StarDestroyer.Net BBS

To put it simply, this is a brainfart; a fantasy/medieval world with the normal non-Humans of such worlds (Elves, Dwarves, etc.) being replaced by..... Star Trek races!

Yes, it's crazy, but this is the prologue. It's somewhat graphic, though not enough to be unpostable IMHO. Certainly no worse than some stuff in Drakafic.




Battle in the summer heat was a horrible thing. The weight of one's armor was oppressive, yet vital if you didn't want your guts to be cut out of your belly by a stroke of an enemy weapon. Furthermore was the strain of holding a shield, if you had one, and the weight of the weapon one would use in battle. And there was the stink, too, of disembowled corpses and entrails strewn about in the baking sun.
These horrors were long engraved into the memories of King Elesander IV of Rothar. The fifty-eight year-old monarch was a tall man of over six feet, and that height made him visible amongst his mass of devoted Rotharian Pike, arranged as they were to crash into the Hillmen of Kervaq the Mighty. Nearby his son Felipp and his Immortals would be the calvary to exploit the panic of the Hillmen retreat after they failed to crash through the Rotharian lines of pikemen, swordsmen, and crossbowmen.
Elesander was not going to wait. He raised his royal sword, engraved with the eagle crest of the House of Miltares - the rulers of Rothar for over 400 years - and bellowed an order to advance. In perfect lockstep the yeomen peasentry followed him, their King, into battle.
This would be the final battle with Kervaq. For too long had he raided hamlets and towns on the northern frontiers of Rothar and her Trillan and Human allied kingdoms and duchies. Elesander had sworn to kill the barbarian and today he meant to do so. The entire battle would give him that opening.
Not him personally, of course, but rather his most successful agent of revenge...


The North Hillmen were not Human. With their ridged foreheads and violent tempers, they were known as fierce warriors... when they had the advantage anyway. When they didn't, they often would flee as quickly as they could, as soon as they knew the battle was not winnable. They, for the most part, had no discipline, and thus in open battles they were easily defeated by the Pike and Sword of the civilized Valley and Plains peoples; Human, Trillan, or Elven. However, they were still effective raiders, and on their swift horses were known for raiding unwalled hamlets for plunder, including slaves. Unlike the green-skinned Mountain Men of the South, however, they had no reputation for wanton rape and particular enslavement of women for their chiefs' and kings' harems; rather they were known for brutally working their slaves to death.
Kervaq the Mighty was packing up camp with his ten most trusted men, those he had handpicked for personal loyalty. The rest of his army was to be sacrificed against the Pike of Rothar to buy him and his loyal Hillmen - the Klin'Gol in their language - the time to ride away.
There were shouts and a loud cry. Kervaq grabbed is double-sided battleax, a polearm with an axhead on both ends, and charged out of his tent to find two of his men laying slain and two more advancing upon a Human woman in the royal gold armor of King Elesander's personal warriors. Which made little sense to Kervaq, since the Rotharians didn't allow women to fight.
It was clear that this was no ordinary women, of course, given the three foot-long double-edged sword in her hand, made of Rotharian steel no doubt, would have been heavy for even a normal Human man of her size. The fact that she had a steel-bladed short-poled voulge - little different from a hand-axe - in her other hand made her great strength even more clear to Kervaq. To top it off, she nearly lopped the head of one of Kervaq's men off with it; the final testimony needed to confirm her heritage as Kervaq suspected it.
"A Tangarian," he muttered as the flame-haired woman plunged the tip of her voulge blade into the throat of one of his warriors, blood spewing out of the wound while her sword whipped around and slashed open the exposed gut of another warrior who had removed his armor. Kervaq lifted his weapon and snarled; to kill a Tangarian Human would be worthy of his name and help him recruit another army when he returned to the Hills.


Shayera Carter's gold-coated fine armor plate, made of the best steel, would have been too great for any normal Human woman of her size. Only her enhanced muscles, the blessing of her Tangarian blood, allowed her to fight in it as well as she did. She was still quick enough in the armor, despite the summer heat, to not need a shield for further defense. Instead she wielded a sword of fine Tangarian steel in her right hand, a family weapon, and her mother's prized short-voulge in the other hand, which she tended to use for stabbing and slashing while her powerful sword parried blows.
The pitched battle of armies was happening over three hundred yards away; the grim Pikemen of King Elesander had already fended the charge of Kervaq the Mighty, one of the most hated and feared of Hill Chiefs. Kervaq, however, was not quite so mighty, given that all ten of his bodyguards had been killed by Shayera. Wielding his people's ubiquitious double battle-axe, he charged at her and swung one end up to cut her throat, just to have her nimbly duck under it. With the shrill howl of a Tangarian war cry in her lungs, Shayera's sword slashed up, removing the Hillman's right arm from the elbow down. Kervaq dropped onto his knees, blood gushing from the wound, and looked up just in time for Shayera to stick the volge's tip into his throat, cutting it open. Kervaq the Mighty fell over to die breathing in his own blood.
Shayera didn't quite let him do that, however, Rather, after slipping her volge back into place on her belt, Shayera brought both hands to her sword and brought it doen on the Hillman's neck, severing his head. She picked it up by Kervaq's dreadlocks and began hiking back to the Rotharian camp.


A few hours later, a bathed and unarmed Shayera was escorted before the older King Elesander. Gone were the helmet and armor that had made her look so ferocious to her enemies; now she was in a plain cotton shirt and trousers. The bracelet of a royal slave was prominent on her left wrist, chafing in it's grip both physical and otherwise. Seated in the makeshift throne of his camp, Elesander was a man of wolf-gray hair, with a flowing beard and a perpetual scowl on his battle-hardened face. With some drama, Shayera took the head of Kervaq in her right hand and rolled it before Elesander. "Here. He is the last." As if as an afterthought, the proud Tangarian dropped to her knees in the presence of her lord, and as usual didn't seem to like it. Elesander ignored the cold fury in her eyes as he was long accustomed with Shayera's defiance to authority and her free spirit. Instead he had one of his attendants pick the head up from the ground and present it to him.
"You have done rather well." Elesander said. "By killing Hervaq you have eliminated all of my enemies."
"I have fulfilled my part. Now I ask for my reward," she said, all business.
"Yes. Your freedom." Elesander put his hands together. "I promised you that upon the death of my last enemy I would free you, and I shall, Tangarian, but only after you do one final deed this evening."
Shayera's eyes narrowed. "And what deed is this?"
"My son desires the night with you."
"That was not in our arrangement! I am no whore for you to..."
"So long as you wear that bracelet you are my slave and do my bidding!", thundered Elesander in response. "If I so desired I could give you to every man in my army, or take you for myself. Feel pleased that I give you to my son, who is your age and still very appealing to women."
Shayera frowned. While Felipp was certainly both, he was also notorious for debauchery and other vices. "And if I do this?"
"You will be free to do as you please," Elesander said.
There was conflict in those green eyes, and Elesander was well aware of it. That proud spirit, wrestling with the inner conflict of freedom and letting a man have use of her body. He knew she would swing to accepting his offer.
"I shall do as you ask, this one final time," Shayera finally said. "And if you betray me, King of Rothar, I will end your life."
"Threatening to kill me can be used as grounds for your execution," Elesander reminded her, mostly to get a reaction.
"I am not threatening anything," Shayera said. "May I rise and prepare myself for this night?"
"You may go. You know the way to my son's tent." Elesander put his hands on his lap. "If it helps, consider this your final duty under your oath." There; that would have to be enough. He couldn't come out and say "Kill Felipp"; Felipp had too many friends in the nobility, and it was forever a guilt for Elesander that his eldest son and heir became so evil. For the good of his people, Felipp could never be permitted to take the throne.
If Shayera took the hint, she didn't show it. She didn't say anything afterward. She just left.


After eating a final dinner and receiving the accolades from her fellow warriors, Shayera changed into something she knew the Prince Felipp would enjoy seeing her in; a dancing girl's shoulderless brassiere, crimson red and trimmed with gold thread, with a transparent silken sash over her belly, a loincloth under it. This displayed for all the exquisite curves of her body and the fine muscular shape of it; thus matching Shayera to the popular conception of a Tangarian woman, strong and beautiful. The outfit was something very different from what she was used to wearing; a Tangarian "was only meant to wear simple clothes and armor", her proud father had once told her on the eve of her first battle against the Southmen.
Tangarians like Shayera were a special breed of Human. Nobody knew how they came to be as they were, Humans with the life span and strength of the Elves, and very few sought to fight them in the valleys of Tangaria far to the Southeast of Rothar's great plains. The Tangarians lived and farmed simply, valuing their individual freedoms more greatly than life itself; they were renowned as fierce warriors, man and woman alike, and also for their commitment to personal honor and honesty. It was that commitment, and that alone, which had brought Shayera to serve for ten years as Elesander's slave and killer; her oath of service was bond enough, even if it meant letting him get away with this small betrayal to his word. Granted, larger betrayals could be seen as violation of the oath on his side, but Shayera was no fool and was practical enough to make this one concession in the name of honor and freedom despite the chafing of her dignity.
Dressed as the finest court dancing girl, meant usually for pleasing members of the Rotharian court or seducing foreign emissaries, Shayera was entering the portion of the Rotharian field camp where Felipp and his elite calvary, the Immortals, were staying. The young nobles were celebrating the mass slaughter of the Hillmen in their usual way, with feasting and getting even more drunk when they weren't pulling down serving wenches and other girls to have sex with them. Shayera stepped aside as a blond-haired girl walked by, hair pulled back into a pony-tail, and wearing nothing but beads over her breasts and between her legs. Without warning one of the Immortals grabbed the girl and forced her to the ground, making her squeal in surprise as he wasted no time in pulling his pants down. Shayera forced herself to avert her eyes, lest she get the temptation to attack the drunken horse-rider for the act of near-rape (she suspected the serving girls were well accustomed to being accosted and sexually exploited by these strong, thuggish men; it was no wonder Elesander considered them an embarrassment more than an asset). The girl didn't even seem to be frightened after the moment, though she did cry out from the sex that resulted.
Felipp was sitting in the middle of the camp on a mock throne, a sword still stained with the blood of Hillmen by his side and a naked Trillan girl on his lap, her wrists chained together and to a leash held in Felipp's right hand while his left fondled her breasts. Trillans were a reputed wise people, more concerned with science and art than war, though they were often capable of defending themselves; nevertheless a depressing number of these good, strong people were found as slaves across the known world, and Rothar was no exception. The Trillan were virtually like humans, save for a few minor differences; they grew no hair between the legs, thus exposing their genitalia whenever they were unclothed, and a line of spots of always-unique patterns ran down from their forehead on either side of their body, usually crossing over the chest and belly before converging on the inner thighs and down to the ankle. The Trillan girl's back was to Shayera, and it was a brutal sight; scars from horrible lashings criss-crossed it. The girl's red-haired head whipped to one side suddenly as Felipp's hand smacked her across the cheek. She cried and fell backward, off his throne, landing hard on her back. Felipp called for his two bodyguards to grab the Trillan and take her to be whipped "and made available to the men", a euphemism that Shayera already had knowledge of; the poor young woman would be tied to a pole by the campfire and raped by every Immortal in the camp who could still stand and get a hard-on. The Trillan girl knew this too. She screamed and begged for mercy even as she was led away.
"You are the Tangarian," Felipp's voice stated, stronger than the roaring laughter of his compatriots. "I knew Father wouldn't let me down. But you're not properly dressed, oh no! Come here!"
Resisting several violent temptations, Shayera walked up to him. One of his men put a hand on her shoulder and exerted force down to make her bow to Felipp, which she did completely on her own willpower. As she did, she could hear the Trillan girl scream from the first lash to come across her back. Shayera restrained her temper as Felipp had her brought up to him. "How would you prefer I be dressed, Your Highness?"
"I'd prefer it if you weren't dressed at all, slave." Felipp snapped his fingers and Shayera remained perfectly still as her fine, if gaudy, clothing was pulled off her body. "They weren't lying when they said Tangarian women had strong and beautiful bodies." Felipp stared at Shayera's bosom. He reached up and pulled her into his lap so he could inspect her breasts more closely. His right hand gripped one, making Shayera feel dirty there. "Such a firm body, so lovely too. I would think a warrior woman would have scars from her battles, yet your body is perfect." He rubbed a finger over her nipple. "You have excellent nipples. Usually they don't get so prominent until you put clamps on them to punish a servant girl." He laughed wickedly at that, as did his compatriots.
One stepped up beside him. Unlike Felipp, who was clean-shaven, this man his age had a full dark beard and was slightly shorter. The heir to the Duke of Lasor, Mikelas Rothbard was more cruel than Felipp and probably the responsible party for Felipp's slide into debauchery and cruelty. "It is said that Tangarians prefer death over slavery. But you willingly became the slave of the King. Why?"
"A matter of honor," Shayera responded coldly. "And it was certainly not for this."
"Ah, but slaves don't get a say in their work, their place is unquestioned obedience with the lash there to remind them that with disobedience comes pain." Felipp grinned evilly as he pointed to the Trillan girl, being lashed again and screaming from it. "As little Zaharia has long learned, disobedience means pain and humiliation. The lash and ravishings are good for keeping slave women in line."
"Your father keeps fewer slaves than you do."
"King Elesander is..." Mikelas smiled thinly. "...old-fashioned. We, on the other hand, know the proper relationships of our people. We rule, they obey. The peasantry do so because the alternative is complete submission as slaves or their deaths."
Shayera fidgeted in Felipp's lap while his hands groped her breasts again. "I have never had a Tangarian woman before." Felipp smirked and put a hand on one of Shayera's thighs. "Is it true that you can endure six men before tiring?"
"I have never tried," Shayera answered.
"Oh well, we must fix that."
And that didn't sound very good. "Even the most flattering rumors of your abilities don't make you out to be that good, Prince." Shayera's smile, originally forced, now turned real and very deadly. "And if you think I will let your Immortals force themselves upon me as if I were that Trillan girl, you are mistaken."
"You forget your place, slave."
"No, you simply forget your's." Shayera glared down at him while Felipp looked up toward her, anger now mixed with lust in his eyes. His hands moved away from her thighs as she put her hands on his chest. "I am your father's slave. He sent me to be in your bed, and your bed alone, this night, not so that your Immortals might ravish me as they do the other girls. I am no plaything, and all who have failed to see that are now dead."
"Those men were not your masters, woman. We are."
Mikelas walked around the makeshift throne as Felipp and Shayera kept their eyes upon each other. "You have been a slave for ten years and yet not a single lash mark is on your back? Elesander is more weak than I thought. It is no wonder you are so insolent if you have never known the lash."
"Then before we let the men have her, let us fix this," Felipp declared. "Take her."
Shayera could have resisted when the bodyguards grabbed her and brought her to the whipping pole, from which the Trillian girl Zaharia had just been removed. But she did not, if just for the satisfaction of what would happen next.
"Your final duty under your oath" had been what Elesander had said. Shayera had been so upset at being used as a courtesan that she hadn't looked at the true meaning. For a King like Elesander, devoted to virtue and the greatness of his nation, Felipp's debauchery and cruelty spoke ill of the future of Elesander's Kingdom. Unfortunately, Felipp's militarism and expansionist desires meshed with nobles that chafed under Elesander's rule; if Elesander moved against his own heir it would likely trigger a civil war that would break Elesander's kingdom after so many years of careful work in restoring Rothar's strength.
If, however, Felipp and his drunken Immortals foolishly attempted to rape a Tangarian woman and she killed them all in self-defense, Elesander would be spared that end and would have an heir in his daughter and her new son. Oh, crafty King, I should have known you would do this. Shayera let the Immortals tie her wrists to the whipping pole, trying not to be distracted by Zaharia's screaming and whimpering as she, Shayera mused, was likely being forced to the hard ground by a drunken Immortal eager for more sex.
Being raped was a primal fear that Shayera had never concerned herself with while living amongst normal Humans and other races; she was stronger than any save Elves and quite capable of resisting, successfully, attempts to abuse her. But for a girl like Zaharia... Shayera could imagine the terror and agony of the Trillan girl whenever one of these brutes overpowered her and forced himself into the most sensitive, intimate part of her body while his stinking drunken breath became suffocating. The thought of that filled her with anger and a bit of primal terror at the thought of the same happening to her. Which was precisely why she, at that moment, opted on the course of breaking free in a moment to kill every Immortal in the camp.
But first she wanted to see the look on their faces when they found out why she had no scars.
Mikelas had taken the particular three-bladed slave whip of the Southmen that Felipp had bought from traders and now raked it across Shayera's exposed back. She hissed at the pain of her skin and flesh being raked away by the knotted leather and razor-sharp metal embedded in the whip.
Mikelas and Felipp watched as the three new wounds in Shayera's back slowly began to recede. Even as her red blood started to slowly move down from the wounds the wounds themselves closed as if by magic. They stared in wonderment as, within ten seconds, her back was as unmarked as before. "What kind of sorcery is this?"
"We Tangarians heal quickly," Shayera said with a smirk. She felt several more lashs fall upon her back, painful and intense, as Mikelas seemed determined to leave some kind of scar, but each lash mark healed in turn.
"It does not matter," Felipp said in irritation. "I want to have you first."
Shayera heard the grass crunch as Felipp's boots thudded against the ground, coming toward her, she presumed, to rape her. With no warning she pulled against the rope holding her wrists and arms above her head and the rope snapped free. Her fists flew in either direction, knocking the Immortals to her sides over. Felipp turned in time to take a kick to his jaw as Shayera brought her foot up.
Mikelas stared in wonderment, moving too late to stop Shayera from racing by him and to the throne, where she picked up Felipp's sword and turned back toward the camp. Every Immortal, even the drunk ones, began to realize something wrong had just happened. They turned from where they were drinking or holding the servant girls. Zaharia whimpered in some relief as the man about to violate her looked up and stood to see the strange sight of a beautiful red-headed woman standing naked by Felipp's throne, his sword in her hand and hate in her eyes.
Felipp barely had time to scream in the time it took for Shayera to cross the distance and plunge the blood-stained tip of his sword through his throat. Leaving him to die, she turned the blade upon others, and soon the entire camp was in an uproar as mostly drunken, ill-prepared Immortals were left to face the wrath of an enraged Tangarian woman.
Had one told the many women that the Immortals had taken, willingly or un-willingly, that they would be slaughtered at camp by a naked woman, it might have elicited a few laughs... and perhaps a sense of irony. It was fitting that the men whose lustful and sometimes rapine nature had once led them to boast that they had "left their seed in every woman in the Northlands" would be exterminated in such a way.
Even if their killer was a Tangarian.


As soon as she saw the fire in Shayera Carter's emerald eyes, Zaharia scrambled to the nearest wagon and pulled herself under the protective tarp attached to it. The pain on her whipped back and between her legs was nothing new, but what was new was the terror of the strange flame-haired woman with a bloodied sword in her hand killing Felipp, her master and tormentor of the recent months. Zaharia curled up into a near ball, daring not to lay on her bloodied back for the pain it would cause, and whimpered as she heard the flame-haired one's battle cries and the accompanying screams from the Immortals. Their drunken cries for weapons, pleas to servants to fetch swords and bows and knives, were soon followed by death cries, and Zaharia's imagination, unaccustomed to battle, could not even begin to wonder what her tormentors were going through as the woman slashed them to pieces. And now she was scared of this woman doing the same to her.
The tarp flew up and the campfire's light illuminated the nude form of Shayera Carter from behind, hiding her emerald eyes for the moment. She was sweating from exertion, with a handful of cuts and flesh wounds that were still healing, and a crossbow bolt was embedded in her lower left arm. The sword in her right hand was now coated with red blood from her victims. Zaharia shrieked, urinating and defecating in fright. "Tyhi! Tyhi!"
"Why are you asking me for mercy?" Shayera smirked and extended her left hand, grotesque-looking as it was with the bolt embedded in the arm. "You are the victim here. Do you speak Human, Trillan?" Shayera repeated the question in High Trillan.
"I speak Human," Zaharia answered meekly as she sat up. "What... what did you do?"
"I killed them," came the matter-of-fact reply. Shayera looked out over the carnage, with the bodies of the Immortals strewn about in various states of gore. Some had lost limbs, some had lost their heads, and most of those who had not had been disembowled to various extents with their entrails sometimes visible through their wounds. "They will no longer torment you, or any other innocent girl."
"But... you are a slave. The penalty for killing nobility is death!"
"Yes, I know."
"And... and I was here...." Zaharia put her face in her hands, terrified by her thoughts. "They'll torture me for a confession and do the same to me!"
"Probably, given the characters of some of their families." Shayera slid beside Zaharia and reached into the wagon for some of it's contents, eventually finding a shirt. Rather than put it on, however, she pulled the bolt in her arm out, crying out from the pain of her flesh being rended again, and wrapped the cloth around her arm to stop the resulting bleeding. "It'll be better in the morning," she said to Zaharia. "You might want to get clothes. Traveling is best done with them."
"I... I have none. Felipp kept me naked."
"Then steal some of his," Shayera said with a smirk. "I shall do the same. I also want Felipp's armor and shield, Rotharian steel is so hard to find."
"Then it is steel you shall have."
The voice made Zaharia shriek in fright, but Shayera showed no emotion to the sudden arrival of King Elesander and several of his royal guards, armored and with sword and shield. The King himself had a breast plate, but his cloak and trousers were royal garb only, and not particularly formal. Zaharia began to whimper at the older man's gaze as he took a couple of steps toward the two naked women. "Do you know the penalty under Rotharian law for a slave murdering a noble?"
"The noble's family gets to decide upon one torture to inflict upon the condemned before his or her disembowelment," Shayera replied coldly.
Zaharia looked up at Shayera. "Disembowelment? What is that? I do not know that Human word."
Elesander tried to hide an amused smirk. Shayera brought up her left hand and placed her index finger on Zaharia's chest, then ran it down between her breasts to a point on her belly. "They cut you from there to there and pull out your stomach and various other things inside you." Zaharia immediately lost several shades of color while Shayera left her behind and walked closer to Elesander. His guards raised their swords, but Elesander lifted a hand to his side and motioned them down. "These men, you trust them?"
"They are my most loyal guards," Elesander replied. "I trust them as I trust myself."
Shayera nodded. In a lower voice, she remarked, "I almost didn't realize what you meant about my final service under oath. It came to me, I think, when I heard your son speak ill of you."
"I was going for subtle." Elesander's eyes lowered. "You have rid my Kingdom of all it's enemies, Shayera Carter. It is my regret that I may never honor you for it, and indeed, if we were ever to meet again it will be for me to send you to your death."
"Assuming, King, that I do not kill you first."
An amused grin crossed that old face. "Yes, of course."
"What about the Trillan girl?"
"Take her with you, Shayera."
"She does not look like she can survive in the wild."
"If you do not, she will not survive at all, for I fear the families of those slain here will find some pretense with which to charge her and have her tortured into a false confession. And I cannot risk the integrity of my Kingdom over a single girl, no matter how wronged she had been by my own blood." Elesander's eyes looked downward. "My people owe their future to you, Shayera Carter, and I owe you my honor for having rid my family, and myself, of my son's evil. I thank you with all my heart. I can let you escape this night, but at dawn I will have to send out riders to capture you. Take the Trillan girl and fly. Ransack the camp, take what you need from the Immortals' remains and flee on horseback. If you flee northwest you could enter the Wilds within three days of riding, and my riders will not dare follow you there."
"Yes. The Zyras is only ten leagues away, I can reach it by morning, and it serves as the northern boundary of the Wilds. Though I will pass through the Kingdom of Mytela on the way. Will the Mytelans interfere?"
"Not if you stay long the river, then they will not have cause to bother you. But as they are my ally, they will be also bound to hunt you. All of my allies will. I apologize, but it will be a very long time before you can risk trying to return to the Eastern Plains. Tangaria will be out of your reach."
"There is nothing for me there," Shayera replied, looking distant. "We should get going. I would not want to make you look bad to your own nobles by being too easy a target and yet uncaught."
"May Fortune smile upon you." Elesander motioned to his men, and as one they retreated.
Zaharia walked up to Shayera, now wearing a noble's cotton shirt and nothing else, and a similar drab shirt in her hand meant for Shayera. "Where are we going to go?"
"Somewhere else," Shayera answered. "Somewhere away from the East. We must flee for the Wilds."
"The Wilds?!" Zaharia's eyes widened. "But, there are monsters there, pirates and barbarians who kill all who pass through!"
"Folk tales and nonsense," Shayera replied. "Well, about monsters anyway. Come. We must hurry." Shayera suddenly turned back to Zaharia while walking toward another wagon. "Have you ever rode a horse?"
"When I was a child."
"Very well. You shall take one and I the other. We must be swift if we wish to avoid the rack and the executioner's knife. Now come along, Trillan, some work remains for us before we can leave this place behind."


His body wracked with pain, Mikelas awoke to find carnage around him. His belly had been savagely cut by the Tangarian woman, but not deeply so, and in falling back he had knocked his head against Felipp's throne and fallen unconscious. Seeing the slain bodies of his comrades, including the stripped body of the Prince, made him angry. Mikelas struggled to his feet, an arm over his belly. His gut wound wasn't nearly as deep as he'd feared, or he would have bled to death. Indeed, looking at the bodies of his slain friends Mikelas realized that his head wound had been a good thing, keeping him unconscious and making the Tangarian believe him dead.
Getting to his feet, the young heir of the land of Lasor in Rothar's Southlands clenched his fist and ignored the pain in his belly and head as he gingerly stepped through the camp. It was still dark, and the campfire had nearly died out from lack of wood. There was no sign of the Tangarian or the slave girl Zaharia. Clearly they had fled to escape their fates as killers of Rotharian nobility.
Mikelas looked to the fallen body of his friend Felipp and howled in rage. Felipp had been his friend and comrade. They had planned, together, to end his father Elesander's weak rule and restore to Rothar a proper order with the nobility where it belonged; as supreme rulers. From there they would conquer the Eastern Plains and establish an empire such as had not been seen for a thousand years. But those dreams were dead now that Felipp was gone. Elesander would declare his grandson by Felipp's younger sister to be the new heir and would likely not repeat the mistakes he had made with Felipp. The chance for a strong Empire of Rothar was gone.
But there was still revenge. Revenge against the Tangarian for destroying Mikelas' dreams. He would hunt her down and kill her, as slowly and painfully as he could manage. And then Mikelas could at least live on knowing that Shayera Carter's corpse was food for the worms.

Rather interesting concept; and I sort of like it. That said....

SEX! LOTS OF IT!

*gibbers*

Excellent. I detect a hint of Trek, but the story is very good.

Well, well, well......

Nice.

I like it.

Chapter 1


The sun was still low in the sky when Shayera and Zaharia emerged from the Forest of Glanlyn and rode onto the Glanlyn plains. In the distance a few farms were visible over the vast and flat land, perfect for riding at speed. The Zyras, the Great River of the East, originated in the Oria Mountains far to the South, coming up through Rothar's heartlands to where it ran through this rich farming land on it's way to the Wilds, where it served as a boundary between the Wilds and the Human realms of Rytal and Merethon, before flowing west to the lands Trillasia, Romaia, and Rhysu before it reached the Western Sea on the southern border of the jungles of Cylonga. The Wilds themselves were a vast expanse of untamed wildnerness of marsh and forest that lay between the Zyras River to the North and the Zartos Mountains to the South, with only a handful of clearings that held towns and farmland. Every race in the world had some settlement or another in the Wilds, and a number of the towns had multi-racial habitations. Civilized Greenskinned Southmen, Trillan, Elves, and Man worked and lived with one another in the great isolation of the Wilds, protected by nature itself from the raids of the Zartoan plunderers and slavers that preyed upon the nations outside of the Wilds.
They were riding at a brisk place. Shayera had found her own mount, the great Tangarian steed Catha, a gift from someone she had once held dearly. Tangarian horses, like the Humans of Tangaria, lived longer than average horses and also stayed healthier with greater stamina, with enough strength that he could carry both Shayera and the equipment she had scrounged from the Immortals' camp. Behind Shayera and Catha, Zaharia rode upon the horse Tyva, a colt that had been the mount of Yarman, the young Count of Hytha in Rothar's Southlands, an Immortal who had died in battle with the Hillmen and thus had not been subject to killing by Shayera the previous night.
They had not been riding through the Glanlyn Plains for an hour, however, when Zaharia suddenly asked, "Can we stop now? I haven't slept in the past day."
"Neither have I, but we must keep riding." Shayera kept her brown-haired horse straight as they continued shooting across the plain at a brisk pace. "We have to get to the crossing of the River Hypasa before the sun goes down."
"Why there?"
"The Hypasa flows into the Zyras and serves as the border between Mytela and Rothar. Once we cross the border, we can follow the Zyras safely until we reach the Wilds."
"And then?"
"We shall see. If we reach the West, there are many lands where we can find safety." Shayera slowed down a bit and looked back at Zaharia, who was leaning against her mount. "Stay with me, I don't want you to fall asleep on your mount and fall off. If need be I will let you ride with me and we'll turn Tyva loose."
"No. No, Tyva must stay with us."
"Why?"
"Because I want him to." Zaharia patted the side of the colt's head. "I have my reasons."
Shayera considered asking again, but she decided not to. Zaharia had suffered greatly already; if the colt brought her some degree of happiness, it wasn't right to take it, so long as it didn't cost Zaharia her life. "Then keep your eyes open, lest you fall off, because then I'll let him go anyway and make you ride with me."
Zaharia nodded and they rode on.


Elesander was on the throne in camp when Mikelas was called in to see him. The handsome young nobleman didn't look as haggard as he no doubt felt when he bowed in faux-respect to a King he despised. Elesander, of course, knew that Mikelas was acting only out of protocol and would rather not. "It is good to see you are well," the King lied, though rather well to a neutral observer. "You may rise."
"I am not well, Your Majesty." Mikelas stepped forward. "The Immortals were my comrades. My friends. I demand justice for their killings."
"I had riders sent out as soon as I was told. They will search everywhere."
"They will never find her. Carter is a swift rider, and we both know this." Mikelas frowned. "Your Majesty, I request permission to hunt her. Once she is far enough away she will grow complacent and I can catch her."
"For now, Lord Rothbard, you will stay here. You have been wounded and need time to heal."
Mikelas snarled. "She shed your blood, Majesty! She must be made to pay."
"And she will, in due time. But you and I still have duties to attend to, duties to our Kingdom. Vengeance is meaningless if we forsake Rothar for it. Nor are you in the shape to hunt anyone. We shall discuss this again when you are at full health and recovered from your wounds. You may go now."
It was with clear anger that Mikelas rose back to his feet and stomped out of Elesander's receiving tent.


For hours, the endless plains of Glanlyn had passed the two riders by. As the sun drew far past noon, starting to dip low in the sky, they entered a hilly area and Shayera looked back to a barely-awake Zaharia to tell her they were close.
It was almost sundown when they crested a small hill and saw the Hypasa. It was not a wide river by any length of imagination, but it was wide enough and there were no good fording points unless one were to ride south and west along it's bank, which Shayera was most definitely against.
"Can we stop now? I'm hungry."
"Just a little further, Zaharia. The crossing is close. Once we are over the river we will be in Mytelas and we can stop for the night."
"You can call me Zaria. It's much easier and quicker to pronounce."
And so they rode north along the river for another hour, watching the open hills turn into a forest. The sun was nearly gone when they came up upon a great wooden bridge over the river. "Damn it all," Shayera muttered, stopping the horse. "Into the trees."
Zaria followed her back into the forest. "What is wrong?"
"We're too late. They have watchmen up on the bridge and will for the rest of the night. By tomorrow, Elesander's riders will have come to this area."
"Can we simply move on?"
"No. The Hypasa flows directly into the Zyras, and every bridge along the way will be similarly manned. We would also pass too close to Rotharian cities in which our descriptions will have undoubtedly been spread. We must pass here, now."
"But you do not want them to recognize us."
"No, I do not." Shayera looked around and stopped. She dismounted from Catha and went into her knapsack. "If I can help it, I do not want the Rotharians to know exactly where we will go." She pulled out two long riding cloaks. "Here, put one on."
Zaria accepted one of the cloaks and put it on, feeling her stomach grumble as she did so. Her body was weak and tired. She was sustaining herself on willpower and fear of Rotharian justice more than anything. "Please, how much longer until we can eat?"
Shayera looked back at her. "There is a small town a short ride across the river where we should be safe. Now, I want you to be completely silent and to wear your cloak's cowl so that your Trillan spots cannot be seen. I will say I am a Sister of the Order of Parliua and that you are my apprentice. You must not speak unless I bid you to."
"And they will let us pass?"
"I am reasonably confident of it. But they may also discover our ruse if, for instance, they see anything in our bags. If that happens, our only choice will be to ride through and get as far away as possible."
"And if they catch us, they'll..."
"Turn us over to Rothar, and we will be tortured and executed." Shayera reached into a bag and pulled a dagger and scabbard out. She closed the bag and secured it, then walked up to Zaria. "Here. Hide this. If all hope fails, then I suggest you cut your throat out."
Zaria took the dagger and looked at it for a moment before slipping it into the belt of the trousers she had on.


It was almost fully night when Shayera and Zaria rode up to the bridge. On the Rotharian side were a few border guards who waved them past without hesitation. Once on the Mytelan side, however, the Mytelan border watchers walked up to them. "Halt and please state your business."
Shayera and Zaria stopped. Shayera looked down on them and, in fine imitation of a proper Rotharian accent, she replied, "I am Sister Oleria Porteres, Follower of Parliua. This is my apprentice Ganilice. We are riding to the port city Karnivus for passage east to our Order's home in Lorent."
"Sister, it is rather late. Shouldn't you have stayed in Lorke?"
Shayera smiled sweetly at him. "Perhaps, but we are in a rush. If we are not to Karnivus by tomorrow night, we might miss a vessel that could get us to Lorent in time for the year's final tests. If we are late, Ganilice will have to remain an apprentice for the next year for her next change to become a Sister of the Order. And I do intend to stay over the night in Porua, if you are concerned with our safety."
The guard nodded, accepting her explaination. As he went to motion for them to go on, however, his commander walked up from the side. "Who are these women?"
"A Sister of Parliua, sir, and her apprentice."
"A Sister of Parliua? Sister, please come with me."
Shayera nodded and dismounted from Catha with great care. She followed the commander into the hut at the side of the bridge.
As seconds turned into minutes, Zaria felt apprehensive and scared. Her tired body was alert with growing fear. She kept her hands on her reins despite her growing desire to feel the security of the dagger on her belt, the one thing that she could use to defend herself or, if need be, prevent the ghastly fate she had been warned of. Musn't give in to fear, she said to herself. Calm yourself, Zaharia. Do it before you give yourself away.
Still, Zaria's mind raced. There were dozens of tortures that occured to her mind, some of which she had heard and others which she hadn't. Physical mutilations, the cutting out of chunks of flesh, the use of hot irons to brand and to burn, all of these sinister possibilities worked their way through her mind. Zaria's terror continued to build and some sweat did appear on her face despite her best efforts to calm herself.
Many minutes later, Shayera emerged. She nodded again to the guards and their commander before climbing back onto Catha and motioning for Zaria to follow her. They rode west past the bridge, following a dirt road into a thicket of trees. It was only when they were some distance away that Shayera brought her horse to a full gallop and Zaria followed.


The town of Porua was protected by a wall, with guards at the gates in night time who allowed Shayera and Zaria entrance without too much concern. Shayera brought Zaria to the inn, where she bought them both pieces of fruit to eat before they would go to bed. From there they retired into the room Shayera had rented with the plentiful supply of coins looted from the Immortals' camp. As they left the lower floor's tavern and went upstairs, Shayera made note of a single light-skinned man sitting in the corner who gave them one second too long of a look.
Once they were in their room, both of them discarded their cloaks. Zaria removed all of her clothing and settled into the bed, falling asleep quickly with a quilt and sheet pulled up over her. Shayera looked at the young woman and sighed. She was quite lovely and it was a shame that so many bad things had happened to her.
Shayera herself was not given to nudity, so she merely removed the shirt and trousers, removing a white band of cotton to wrap around her breasts as a brassiere with a small loincloth to round it out. She looked to the inviting bed, and after locking the door to the room and the window, she put her short voulge under her pillow and slipped under the sheet to sleep herself.
Years of experience had made Shayera a light sleeper. So even as she got some meaningful sleep, her enhanced senses could still alert her to something wrong happening. So when they told her that someone had made a stealthy entrance into their room, she reached under her pillow and gripped the short voulge. Slowly she pulled it out, making out a small silhouette moving across the room toward one of their knapsacks. She slipped carefully out from under the sheet and put her bare feet to the rough rug on the floor. Slowly she crept toward the figure, who whirled about a moment later with a dagger in his hand. He lunged and Shayera twisted away, his dagger grazing her belly and drawing blood. Her arm came up and grabbed him from behind, pushing him to the floor where she remained on top of him, keeping his arms on the floor with her knees. She brought his head back and put the voulge against his throat. "You have to the count of two to tell me who you are and what you're doing here before I slice your throat open," she hissed into the man's ear.

ANOTHER great story by steve to feed the cybercrack addiction he's nutured in me. Good job I must say.

darthdavid wrote:ANOTHER great story by steve to feed the cybercrack addiction he's nutured in me. Good job I must say.

Of course, if you notice the time stamps for every post up until Chapter 1, you'll see that it's been more than half a year since I last updated this.

I know that. I read when it first came out, wanted more, then got lost in other stuff but I remember it still.

Ah, blatent Kingon barbarism. Ba-da-ba-ba-ba, I'm lovin' it.

Good stuff.

Chapter 2



Shayera brought the sharp end of the voulge up against the unknown prowler's throat. "One..."
"Wait! Wait, please! I'm... I'm Ofris." The stranger spoke with an accent Shayera had rarely heard before, belonging to an island dweller off the western coasts. "I was just looking for some gold. I wasn't gonna try to peek or nothin'. I swear!"
"A Western Islander here in the Eastern lands?"
"Eh, had a run of bad luck. Got sold to some slavers and escaped when I got 'ere."
"So you've taken to thievery." Shayera sighed. She grabbed him by his hair and dragged him to the door, where she tossed him out. "Go steal someone else's gold," she grumbled before slamming the door. She looked back to the two beds and saw that Zaria had not been awakened by the commotion. She was both happy and irritated - happy the young woman was getting a full sleep, but irritated that she slept so heavily.
Shayera now returned to her bed, returned the voulge to it's place under her pillow, and went back to sleep.


Irritated with himself for getting caught so easily, Ofris returned to the street and settled down at the road by the inn to try and sleep in a sitting position. He was rather amazed that the redhead had so easily tossed him around and supposed he shouldn't be too upset with her. Though he really hated getting stranded outside like this...
As Ofris sat there in a state of half-sleep, he heard noise and looked up to see a number of riders gallop up. They stopped in the town constable's office across the street. Curious, Ofris followed up to near the door and remained there, straining to hear what's going on inside.
"Gentlemen, what might I do for four Rotharian Scouts such as yourselves."
"We have reason to believe two fugitive slaves rode this way. They were wanted for the murder of Prince Felipp of Rothar and most of his men."
Ofris' eyes widened as the constable whistled. "Well, what do they look like?"
"Two women, one Human and one Trillan. Both are red-haired. The Human has green eyes and the Trillan has blue. And if I've heard correctly, the Human woman is Tangarian."
Sounds like that bliddy amazon in the Inn. Wow, I bet I'd get a good reward for turnin' them in.
"Hey, gents," Ofris said aloud, walking up through the door and prompting the men to turn. "I couldn't help but hear what you's lookin' for. I can tell you where 'ey are."
The Rotharians looked at each other, but the slightly overweight constable of Porua laughed. "Oh really, Islander? You can't believe this one, he's just a thief and is probably looking for a reward."
"Well then, that's why you don't give me the gold 'til you've got the women." Ofris shrugged. "I'm willin' to be patient."
"Where are they staying?"
Ofris pointed out the door. "Over at the town inn. I can show you the room."
"That won't be necessary right now. We've ridden a long way and need a little rest." One of the Rotharians looked to the constable. "Would you mind keeping an eye on the inn over the course of the night to make sure they won't escape?"
"I'll put a couple of my men on it. But that's all I can spare in a little town like this."
"One of us will watch at all times as well. Tomorrow morning, we'll seize them when they try to leave."
Ofris smirked at the constable. "So, fellows, how much are they worth?"
"You'll be handsomely rewarded, that we can assure you," was the answer.


When Zaria woke up, she found Shayera was already awake and putting on a cotton shirt over her brassiere. The Trillan girl slipped out of the bed, feeling rested and content for the first time in a long time. She looked to the foot of her bed to see a brassiere, shirt, and trouser already set aside for her. "What are we having for breakfast?"
"We'll buy some cakes and buns for the road," Shayera answered, tying her shirt. She put on a belt next to secure her sword and scabbard too, as well as her short voulge. "But I want to get to Karnivus by tomorrow, so we cannot stay long. Now get dressed."
While Zaria dressed herself, making sure to place her dagger on her belt, Shayera checked all of their packs and picked most up, leaving Zaria to carry just a couple bags as they left the inn and returned outside to the side stables where their horses were kept. Shayera was fixing packs to Catha when Zaria tapped her on the shoulder. "There are men surrounding us."
Shayera looked up and saw that there were, indeed, a group of four men coming from various points in the stables. Three of them drew swords and one had a crossbow. Zaria's eyes went from one to the next as Shayera put herself between the Trillan girl and the men. "State your business," she demanded.
"I am Troop Leader Zackar Korvu of Rothar," one of them said in a gruff tone. "You two, Shayera Carter and Zaharia Herze, are under arrest in the name of the King for the crimes of rebellion, regicide, and mass murder."
Shayera responded by drawing her sword and taking her voulge out. "Surrender and His Majesty may be convinced to have mercy on you and to commute your sentences to being hung."
"I'm no fool," Shayera spat. "If you want us...."


Ofris had been hiding by the door to watch as the four Rotharians gathered to take the two women into custody. He looked forward to a fat reward for this one, maybe enough to get passage up the Zyras.
The bloody Amazon with that flame-colored hair was as defiant as Ofris suspected she'd be, but his gaze was on her companion. The Trillan girl's hair was a slightly different shade of red, almost an auburn color. Her blue eyes were filled with fear and terror as she hid behind her protector. Her clothing was light enough that Ofris could tell she was rather beautiful. If she'd been a slave, Ofris was certain she was probably the lovetoy of some Rotharian noble. He certainly wouldn't mind having her as a lovetoy...
He heard the Rotharian officer recite the charges against them and prompt the Amazon to pull out those weapons of her's. The Trillan girl continued to hide behind her and Ofris actually sympathized with the poor girl. She didn't look the type to indulge in mass murder.
When the Amazon spat on their surrender offer, she started to say "If you want us...." when the girl behind her moved forward and fell on her knees. "Please, let us leave in peace," the Trillan girl pleaded in a voice that Ofris thought was very sweet and womanly. "Shayera was defending herself from the Prince's heinous conduct toward her."
"Slaves do what their masters tell them to. They are not free to refuse." The men continued to advance.
"Zaria, it's useless. They do not care about what is done to slaves, no matter how much it disgraces their Kingdom."
"Please, you must understand! Prince Felipp and his men were horrible and treated us badly. They took my dignity, sir. They violated me and tormented me..." Zaria's eyes welled with tears. "I did nothing to deserve it. Please!"
Oh bother. I can't resist a lovely lady.


Shayera yanked Zaria back. "You'll have to kill us," she said. "I won't let Rothar torment this girl any more than it has already!"
"Shoot to wound them," Korvu ordered his crossbowman. "The King wants them alive to suffer for what they've done."
The crossbowman raised his weapon. Shayera lifted her's in defense from the attacks to come. But as the weapon leveled on her, a hand whipped around the man's neck and slid a knife blade over his throat. The crossbowman began gagging on his own blood, and as he fell Shayera could see the familiar form of the thief she'd ejected from their room during the night. "You!" she and Korvu said at the same time. Before she could speak again, Korvu added, "What treachery is this?!"
"Eh, I'm a thief and I'm greedy, but I've still got a heart. I can't resist a pair of sweet blues like that." Ofris winked at the surprised Zaria while brandishing his knife. "So, two on three eh? I like them odds."
One of the Rotharians charged Ofris at that moment while Korvu and a comrade went after Shayera. Shayera's sword blocked a blow from Korvu, after which she shoved him away to turn toward his companion. Korvu recovered and brought his weapon up again to attack, just to see his companion killed with Shayera's voulge thrust into his throat. Shayera whipped around and used her sword to parry another blow from Korvu.
Ofris had sidestepped the Rotharian attacking him. "Eh, bugger," he muttered. Never bring a knife to a swordfight ran through his mind. He dodged another attempted blow, then a third. A fourth nicked him in the left shoulder, drawing some blood. "Dammit all!" Ofris backed a few steps away and the Rotharian lunged again. This time, however, Ofris had managed to get him to plunge his blade into a wooden post in the stable. The man's sword became momentarily stuck where it chipped into the wood. It was free almost immediately afterward, but it delayed the Rotharian long enough for Ofris to dig his knife into the side of the Rotharian's neck. He pulled it out and watched the blood go everywhere. "I hate knife-fights. Always a bloody damned mess."
There was another clang of steel as Korvu and Shayera continued their own duel in the middle of the stable. The two fighters snarled at each other when their faces were close together. A moment later they forced each other away. Korvu, being a careful sword duelist, didn't attack right away but stood his ground.
It was at that moment that Ofris dug his knife into Korvu's back. The blow was not immediately fatal, and Korvu turned to shove Ofris away, but it nevertheless caused his death, as the distraction allowed Shayera to slash at Korvu's neck and slice his head off with the blow. Head and body fell seperately, ending the fight.
Zaria emerged from the stable where Tyva was and went up to Ofris. "Thank you, kind sir! You've saved us."
"Ah, t'was nothin'," Ofris said, smirking and perhaps blushign a little.
"Zaria, this is the thief who tried to steal our money last night." Shayera frowned and looked to him. "And I wouldn't be surprised if he were the one who told the Rotharian Scouts we were here in the first place!"
"Shayera, he saved us though." Zaria noticed his shoulder. "And he got wounded doing so! Let me get some of the things we have..."
"Ahh, just a flesh wound." Ofris looked around nervously. "Say, uh, considerin' we just killed four Rotharian soldiers, maybe we oughta get goin'?"
"Do you have a horse?"
"Well, uh, not really." Ofris looked down at Korvu while Zaria applied a cloth to his shoulder. "But these blokes had horses with 'em. Maybe I can borrow one?"
Shayera smirked. "Well, you've already helped kill four of them. Might as well steal a horse too. Assuming you know how to ride."
"Eh... I do," Ofris said, not entirely convincing. "Well, a little."
"Then stop wasting time, or we'll all end up on a gallows!"


Minutes later the threesome rode out of the stable. The constable watched with a raised eyebrow, seeing that Ofris was with them. Moments later a man emerged from the inn stable, waving his arms frantically. "Four men have been slain in the stables!" he cried. "They've been cut down!"
The constable looked to a couple of his men and motioned for them to follow. Sure enough, inside the stable were the four Rotharians. "Hmm, a slit throat, a beheaded man with a knife wound in the back.... That damned Ofris betrayed them."
"Sir, should we send ahead to have the next town on the lookout for them?"
"Go ahead, but I don't think it'll matter. They won't stop in a town again until they're far from Rothar." The constable shook his head. "They should've known better than to trust a thief."
"Who, sir? The fugitives or the Rotharians?"
"Both."


A day's ride carried them farther into Mytela, past several farming hamlets and villages and in the area of a few towns, one in which they stopped for lunch and to buy food and drink for sustenance. Even when night fell they pressed on, testing the endurance of both Zaria and Ofris, until finally Shayera conceded to the lesser stamina of her companions and stopped for the evening in a forest grove.
Shayera gathered firewood and started a quick fire. "We will take turns during the night for watches," she explained to them. "By tomorrow we should be on the coastal plain and Karnivus will be a short way to our west."
With that done Shayera walked off to the side to secure their horses to a tree and to give them something to drink and eat. Zaria sat by the fire with Ofris. "So, you are from one of the Islands off the Western Coast?"
"Ya. Briston is my home."
"I am from Olivo myself. It is now in the Kingdom of Rhysu."
"Ahh. One of the lands overrun by Queen T'Rya. Is that how you ended up here?"
Zaria nodded. "My father was a great man of Olivo. When we were conquered, each great family had to give a hostage to the Queen, and I was chosen for my family. When my father was suspected of instigating a revolt in one of our cities, the Queen sold me to a slave trader heading east."
"I know what that's like. I was just lucky to escape."
"I had a few different owners until Prince Felipp bought me." Tears rolled down her eyes. "I was to be Felipp's bedmaid. Then I became the Immortals' shared bedmaid. Often I was not allowed to refuse and whenever I was not pleasing enough, I was beaten or whipped." She sniffled. "It was horrible."
"Hey, you ain't with them blokes anymore. You're with us, and we won't let anythin' happen to ya."
Zaria looked at him. "Shayera says you are a thief."
"Well, I am. Gotta survive somehow. And I got okay at stealin'."
"Are you trying to get enough money to go home?"
"Yeah, but the cost of livin' is somethin' fierce." Ofris shrugged. "So, I just go on, hopin' one day I'll go home to Briston."
"At least you have a home to go to." Zaria smiled a little. "I hope you do make it there one day."
"Hey now, if you need a home, Briston is good. We Bristoners don't mind Trillan, we rather like 'em." Ofris was a little pleased to see Zaria giggle a little. "So cheer up there, girl." He patted her on the back and saw her wince. "Hey, what's wrong?"
"Oh, uh, I guess I haven't finished healing."
Ofris grew silent. Zaria slowly untied her shirt and slipped it down around her shoulders, showing the parts of her back not covered by her brassiere. She turned and asked, "Is it bleeding again?"
For a moment Ofris could say nothing. His mouth hung open in surprise at how scarred Zaria's back was. All of the rough scar lines that criss-crossed her back, several looking fresh enough to still have surface scabs from where her blood had tried and clotted. "Uh, no, it ain't bleedin' from what I can see," Ofris said softly, looking away and toward the fire.
Zaria pulled her shirt back up and retied it. "That's good. Thank you."
"Uh, don't, uh, mention it." Ofris rested his head against his hands for a moment. Ah, dammit. I really should.... He reached into his pocket and removed a pouch. He reached over to Zaria. "Here, dear. For you."
"What is this?" Zaria untied the pouch and looked inside. She was surprised to see several Rotharian gold coins inside. "Oh my, I can't..."
"Oh yes you can. I want you to have those. Think of it as somethin' of a compensation for what's happened to you."
"Ofris, why?"
"Because it's the money the Rotharians gave him for turning us in," Shayera said from behind them before Ofris could speak. She looked down at Ofris. "Am I not right?"
"Uh, well...." Ofris nodded sheepishly. "Yeah."
Zaria stared at him for a moment. "But you're giving this to me?"
"Hey, uh, I didn't earn it in any right way, and seein' you now? I don't deserve it. So it's your's. Enjoy it."
"Zaria, you should prepare something to sleep on for the night." Shayera grabbed Ofris by the arm and lifted him to his feet. "You, into the trees. We have to talk."
Ofris obediently followed. Once they were far enough away, Shayera grabbed him and threw him against a tree, putting a hand on his throat. "That girl has suffered through a great many things and I will not have you hurting her more. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes milady. Yes!"
"I suppose I should be thankful that you helped us back there, but you were only fixing a mess you started. By all rights I should leave you behind, and if I catch you trying to betray us I'll carve out your black heart and feed it to you! And do not think that giving her the money is going to make up any more for this. Zaria is still naive and inexperienced, but I am not. I know you're trying to bed her. And I will not permit you hurting her in the name of your lust. Again, am I clear?"
"Yes ma'am, clear as a window!"
"Good. Now get to sleep. You and I will alternate watches tonight. And don't try anything stupid, otherwise...."
"You'll carve out my heart and feed it to me. Yes, I know."
"For some things. For other stupid things? It won't be your heart I'll be feeding to you, but another body part. I think you know what I mean."
"I do, I do."
"Now go to bed. I'll take first watch."
"Yes ma'am!"
Shayera released him and watched Ofris return to the camp. Deep down, she supposed she was being a bit too rough on him. He did, after all, decide to help them, and he seemed genuinely effected by Zaria and what had been done to her. But he was a thief, and Shayera would not bring herself to trust him. Not quite yet....

He reminds me of Locke from FFVI...


Me likes!

Bah, he's not proud enough to be Locke (Call me a thief and I'll rip your lungs out!), but he's certainly down to Earth. He's a real human.

I like the character. Then again I like traitorous backstabbing characters.

Wheeee! Good chapter.

Steve wrote:To put it simply, this is a brainfart; a fantasy/medieval world with the normal non-Humans of such worlds (Elves, Dwarves, etc.) being replaced by..... Star Trek races!

Dare I ask, are the Borg some sort of undead zombie empire?

And who precisely are the Tangarians based on?

NecronLord wrote: Dare I ask, are the Borg some sort of undead zombie empire?

AAAAAAAGGGGGK! STEVE HATE BORG! STEVE SMAAAAAAASH!!!!

And who precisely are the Tangarians based on?

No race in particular. They're just enhanced Humans..... perhaps.... genetically enhanced?

Khan?

Ford Prefect wrote:Khan?

Not particularly......

Ford Prefect wrote:Khan?

KHAN! KHAAAAAAAAAAN!

Chapter 3



The next day had begun in an expected fashion. The trio consumed a quick breakfast and continued their ride, roughly to the northwest. They cleared the forested area after about two hours and soon found themselves on the banks of the great Zyras.
From there they rode west, past several river towns and homes until they could see some tall buildings in the distance. By the middle of the day, a few hours after noon, they were on the main road leading into the city of Karnivus.
Karnivus was a bustling river port city, the main port for the Kingdom of Mytela and the last eastern port on the Zyras' southern bank before one reached the Wilds. It was easy for the trio to get lost in it's winding streets. Shayera led them to the docks first. As they trotted along, viewing river ships and galleys that seemed little different from each other, Shayera suddenly looked toward one and grinned. "Come on, we have a couple of stops to make."
Ofris and Zaria followed Shayera to a nearby tavern and inn - the sign outside stated it as the Zyrian Inn and Wild Koor Tavern - and the clothier beside it, where they hitched their horses. Ofris waited outside while Shayera and Zaria entered. A friendly middle-aged woman in average and modest garb greeted them. "Hello there, how might I help you?"
"A few changes of clothes is all we need. Money is not a problem, either." Shayera smirked - she'd looted enough out of the Immortals' coffers that she and Zaria would have no money worries for quite a while.
"Ah, well then, please follow me."
The woman led them to the side of the store where they kept clothes for women. Zaria was certainly more enthusiastic than Shayera in looking for clothes. "Oh dear, there are things in here better suited for a young woman like yourself than that," the woman said after seeing Shayera picking up a few cotton shirts.
"Perhaps, but these suit me just fine." Shayera moved on to look through the various bodices and brassieres available.
Zaria, on the other hand, was busy looking through an assortment of shirts and dresses. "What a beautiful young Trillan girl like you needs is something that shows those cute spots. Reminds the men that the spots go from top to bottom." The woman winked at Zaria. "Come, dear, take off those rags and try this on."
Zaria suddenly seemed to lose her enthusiasm. The girlish smile on her face disappeared. "I, uh, I..." She looked up to where Shayera was holding a brassiere over her chest. Shayera looked up as well, showing she had heard what was being said.
"What's the matter dear?"
"Zaria was recently held captive for a time by a band of Southmen," Shayera replied softly. "I was thankfully able to rescue her." For emphasis, Shayera patted the sword on her hip. "We came to Karnivus so I find a boat that could take her home."
Color drained from the woman's face. "Oh, my poor dear. Oh, my poor sweet girl. I'm so sorry to hear that."
Zaria nodded slowly and removed her shirt, baring the horrible whip scars on her back. The older woman handed her a blouse of purple Iruvian silk, which Zaria pulled on over her remaining brassiere. She brought Zaria over to a mirror and allowed her to look in it. Zaria's face lit up with delight from how well she looked. Even Shayera allowed herself a smile of amusement as Zaria giggled and said, "I like it. I'll take it."
As Zaria tried on different shirts and looked over a few skirts, Shayera gathered up a few more shirts, vests, and trousers, and a couple of comfortable-looking silk brassieres and paid for them. When she returned she found Zaria struggling over choices for her undergarments, not able to decide between a corset or a bodice. When she noticed Shayera's "hurry up" expression Zaria went for comfort and the bodice and finished gathering the clothes up. Shayera reached into her pouch to produce the gold needed to pay for them and retired to the back with Zaria to change into their new clothes.
When they emerged from the clothier, Shayera was in a normal white sleeved shirt of cotton with a leather sleeveless leather vest over it plus light green pantaloons that went down to her ankles and shoes. She had talked Zaria to wear a more modest silk blouse, a sleeved blue one with a higher neckline, and a pair of trousers instead of some of the skirts she'd picked out.
Ofris whistled when they emerged. "Ah, finally, you're back. I was gettin' bored out here." He slapped his hands together. "Okay ladies, where to next?"
"The Wild Koor," was Shayera's reply. "There should be an old friend there."


Shayera led them past the innkeeper and into the tavern in a door beyond. The mostly-male crowd inside was boisterous, watching a pair of scantily-clad women dance around each other on a stage located in the far corner. Zaria frowned, probably remembering being forced to dance as a slave, while Ofris was more interested in the women than what they were doing. Shayera ignored the display and looked around the room. She quickly identified a salt-bearded older man sitting alone at a table in the corner near the stage and led them over to him. "Lorvel, you old river rat," she said upon walking up.
The man looked back and up at her. "Flamehair! I didn't imagine seeing you here," he said, standing up and greeting Shayera with a hearty handshake. He looked to Zaria and Ofris. "Interesting company. And lovely too." Lorvel took Zaria's right hand and kissed it, making her blush slightly.
"I saw the Raktaman at port and knew you had to at the Koor." There was an amused grin on the Tangarian's face as she watched her old friend slip back into his chair. "These are my companions, Zaria and Ofris. May we?"
"Yes, sit, sit!" Lorvel turned toward a nearby barmaid who was handing drinks to some sailors. "Barmaid, please, drinks for my friends!" After ensuring she saw him, Lorvel turned back to the now-sitting trio. "So, Flamehair, what brings you to me?"
"I need river passage west."
"Hmm. Wasn't plannin' on going west again for a while. Things are a wee bit hot ever since I took on some passengers that Queenie T'Rya didn't like." Lorvel bit at his lip. "How about I take you to Ikoris?"
"Ikoris?" Shayera frowned. She turned and saw Zaria turn a shade whiter - no doubt she'd been to Ikoris before to be sold in it's slave markets. "That scum-filled excuse for a port? I can't take Zaria there, I'd have half the slavers in the city looking to fit bracelets on her."
Lorvel shrugged. "Best I can do."
"There's also Okar."
That drew a harsh laugh from Lorvel. "Okar! And you think Ikoris is bad! The slave cartel in Okar is just as dirty!"
"But they're not as powerful," Shayera replied. "And I can easily slip out of the city and into the Wilds. What's around Ikoris save for Hillmen country?"
"Eh, the hills are nice open country. Get some horses and you could be in Peferian lands in two weeks." Lorvel drank the last of his beer and slammed his mug on the table. "The Wilds are nothing but a bunch of swamp and forest with savages living everywhere."
"I've been through the Wilds before, they hold no fear for me."
"Ah, and what about this little flower?" Lorvel pointed to Zaria. "Willin' to risk her in the Wilds?"
"Given her likely fate in Ikoris or amongst the Hillmen, I think the Wilds would be preferable." Shayera leaned toward him. "I can pay you three Rotharian kalai for each of us."
"Sounds good." Lorvel smiled. "In fact, your destination is your business. Fine, we sail for Okar tomorrow."
The barmaid returned with three mugs of ale. Shayera tossed her four silver Rotharian half-pennies and waved her away. Ofris took a drink first. Zaria noticed everyone looking and took a sip, after which her face contorted in an expression of disgust. The expression drew an amused chuckle from Lorvel and a smirk from Shayera, who immediately downed half of her mug in a single gulp. Lorvel laughed in delight at that. "You can still hold it down well. I swear, Flamehair, you could drink a keg of fine ale and still be razor sharp."
There was some silence from the stage know and all heads turned toward it as a new individual stepped out from a side door to the performers' dressing room. She was a beautiful woman of light complexion, with fine chestnut hair pulled down in a pony-tail almost to her posterior. A glistening tiara was in her head, fashioned with various symbols. Her eyes, blue in color, had lines of red around them that glittered, and her average-sized lips were bright red. Semi-transparent red silks trailed from her hands, where they were tied around her middle fingers. The shape of her generous breasts was easily seen from the opaque red silk brassiere wrapped around her chest and back, tight enough that one could see the outline of her nipples. Her bare belly was flat and taut, showing some signs of muscle, with a short silken mini-skirt of violet purple color around her waist and flowing down to her thighs, baring most of her well-formed legs. Her beautiful feet looked elegant, with her toenails and fingernails painted with red. "Okay, river rats," the tavern proprieter called out, "give applause for this one time performance of the great Zaikra the Enchantress!"
There were, indeed, applause. Shayera had suspicions about the dancer as she began to twist and move around, the silks tied around her fingers following her hands as she made motions in the air. Whistles came from the crowd as she touched her own breasts and began to sway her hips quickly in what looked to be a belly dance. This part of her routine remained while her arms crossed above her head and her eyes scanned the crowd, a seductive smile on her face. The crowd ceased whistling and merely stared, intoxicated at the beautiful woman dancing on the stage.
"A Minddancer," Shayera suddenly said in a low voice.
Zaria looked to her. "What is a Minddancer?"
"Dancers with the ability to cast magic with their body movements. Various dances allow them to hypnotize, control, or disorientate others. The effects depend upon the skill of the dancer." Shayera breathed hard. "Do you feel a pounding in your heart in rythym to her movements?"
"Yes," Zaria said softly. She was also noticing her breathing was picking up, and she was suddenly feeling energetic and aroused. "I... I feel..."
"It's lust. I feel some of the same. This one is very good. Not many Minddancers have the ability to seduce anyone regardless of their sex or preference." With great focus and concentration Shayera held control over her mind, but she could see Zaria was not able to do the same. She saw Zaria's hand move up to her chest and grabbed it. "Don't give in to it. That's what she wants."
Zaikra scanned the crowd with her eyes, looking intently at each person. Finally she looked to the barmaid as the blond-haired girl walked across the room. The girl stopped and turned. Their eyes made contact. Even as her hips continued swinging faster and faster Zaikra's hands lowered. She pointed them, palms up and outward, to the barmaid. The girl stared at her for a moment with a blank expression on her face. She began to walk foward, slowly and step by step. As she did so her hands went up to her throat to undo the tie holding her shirt up. She discarded the dark garment, leaving her bra as the only thing she had on. The barmaid stepped up on the stage while Zaikra kept her hip-swinging motion up. The barmaid took Zaikra's hands and let the taller woman pull her closed. Their lips touched and they shared a sensual kiss. The girl stepped back and turned to the crowd. She too began to sway her hips in perfect rhyme with Zaikra, her right hand and Zaikra's left meeting over her chest. She led Zaikra's hand to one of her breasts and allowed Zaikra's fingers to slip under the fabric of her bra. The girl's expression changed slightly to show pleasure.
Zaikra whipped her around and allowed the crowd to see as she untied the barmaid's bra, allowing it to slip free. The barmaid's bare breasts were of an attractive size and shape, bobbing and shaking as she matched Zaikra's movements and allowed Zaikra to twirl her about. After a few turns they made eye contact again. Zaikra's hands pulled down the girl's skirt, revealing the barmaid's swinging posterior to the crowd while their lips met again in a kiss. She pulled the skirt back up when she was ready and turned the girl once again. Her hands reached around the girl, their hips still swinging in perfect rythym. The girl's chest heaved hard while Zaikra's hands held her hips, moving up her sides until her hands gripped the barmaid's breasts. She rubbed the silk trailing from her fingers over the barmaid's nipples, drawing a pleasured moan from the girl's throat.
Shayera's breathing was the only one in the room that was controlled - everyone else was breathing in rythym to the Minddancer. She turned and saw Zaria's left hand had was rubbing her own nipples through her clothes, her right moving down to her waist and beginning to slip into her trousers. She again reached over and grabbed Zaria's right wrist. "Zaria, don't."
"Please. I..."
"It's an enchantment. You have to fight it."
"I want to go up there." Zaria swallowed. "I want her to do that to me."
"No, you don't."
Zaria looked to her. "Make love to me, Shayera, please." Her blue eyes sparkled in the light as she brought her mouth closer to Shayera's. Shayera put her right hand to Zaria's sternum while continuing to use her left to hold Zaria's wrist. "Please," she pleaded.
"Concentrate, Zaria. I know you have the will to do so." Shayera looked to Ofris and Lorvel. They, like all of the men in the tavern, were solely fixed to the image of the barmaid dancing with Zaikra. "Force this out of your mind."
The barmaid suddenly cried out. It wasn't a howl so much as a very loud groan. She moaned loudly to follow the groan as she sank to her knees, her chest heaving and her hips no longer swaying. Zaikra followed her down, no longer dancing herself. She brought her left hand up from the girl's breast to her chin, turning the barmaid's head to face her left shoulder, where Zaikra's mouth awaited a final kiss. They kissed sensually for several seconds before Zaikra finished the kiss and stood up. She smiled and bowed deeply.
In an instant the silence ended. A loud roar of applause came from the crowd, including Ofris and Lorvel. From the side, a scar-faced Southman Shayera had not noticed before walked out with a pail, into which the crowd threw coins of various metals and sizes. Zaikra continued to bow, but the barmaid was a different story. The blank expression on her face suddenly ended, changing to a bewildered, confused expression. After a moment she seemed to realize she was half-naked and on-stage, as she suddenly blushed a deep red and looked around in a hurry, snatching her discarded bra when she found it and scrambling off the stage with her free hand and arm over her bare breasts. As she ran by the barmaid scooped up her shirt and continued on out of the room.
Zaria also returned to normal. She looked around, blinked, and began to blush with a bit of pink. "Oh my.... I..." Her eyes met Shayera's. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean...."
"Don't worry about it, Zaria. Just don't." She watched the Southman walk up to them. There was a sword dangling from his left hip and a crossbow on his right. He extended the pail. Ofris and Lorvel tossed coins in. Shayera and the Southman exchanged glares and Shayera rather contemptfully tossed in a silver half-penny. He grunted and walked off. "So, Lorvel, tell me how these past twelve years have gone for you." Shayera allowed herself to smile again and took a drink of ale. "It's been too long since we've last met."


After hours of talking, Lorvel returned to the Raktaman and left Shayera with Zaria and Ofris. They ordered dinner and Shayera took the time to go and secure them rooms for the evening. When she returned, Ofris asked, "So, you've known Lorvel for a while I see."
"My husband and I fought alongside him years ago, yes."
"Heh, you must be a bit older than you look then. Twelve years ago, I'd figure you'd just be a young girl."
Shayera smirked at that. "Okay, Islander, how old do you think I am?"
"Oh, c'mon now, it's not polite to ask a lady her age."
"You're not asking my age, you're speculating on what it is," she pointed out.
"Fine. You're thirty-five."
That actually drew a laugh from Shayera, the loudest and most amused either had heard out of her yet. "Thirty-five? Oh my...." Shayera shook her head. "No, Ofris, I'm not thirty-five. I wish I were. I'm actually seventy-one."
The man's mouth dropped open. Even Zaria looked at Shayera like she was insane. "Seventy-one?!"
"I'm Tangarian. We're very long-lived and it takes decades for us to age." Shayera grinned. "Lorvel's actually fifteen years younger than I am. He's from Pelerora to the east. I met him when he was a young man. He was called to army service during the Peleroran wars with the Hillmen in Torvel. He ended up in a pike formation working with a Tangarian mercenary company that my husband Telko and I were serving in. That was almost forty years ago."
"Wow."
Shayera took a drink. "Enjoy the Minddancer, Ofris?"
"Hmm? I beg your pardon?"
"Zaikra the Enchantress. She's a Minddancer. A damned good one too to have eveyr man in the room mesmerized and to make every woman in the room feel amorous." Shayera looked to Zaria, who blushed again. "I've only seen one Minddancer as powerful as that before. Pevel Meyan."
"And he was?"
"A Minddancer from Romaia. Five years ago, he was hired by King Ovel of Reketh to entertain at his daughter Delina's marriage banquet. But he also accepted a bribe from a chieftain of the Southmen who hated Ovel and wanted to ruin him. So Pevel took control of the crowd with his dances. Not only did he provoke Princess Delina to strip naked and have sex with him in front of those in attendance, he also took such control over the King that Ovel removed his pants, bent over, and allowed the groom to have him like he was a woman. Then Pevel made his escape while the crowd was mesmerized. The disgrace was so bad that Ovel killed himself in disgrace and the Kingdom of Reketh ended up being absorbed by Rothar."
"Damn. That's harsh. What happened to this Pevel fellow?"
"Oh, him?" Shayera smirked and took a drink. "I killed him."
"You killed him?"
"Yes," she replied matter-of-factly. "King Elesander sent me to kill him to avenge his friend Ovel. I found him entertaining in Ikoras. So I let him seduce me and, when we were in the bedroom, I strangled him." She took a drink. "Few Minddancers know how resilient Tangarians are against their wiles."
"But did you boff him first?"
Shayera merely grinned. "I'll keep that one to myself."


It was sundown, and Lorvel was directing his crew on the Raktaman when he noticed a pair of figures in cloaks walk up to the gangplank linking his ship to the pier. He walked over to the plank and asked, "What can I do for you?"
He was pleasantly surprised when one figure pulled down the cloak hood to reveal the head and face of the lovely Zaikra. The woman had removed the red eyeliner and her tiara, but was still very attractive in appearance. "Ship master, I desire passage east."
"I'm not going further east than Okar."
"That will be fine. How much will it cost?"
"Three kalai per passenger! Be back tomorrow morning with the money, we're casting off at high sun!"
"That is acceptable!" Zaikra nodded to her companion while pulling her hood back on, walking off a moment later.


Shayera had checked Zaria into her room and made sure Ofris knew where he was bunked before heading to her own. As she did so she recognized the Southman from earlier as the green-skinned fellow walked by. He entered a room alone, across from Zaria.
When she turned back, she saw Zaikra walk up. The Minddancer was in more modest clothing - a simple silk blouse that was sleeveless and trousers - and could easily be mistaken for any other person. She saw Shayera and grinned. "Ah, I saw you at the performance earlier today." She smirked with amusement. "I bet the half-penny in my pail was from you."
"Your performance wasn't as enjoyable for me as it was for the others," Shayera pointed out.
"So, you're Tangarian I presume."
"What is it to you?"
"Oh, nothing. Just curiosity." Zaikra smiled at her. "I've never been able to effect Tangarians. It's so vexing, but I do love a good challenge."
"Tell me, Minddancer. Was it necessary to embarrass that poor barmaid like that?"
"Oh, I made sure the dear was given some coin for her trouble. But bringing women up gets more money, you understand. Would you have preferred I called your Trillan friend up. Having a half-naked Trillan girl would have really netted coin."
"No, I'm very glad you didn't," was the diplomatic response, as Shayera decided not to say how she would've reacted had Zaikra brought Zaria up instead. "I hope you enjoy your winnings, Dancer."
She shrugged. "I do what I have to do in order to survive. Good evening, dear. Have a pleasant sleep." Zaikra went on and entered the room her assistant had already gone into. Shayera stared at the door for a few minutes before entering her own room.
In her room, she put the lock on the door and set aside her things. After she was done, Shayera removed her clothes and got into the bed, placing her voulge under her pillow as always. She laid nude upon the bed, slipping under the covers to get some sleep.
Though she hadn't shown it, Zaikra's magics had actually worked a little on her. She had felt aroused and desiring, and whenever she felt so, Shayera thought of Telko. He had been tall and handsome, with brown hair and shining blue eyes. They had fought and loved together for years as mercenaries, and it had been Telko who left her Catha, hence why the horse was so dear to her heart. As she laid her hands on her belly and chest, Shayera closed her eyes and remembered how Telko used to lay her out upon a bed or mat. How his powerful hands used to touch her and make her feel good and how strong his love-making had been. Not a day went by that she didn't miss his passion, his wit, and his warming smile.
With tears coming from her closed eyes, Shayera went to sleep and dreamed of her lost beloved.

Sweet.

Very good, very good. What would Shep say, if he were here right now?