Thread: They Who Thirst (Dr. Nibbles & SomethingEsoteric)

As always after a glorious battle, the Targoth'Ur feasted, drank and raped their captives. Though the feast was weak tonight, the drink was stale, and the rape was limited. Iridith sat idly as she watched each over her warrior's have their way with the new, young girl, having their way with each of her tight virgin orifices, leaving her a sobbing pathetic mess, coated and filled to the brim with tainted grey seed. Iridith, normally the first to engage in such a merry festivity sad on a dried stump that had been cut down to produce a fire. She mused at the sight of carnal sin, but did not get any excitment. Her mind raced with worrying thoughts that kept her from relaxation, and most likely would until the Exiled One's tithe of brides was paid. The jagged, ancient ax sat head down in the soil, Iridith rotating the handle and spinning an increasingly large rut in the ground with her nerves. She looked down at the circle her blade had created, the fire dancing close by, casting a shadow in the miniature ditch. Iridith thought deeply, using the blade of her ax to add the pincer of slaanesh to the end of the circle. In merely four whole nights the most powerful Chaos Lord to worship Slaanesh would arrive, a mere fraction of his mighty army escorting him to Theamoor. This warband however small, dwarfed the Targoth'Ur, and Iridith feared what he might do if he was left disatisfied with his offerings. They had collected over a dozen women but Iridith knew wholly it was not enough to please his insatiable appetite and rampaging lust and need to impregnate. At best, she believed she could offer some of her weakest women to him, perhaps as a placeholder tribute until the tithe could be met. At worst... Iridith could not imagine the thing he would be willing to do to her. Iridith finished crossing the pincer with her ax, finishing the symbol in the dirt of her goddess- A shadow covered the symbol, blotting out the fire and shrouding the chieftain. Iridith felt her spine crawl, knowing the pressence of this all to familiar shadow as one who controls the winds of magic. Looking up, Iridith met eyes with the nefarious medicine woman Hys I'aqshy . Iridith smirked at the thought of sacrificing this witch to her quasi-master. I'aqshy's eyes glowed as bright as the fire behind her, merely one of her many unsightly mutations. Chieftain she said with a supple bow of her masked head. How can I aide you, Sorceress, replied Iridith biding back iritation Though make it hasty, I'm quite busy. Doing what exactly? Drawing chicken scratch in the dirt? caustically laughed the Sorceress, recieving no such return from the Cheiftian. Ahem... our brothers have been put to rest for the evening, as long as you keep the animal-whores quiet we should not have a single issue with them tonight. Also if you keep the slave girls from moaning to loudly that would be appreciated as well. You do realize these woman are twice your size and could rip your throat out with the flaccid cocks right? smirked Iridith. And none of them are capable of reading a sentence of Common text, let alone arcane spells. How should I feel threatened again? retorted the snarky Sorceress. Iridith wanted to retort, raising her hand to silence the medicine woman, but suddenly her voice was cut off by a shrill scream of agony. Gods damn them, what did I just say? barked I'aqshy turning to confront the warriors. That wasn't a slave. Iridith said grimly, standing, I'aqshy turning to meet her with a worried gaze. Not a second later, a barrage of black darts rained from the blackness of night, more than half meeting their mark, puncturing flesh of unarmored warrior women, several even hitting the chest of the raped slave girl, ending her agony in a blissful death. Ambush! a drunk Targoth'Ur woman screamed, dragging her flail hurriedly behind her. The camp fell into anarchy, each of the women scattering and attempting to take shelter, grabbing shields and raising them above their heads in hopes to protect themselves from the onslaught. Though most got out of the volley in time, a few of the dazed, drunk and sex crazed women were cut down by the arrows littering the camp with Norse, half-naked corpses. Damn them! screamed Iridith, gripping her ax, and retrieving the other from beside her bedroll. She left the tent soon after the volley died down to see a swarm of green and white soldiers sprinting across and open field to meet the tribe in close combat. Iridith felt rage boil in her gut and slowly begin to transfer into vital adrenaline, getting her body hot and ready for the sexual gratification that only combat could provide Targoth'Ur! Show them the meaning of fear! End them swiftly! Take no prisoners this day! She bellowed, rallying her women to the fight. Easily outnumbering the militia, the marauder horde poured from the encampment and ran to meet their daring if not stupid assailants in the no-man's-land. Iridith walked briskly, her warriors rushing past her with howls and screams of ecstasy, granted another glorious fight. Iridith's walk broke out into a steady jog as a single solider attempted to bring his simple, crude bastard sword to bare down upon her. With a twirl of her broad ax she cleaved his arm at the elbow causing blood to spurt from the open wound and leaving him screaming in agony, clutching the stump. With a swift turn on her heal she drove the other blade down his spine, shallowly slicing his back so he would be immobile but still living for the mean time. With another swift turn a group of several spear wielding ruffians charged her. With a cackle of pleasure she swung her blades across hacking through the wooden pikes and slicing through the thin cloth meant to protect their necks. Hot blood splashed against her body, dripping down her bare breasts. Iridith moaned, her member growing stiff beneath the tightly bound leather strap. Another approached, suddenly reeling back in fear, arousal and confusion. Licking the blood from her lips, Iridith spun in a circle cleaving his legs apart at the shin. The soldier fell to the ground, blood gushing in a thick gout from his devastating wounds. Before he fully registered the pain she threw her second blade down penetrating his thin metal helm, severing his skull and implanting his head into the ground, still and dead. Iridith stood atop the corpse, almost fully erect and reveling in the sight and sound of her soldiers dominating and slaughtering the opposition. Iridith let out a howling laugh that echoed through the raining sky, a wave of ethereal fear washing over the now dying peasant army. It is a good hunt.