Portal - The Rise of a Mage (Black_Out/Iridel)

[Iridel]

Almeta Rosenwood should have been looking for a husband or flirting with the blacksmith's son. Some might argue she should have already been married. But the 17 year old was not considered suitable for such things. For one thing she had no dowry, and little coin to her name, and for another she practiced magic.

It wasn't anything flashy or grand. Like the rest of her life and surroundings it was simple. Practical. It did what it needed to with little fuss or showiness. But with word of Merasheel's portal she didn't dare use it more than she had to. No doubt his gaze would turn towards schools and powerful mages, but that didn't mean she could be careless.

Staying safe meant keeping her head down, doing her work, and not making a fuss. She didn't fault the other townspeople from interacting as little as possible with her either. In the past three weeks only two had come knocking at her door. One for something to ease her son's fever, and the other for some salve to soothe a rash. Beyond that they were strangers. Too afraid of being thrown in the Portal alongside her should she be captured.

On this particular day she hummed softly to herself as she gathered herbs from the little garden behind her home. Her mother's teachings and intuition told her which ones were ready for picking, and which needed to be culled to make the next little harvest stronger. The basket on her arm had a healthy selection of lavender, sage, rosemary, and other herbs known for their healing properties. Later that day, or perhaps tomorrow, she'd be back in the garden to pull the weeds. In her home a pot of modest stew was idly stirring itself. It was a bit of a risk to be sure, but it was such a small thing and hr was heading back inside already. Surely nobody would notice.

As she shut the door the pot stopped stirring and she set to work tying the herbs together to hang and dry. Again she risked just a little magic. Something to make the smell of her home hold just a touch if freshness to overcome the dust and medicinal smell of herbs. It was such a small thing to do, surely someone as mighty as Merasheel or his Fingers wouldn't notice.

Still, she couldn't help but glance a little nervously out the window and pull down a little sage to place in a bowl and light for protection. These were dark and frightening times. And Almeta had a feeling they would only be getting worse.

 

[Black_Out]

The continent of Libbadore had seen it's share of war and strife over the past hundred years. Religious zealots and their armies had been entrenched in a ruthless exchange with other sides of a pantheon of god's that had spiraled out of control that seemed destined to have no end. The clashing of the faiths had spread bloodshed and sent countless amounts of people to an early grave. What no one expected was the rise of the Empire who had taken the disillusioned members of the lands and united them under what they claimed to be the one true god, Merasheel. He was a young entity in relation to the seven other deities that had held so much sway and influence upon the lands, and largely dismissed as he stood alone as a separate faith that bore no relation to the larger pantheon of the All Father. His teachings and principles were focused on the archaic, his lessons steeped in magic and science.

Over the past several decades those who were tired of the constant bickering and slaughter that permeated the culture of the All Father's pantheon had turned to Merasheel's teachings. They flocked to his banner, schools arose and preached the tenets of his faith while churning out new generations of bright and dedicated students. Neighboring cities that had long been at odds over which aspects of the All Fathers pantheon they supported turned away from those gods and founded alliances under the prompting of Merasheels growing influence. They grew mighty, unified in their disgust of the old ways as their borders were held from the invasion of the crusades by a host of skilled knights, archers, magi, and their machines of war that few in the lands could even boast of having, let alone defeat.

Only a matter of months ago things had shifted drastically upon the war torn continent of Libbadore. With the unveiling of the Portal the Empire formed an army the lands had never seen the likes of before and began their march of conquest. Most troubling of all though was the silence of the gods that preceded the birth of the Portal and the forces that surrounded and protected it. The All Father and his family of gods had one day just disappeared, no longer answering the prayers or supplying the divine powers that their clergies used to invoke their will. Turmoil overtook many of the cities that had relied upon one aspect or another of the All Fathers guiding hand, and their power and sway diminished immediately. The chaos that followed made the effort of standing against the coming of the Empire all the more impossible to withstand, and cities and their governing bodies quickly submitted after being faced with the Empires ultimatum.

Word was beginning to spread, rumors were being carried from town to town, but the facts of it all were obscure and conflicting in those early days. No one knew exactly what the coming of the Portal would bring to their homes, though all knew it to be a cleansing that threatened to wash away the olden ways and establish a new age upon the land of Libbadore. Almeta had a right to be worried, the few rumors that had reached her small and humble shop had spoken of Merasheel's Fingers leading a persecution by a band of Inquisitors that sought to stamp out the use of unsanctioned magic and unify the practice of the arts under the guidance of Merasheel's faith.

The dinging of the small copper welcoming bell that hung from the doorway of her simple and well kept shop alerted her to the rarity of a customer entering the store. It was Rand, an infrequent customer that lived in a cloistered and secluded monastery a days travel to the east. He wore his typical modest tan robes and sported his usual freshly shaved head. His youthful and pleasant, if not some what tempered demeanor seemed different to what Almeta was accustomed to. His light brown eyes darted about and settled upon her as he swiftly moved through the store towards her. "Almeta." He spoke her name in a hushed tone. "The Portal, the Empire, they came to my monastery, they're coming here, to Tikal next." He took a deep and steadying breath as he gave the young strawberry haired herbalist an uneasy look. "There is nowhere to go, they've surrounded the outskirts of the city." His gaze snapped back over his head towards the door and stared towards it a moment. "Their Inquisition should be here, by night fall."

 

[Iridel]

She went to the front of her shop with an easy smile on her face, smoothing the skirts of her dress. However, when she saw Rand that smile faltered. Almeta could see what he'd come to say wasn't anything good. That still didn't prepare her for the message.

The color drained from her face, and she felt her blood run cold. It was the one thing she'd thought would never happen. At least not so soon.

"I ... I can't ... Ah ... Thank you. I have to go."

Swiftly she turned away, heading through the little door that separated her home from the shop. She had to leave. Had to try to anyways. But what to take?

Heart racing she grabbed her worn cloak and filled a small cloth sack with dried meat, hardtack, and carefully placed some of her herbs alongside them. Using a string of leather she bound her hair back, slipped on the cloak, and pulled the hood up. If anything would give her away it would be her hair.

Then she simply left, leaving everything as it was. It wasn't safe to wait until nightfall, but Almeta believed she'd find safety in the forest but a half hour's walk from her home. She knew deer trails and hidden paths her mother had shown her to find certain plants. Now she hoped she could use them to lose herself and hide.

She wanted to run there, but even walking away from the town and people she felt like she was being watched. Although her pace was brisk, she didn't dare make a full on break for it for fear of looking any more suspicious than she likely already did. When she made it past the tree line though, that worry went out the window. If she was to be hidden before nightfall then she needed to hurry. And here it didn't seem likely she could be watched as easily.

Running she took twists and turns down paths barely noticeable, doing her best to not leave any trace of her passing. Not once did she look back, but in her fear she felt as though they could be behind her already. The sun was beginning to set by the time she finally stopped and curled herself into the cramped space in the roots of an old tree. It had likely once been a fox den, but there was just enough room for her to tuck herself in and out of sight. Almeta was forced to lie on her side, legs curled to her chest and cheek to the dirt, but she didn't think she'd be found.

As darkness fell she did her best to breathe as quietly as possible. She could only hope they didn't find her and went on their way to other places.

 

[Black_Out]

Almeta was snatched up from the depths of her slumber, awoken by the sudden and fierce sound of a growling black hound of some massively furry breed that made it look like it had a lions mane of wild black around its head. The bark was booming and jolting as the war dog had sniffed the young woman's scent out and had discovered her hiding place. The viscous looking dogs posture was tense and tight, looking ready to pounce if Almeta so much as moved. Off in the distance and from the sound of things approaching the cornered Almeta was a mans voice. "You find something boy!" Another voice could be heard coming from a different direction in the dark and shadowy forest that was sprinkled with moonlight. "Over this way! Razor found something!"

Pinpoints of light from hooded lanterns that swayed and bounced filtered in alighting cones that swept through the cluster of trees surrounding Almeta. "Heel Razor!" One voice called out from a shadowy figure that was cutting through the woods at an alarmingly fast rate. Striding over the obstacles of the forest a man emerged from the darkness as the beam of his lantern soaked the tree Almeta was nestled within in light. The soft leather of his boots carried him to stand at the large war dogs side, his free hand dropping down to stroke against the ill tempered dogs mane of hair. "Easy Razor, easy boy, good dog." He spoke softly as he knelt down next to the heavily panting enormous dog.

The dark green hood and cape curtained around the hunters crouched form as his eyes lurked in the depths of his hood. "Alright you." His gaze turned into the shadow caked depths of the roots that Almeta's hooded form was curled up within. "Let me see your hands." As he spoke to her another bobbing line of light could be seen nearing her. "You didn't think we'd notice you trying to flee?" In the brief time that other light had distracted her eyes the ranger kneeling before her had drawn forth an intricate looking crossbow that was impressively compact. "We knew about your witch craft a long time ago little lady." His hand gestured with the loaded crossbow the sharp tip of which dripped with some green thick fluid. "So like I said, show me your hands and come out of there, now."

Almeta could hear his words punctuated by the familiar sound of a bows string tightening as the next to arrive settled his lantern down a short distance away in the darkness. Her gaze was barely able to make out the shape of the scout as he hunched over with a bow that seemed to be clearly aimed upon her. "We found her! Over here!" He cried out as the stubble coated chin of the Ranger in front of her shifted as his narrowed lips turned into a smirk. "You shouldn't of run. The Inquisitors don't like it when you witches run." The words were spoken as echoes from others working through the woods could be heard in the distance, as they closed in on their quarry.

 

[Iridel]

She wasn't sure when she fell asleep. But she was pulled from it roughly by the war hound's barking. Were she not so frightened she might have tried to soothe the dog to silence it, but she was never skilled at using magic in times of stress. It always eluded her unless she was calm and able to focus. And thus she could only watch the light of the lantern come closer as her hiding place was discovered.

The light stung her eyes forcing her to squint and look away as she obediently showed her palms. Tears slipped down her cheeks, cutting lines theough the dirt as she wriggled out of the hole and stood before them with her hands presented. Being called a witch stung. It was an insult. She'd never done anything dark or evil. Everything she and her mother, and her grandmother even, had been to help others.

But now was not the time to argue that. Not with an arrow pointed at her and a war hound snarling. Standing there she was hardly a threat. Only 5'3" in height, her hair falling in dirtied curls around her face as she fought to hold back sobs of terror. But there was one thing she had to know, and it took whatever little courage she had left to ask it.

"Why? I - I haven't hurt anybody ... So why me?"

Part of her felt the answer would be that there was no reason. At least no reason beyond the fact she was using magic. But Almeta simply had to know if there was anything she'd done to deserve this, because she couldn't see it.

 

[Black_Out]

The stubble worn face of the tracker settled before her along side the dark and furry mass of the war hound as Almeta emerged from her place of hiding. A deep growl rumbled up from the depths of the war dogs throat as the eyes of the impressively large canine watched her unwaveringly. "I'm not the one to ask those questions of." The ranger responded to her blurted out query. His gaze briefly left the hooded form of the meager herbalist that knew little more then a few tricks as he turned the covering edge of the deep green cloak aside and revealed a dark brown leather bag at his hip. His free hand slid away from the stroking of the tightly coiled and crouched war hound and flipped open the dark leather satchel, dipping his fingers into the depths of it. Two small black leather bags were produced, all while the intricate hand held crossbow remained pointed upon her with it's poison tipped bolt waiting for the trigger to simply be pulled.

"You best put those on your hands, now." He statement was more of a command then a request as he tossed the small bags at her feet. "You'll need to curl your fingers up in order to fit them in the bags." His shadowy gaze peered down to the pair of hand binding black leather bags and then up to Almeta. "As for why, you can ask him." His heavy obscuring hood turned to the left and gestured towards the darkness where a tall and wiry man emerged. "That is Vezille, one of Merasheel's Fingers, so I suggest you watch your tongue, witch."

That man didn't simply just emerge though, no, he floated a foot off the forest floor, crossing over the terrain in silence. "And what might this witch wish to ask of me?" Vezille spoke, his voice was deep and strained as he leveled his turquoise tinted eyes upon Almeta. Robes of brilliant reds and oranges flowed across the Fingers form, marks of arcane runes were gilded in white embroidery upon the furled edges of his fiery themed garment. His left hand rose, thin fingers turning out of the depths of the sleeve that his arm was sunk within and clenching at the air in her direction. Rings decorated those narrow digits, adorned with more wealth then Almeta would of likely seen in her life upon just one of his outstretched fingers. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds all glittered from the vast display of jewelry perched upon those clenching fingers as the air crackled and warmed in his grasp, condensing into a walnut sized bundle of ember that glowed bright orange.

As the bright glow of the conjured up wisp of flame formed and shed a glow of radiant orange out from the outstretched and reaching arm of the Finger known as Vezille more men arrived from the depths of the woods. Each of them seemed a seasoned hunter and at home in the woods, their forms swathed in camouflaging fabrics of deep and natural tones. Most wielded bows, and had them idly trained upon Almeta, while one that fell out in a graceful twirling leap from the darkened height of the trees arose with a single dagger that was thin like a needle pinched between his fingers. Perhaps in the back of their minds they sensed the lack of a threat that she truly offered, but with the presence of one of the Fingers in their midst their sense of duty would not be relaxed.

 

[Iridel]

There was no resistance or protest from her as she fitted the bags over hands, forced to use her teeth to pull the second all the way on. She felt even more helpless then, and it was a wonder she didn't simply fall to her knees in fright when she saw Vezille. His power was such that she could feel it, and his obvious wealth was already enough to make her hunch her shoulders slightly and try to appear smaller than she already was.

Almeta couldn't meet his gaze and instead stared at the dirt in front of her. Somehow she still had just enough strength in her to ask again, this time to one of Merasheel's fingers.

"I - I just want to know why ..."

Her voice was soft and trembling, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks as she spoke. She glanced up only briefly to see the wisp he conjured before lowering her eyes once more. In that glance she saw the men surrounding her. All the arrows tipped in that vile green substance.

Did they really think her such a threat? Under other circumstances the thought of all these men finding her dangerous would have funny. Hilarious even. But right now it was a frightening thing, and she feared it would spell her end.

 

[Black_Out]

Delicately the feet of Vezille settled upon the ground a short stones throw away from the tiny hunched over form of Almeta that had been surrounded by an impressive collection of skilled hunters and trackers. "You want to know why. Ask yourself this then witch." Vezille cleared his strained voice with a cough and let his hand close in around the small wisp of brilliant energy, dismissing it as the situation seemed far less troublesome then he was expecting. Rumor was reported to him after all of the young woman with the long ginger red hair that worked in a shop that was run by her Mother who was a witch, and by her Mother before her, who was also a witch. That lineage alone drew the Inquisition's attention to her humble little shop and over the years before the Portal was revealed to the world, the Empire's spies had added her name to a growing list of suspected witches and warlocks.

"If you had nothing to hide, why run?" His words hissed at her. "You see, to me, that is the actions of a guilty individual." As he spoke the Ranger before her holstered his hand crossbow at his side and leaned in, taking hold of her by the wrists and tightened the strings that secured the bags firmly around her tightly bundled up hands. "You could of saved yourself, long ago, had you devoted yourself to Merasheel." The wizards words bit at Almeta as the splendidly bright robed arms of the Finger crossed about his chest. "You could of traveled to the Empire of Merasheel, and found a true teacher in the arts of crafting magic." His index finger flashed forward and scoldingly gestured towards her. "But no you thought to delve into his realm without his guidance. That's what witches like you do, like your Mother did, and her Mother before her." He spat upon the ground for emphasis. "You choose this path for yourself, I am only to glad that we found you before you attained some measure of power because when the Inquisition is done with you, practicing your witch craft will be the least of your worries."

Vezille looked to the Ranger and spoke in his firm and deeply strained voice. "Tie her up, gag her, and bring her to the prison camp." As the flowing bright robes of the Finger spun with his turning form he began to float up into the air once again he looked towards Almeta with a twist of his lips in disgust. "Keep her under close watch. I'm sure the High Inquisitor will want to make an example out of her when he hears how she tried to flee when she is brought before the Portal." His words carried down to them all as he lifted up through the trees and faded from view as the canopy of the forest hid his ascent.

 

[Iridel]

But would it really have been better if she didn't run? She knew better than to ask. Just like she knew better than to point out how unfair his claims that she could have done something different were. It cost money to find a teacher or exceptional skill. Those were two things that Almeta sorely lacked. Even if she had made the journey, devoted herself to Merasheel, no teacher would have taken her. In the end she'd still be right back where she was, but being captured in a city she knew only the name of.

The unfairness of it all left a bitter taste in her mouth, and shudder ran through her as she bit back a sob. She offered no fight as they bound and gagged her in the hopes of mitigating whatever punishment awaited her.

Other than the dread that weighed in her soul the journey was relatively uneventful. She was too lost in her own worries and fears to notice the route they took, and any energy not expended to her thoughts was used for continuing to move forward one step at a time. Tears fell silently and freely until she simply had no more to give, but evidence of of their passing was cut through the grime on her face.

By the time they arrived she'd settled into a state of numbness. It was too much strain to be so frightened, and her mind sought to protect itself by removing every emotion. The camp was noisy, and looking about she saw magic users of every social standing. Some were like her, poor and unable to understand how any of this was fair. Others wore fine clothes and had the air of someone who had studied and honed their craft.

But all were bound. All were gagged. And here, all were equal it seemed.

 

[Black_Out]

Almeta was kept with her hands tightly bundled in the squeezing confines of the black leather bags, her wrists were shackled and there was a heavy rope secured to those shackles that was tied off to a stout wooden pole that had been driven into the ground. Thick wood filled every mouth, secured by ropes that were tightly bound around the back of necks, forcing jaws to remain painfully held open. Numbers had been painted with broad strokes of thick white paint upon every post that stuck up out of the ground, helping to identify every prisoner attached to them. Almeta's pole bore the bold and thick single line that identified her as number one.

There were other more common prisoners though, that were obviously not suffering the same fate as the magi and clergy that had been gathered up and brought to the encampment. Those prisoners simply wore the heavy shackles that kept their wrists tightly clad together and tied off to one of the posts. Most everyone seemed to bear a mark of harsh treatment. Bruises, welts, and blackened eyes were a common scene played out upon the vast variety of captives she had found herself huddled with. There were even a few among the pole bound prisoners that were left laying unconscious in pools of their own blood.

Foot soldiers of the Empire shuffled through the camp, keeping vigil over the collection of prisoners that were to be brought before the Inquisition. Stopping at the fallen to make sure they were still alive. No food or water was offered to the unfortunate lot of prisoners held within the secured camp. Though Almeta could see a team of soldiers working their way through the field of numbered poles. They wore blue stained leathers that sported polished studs of metal for additional protection and blue hooded capes that trailed behind as they purposefully strode from pole to pole. Dark wooden clubs dangled from their sides and were brought out often to liberally apply a beating upon any of the prisoners they visited at the guidance of their whims. In their wake a set of compliant prisoners followed obediently along, drawing simple wheel barrels behind them. The duo stopped at every prisoners post and unceremoniously used sharpened knives to cut away the clothing they had worn until they were bared to the flesh. One cart was laden with a diminishing pile of simple white wool garments, while the other was filling up with the remnants of the discarded clothing taken from every stop they made.

Eventually that pair of young guards made their way towards where Almeta had been left to soak in her fear and worries. Behind them the carts stuffed with ruined clothing and the bundles of the meager white wool they were exchanged for came to a halt. The pair of male servants plucked from the ranks of the captives held in the camp kept their heads down and settled their gaze on their feet, never daring to meet any of the eyes of the prisoners they approached.

"Oh, well look at that, lucky number one." The rather bold voice of a shaggy brown haired guard exclaimed as the pair walked casually towards Almeta. "Poor thing, she looks terrified." The other, a pudgier blonde haired man stated as they moved to stand beside her. They reached up and began to remove her hooded cloak from her body, and then the knives came out. "Just hold still you pretty little thing." The first stated as she found his hands pushing her towards the pole until she was plastered against it. The second of the guards, the some what overweight young man began to draw the knife slowly across the dangling dirty dress skirt she was wearing, until it fell away and puddled at her feet. Simple plucks of the knife followed, causing undergarments to fall away and join the dress settled around her feet. Socks were cut away, stockings ripped and torn from her body until she was left bare naked, pinned to the post.

She could feel their hands upon her flesh, clutching into the tender and vulnerable body of the young woman. Her pert and shapely ass was groped by the men, while breasts were fondled with malicious intent. "Keep a look out." The dark haired guard said as he glanced towards his comrade. "I think this little witch bitch needs a good solid fucking before she's sent off to the Portal." His voice chimed out with delight as he began to tug down his trousers. "It's not like she's going to say no." The other nervously laughed as he averted his gaze from the pending rape of Almeta.

 

[Iridel]

Standing at her pole she spent only a small amount of time trying to ease her discomfort as the wood made her jaw ache and forced drool to run out the corners of her mouth and make her thirst. It was quickly apparent there was no way in which the bit could be adjusted that was any more comfortable. So she ultimately settled on simply doing her best to remain quiet and unnoticed. Almeta had no desire to wind up bruised or bloodied if she could avoid it, and for a time it worked.

Nobody paid her much mind, and she never felt the sting of a slap or the crushing ache of a club. With her head against the pole she even found enough peace for a short, but fitful rest as the ache of her feet and jaw as well as the sounds of suffering around her prevented any real sleep.

The guards that came with the carts couldn't be avoided though. She didn't do more than glance at them, keeping her eyes averted in the hopes they would do their work and leave. Pressed against the pole she stayed still endured the shame of having her clothing stripped only to find their hands wandering. Shaking her head she struggled to speak around the wooden gaf, pressing harder against the wood in an attempt to pull away.

Untouched except by her own hand this was not how she wanted to give herself up. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes, and she gave incoherent and muffled pleas for them not to do it. She pressed her thighs tightly together and crossed her ankles to make gaining access to her womanhood all the more difficult and tried to step away. Almeta looked to the one who dropped his pants, blue eyes begging more clearly than her voice could for him to change his mind and leave her be.

 

[Black_Out]

"Coast is clear, like always." The lookout stated, briefly glancing at his companion in arms who by now had his trousers drawn down around his knees. With a short waddle of steps he pressed himself against Almeta's back as he settled his hands across the sides of her shoulders and corralled her dainty body against the sturdy length of the thick post. "Shhh.." His lips hissed into her ear as he ground his already excited moderate manhood against the trembling tightly enclosed confines of the cheeks of her ass. "Don't make me use the rod." His voice growled out. "Now spread those legs."

His dark green eyes stared into the pleading blue of her own as his hands worked down from the sides of her shoulders. His palms pressed firmly upon the soft and tender flesh of her body as they swirled about her sides. One hand rose up, settling upon the pale and pink toned flesh of her bosom, manipulating it in his fingers, a nipple being pinched between the sharp pressure of his fingertips. "Don't make it hard on yourself." He moaned deeply into her ear as his other hand slid downward upon her belly. Fingers flared out and roughly rubbed along the pink slit of her virginity, fighting against the clamping pressure of her squeezed together thighs.

She could feel the heat of his hardened cock becoming ensconced between the tightness of her clenching ass cheeks. His hips ground upward, pushing it to further become entombed between the sandwiching cheeks of her rear. The thick feeling of his leather tunic and the sensation of the cool metal studs dug along her back as she found her breasts being parted against the stout width of the pole she was pressed against.

All the while the other guard didn't look, it wasn't something he was fond of or took any pleasure in, but he was a good soldier and looked out for his companion, despite his own personal reservations. When his gaze inevitably found another prisoner nearby stealing glances towards the scene his fingers tapped his club and he would issue a stern look. No one seemed to have any intentions of putting themselves at risk as Almeta was being viciously taken advantage of.

 

[Iridel]

His breath felt hot against her ear as he pressed her against the pole once more. She drew in a shuddering breath at the pinch to her nipple, and tears she didn't know she still had welled at the corners of her eyes. One quick glance around told Almeta there would be no one to save her. None of the nearby prisoners dared look, and the one she did catch the eye of simply glanced guiltily away. His threat and the press of his cock was met with a little moan of despair.

Her choices were to be beaten and raped, or just raped. It was hardly a choice at all, but she knew what she preferred.

Reluctantly she parted her legs for him, giving him the access he desired to her virgin slit. Pressing her forehead to the rough wood of the pole she closed her eyes and told herself to just endure it and perhaps it would be over quickly. His fingers would find her cunt dry and largely unresponsive to his rough touches. Not only that but Almeta refused to give him anything more than the tears that slid down her cheeks. She withdrew into her mind as far as she could, disassociating herself from the act taking place.

With her eyes closed it was easy to pretend it was someone else he groped. It was someone else pressed against the pole with cool leather against their back and the hard length of cock between their rear cheeks. It was someone else who no one would save. She was home in front of a little fire with the medicinal smell of herbs in her nose. The rape that played out was just nightmare. Nothing more. And like all nightmares it would end soon.

 

[Black_Out]

"That's more like it." His voice breathed warmth against her ear and threatened to steal her daydreaming thoughts away from the pleasant confines of her cottage that she had conjured up in her mind. "God's, your a hot little thing." He groaned as he let his lips grasp upon the dirty flesh along the side of her neck and below her ear as the length of him began to slide free from the confines of her clenching ass cheeks.

His hips dipped back as his fingers parted the snug lips of her virgin womanhood while his palm rubbed down across the patch of strawberry tinted hair that adorned her sex. With a forward slap of his hips the young man pushed the width and heat of his arousal in between her slightly parted and trembling legs. If his words didn't drive her out of the depths that her mind wandered in search of distracting thoughts, surely the sudden penetration of his shaft would. As he pushed himself into the tight folds of her untouched sex he forced her own belly and parted legs to suck in against the pole.

With a groan of lust the guard began to pull back his hips and slam his invasive cock back into the helpless depths of Almeta's sex, shattering her virginity with a single deep stroke of his penetrating manhood. His hands swirled about her body, claiming flesh as he ravaged her against the unyielding width of the hardy pole. Fingers tore into her thick mess of ginger toned hair, twirling it about his grasp and yanking her head back as he left the depth of his conquest of her body as marks of red suction upon her bared neckline. In short order the young man gasped out as the excitement of the act thrilled his loins to eruption as he came within minutes of entering her.

As he withdrew he slapped his glistening cock against her bared ass and wiped it against the clean flesh, smearing the wetness that clung to the softening shaft across her rear. "That felt good, I hope you know how much I appreciated that." The guard sneered into her ear before he drew away and settled his trousers back into place. Already the other guard was moving and settling the thin white garment down over her head. It was essentially a sheet of scratchy white wool that was draped over her and tied oh so delicately together by small strings near the ends of the sheet that drew the garment closed about the sides of her waist. She was left there, after an apologetic gaze from the pudgier guard found her tortured eyes and they moved off to the next in line on their tour through the encampment.

 

[Iridel]

His voice alone didn't put her from the safety of her mind, but the pain of being penetrated for the first time dry and unprepared did. She hadn't been ready for how it'd feel, and she cried out against the gag as he pulled on her hair. Almeta felt the scrape of teeth where he marked her neck, and each drive of his cock inside her rubbed her front against the wood of the pole before her.

The only blessing was that it ended just as quickly as it began, leaving her quietly sobbing as they fitted the wool over her head. She didn't care for the apologetic glance from the man who stood guard. It meant nothing. If he truly regretted his actions he wouldn't have allowed the act to take place.

Standing there she now had the discomfort of his cum slowly leaking out, and a distinct ache between her legs to add to her misery. The marks upon her neck throbbed and stung, and Almeta could only imagine how much worse it would make things when the Inquisitor arrived.

With that thought she glanced up at the bold one painted upon her pole. Even if it meant standing there until until she could no longer feel her feet, she hoped the Inquisitor would take his time arriving. Surely there were other prison camps with other prisoners far more important than she. And while she felt guilty for wanting others to suffer their punishments first, she knew she only wished it out of fear of what would happen to her.

 

[Black_Out]

Almeta was left there to slump along the post upon which she was bound. She could hear the distinct sound of those two guards and their carts moving off to the next in line, repeating the procedure of changing the prisoners garb out for the simple white blanket of wool. She was naive though, for what Almeta didn't realize as the night carried onward around her, was that her number marked her as the first in line for the coming days judgement before the High Inquisitor. One through Fifty were going to be summoned for the first day of activity, led in a procession until each of them had stood before the High Inquisitor and been judged by his hand. All were going to be guilty, of that there was little doubt, though that fact was scarcely known to prisoners held within the encampment. Many believed they would be able to plead their case, that the High Inquisitor would find them innocent of any wrong doing and see them released.

Until then, Almeta had a night to endure within the encampment as torches moved about the arrangement of pole bound prisoners. A loud and sharp cry of pain tore her tired gaze from wherever it lingered as her eyes settled on a skirmish that had erupted around one of the pole bound men further in the camp, but yet clearly in her view. It was Rand, and the carts that followed the pair of guards that had visited her, and defiled her were sitting nearby the monk. Laid out on the ground was the soldier that had taken advantage of her, and violated her not but a half hour ago.

The chubbier guard that remained was fumbling for his club as Rand skipped a step towards him and his foot shot upwards, squarely connecting under the guards chin and dropping him to the ground like a pile of wood. The pair of cart pulling prisoners were looking on in shocked silence as the eyes of Rand drifted across the torch lit encampment and found Almeta's. He offered a somber dip of his head, she probably did not see what he had done, but as the men approached Rand launched into a spinning twist that unleashed a devastating impact of his shin across the first guards nose and busted it wide open.

As the two young guards laid in a sprawled out mess at Rand's feet a host of more arrived on the scene. Raised clubs and rods came down, beating the monk into a senseless state of submission where all he could manage was to try to bring his arms upward to shield himself from the veracity of the strikes raining down upon him. In short order though he was left a beaten pulp of himself, unmoving upon the hard ground that now soaked up the blood that spilled out of his beaten body.

The gathering of guards checked on their fallen companions, and two new members of the watch took their place as the wounded duo were dragged away from the confines of the encampment to be looked after. No one attended to Rand though, and as the night gave way to dawn he could be seen to flinch in the depths of his unconsciousness from time to time as he laid in the sticky filth of his own blood and dirt.

 

[Iridel]

She tried to sleep. As uncomfortable as she was she knew she'd need some rest to face whatever morning brought. But the wool garment did little to guard her against the chill of the night, and the aching in her jaw and feet refused to quiet themselves.

Just as she thought she might get a least a light nap in, she was startled by a cry. Looking toward it she saw the fight. Saw Rand beat down the guard that had violated her and his friend. But while there was satisfaction in seeing her attacker beaten, and knowing that someone had the courage to stand and face them, her heart ached for the monk. If there was only one important lesson to be learned this day, it was that resistance only led to more suffering.

And sure enough she saw the man struck down and beaten until it seemed he might be dead. Only his faint twitching told her that Rand was indeed alive. F

For now.

There was no sleep after that. Not when the body of what was arguably the closest thing she had to a friend was lying there mostly unmoving. When she couldn't get the image of how he crumpled under the weight of those clubs and how the guards swung them without hesitation.

It left her to stand and watch as the sun rose wondering what the new day would bring. If she'd get a chance to show she was not threat and offer to stop plying her trade and using magic. Doing so would be a blow to her way of life, but there were crafts she knew that didn't take magic. She could always sew or weave.

Some part of her knew it was foolish to hope that she'd be let go, but it was all the hope she had just then. And if she was going to live to see the morning after this one she needed that hope to keep her going.

 

[Black_Out]

Morning eventually arose in what seemed to be one long and never ending triumph of night. Rand for the most part remained unmoving, even into the dawning hours of a new day the most that could be seen from his form was a flicker of twitching movement or the abrupt clenching of a hand in the dirt. Situated upon the pole above Rand was the bold white number of sixty seven.

Guards seemed to double then triple in their presence as the suns warmth fell over the camp of exhausted and bound prisoners. The rare sighting of men dressed in white robes that bore deep blue hoods and masks of the same tone that fell like curtains within the hoods could be seen slowly moving through the assembled captives. They carried whips of black leather that remained looped in their grasping blue clad hands. On more then one occasion the snapping crack of those whips rang out when they confronted a prisoner who was perhaps to bold for the liking of the Inquisitors.

They mingled with some more decorated looking officers that then spoke to other guards who soon shuttled out around the camp and began to gather up prisoners as they unfastened them from the sturdy poles they had been tethered too. Soon Almeta found a pair of guards approaching her as their eyes swept over the long pole buried in the dirt that she was tied too.

"There she is, lucky number one." A man with a skewed smile coyly stated as they neared her. "We're going to untie you from the pole now, so don't try anything." The guard warned with a stern tone to his voice as they began to unravel and unknot the loop of rope secured to a ring screwed into the pole. "Word of advice, plead guilty, might save yourself some suffering." The same guard spoke to her as he pulled her by the rope secured around her wrists and led her towards the edge of the encampment where dozens of other prisoners were being gathered into a line.

Eventually Almeta found herself ushered to the head of the line where a juggernaut of a knight stood by her side. His form was imposing and silent as the narrow slits upon his helmet allowed for barely a glance beyond them to the stubble worn face with the cold and icy blue eyes hidden within. His right hand was settled on a large wooden cross the peak of which rose up into the air above him, tan loops of rope fell from each end of the horizontal portion of the crosses length, while near the middle of the vertical shaft of wood another pair of looping ropes was inset.

"Sir Fyndrake, here she is, the witch that tried to flee." The guard presented Almeta to the silent perusal of the knight who simply spoke a blunt reply. "Tie her off to the cross then, I'll carry the bitch in." The knight snorted from beneath the depths of his heavy helmet and let the cross drop to the ground. Almeta soon found herself unshackled, her wrists bound to the ends of the horizontal beam lingering high up on the vertical shaft of wood, while her legs were tied by the ankles to that section, leaving her weight supported by the bindings around her slender wrists.

With ease the sinister seeming knight known as Fyndrake leaned over and took hold of the wooden cross and hefted it upwards in his grasp. Holding Almeta's bound body aloft for all to see as if she was some sort of banner Sir Fyndrake led her out of the encampment and down the road that was deeply flanked by knights and archers serving under the Empire.

As she felt her body bounce upon the cross, and those taut ropes dig into the soft skin of her wrists the looming vision of the Portal and a gathering crowd of townsfolk upon the simple hills surrounding the blue crackling field of swirling energy that rested upon the top of the wagon like Portal could be seen. There, in the distance the High Inquisitor waited her arrival, standing tall behind a podium of bright white wood that was draped with the blue star of Merasheel.

 

[Iridel]

Like before she remained silent with her head down to avoid attention. The sound of whips and the cries that followed the crack made her wince, but they never came around to her. Once or twice she glanced up just to watch the guards and men in blue as they milled about, but always quickly looked away until they approached her. Almeta watched them come closer, hoping they might change direction. But they were there for her.

She was quiet as they unbound her from the pole. There would be no admitting guilt for anything more than using magic. As far as Almeta could see nothing she'd done was wrong. She hadn't hurt anybody. Hadn't tried to rise above her station. And everything she had done was in the service of others. But if the use if her magic was a crime, the yes that she was guilty of. Nothing more.

Walking next to the line of other prisoners she could feel their eyes upon her. A brief look at some of then showed relief that it wasn't them being brought to the front. Others offered pity. Waiting at the end was yet another form of punishment and humiliation. She was silent, though she gave the man, Fyndrake, a wary glance.

But he was there only to carry the cross they bound her to and present her before the High Inquisitor and the Portal. The ropes chafed at her wrist and ankles, and although she was bound tightly to the wood she felt the rough material bite into her skin as gravity sought to pull her down.

But as she gazed upon the Portal for the first time she hardly noticed her discomfort. Fear and awe dominated as she stared at the swirling blue mass, and it wasn't until her name and "crimes" were announced did she look away to where the High Inquisitor sat. Around her she heard the murnur of the crowd, all of them judging her as she was declared a witch, and a threat.

Then came her chance as the announcer called out, "And how does the accused plead?"

Somehow she found the courage to respond, "Not guilty."

The murmuring grew louder and fear gripped her heart as she quickly pushed on to elaborate.

"I have used magic. I will not deny that. But I have never used it for malicious or cruel means. I've only ever used it to help others and perform little things around my home. I have no great power. I never have. And I've never wished ill of anyone."

Her voice trembled with every word, and tears filled her eyes to slide down her cheeks. Her gaze pleased with the High Inquisitor to believe her. To see that she was innocent and certainly not someone to deserve such a fate.

 

[Black_Out]

The High Inquisitor leaned forward, the thin brown lashes of the young man of some thrity years of age narrowed as his hazel gaze settled upon the cross bound figure of Almeta. He was resplendent looking in the rich white robes that draped across his prideful body, archaic swirls of royal blue, the color associated with Merasheel, decorated the fringes of their length. The thin hawkish nose of the strikingly handsome man twitched as he spoke in a voice that boomed across the gathering and carried with it the power of his station.

"You fled from the city, like a witch." His words hissed out of his mouth as he gestured in arcing movements with his left arm. "You confess here to using magic without the guidance of Merasheel." His gaze swept about the crowd, playing to the prejudices of the people gathered about to bear witness to the Portals cleansing. "Your Mother was a known witch, and her Mother before her." The High Inquisitor's eyes leveled back upon Almeta. "You will be cleansed, take the witch to the rack! Cut out her tongue, and break her hands until they are mangled!" There was a pause as he let those words sink in. "She is guilty as charged!"

Immediately the High Inquisitor tore his gaze away from Almeta and buried it into the ledger set out atop the podium before him as he looked over the records of the next in line for judgement. Sir Fyndrake hefted the cross bound redhead up into the air once more as his long strides carried her bobbing form aloft for all to see as they swept past the podium where the High Inquisitor stole a brief cold glance towards Almeta before looking forward to the next in line that happened to be a badly beaten and bruised Priest of the All Father.

"Henrique, you stand charged of heresy for the worship of a false god that has brought nothing but turmoil and war to these lands for decades." The High Inquisitor's voice boomed out as Almeta found herself being unstrapped from the cross by a pair of of the blue hooded Inquisitors she had witnessed about the prison camp. They dragged her from the cross as Fyndrake turned and strode back to stand by the High Inquisitor's side and resumed his roll as the man's enforcer. "Teach him a lesson." The High Inquisitor sneered from his perch while Almeta was finding herself tied down to wooden rack that was sloped enough to grant the crowd a view of her coming torture.

To the sides of the rack were steel braziers full of smoldering embers, within which large shears were being heated to a searing hot state. She found her hands strapped down at her sides by the wrists, snug and secure upon the frame as the first of the Inquisitors drew up a mallet of thick metal. It came down with a resounding crack of bone against the tight black leather bag that ensnared her right hand. Again he drew it up, and once more the crunch of her fingers cracking beneath the weight of it's strike tore through the air. With two more heavy and merciless blows that left blood seeping out of the mangled black leather bag the Inquisitor turned and began to walk around to the other side.

That is when the second of the Inquisitor's approached her and forced a mouth spreading contraption of metal rods and screws into her screaming lips. With a few twists of simple levers the foul device was locked in place, forcing the jaw of Almeta to open wide as he returned with the scalding hot shears and without hesitation he drove them into her agape mouth. Hissing metal met the soft flesh of her mouth, scalding the lips and roof of the poor girl's mouth as the Inquisitor angled the shears and with a snap of the blades she felt a pain that washed away the pounding pain that came from her mangled hand. Instantly her tongue was sliced in half, and cauterized by the heat of the blades as the Inquisitor drew the shears out of her mouth and unceremoniously deposited the severed portion of her tongue into the embers of the nearby brazier where it fizzled and curled inward as the fires consumed it.

He returned, leaving the shearers to be purified in the fire and heated anew for the next victim of their use as he unattached the jaw splitting device from between her scarred and burned lips. Not even a mere moment after her mouth was freed of the device the hammering returned upon her other bound fist, cracking bones once more until blood seeped through the black bag and left her hand in a state of ruin. She was then unbound from the rack and dragged up the marble stairs towards the Portal, leaving a trail of her own blood, the first of the day upon the glistening white steps before she found herself hurled into the blue vortex that swirled between the massive horns of a dragon that had been etched with runes of power beyond her understanding.

 

[Iridel]

With every word he spoke she felt her heart sink. Terror clawed at her throat as she heard the crowd cheer at her sentence. It was loud enough her cries for mercy could not be heard above it. For the first time she struggled against her captos as they bound her to the rack before the people. Almeta pulled and strained against her bond, contuing to beg until the hammer came down on her hand.

The scream that left her was almost inhuman in its agony. Her vision went white a moment and she felt her muscles spasm as her body tried to pull away. But it came down again and again until all she could feel of her hand was pain and the intensity of it robbed her of her voice.

She found it again as her jaw was wrenched open, and the burning shears removed her tongue. Howling she saw dark spots at the edge if her vision and prayed she might faint and escape her torment that way. It never happened. Although her head spun and her throat grew raw from her screams she remained awake for the mangling of her other hand. Almeta was still screaming and sobbing as they sent through the portal.

She landed not on the ground, but on a corpse. It was hard telling how long they had been there, but cradling her bleeding hands to he chest she clumsily got to her feet and stumbled away from it before falling to her knees again. One look at her hands told her they would never work again. Amongst the blood she could see the white of bone through flesh, and they looked more like swollen, bloody pieces of raw meat than hands. Already she could see how her own death here would happen. Blood loss of course if she couldn't get what used to be her hands to stop bleeding, but infection would be next. She had nothing to clean or protect them with here.

For a long while all she could do was kneel there and weep. She trembled as her body began to slip into shock, numbing the pain to an angry throb. What had she done to deserve such a cruel fate? Was Merasheel really the only god there was now? Were there no others who might've stepped in to prevent this?

Eventually she found enough strength to get to her feet. Her teeth chattered and her knees trbled from the shock, but she pushed herself to start walking away from the portal. The land before her was barren and desolate, but she wasn't going to die. Not without trying. If she could find water, and some kind of edible plant she might have a chance. Even if she couldn't pick it anymore, she still had her teeth and she could still see. They hadn't robbed her of those two things at least.

 

[Black_Out]

As Almeta was lost in the depths of shock while her body and mind were absorbed in the throbbing throes of pain that pulsed from her mangled hands and severed tongue she may have not noticed, but the priest was the next to come through the swirling layers of red that hovered over the small, but ever growing pile of corpses that had not made it far from their arrival into their new harsh reality. He landed with a thud, gasping up blood as his hands clamped around his slit throat and he splayed out upon the ground, his body rolling down the pile of corpses and eventually lodging into place as he sputtered up the last gasp of his life as the pile of death grew again.

Yet more came through in random intervals that were never far apart as Almeta was finding her feet, most were battered and bruised, especially so in the early ranks of the people the portal spat out upon the pile of dead corpses beneath it. Wild eyes gazed about in abject horror as more joined her as the sun was working it's way towards the horizon and by any reasonable estimate Almeta figured she had at least several hours of day light left before darkness would sweep over the mysterious lands she found herself surrounded by.

There was a modest hill though, perhaps several hundred yards away from the Portals place of egress, though in her current exhausted state that distance seemed immeasurable. Soft and lush patches of grass beckoned from it though while a thin stream of crystal clear water that shone with the dancing reflection of the sun upon it's tantalizingly refreshing surface bent and curled it's way down from a hidden source atop the hill and eventually turned to the south and was lost in rolling hills filled with shrubs and thickets that led towards a forest that peppered about the distant horizon.

She found other's in far better shape passing her by, scattering in different directions, most were headed towards the hill though. An older man, perhaps about her Father's age came along beside her and without saying a word he scooped the smaller Almeta up in his grasp and carried her towards the base of the hill. His body displayed some of the Inquisition's handiwork but for the most part he had not suffered as badly as the majority had. Still though he was exhausted from the ordeal, as everyone was, and he gently settled Almeta down in the soft grasses at the edge of the stream and then promptly walked up the hill, until his steps fumbled and he simply dropped into the grasses and took to rest.

Even in her dazed and shocked state, Almeta recognized a variety of useful plants that were growing in moderation about the edges of the clear spring waters that ran down from the top of the hill. It had taken an hour for Almeta to have come this far, and that was with the aid of the older man with the crop of dusty gray hair that was sprawled out from exhaustion some ten feet up the hill from her. By now, the last of the first fifty prisoners from her home town had come through the portal. Over a third of them were already dead and now a part of the monument of death that awaited each new arrival into these strange and dangerous lands.

 

[Iridel]

In her state of shock everything around her seemed as though it were a bad dream. The people coming through, whether they be alive or dead, didn't seem quite real, and she didn't notice the man until after he'd picked her up. Unthinkingly she tried to thank him, but without her tongue the words came out in a garbled mockery of speech. He didn't say anything, and she could only hope he understood what she meant.

On the grassy hill she overjoyed to find herbs she recognized. In particular ones for slowing bleeding and driving off infection. Of course she couldn't make a proper paste of them, and applying it would be both difficult and painful, but something would be better than nothing. Once set down she went to the nearest ones and knelt, using her teeth to pull off leaves and grind them into something resembling a paste. Steeling herself as best she could for the next part she let a small amount drop on to the first hand. Her burned lips were used to clumsily spread it, and while she couldn't get an even coating she was able to slowly painfully get the bleeding on her first hand to slow to a trickle.

Doing the second was even harder, and it took longer but eventually both hands were covered in a thick layer of greenish pulp. There was no cloth to bind and cover them with, but finding the herbs was such a blessing in and of itself she wasn't going to complain.

Her next task was to get to the water. Her progress was slow, and she stumbled once or twice, but soon she knelt at the stream's edge and put her lips to the water. Not only did it soothe her stinging lips and provide temporary numbness for the cauterized nub in her mouth, but it eased the rawness of her throat from all her screams and the lack of water while tied to the pole.

It left her in better shape with a better chance of survival, but there was no way she could make it alone. Not as she was right now. If she went to sleep in this state with no one to keep an eye on her it could end badly. Looking to the man, who carried her she took stock of the injuries he did have and tried to judge their severity based on sight alone. Compared to others they weren't too terrible, but the herbs would certainly help, and he had hands available to tear her garment into strips to wrap the mangled remains of her own in. Perhaps if she returned his favor with another she could earn some sort of trust.

The hard part would be communicating her intentions.

Pulling up a few of the herbs with her teeth she took the plants to his side and knelt down as she dropped them onto the grass beside her. Nudging him gently with her forearm she began trying to piece together just how to convey that she wants to help, and that she needed more of his help.

 

[Black_Out]

There was a grumble of discontent from the older man who laid in an exhausted slumber among the soft grasses upon the gently sloping hill. His meaty hand swatted reflexively towards Almeta as he tried to dismiss the disturbance from his thoughts. The contact of his hand upon her shoulder jarred him back awake though and with a groan he parted his bleary eyes and rubbed his hands across them before he sought to focus his vision upon the tortured young woman kneeling at his side. "Uhh, what is it girl?" The words slipped from his lips as he sat up and rubbed a hand over a knotted welt upon the scalp of his head as he smeared the blood that still seeped from the fresh wound and winced at the discomfort. "Fucking Inquisition." He spat on the ground before his attentions returned to Almeta.

Across from the slope of the pleasant hill the red swirling vortex that hovered above the hundreds of dead corpses littered beneath it the familiar din of it's droning hum returned as the first of the next batch of prisoners fell out from it's pulsing swirls of red mystical energy and landed with a thud upon the fresh corpses below. Whilst Almeta tried to convey her needs upon the somewhat plump man with the short black hair wearing the white rags of his imprisonment that were stained with blood more bodies began to drop in short random intervals of time.

"Name's John by the way." He stated softly as his gaze glanced over towards the despair surrounding the portal. "I knew your Mom, back when we were younger." His voice offered some condolence as his eyes peered towards the herbs and plants she had managed to gather. "I assume you want me to do something with those, are they for treating wounds?" He glanced about and then crawled his way over to the edge of the stream where there was softer ground along the waters edge. His head turned to her and he waved her over as he smiled in a gesture of warmth as he did his best to focus his mind on the idea of communicating with Almeta, anything was better then thinking about the obvious at this point, he figured as he began to etch the alphabet into the soft clay ground upon the bank of the stream. "Do you think you could point to the letters somehow and tell me what you need me to do?"

 

[Iridel]

She hadn't quite pieced together just how to communicate yet, and absently went to chew at her lower lip in thought only to be reminded of the burns on them. But the man, John, seemed to understand not only that she wished to help, but that communication was a struggle. More than that he'd known her mother. It seemed she'd found herself a friend in this desolate place.

She nodded that yes, the herbs were ones for healing, and followed him to the stream. Kneeling in front of the letters she used them to spell out what she wished to say by holding a mangled hand above each one.

First I will need some cloth from the hem of my garment to wrap my hands. After that I can grind those herbs to a paste with my teeth -

She gave him an apologetic little grimace as she realized just how unappealing that might sound, but did have an alternative to offer.

Or if you find a large flat rock and a smaller one I can instruct you had to grind them and add the water to make a paste to apply to your wounds. It'll stop the bleeding and clean them out, but you'll need a fresh application every other day.

With that all laid out she finally added:

It's good to meet you by the way, and thank you for carrying me. I'm Almeta.