Thread: The Prophecy (Tesora & CharmSnake)

Princess Gwyndolen looked at the small necklace in her hand, running her thumb over the last thing her father had given her. A necklace with a pendant the shape of a butterfly, jeweled with amethyst that brought out the color of her violet gaze. Zol's forces had come quickly and overtaken the palace with more speed than she or her father had anticipated and she'd felt so much fear, watching as the men of that madman slaughtered innocent people and her father. She'd barely been able to escape but felt like a coward for leaving the confines of the palace without much of a fight. Even if it wasn't practical of her to fight, the idea of abandoning her people for the safety of the neighboring kingdom left a sour taste in her mouth. She could of done more than run and now she had nothing. Her father was dead, and her kingdom was now under control of that evil disgusting man who worked under the guise of holiness. She slipped the necklace onto her neck, tucking the butterfly under the bodice of her gown before turning her head toward the flap covering the window. Pushing it aside, rain droplets spilled onto her hand and she sighed, shutting the flap once more to put her in near darkness. It was certainly a dreary day in an endless succession of dreary days. How long at it been raining. Eight days? Nine? She had lost count but the endless drizzle had become her soul companion in the days of darkness. Gwyn settled back in the seat of her carriage, the wheels moving over every muddied hole and rut on the ill kept road. They were several days away from the palace but there was at least five or so days more in travel before they reached the kingdom of Valys and with hope, safety. As her thoughts went on to what could be done once she reached Valys, the entire coach came to a sudden stop and she heard the unmistakable sound of men and horses and then the distinct thump of an arrow hitting the wood. That sound followed shortly by a dying grunt of the driver. Eyes wide, she heard the sounds of heavy footsteps in mud and then made her way to the opposing side where he was coming from only to be grabbed by the ankle and dragged back toward the bandit who had opened the door. She struggled and then heard him make some comment about what he'd found. Let go of me, she spat, struggling in his iron grip before feeling a blade be put against her throat. The man himself was a tall one with thick beard and more than a few scars. Not to mention the missing eye covered by a patch. He was twice her size easily and well clothed for a bandit. No doubt a few of Zol's mercenaries. His beady eye looked her over from her dark red hair to her pale cheeks and down to her dark green gown that was thick to keep out the cold of the rain but showed her to be a lady. Of course the carriage certainly helped establish that fact. Oh she's a pretty little slice isn't she lads, one of the men said with a chuckle. Gwyn looked at them. She could see at least three but guessed there were more. This was going to end badly if she didn't use her wits. Of course, she was a small slight thing and these men were battle hardened criminals and she would be no match against them physically. The blade at her throat dug a bit into her skin and she winced. I have nothing of value to you men, she said in her most dignified tone. No jewels, no fancy clothes, nothing. Nothing is it, the one holding her said with a chuckle. His breath smelled of rot and she winced as he dug the blade further to her neck, feeling the slight pinprick of her skin being slightly cut. Check the carriage... he ordered his men and she remained still. After a few moments, the man having checked thoroughly came back toward them and shook his head. She's right. Only a spare gown and it's made for travel...nothing of worth... the man said and the one holding her chuckled, drawing his dagger back from her neck only to place it toward the lacing of her gown. Oh she's got something...might as well enjoy ourselves lads before we slit her throat... he laughed and Gwyn felt the lacing of her gown begin to be cut open by his dagger. As he turned to say something lewd to one of his men, she took the opportunity to jerk away and start running through the underbrush, much to the surprise of the men who had been surrounding her. They were quick to pursue her however. The brute who had held her to him was quick to grab her and toss her into the muddy road and put himself over her. She screamed, in frustration and fear, kicking, scratching and hitting where she could, feeling him rip open her bodice to reveal her chemise, his rough hands cupping a breast. She struggled beneath him, ignoring the mud and rain as she fought for her life and virtue. Get off of me you bloody bastard! she spat then gave a cry of shock as the man atop her struck her with the back of his hand with such force that it made her see black spots in her vision and cause some disorientation.