins being fished from the cobbles. Eventually one of the men who'd grabbed one of the gold coins holds it up proudly and offers it to the muscled woman — who takes it, and steps forward to grab the thief by the arm.

"You're going to be a good girl for these nice men," she says in the same hate-filled tone threatening violence as she had earlier. "And if I come up short, I'll beat the rest out of your tits. Clear?" Apparently the intention is for the act to occur right here in the open, for the man who spoke up begins to untie his trousers and the muscled woman maintains grip of a wrist so comparatively small she could surely snap it like a twig if she liked.

Apparently silence was not sufficient, nor anything short of enthusiastic agreement, for just a couple seconds after speaking previous the barbarian woman back-hands the thief across the face hard enough to wrench head to one side and bruise her neck. "Tell the nice man you're going to be a good girl," she says with a tone that sounds as if she'd grown tired of repeating herself.

 

[Rania Lark]

Anya’s eyes narrowed as the barbarian seemed to revel in her torment, in her pain. And that was only compounded with her mocking words over how much she thought she was worth, like some prostitute. The thief clenched her teeth hard as she turned around against the wall, still a little unsteady on her weakened legs as her gaze moved from the barbarian to the growing gathering surrounding them, attracted by the lewd words and offerings of the thief’s body.

She took a moment to look down as people began to scrape and scramble for the spilled gold, gathering up as much as they could before the barbarian noticed. But her words seemed to make them more bold as more and more men and women scrambled for the gold. Anya turned to run, her feet scraping on the cobblestones as she scrambled to get away from the bad situation. But just as she took one step to run, she felt fingers curling around her wrist, yanking her body right back to face the barbarian as she offered up the thief to the highest bidder.

Pulling desperately on her trapped wrist, Anya tried to pry the strong fingers from her own skin and bones but to no avail. The thief’s eyes widened as the man who had approached began to undo his trousers, intending to ravage Anya right then and there. Her eyes widened in fear as she struggled all the harder.

However, her twists were cut short again as an open hand came crashing across her neck, catching her skin with the heel of her palm, nearly knocking Anya off her feet. Dangling from the grip around her wrist, the thief struggled to her feet again as she narrowed her gaze and clenched her teeth, a greenish tinge coming to the skin where the hard flesh of the barbarian’s palm met the soft flesh of the side of her neck. But she refused to talk. A show of resistance as she pulled down violently once again on her trapped wrist as the man continued his approach, his pants coming down to expose his hardened manhood to his struggling victim.

 

[Elaebryn]

If the barbarian woman had a conscience, feminine sympathy, or any other compunction against being an active accessory to rape, then she did not show it. What's perhaps more frightening than the lack of remorse on her face is the lack of ecstasy, rage, or any other passionate emotion that might explain if not excuse it. She had a steely-eyed expression, harsh and set with determination to a task, but beyond that she did not seem to care. The word 'callous' comes to mind as one that fits her apparent demeanour, both fully aware yet fully uncaring of the suffering she would help inflict. And that is exactly what she did: for the next hour or so, the barbarian woman provided physical encouragement during sessions of paid rape while calling out like an auctioneer to line up the next customer in from the crowd. Biting or otherwise fighting were met with a strong back-hand to the side of the face; refusal to bend as the customer wished was met with a knee to the solar plexus or an elbow to the kidney via the back; legs were wrenched open, or held tightly closed as the customer preferred, and for a small additional fee her captor even 'assisted' customers with entry or contorted Anya's body into desired positions through her superior strength and skills of physical persuasion.

That hour undoubtedly passes in agony and shame, not only due to the physical act of penetration but also the constant objectification and humiliation. While the dozen or so men who take their turn at her seem to genuinely enjoy the situation in one form or another — ranging from simple physical pleasure to exhibitionism and sadism — the barbarian woman quietly and resolutely plays her role as pimp and restraint. But the fire never leaves her eyes. Perhaps most damning of all this is that there is the unspoken promise, quietly waiting behind the stalwart face, of something somehow even worse to come once this demonstration is complete.

After a while, the coins are all gone and so too is the throng of men and women who came to see the spectacle. The last customer to violate Anya insists that her knees be first drawn up to her breasts, and that her arms and those of the barbarian woman wound tightly about them before he enters her. By now Anya has been fucked raw, and this position serves to maximize the physical pain of the violation. He commits the act with no audience save the barbarian woman holding her, and a pair of guards who happen to notice as they go about their patrol. The younger of the two, a man, seems personally aggrieved by the display, but the older woman whom is his partner shakes her head and signals they should move along without interfering. Whether this is the normal situation for the town, or perhaps the result of the reputation either Anya or the barbarian woman carry, is not immediately disclosed. In either event, the last man seems to particularly relish the experience and savour the pain he inflicts, as he pauses between strokes and plunges hard and slow into Anya's already ravaged cunt for nearly half an hour before eventually finishing inside her.

Once the last man is done, the still unnamed woman simply drops Anya to the ground without ceremony or comment. As she falls to the ground, Anya can hear the sound of coins scraping across each other and clattering against each other, in time with the audible but unintelligible sound of her captor counting internally. Whatever enmity or contempt she may harbour for the fiery woman counting her ill-gotten lucre is cut short by the sudden impact of the floor and the ringing in her ears from the many times she was struck in the head. A leather boot almost immediately is pressed against the fallen and battered woman, holding her down with body weight if nothing else — and with intentional force if necessary.

"You are in luck, thief" says the woman with evident satisfaction in her tone. "Your cunt was worth what you stole, and then some!" With that, as though she had merely conducted an ordinary transaction, the woman removes her foot from atop Anya's despoiled form and tucks her coins into her purse. "Pleasure doing business with you," she says — then pauses. "Though, I think for the delay and services rendered you owe me a commission."

She visibly reaches behind her back, as though to grasp something at her waist. Perhaps for a weapon?

 

[Rania Lark]

Anya wasn’t prepared for the sadistic actions of the barbarian woman in revenge for stealing a few gold coins. The first man approached as she held the thief fast by her wrist, pushing her up against the wall and removing any chance of escape. The man smiled lascivously as he reached out, grabbing roughly at her breast through her thin linen top before grabbing hold of the neck and tearing it away from her body to expose her small chest. Anya twisted and struggled against the barbarian as he then moved down to her pants. The thief used her free hand to try and stop the man from undoing her trousers but he only just reached up and pressed his body onto hers, his hand moving to hold her other hand against the wall while his other one moved down to push down her trousers to reveal her lower body to everyone who had gathered.

He then proceeded to rape her, brutally taking her with no regard to her comfort or enjoyment. Her screeches of pain and screams for help went unanswered. Eventually, with the line of men and women who wished their turn with her, Anya was pulled to the ground and found her struggles severely weakened with each kick to her stomach or back or slap over her face for refusing to bend for someone or with her biting. By the time an hour was up, Anya’s body was a mess of black and purple bruises, her nose was bleeding down over her lips as one eye was nearly swollen shut. Between her legs was screaming in agony and her legs shook with weakness. But it was not over yet.

Anya found herself pulled up against the barbarian, her legs lifted from the ground, tightening her ravaged womanhood to inflict the most pain possible. And the man seemed in no hurry as he pumped into her body, eliciting screams of agony from the abused thief as tears streamed down her face, her sobs echoing throughout the small alleyway.

It felt like an eternity before he exploded within the thief and Anya crumpled into a heap onto the ground as the barbarian dropped her. Though when she hit the ground, she cried out in pain as she curled up into a fetal position, bloodied and bruised from the continuous rapes from the men willing to return the gold coins. Her breath was shallow and another cry of pain echoed through the alley as a boot came down hard on the blackened side of her face, pushing her head hard into the cobblestone walkway as her ears rang, severely muffling any sound and her swollen eyes limiting any sight.

Anya remained still, her naked body too sore too move as she spat up blood next to her on the ground. She didn’t look back as the barbarian claimed she needed a commission for aiding and abetting the rape. The thief merely groaned in pain, hoping against hope that death was on the horizon as the agony grew within her body as her hands curled up over her chest, her legs pulled up to her chest as she wheezed in excruciating pain, barely able to see or hear.

 

[Elaebryn]

Cold steel presses against Anya's neck, the flat of a short blade like a knife or dagger. Its smooth surface is drawn back across the curve of her throat, miming the action of slitting it without drawing blood or even presenting a sharp edge. The point eventually is drawn and finds purchase in the side of her neck near the shoulder, just above a supremely sensitive bundle of tendons and nerves. A pinprick to pierce the skin reveals the blade is symmetrical, with a square cross-section. Definitely neither a common dagger nor a simple knife. The blade-point rests in the tiny puncture it has made, with the pressure of its own weight causing only the slightest discomfort.

"You should count yourself lucky," says the woman from somewhere above and behind her. "I'd be justified taking your hand." The blade twirls in place, the point digging slightly further into the skin with each rotation. It soon begins to sting.

"But I'm a fair woman," she continues in that same harsh tone. "I'll accept coin or services in payment for my trouble, equal to what you tried to steal." That would equal dozens of gold, possibly a couple hundred. The stringing slowly escalates to burning as the blade is continually spun like a drill-bit.

"I'll even see you to a healer to tend your wounds." A laugh does not quite escape her, but the smile is evident in her tone. "Though you'll just have to live with the rape, I'm afraid." She sounds smug and self-satisfied. The burning of the idly twirling blade becomes more intense as it breaks skin enough to draw blood and begins to irritate that exquisitely sensitive bundle of flesh at the base of the neck.

"What'll it be, then? Off to the inn to get you a bath before we set you back out to earn more coins, or have you some other skills or coins hidden away somewhere to pay off your debt?"

No time is given for a reply. Suddenly the blade is plunged deep into the bundle of nerves and tendons it had just begun to tease directly.

 

[Rania Lark]

Anya trembled slightly as she felt the cold of the steel across her throat. Though there was no sharpness of the edge of a blade, the mere presence of it shook her to her core. But the barbarian wasn’t finished as she then turned the point of the blade to the side of her neck, at the junction with her shoulder where she began to press it into the thief’s skin, piercing the flesh as it sent a wave of mild pain through the thief’s body, eliciting the smallest of whimpers from her ravaged body.

Then the blade began to sting as the barbarian began to twist it down into the sensitive base of Anya’s neck. Her whimpers soon turning to gasps of pain which eventually transformed into moans as it dug deeper into her flesh, drawing droplets of blood from the wound as the barbarian continually turned the blade down into Anya’s flesh.

Anya expected to be killed in that very moment, even as the other woman spoke of retribution, of paying her back. The turning blade made the words coming from her captor’s lips moot as the stinging turned to burning causing sharp inhales of breath from the thief as the burning sensation extended down her spine, her body trembling as tears came to her eyes.

Blood began to drip down over her neck as the blade continued it’s torturous journey into her skin, running over the nerves at the base of her neck causing waves of agonizing pain to course through her entire body. Her muscles contracted as she cried out in pain. But it wasn’t over yet as the barbarian gave her a choice prior to shoving the entire blade completely down into the drilling wound. Anya shrieked in pain as every nerve ending fired at the same time. The excruciating agony made her head spin as her eyes rolled back into her head forcing her muscles to relax as the thief left the land of the conscious.

 

[Elaebryn]

Anya awakens some time later in bed in a small room.

She has been cleaned, stripped, and tucked beneath the covers. She can see clearly now, and glancing around the room she can see a covered chamber pot in a corner, a wash basin in another, and a trunk chest at the foot of the bed where the barbarian woman presently sits whittling. Though her eyes are no longer swollen shut and her visible wound seems to have been tended by a healer, she remains sore all over — especially between her legs. Attempts to move summon dull aches as stiff muscles protest, and quickly catch the attention of her captor.

"You never did tell me if you had any useful skills or hidden coin," she says as she continues whittling. It looks like she is carving a stick of wood into the shape of an owl. Badly.

 

[Rania Lark]

Anya groaned as she woke up with a pounding headache. Opening her eyes, she realized that she was tucked neatly into a soft, straw filled bed with the covers laid gently over top of her, leaving only her shoulders above the collarbone and her head exposed. The thief lifted her head and looked around the room; she was in a fairly well appointed room at an inn but the sight of the barbarian woman who had so cruelly punished her for stealing a few coins sat at the end of the bed.

Anya laid her head back down as her muscles screamed in the agony of soreness, especially between her legs as Anya was forced to spread her thighs to relieve the soreness there, causing a soft groan of discomfort.

“What do you want from me?” Anya asked with a murmur, “Why didn’t you just kill me?” Her voice was obviously laced with the soreness of the rest of her body as she genuinely wondered why the barbarian who had so cruelly subjected her to such sadistic violence had kept her alive instead of just killing her then and there.

 

[Elaebryn]

"Not much fun torturing a corpse," is the leisurely reply while continuing to whittle badly. No particular harshness or malice accompanies the words.

Whether by intent for effect or because her mind is focused on the task at hand, Anya's captor lets that comment hang in the air for several long seconds before speaking again. All throughout the short, curt replies and the pauses between them is the steady whisk and rasp of blade against wood as she remains hunched over whittling. So confident, or perhaps foolhardy, is her captor that her back remains toward Anya and she is never even spared a second glance.

"I want every bit of copper your miserable life is worth," she says after a while. Still the regular strike and chisel of blade against wood. "And what could be more fun than holding you down in an alley everyday 'til I milk this little town dry?"

She stops whittling finally and turns to look at Anya with raised brows, as though that question were not rhetorical.

 

[Rania Lark]

Anya pulled the thin covers further over her naked body as her captor mentioned a corpse. Was she going to kill her? For nothing more than a few gold coins? And the silence only intensified the feeling of dread Anya had for her dire mistake of robbing this barbarian. She looked towards the open window next to the bed as the other woman remained with her back to her, slicing through a chunk of wood for no reason; or so it appeared.

Anya sat up quickly in the bed as the woman continued, threatening her life with whatever she was worth before killing her after she got everything she could. Anya's hands tightened around the thin sheet concealing her modesty as her eyes widened in terror. She couldn't be serious, could she? But she had been when she had facilitated what she had.

"W-w-w-well, maybe I can help you," Anya stammered out, trying desperately to talk her way out of the situation, "I'm a really skilled pick pocketer. Maybe I could do that instead? Since you want what my life is worth?"

Anya desperately didn't want to feel anything like she had mere hours ago, or was it days? She didn't know how long she had been unconscious. And she was willing to help this woman get what she wanted to buy her freedom if that was what it took.

 

[Elaebryn]

"Good enough to get caught again?" The rough woman flashes her teeth in a bemused sneer but does not laugh.

"Anyway, I doubt you'd have much luck with me close by you," she says as she rises to her feet. Her eyes meet Anya's and remain there. "And I'm not going to let you just run away on me." She could not have possibly noticed Anya look toward the open window, but might she have left it open just to warrant this line of discussion?

Presently the clatter of wood returns Anya's thoughts to what is definite rather than what may be. The barbarian has dropped her badly-carved owl effigy on the floor, discarded like the bit of scrap it resembles, and presently seems intent on climbing up onto the bed by way of the trunk chest at its foot. She hasn't even bothered to remove her boots or outer-clothes before she has hand and knee atop the blanket, threatening soon to pin the terrified girl beneath the very covers in which she moments ago sought comfort.

"Surely you have other skills?" Her piercing gaze remains locked with Anya's eyes as she clenches a handful of bed-sheet and blanket with one hand and continues crawling forward. "Other charms than I've seen, perhaps?" Whether sincere or merely taunting, the hungry stare fixed on Anya is transparent in its meaning and suggests intent.

Anya must act quickly if she is to avoid being straddled, pinned, and subject to this cruel woman's pleasures.

 

[Rania Lark]

Anya’s brow furrowed as the barbarian refused her offer of using her thievery to pay back for her life and made it abundantly clear that the barbarian wasn’t going to let her anywhere out of her sight. And then she mentioned Anya running away as their gazes met again. The thief swallowed hard at the threat as the barbarian seemed to have noticed her contemplation of the window for her escape.

As her captor began to move onto the bed, climbing over the blankets that Anya had used to cover her naked form tightening dramatically, the thief immediately moved as well. Her small, lithe body released the sheets as she used her hands to pull her form out from beneath the potential prison of cloth. She slipped from the bed and slid to the floor just as the barbarian would have pinned her down to have her way with the captive thief. Anya scrambled up to her feet as she made a run for the window around the foot of the bed. As she moved, she grabbed hold of the whittled piece of wood before running to the window.

Her breath came in quick gasps as her naked chest rose and lowered with each inhale and exhale as Anya held the pointed stick in her hand, turning with her back to the window as she shakily began to climb out the opening, trying to jump to the street below and her escape.

 

[Elaebryn]

Anya escapes the covers without incident and almost runs a literal circle around the other woman before she acts.

The discarded owl effigy would be a poor weapon but likely better than a bare fist, with its unsubtle carving providing several rough edges and sharp bits. At the very least, it might serve as a caltrop to impede the way of a barefoot assailant. A pity the barbarian never got to removing her fur-lined, leather boots. The open window looks out over a side street that's not particularly busy, but nonetheless the sight of a naked girl repelling out of it catches the eye of an onlooker who calls out unintelligible but surely lewd comments to her. Looking down, the window is only situated on the second floor of the inn-cum-tavern, which has only three floors total. The diagonal beams of its brick-and-timber construction provide easy hand-and-foot holds for the retreating thief to safely climb down, with the only fuss that provided by the caterwauling passerby who's stopped to leer.

Meanwhile, Ayna's captor exits the building with a leap that has her boots touching ground within arm's reach merely a second after the thief's own egress.

Anya now finds herself naked, hanging onto the side of a building on one side of a narrow side-street that opens onto a more public thoroughfare on one side and onto an even smaller alley on the other. Time seems almost to have frozen in her mind, affording Anya the opportunity to fully examine her surroundings before taking action. Toward the public thoroughfare is the onlooker, a man in common clothes but wearing the haircut and bearing the demeanour of a drunken, off-duty town guard. Toward the alley is the barbarian, whose landing tucks her body into a crouch that more resembles a sprinter waiting to bolt than someone recovering from a fall. Directly across the narrow side-street from the inn is another brick-and-timber building with cross-beams and a latticework of trellises for creeping ivy. A standard wooden back door, presently shut but with no visible external lock, is just a few feet down past where the barbarian landed after leaping from the window.

Also, it's quite cold. Above freezing, but cold enough to sting the eyes and bring nipples turgid. As time returns to its usual pace, Anya must choose. What does she do?

 

[Rania Lark]

Anya swung her legs out the window and began the climb down over the wooden posts that served to hold up the structure of the simple inn and tavern. Still clutching the makeshift weapon in her hand, she used the other to support herself as she scaled down the side of the building with quite a bit of difficulty, ignoring the catcalling of some drunkard until she made it to the ground. The cold air penetrated the cobblestone of the walkway right up into her feet, sending pangs of pain up through her legs.

The wind immediately chilled her body and Anya’s teeth began to chatter in her mouth as her hands moved to cover as much of herself as possible. The man to her side blocking her path to the main thoroughfare was obviously drunk, his stature unsteady. On the other side was the barbarian who had threatened her life and had just tried to take her body unwillingly blocked her path. And a third option opened to her in front with a closed door leading into another building that could contain any number of horrible fates, but the cold coursing over her naked skin made her consider the option solely for the prospect of a warm fire.

But the easiest option for the expert escapee was clear. Anya turned towards the drunk man, her hand still covering her rapidly hardening nubs as she began to scramble down the alleyway, holding the sharpened stick in her other hand as she ran at the soldier, screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Help! Someone please help me!” Anya cried as she ran at the main road, hoping to catch someone’s attention who would rescue her from her captor.

 

[Elaebryn]

The drunkard is the first to act, moving languidly yet smoothly in a lurch and stagger that likely could not have been more effective if he tried.

A rough grip of calloused hand, the cold nubs of metal grommets in a leather bracer, and the warmth of a body blocking the wind all strike Anya a split-second before the man's body does. The drunk guard, likely meaning only to cop a feel — or perhaps he was angry that she sought to flee? — had collided with the girl while reaching out to grab her, and set them both off their balance. Inebriated limbs soon tangle themselves with her own, and the fur-lined cloak he wears unfurls skyward to briefly block her view as he trips and tumbles. Anya has perhaps the quick wit and reflex to dodge out of his way before he falls atop her, but even so for at least a while he bodily restrains her with his foolishness, and with the grasp of weathered palm on breast. His grip slackens once he strikes the ground, dazed by the fall for a moment and subsequently more concerned with finding footing to right himself than with tweaking a nipple.

The entire ordeal is over in seconds, but it is enough time for the barbarian woman to cover the distance between them. No sooner than the guard's hand is gone from her breast does another, more familiar grip find purchase on that sensitive juncture of flesh and nerves at the base of her neck.

"Kneel," says the fierce woman as she comes to a halt alongside her quarry. "Right here, in the street." Her voice is even, measured, venomous.

There is only the grip of one hand on Anya's shoulder to restrain her, so it's entirely possible she might wrest herself free and yet flee into the open thoroughfare whose nearness taunts her with the promise of freedom.

 

[Rania Lark]

Anya yelped as the perfectly timed stumble rammed right into her side. Anyone looking towards the scream would only see two drunken lovers involved in a sexual tryst though it was nothing of the sort. It was time when brawn won over brains as Anya’s smaller, lither body was easily overpowered by the soldier’s bigger one. The thief fell back under the soldier’s bigger semi-armoured body as she was pinned down for only as second, the cold and sharpness of the cobblestones sent pain up through Anya’s back as she cried out in pain.

His hand immediately recoiled from her breast as she scrambled to roll off of her to make it back to his drunken feet and Anya moved to roll herself in the opposite direction. That was, until she felt another hand finding its way to the freshly treated wound stitched together at the junction of her neck and shoulder, where skin stretched at the top of her collarbone. Anya’s eyes widened as she beheld the barbarian woman above her, sneering down at her as she pressed against the wound, threatening to push down if Anya decided to begin to struggle.

The thief’s teeth still chattered as goosebumps rose on her skin from the cold as the venomous order came from the barbarian’s lips, her hand still pressed dangerously over the stitches of her wound. Anya winced in pain from the pressure along the cut along with the pain of the cold as it ran up through her skin as she lay helpless. Anya couldn’t do anything but obey as she knew that fighting was a hopeless endeavour. So she moved up, pushing the hand harder against her wound as she hissed in pain, moving up to her knees as her body trembled in a mixture of fear and cold as the only sound that escaped her was the constant chattering of teeth and the stinging cold within her eyes that made salty tears gather at the corners.

 

[Elaebryn]

A satisfied smile replaces what was once a sneer.

"Good girl," says the cruel woman in the same harsh tone. Is she capable of any other? Her grip tightens but briefly, giving an encouraging squeeze. "Now apologize for spurning the nice man."

The drunken guardsman meanwhile has stumbled back to his feet, one hand clutching the side of his head while the other perhaps by instinct grips with whitened knuckles the handle of a truncheon that hangs from his hip by a leather cord. Clearly disoriented by drink and by fall, the man nonetheless appears physically fine save the bruise he nurses. His murky eyes find their focus on the woman speaking, then quickly fall to the kneeling woman. How quickly his senses seem to have at least partially returned to him as he registers the meaning behind those words: speech and gesture are exchanged between him and Anya's captor, and it's clear he understands Anya to be one of "her girls". Price is discussed, but the soldier demurs in lieu of heading home to his wife when put to the question of payment.

And so they seem set to soon part ways, with Anya shivering on the ground while her fate is decided for her.

 

[Rania Lark]

Anya moved her hands over her chest, hugging herself in an attempt to warm her rapidly cooling body as her shivers intensified. She hissed in pain as the barbarian squeezed the freshly treated wound on her shoulder, reminding the thief of her capabilities should the smaller girl resist. “Sorry,” she murmured, never meeting the drunkard’s own blurred gaze.

And then a conversation began again that sounded familiar to the captive thief as the barbarian began to sell her body once again without any consent nor input from her captive. Anya turned her head towards the building where she could have gone as the barbarian woman kept her hand holding onto the sore wound on her shoulder, ensuring that she remained in place. Anya examined her surroundings, searching desperately for an escape as the conversation over price seemed to derail the soldier’s lustful gazes. Anya’s teeth shook as her lips began to turn to a tinge of blue as she rubbed her upper arms desperately trying to warm her freezing cold body. But with the barbarian’s woman hold over fresh wound, Anya could do nothing but remain on her knees, shivering, terrified of the consequences after the soldier left them.

 

[Elaebryn]

"Did you get his purse?"

The voice that spoke was softer this time, and hot against her neck as the barbarian stooped to envelop Anya in sturdy fabric and thick fur. Warmth embraces the terrified girl as a heavy cloak is draped over her shoulders. Strong hands and arms pull the garment tight about her body, offering both comfort and modesty. And then as though she were a sack of potatoes the girl is lifted up off the ground, and slung over the larger woman's shoulder to be carried in one arm. Anya is thus presented a view of the other woman's mostly-bare back, rippling with muscle; her powerful back; the form but not the detail of muscled buttocks beneath snugly-fit leather covering.

They walk, out onto the thoroughfare, then back into the inn. Doubtlessly the bundled girl draws stares, but if anyone is bothered by it none speak of it as the two women cross through the tavern. Booted footsteps take them up the stairs, down the hall, and finally back to their room which was apparently left unlocked. Only minutes have passed since she fled the bed, and now Anya finds herself delivered back to it, this time swaddled in a cloak that has returned warmth to a body that had been chilled nearly to the bone. The other woman says nothing; leaves the door ajar; does not unwrap the girl she just placed back in bed. She just stands there, watching as though waiting for ... what?