Thread: Taking Back What's Ours ( Jan  & Vulgrim )

The war had been hard on everyone. When the first wave of soldiers had left the city, things had been hard on those they had left behind, but such was the nature of life for them. They were a warring race, and it was their nature to sometimes say goodbye to their husbands and fathers. They understood that some of those farewells would be final farewells, but this pain was balanced by the knowledge that the knew their warriors would be victorious, and that they would bring home enough of the fruits of their labor to dampen the sadness of widows and orphans. Besides, the bravest warriors, the most glorious among them, would be proud to take on secondary wives and families. But this time, there were no glorious warriors. There were no treasures brought home. That was because, for the first time in history, the warriors of Sylvos had lost. The pain must have driven many of them to suicide, down in the dungeons. And even those who hadn't killed themselves were often killed by humans for refusing to say the words. Those two, simple words. I yield. They were the boundary between life and death, and, for many, the boundary between honor and dishonor. And even now, weeks after the final battle had been lost, it looked like many had chosen death over dishonor. So few of their people were out in the streets, now. So vanishingly few. And the markets, the shops, the businesses that had once been the life and pride of the city, they had all been seized by the humans... Perhaps that was the worst of it. All of the humans, acting so high and mighty. They weren't rude to her face--not usually, anyway--but their inane cultural norms were now written into law. Perhaps that was the worst of it. She used to go around in the traditional attire for her people, a dress that showed her cleavage and her lean pale belly and her thighs, and not much else. What was wrong with it? It displayed her attractivity, and that was the point of clothes, weren't they? Other than to hide the details of just how attractive she was. But now she had to wear a full dress, and a scarf that served as a hood and covered much of her hair and face. Her curves were still undeniable, and visible, but going around so locked up, so hidden away from the world... and it would be worse when she saw her husband again. When they went out again together, just what would he have to show off? A woman who, like the rest of them, now dressed like a monk? That was... if her husband made it back at all. And after so many weeks of hearing not a word from the new government, nor any of those he had once counted as his comrades... she shut her eyes. And then, transferring the basket of fruit she carried to her left hand so that she could open the door, she entered her house. Perhaps that was the one safe place she had, the one source of pride in her life, the beautiful lovely house she and her husband had purchased, right near the center of the city, and... and... That posture. That fair straight hair. Those scars... The basket in her hand fell. But she paid it no mind as she strode to her husband and threw his arm over her shoulders. Easily supporting his weight, she ferried him to a couch. The next minutes she spent replacing each and every one of the bandages he wore with fresh ones. Her words were soft, soothing even, and when she was finished, she lay beside him with her head on his chest. as she had once done, when he was still a proud warrior.