Thread: Ritual (xanaphia & CharmSnake)

How many had she had? Fifteen? The men were debating and the consensus was fifteen. I thought it would be more than that! Fifteen in an hour, that's four minutes per. We got less than an hour! The witch cut it short! I good warrior should last longer than four minutes! The soldiers milled about as Isolde tended to Ragnar and the vessel. The fallen warrior lay motionless as the dark clouds rolled in. She looked to the sky as the clouds smothered the moonlight fully, choking the sky in blackness, and resigned to failure on the first night. There hasnt been enough time for a seed to plant. We will have to try again tomorrow. A loud cheer went up for the notion that they would get to do it all again the next evening. Bring out more maids to prime us all next time so that we don't waste time in the circle! YEAH! shouted multiple voices. Perhaps the witch could make herself useful that way! YEAH!! the shouting was more raucous this time. Enough! Jarren stepped in. Back to your bunks and posts for the night! Slowly the crowd dispersed. The next morning the ground was wet from a rain shower but the skies were clear. Isolde had come to renew the enchantment that kept Ragnar stable and left. Jarren stood watch over his friend while Davor entered. How was the ride last night? Jarren asked. Better than the alternative, the knight replied. Jarren sat in his chair indifferent to the remark. How long will we wait here? As long as it takes, said the captain. There's no telling where the enemy is. They could come over the ridge at any time, Davor reasoned. We can't afford to sit still. We will see this through, Jarren stated with emphatic determination in this eyes. The two stared each other down. Suddenly a commotion outside broke the tension and they both went out to see. What's going on? Jarren demanded as he marched into the village square. There was a woman wailing next to one of the huts down the road. Soldiers and villagers began to gather. My daughter! My daughter! the woman screamed. She was aged about fifty with dark hair streaked with grey and a busty figure. Jarren and Davor ran down the road to the hut. The woman was wild with fright. Soldiers were pushing villagers out of the doorway. They parted to let Jarren and Davor through. Yanking aside a curtain to the tiny back room, they intercepted a man half naked attempting a hasty exit. When he saw the captain his face went white. Petros. Sir, please. You don't understand, the soldier pleaded. Jarren looked behind the half-clad warrior to see a tearful maiden clutching a blanket around her ample exposed bosom. She was gagged for silence. Her hair was dark and full like her mother's but without the streaks of grey. Jarren shoved Petros tumbling to the floor and knelt on the mattress next to the trembling girl. He lifted the blanket to see thick white thighs bare of any clothing, then probed his finger to her slit, wet and gooey. If she had been a virgin she was no longer. Jarren turned his attention back to the rapist. His cock was limp and glistening, with a tiny dab of white hanging from the end. You! he said. You broke my word! He nodded to Davor and the two of them grabbed an arm each and dragged the young warrior crying out of the hut, and back up the road into the village square. A rabble assembled behind them and followed. He waved several armed men over and dropped Petros in a heap into the dirt. The crowd gathered around and the armed men backed everyone to a distance. After a moment Jarren spoke and everyone hushed. I gave my word to this village! he began. My word is good! It will not be crossed again! Witness what shall happen should anyone else dare! Then he stepped towards Petros on the ground and gave him a hefty boot to the face. There were shouts from the crowd. The captain gestured two soldiers to come forth. Kill him, he instructed them, but make sure to break every bone in his body before he dies.