choklatekoneko
Bad, Bad Kitty.
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- Jan 5, 2011
- Posts
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Shrugs softly, smiling sadly.
I'm..getting through it.
I'm..getting through it.
Thyri's humble little shack out back
- Thread starter Annisthyrienne
- Start date
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
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Shrugs softly, smiling sadly.
I'm..getting through it.
*Pulls you closer, hugging gently.*
choklatekoneko
Bad, Bad Kitty.
- Joined
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Purrs, happy she has friends. Eyes close gently.
What did you get?
What did you get?
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
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Well, I did my gift exchange with my sister before going on vacation. But she got me a gun cabinet, two seasons of CSI episodes, a DVD of Celtic Woman Christmas special, and a Rascal Flats cd. A couple weeks ago, I got myself a 9mm carbine. All in all, it was a good Christmas.
*Pulls you onto my lap, stroking between your ears and along the side of your neck.*
choklatekoneko
Bad, Bad Kitty.
- Joined
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- Posts
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Purr deepens, smiling.
That sounds great. I think we just have a very chill Christmas this year.
That sounds great. I think we just have a very chill Christmas this year.
Firmhanded_Daddy
reborn in flame
- Joined
- Jan 11, 2010
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- 10,067
Merry christmas thyri!
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
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Sometimes those are the best kind, peaceful and easy, just relaxing.
Merry Christmas.
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
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*Relaxing in the Little Shack, pondering the private message from a former co-writer. He wants to revive 'Warring Nations', a story where I play the role of a Drow princess weary of the ongoing war between her people and the High Elves. It was one of my very favorite stories. I didn't think it odd until just now that I ended up playing the drow and not an elf. Come to think of it, I've played a drow in as many stories as I've played an elf on Lit. Admittedly my portrayals of drow aren't what most people imagine, but for me it's the character itself, not the race, that matters.
I've never been one to shy away from challenging characters though. A centaur warrioress, a 12 inch tall action doll, a drow princess, a Shoshone woman held captive by the Crow....no role is beyond my imagination.*
I've never been one to shy away from challenging characters though. A centaur warrioress, a 12 inch tall action doll, a drow princess, a Shoshone woman held captive by the Crow....no role is beyond my imagination.*
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
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You should do it. I'd love to read it, whether as a story or as a role play. Would Luna be playing a gnome? That would be worth it to read just for that!
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
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See! Deviant! *Giggles and writhes helplessly until all my clothes fall off, eyes sparkling for more.*
Cheska
Renaissance Nerd.
- Joined
- Oct 15, 2011
- Posts
- 4,253
*giggles an blinks* Where di my clothes go?.. that is a Talent!
Perplexia
Romance embellisher
- Joined
- Jul 25, 2007
- Posts
- 18,296
Bak, i'm not a deviant. I'm an angel. Ok, i'm a fallen angel, but i'm mostly a good girl. You two just bring out the naughty in me. All seducing me with the swaying of those hips and batting of the lashes, the movements your mouth and tongues make. You two are succubi.
Cheska
Renaissance Nerd.
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I am not! I am a Halfling...with Draconic ancestry..an maybe a Mason, but you did not hear that from me.
I may also be part of the Illuminatti .. but we never have meetings, so who knows.
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
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Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
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Opposites Attract
Brennisen somehow knew she'd get stuck with guarding the prisoner. As the youngest member of the elven patrol who'd captured the dark elf, and the newest Ranger in the troop, the mundane duty was all hers, despite her pleas that she could be more helpful doing almost anything else.
The other members of the patrol had discussed the matter the night before, and she'd been given the task of taking the prisoner back to Randalee. It was standing orders to all elven patrols these days: capture if possible, refrain from killing if possible, return all refugees/prisoners to the capitol. The Princess-Goddess seemed to be convinced that the dark elves found prowling the lands of the kingdom were actually refugees from Carrion, their home city-state, not raiders.
Things were reported to be deteriorating there. Their tyrant leader had been slain recently, indirectly as a result of one of the Princess-Goddess' own adventures with the dark elves. She had assembled an alliance of elves, men, and Cheysuli tribesmen to surround the dark elf city and rescue her friend. In the process, they had captured the tyrant and weakened his position in Carrion.
Later he had escaped, costing the lives of a couple elven guards in the process. That is when the Princess-Goddess had come into her greatest power. She had brought two of the three dead guards back from the veil of death to rejoin their families. She had said that the third man's spirit refused to return and she would not force him. Since then, the elves of Randalee cherished her, practically worshiped her. The dark elves of Carrion just wanted her dead.
But now, after the tyrant was slain by his own men, the leadership in Carrion had devolved to a struggle between local warlords. Whoever could muster the biggest gang of thugs to back them was in charge at the moment, but it changed more often than could be kept track of. It was bad for the kingdom of Randalee, who could not negotiate with the constantly changing leaders, but it was worst of all for the dark elves of Carrion themselves, victims of the whims of petty despots.
Yesterday her patrol had encountered a small armed band of dark elf warriors and managed to capture one of them. She watched as the rest of the patrol made ready to pursue the ones who'd escaped. She knew there was nothing left that she could say to make them change their minds. Quiet words spoken from the leader of the patrol gave her her final orders before he rode off after the others.
She sighed as she watched the last rider disappear into the trees, then turned her turquoise blue eyes back to her prisoner. Crossing the small clearing, she kicked out the fire and cinched the straps tight on the pack horse, securing the tent and other gear. Then, stepping up to the bound prisoner, she rested her hand on the hilt of her falchion, her bow in her other hand. "On your feet, dark elf. We've a long way to go."
Brennisen somehow knew she'd get stuck with guarding the prisoner. As the youngest member of the elven patrol who'd captured the dark elf, and the newest Ranger in the troop, the mundane duty was all hers, despite her pleas that she could be more helpful doing almost anything else.
The other members of the patrol had discussed the matter the night before, and she'd been given the task of taking the prisoner back to Randalee. It was standing orders to all elven patrols these days: capture if possible, refrain from killing if possible, return all refugees/prisoners to the capitol. The Princess-Goddess seemed to be convinced that the dark elves found prowling the lands of the kingdom were actually refugees from Carrion, their home city-state, not raiders.
Things were reported to be deteriorating there. Their tyrant leader had been slain recently, indirectly as a result of one of the Princess-Goddess' own adventures with the dark elves. She had assembled an alliance of elves, men, and Cheysuli tribesmen to surround the dark elf city and rescue her friend. In the process, they had captured the tyrant and weakened his position in Carrion.
Later he had escaped, costing the lives of a couple elven guards in the process. That is when the Princess-Goddess had come into her greatest power. She had brought two of the three dead guards back from the veil of death to rejoin their families. She had said that the third man's spirit refused to return and she would not force him. Since then, the elves of Randalee cherished her, practically worshiped her. The dark elves of Carrion just wanted her dead.
But now, after the tyrant was slain by his own men, the leadership in Carrion had devolved to a struggle between local warlords. Whoever could muster the biggest gang of thugs to back them was in charge at the moment, but it changed more often than could be kept track of. It was bad for the kingdom of Randalee, who could not negotiate with the constantly changing leaders, but it was worst of all for the dark elves of Carrion themselves, victims of the whims of petty despots.
Yesterday her patrol had encountered a small armed band of dark elf warriors and managed to capture one of them. She watched as the rest of the patrol made ready to pursue the ones who'd escaped. She knew there was nothing left that she could say to make them change their minds. Quiet words spoken from the leader of the patrol gave her her final orders before he rode off after the others.
She sighed as she watched the last rider disappear into the trees, then turned her turquoise blue eyes back to her prisoner. Crossing the small clearing, she kicked out the fire and cinched the straps tight on the pack horse, securing the tent and other gear. Then, stepping up to the bound prisoner, she rested her hand on the hilt of her falchion, her bow in her other hand. "On your feet, dark elf. We've a long way to go."
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
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Princess in Exile
The veteran warrior eased her horse up the slope of the forested hill. She needed to get a good view of the surrounding countryside to try to make sense of the map she had tucked in her belt. When that crazy old duffer in the last village had sold it to her, he had assured the warrior that it was a good map of the frontier lands. But according to this map, she should be on a trade route at the moment. Instead she was picking her way carefully through old growth forest composed of mostly pine and fir, but with a strong presence of hardwoods as well. It sure as hell didn't seem like a trade route to her! It barely qualified as a game trail, let alone a caravan route. She had to face it, she was lost!
Of course, that was all a matter of perspective. Since she didn't really have a destination in mind at the moment, it wasn't like she was really lost. She just didn't know where she was. And it wasn't like anyone was expecting her to show up somewhere at any specific time either. She rather enjoyed the freedom of this kind of lifestyle, even if it sometimes lacked the comforts of a real home to call her own.
As she eased her horse up onto the ridge into a small clearing she had spied from below, she hoped it would afford her a view of the countryside and perhaps make it possible to spot some landmarks that would be on the map. If she could just get her bearings, she reasoned, there might be hope yet of making it to a small outpost of civilization before nightfall. The map was proving less than helpful. What she really could've used was a native guide, someone familiar with the wilderness she found herself in.
As if in answer to her thoughts, just as she eased her horse into the clearing, the peace of the mid-morning was shattered by a series of yelps, growls, and barks, as if a whole pack of wild dogs was after something. Her keen eyes caught motion on the valley floor below, not more than 60 yards from her. She spotted a lone figure riding desperately on a wild eyed, heavily lathered horse, breaking out of the tree line and racing through the scattered brush and deadfall littering the valley below.
She was close enough to see that the rider was slight of build and short, perhaps a youth or a member of one of the smaller races. Horse and rider were obviously running for their very lives, and a second or two later, she saw why. From out of the trees behind came a slavering fur covered figure, then another, followed by a third close on their heels.
It would have been hard to tell that these monsters were nearly 7 feet tall standing up, because as they loped after their prey, they went alternately on two legs or all fours, as it suited them. They were brownish-gray, with some lighter spots approaching a shade of tan or yellow even. They had roughly humanoid forms, but with the heads of hyenas.
Even from this vantage point, she could see that they wore remnants of poor quality armor and clothing that they had scavenged from previous victims. They also carried weapons, although they had quite formidable natural weaponry, in the form of their claws and fangs.
The truth was she knew, without needing to see them up close, what they looked like. She had seen gnolls before, and had fought them. They were vicious. But a skilled warrior and good tactics could defeat them. She knew that the small figure wouldn't have a chance against them.
The fact that this chase would soon come to an end was clear. She could hear the horse's labored breaths, coming hard. Even as the rider cut through the brush, zig-zagging sharply to evade the grasping claws of the beasts that even now tore at the rider's cloak and clothes, she could see that the horse was beginning to misstep and slip.
And then it happened. The horse gave a shudder as its endurance finally flagged. It slipped and stumbled, pitching the rider over its shoulder to land hard upon the ground. The horse didn't get back up. In a heartbeat, the lead gnoll was upon the hapless figure, just as it struggled to its feet and began to run.
The slavering beast bore the small figure to the ground roughly beneath him, already snapping and snarling, tearing at the clothes. The hood of the cloak was off now, revealing long auburn hair, nearly the color of a roan horse.
The two others closed in now, hoping to get their share of the spoils of the attack. The entire tableau had unfolded in a matter of a few seconds. Most of the warrior's view of the small figure was blocked by the broad back of the hairy beast crouching over its victim, but the next sound she heard galvanized her to action. It was the sound of a scream from the gnoll's victim. It was the scream of a woman!
****************
Pronunciation guide: Annisthyrienne (AH-nis-teery-ain), Thyri (Teery)
*********
Thyri knew her time had come, but please Goddess, not this way, she thought desperately. She felt the sickening lurch as the horse stumbled and went down; felt the disorienting feeling of her unsupported flight over the horse's shoulder, and then she felt the stunning impact with the ground. It hurt, and maybe something cracked inside, she couldn't be sure. But there was no time to worry about that now. There may never be time to worry about that if she didn't get away.
She sucked in her lip in pain as she scrambled to her feet to run. Already she saw the snarling gnoll bearing down on her impossibly fast. Not even elvish agility could escape at this close distance. She felt the cloak of her hood ripped away, spilling out her long auburn hair. He was so close!
She barely managed two more strides before he physically ran her down, bearing her roughly to the ground under his massive frame. She barely had time to turn back to face him, and as a result, she went down on her back beneath him, hitting hard enough to send another jolt of pain through her ribcage and smacking her head on the packed earth under her. Only the meadow grass cushioned her impact enough to spare her the stunned unconsciousness that might have been a blessed reprieve for what was to come.
She tried to fight him, she really did, with every thing she had, which wasn't much. Of what use were small fists or scratching fingernails against the thick fur covered body, backed by corded rangy muscle under that hide. She tried to kick out, but it was like swats from a baby to the large monster overpowering her.
His jaws snapped at her flailing hands, adding the danger of getting bitten to her already inadequate defenses. He slashed one clawed hand across the neckline of her tunic, ripping four parallel slashes through tunic and the blouse beneath it alike. It rent the fabric into strips totally unable to protect her skin or her modesty. Four identical scratches began to inflame into angry red welts, marring the perfection of her youthful breasts, almost as soon as the blow was delivered.
Her legs frantically kicked and struggled, though the leverage she had wasn't good. Protected as they were only in the fine soft cloth riding leggings she wore under her tunic, she knew it wouldn't be long before the monster exposed them too. Visions of what would happen then swam in her frantically desperate mind. She knew it could only end one way. She wasn't ready for her brief lifespan to be over; not like this, not at all!
Already the creature was trying to capture her wrists in one massive clawed hand to restrain her. With the other, he grabbed the waistband of her leggings, even through the covering of her tunic where it hung down below her waist. He pulled with a strength she couldn't fully comprehend, and she felt the fabric rend asunder. She could feel the cool mountain air now caressing her naked flesh, and she knew that she was undone.
Glancing down fearfully, she could already see the angry looking red length of his penis sliding out from the furry sheath at the base of his torso. And she could hear the excited yelps and barks of his remaining two pack mates closing in to get their share of the cruel sport. Hope of any salvation died within her. Her mind filled with images of her brave bodyguard and friend, Keira, falling beneath a similar assault back in their camp at dawn that very morning. She wondered if her brave friend had suffered the same indignities that she was about to endure.
The pack had attacked just at dawn. Keira hadn't even donned her armor for the day, and it was the worst time they could have come. Thyri had only managed to get dressed for another day's travel when the warning shout from Keira broke the peaceful stillness. She barely had time to grab her bow and rush out of the tent before they were in the clearing, nearing point blank range.
She had used her bow to good effect, her elvish heritage making the weapon deadly even in the hands of a gentle healer like herself. She wasn't much good with weapons that had to be used up close; her empathic sense that allowed her to heal others so well hindered her in inflicting injury like that. But the bow was another matter. Even with that, she had always treated her skill as more of a sport than ever intending to use it against another living being. But there had been no time to consider such matters then.
Back to back with Keira, she had brought down two of them before they got too close. They had reached for her even as Keira had shoved her bodily towards her own black stallion before going down under their attack. Keira had always been stalwart and true that way, since the time she switched allegiances to become Thyri's bodyguard and friend. Thyri hated that she had to flee, but she also knew that it would only hamper Keira's fighting ability to know her princess was still at risk. Keira would readily risk her life to save Thyri; she had done so before.
And so she had fled, leaping to the back of Keira's black stallion and racing through the underbrush, down the long valley, with four of the monsters in pursuit. In her desperate flight, she had managed to keep her bow, and even at a full run, she had turned to loose a couple shots, bringing one of the beasts down. Then she had run out of arrows. A low tree branch had snagged her bow when she'd cut too close to the brush to try to gain precious ground. After that she had just concentrated on getting away.
But it had all come to naught. Her fate seemed to be sealed now. Still she could not bring herself to that resignation. She had to fight them to her last breath!
The veteran warrior eased her horse up the slope of the forested hill. She needed to get a good view of the surrounding countryside to try to make sense of the map she had tucked in her belt. When that crazy old duffer in the last village had sold it to her, he had assured the warrior that it was a good map of the frontier lands. But according to this map, she should be on a trade route at the moment. Instead she was picking her way carefully through old growth forest composed of mostly pine and fir, but with a strong presence of hardwoods as well. It sure as hell didn't seem like a trade route to her! It barely qualified as a game trail, let alone a caravan route. She had to face it, she was lost!
Of course, that was all a matter of perspective. Since she didn't really have a destination in mind at the moment, it wasn't like she was really lost. She just didn't know where she was. And it wasn't like anyone was expecting her to show up somewhere at any specific time either. She rather enjoyed the freedom of this kind of lifestyle, even if it sometimes lacked the comforts of a real home to call her own.
As she eased her horse up onto the ridge into a small clearing she had spied from below, she hoped it would afford her a view of the countryside and perhaps make it possible to spot some landmarks that would be on the map. If she could just get her bearings, she reasoned, there might be hope yet of making it to a small outpost of civilization before nightfall. The map was proving less than helpful. What she really could've used was a native guide, someone familiar with the wilderness she found herself in.
As if in answer to her thoughts, just as she eased her horse into the clearing, the peace of the mid-morning was shattered by a series of yelps, growls, and barks, as if a whole pack of wild dogs was after something. Her keen eyes caught motion on the valley floor below, not more than 60 yards from her. She spotted a lone figure riding desperately on a wild eyed, heavily lathered horse, breaking out of the tree line and racing through the scattered brush and deadfall littering the valley below.
She was close enough to see that the rider was slight of build and short, perhaps a youth or a member of one of the smaller races. Horse and rider were obviously running for their very lives, and a second or two later, she saw why. From out of the trees behind came a slavering fur covered figure, then another, followed by a third close on their heels.
It would have been hard to tell that these monsters were nearly 7 feet tall standing up, because as they loped after their prey, they went alternately on two legs or all fours, as it suited them. They were brownish-gray, with some lighter spots approaching a shade of tan or yellow even. They had roughly humanoid forms, but with the heads of hyenas.
Even from this vantage point, she could see that they wore remnants of poor quality armor and clothing that they had scavenged from previous victims. They also carried weapons, although they had quite formidable natural weaponry, in the form of their claws and fangs.
The truth was she knew, without needing to see them up close, what they looked like. She had seen gnolls before, and had fought them. They were vicious. But a skilled warrior and good tactics could defeat them. She knew that the small figure wouldn't have a chance against them.
The fact that this chase would soon come to an end was clear. She could hear the horse's labored breaths, coming hard. Even as the rider cut through the brush, zig-zagging sharply to evade the grasping claws of the beasts that even now tore at the rider's cloak and clothes, she could see that the horse was beginning to misstep and slip.
And then it happened. The horse gave a shudder as its endurance finally flagged. It slipped and stumbled, pitching the rider over its shoulder to land hard upon the ground. The horse didn't get back up. In a heartbeat, the lead gnoll was upon the hapless figure, just as it struggled to its feet and began to run.
The slavering beast bore the small figure to the ground roughly beneath him, already snapping and snarling, tearing at the clothes. The hood of the cloak was off now, revealing long auburn hair, nearly the color of a roan horse.
The two others closed in now, hoping to get their share of the spoils of the attack. The entire tableau had unfolded in a matter of a few seconds. Most of the warrior's view of the small figure was blocked by the broad back of the hairy beast crouching over its victim, but the next sound she heard galvanized her to action. It was the sound of a scream from the gnoll's victim. It was the scream of a woman!
****************
Pronunciation guide: Annisthyrienne (AH-nis-teery-ain), Thyri (Teery)
*********
Thyri knew her time had come, but please Goddess, not this way, she thought desperately. She felt the sickening lurch as the horse stumbled and went down; felt the disorienting feeling of her unsupported flight over the horse's shoulder, and then she felt the stunning impact with the ground. It hurt, and maybe something cracked inside, she couldn't be sure. But there was no time to worry about that now. There may never be time to worry about that if she didn't get away.
She sucked in her lip in pain as she scrambled to her feet to run. Already she saw the snarling gnoll bearing down on her impossibly fast. Not even elvish agility could escape at this close distance. She felt the cloak of her hood ripped away, spilling out her long auburn hair. He was so close!
She barely managed two more strides before he physically ran her down, bearing her roughly to the ground under his massive frame. She barely had time to turn back to face him, and as a result, she went down on her back beneath him, hitting hard enough to send another jolt of pain through her ribcage and smacking her head on the packed earth under her. Only the meadow grass cushioned her impact enough to spare her the stunned unconsciousness that might have been a blessed reprieve for what was to come.
She tried to fight him, she really did, with every thing she had, which wasn't much. Of what use were small fists or scratching fingernails against the thick fur covered body, backed by corded rangy muscle under that hide. She tried to kick out, but it was like swats from a baby to the large monster overpowering her.
His jaws snapped at her flailing hands, adding the danger of getting bitten to her already inadequate defenses. He slashed one clawed hand across the neckline of her tunic, ripping four parallel slashes through tunic and the blouse beneath it alike. It rent the fabric into strips totally unable to protect her skin or her modesty. Four identical scratches began to inflame into angry red welts, marring the perfection of her youthful breasts, almost as soon as the blow was delivered.
Her legs frantically kicked and struggled, though the leverage she had wasn't good. Protected as they were only in the fine soft cloth riding leggings she wore under her tunic, she knew it wouldn't be long before the monster exposed them too. Visions of what would happen then swam in her frantically desperate mind. She knew it could only end one way. She wasn't ready for her brief lifespan to be over; not like this, not at all!
Already the creature was trying to capture her wrists in one massive clawed hand to restrain her. With the other, he grabbed the waistband of her leggings, even through the covering of her tunic where it hung down below her waist. He pulled with a strength she couldn't fully comprehend, and she felt the fabric rend asunder. She could feel the cool mountain air now caressing her naked flesh, and she knew that she was undone.
Glancing down fearfully, she could already see the angry looking red length of his penis sliding out from the furry sheath at the base of his torso. And she could hear the excited yelps and barks of his remaining two pack mates closing in to get their share of the cruel sport. Hope of any salvation died within her. Her mind filled with images of her brave bodyguard and friend, Keira, falling beneath a similar assault back in their camp at dawn that very morning. She wondered if her brave friend had suffered the same indignities that she was about to endure.
The pack had attacked just at dawn. Keira hadn't even donned her armor for the day, and it was the worst time they could have come. Thyri had only managed to get dressed for another day's travel when the warning shout from Keira broke the peaceful stillness. She barely had time to grab her bow and rush out of the tent before they were in the clearing, nearing point blank range.
She had used her bow to good effect, her elvish heritage making the weapon deadly even in the hands of a gentle healer like herself. She wasn't much good with weapons that had to be used up close; her empathic sense that allowed her to heal others so well hindered her in inflicting injury like that. But the bow was another matter. Even with that, she had always treated her skill as more of a sport than ever intending to use it against another living being. But there had been no time to consider such matters then.
Back to back with Keira, she had brought down two of them before they got too close. They had reached for her even as Keira had shoved her bodily towards her own black stallion before going down under their attack. Keira had always been stalwart and true that way, since the time she switched allegiances to become Thyri's bodyguard and friend. Thyri hated that she had to flee, but she also knew that it would only hamper Keira's fighting ability to know her princess was still at risk. Keira would readily risk her life to save Thyri; she had done so before.
And so she had fled, leaping to the back of Keira's black stallion and racing through the underbrush, down the long valley, with four of the monsters in pursuit. In her desperate flight, she had managed to keep her bow, and even at a full run, she had turned to loose a couple shots, bringing one of the beasts down. Then she had run out of arrows. A low tree branch had snagged her bow when she'd cut too close to the brush to try to gain precious ground. After that she had just concentrated on getting away.
But it had all come to naught. Her fate seemed to be sealed now. Still she could not bring herself to that resignation. She had to fight them to her last breath!
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
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- Oct 17, 2010
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Amazon Sisters of Battle
Halcya: the ‘No-Hopers’ colony was not an honorable or much requested assignment for Hesperian soldiers. It is renowned for the lack of pride of the Amazons who are stationed there and for the incidences of poor discipline, unfitness for duty, and downright incompetence. It is a colony remembered for being the place where the Amazons were stopped in the expansion of their empire by the Quaddanis, a place of dishonor to many.
Chelsea was a young Hesperian soldier, sent to Halcya as a trumped up punishment for the blame laid upon her for her mother's death. Her mother had died from wounds received from a duel fought in defense of her mixed race daughter. Afterwards, Chelsea's 'aunt'; her mother's lover, laid the blame for the untimely death upon Chelsea. Chelsea's mixed heritage was a cause for plenty of scorn and a source of embarrassment for polite Hesperian society. It was better to send her somewhere that she would be out of the way, perhaps for good.
Soon after Chelsea was assigned to the post at Halcyon, (the capitol city of the colony) reports started coming in of a recent upsurge of isolated raiding incidents near the Quaddani border. This was not completely unusual; after all, the truce with Quaddan was an uneasy one and small border skirmishes were common. But these recent raids were more deliberate incursions and were better organized and planned.
Events were already in the works, however, that would change things dramatically. The raids continued to increase in frequency and intensity until full scale conflict had broken out. By this time, it had been confirmed that Quaddani regulars were behind the raids all along, and had just been testing the strength of the Hesperian lines and their willingness to fight. The Quaddani had recaptured much of the surrounding country and small villages, pushing the Hesperian forces back, and had even occupied parts of the capital city of Halcyon. Chelsea was nearly 20 years old by this time. She was to see four major battles before she was 21 years of age.
The first one took place near a small village called Heironimus. The Amazons were victorious in recapturing the town and preserving their line of supplies, but it was more of a personal triumph for Chelsea. She received a promotion and the satisfaction of knowing she fought extremely well. Many of her sister’s lives were saved by her actions. She quickly learned that where lives are at stake, one’s physical differences became most minor and the only thing that really mattered in her squad leader’s opinion was her performance in battle. In that she excelled. Her mother had been a weapons master, and had her own battle school before she died. She had trained Chelsea from an early age in the use of the Hesperian gladius, the war spear, archery, and unarmed combat arts. Her expert training was not to be wasted and Chelsea's abilities were further honed by the actual battle experience, so that her squad leader came to have a grudging admiration for her abilities, despite her mixed racial make up.
Her next battle experience was also favorable. The Amazons won the battle and Chelsea had many enemy casualties to her credit. However, her third engagement with the Quaddanis was not nearly so successful for Hesperian forces. They lost the battle as well as many of their sisters. The Quaddanis had been learning the tactics of the Hesperian soldiers by this time, and had adapted to counter them. The carnage was terrible; a thing of such horror to behold that the effects are with Chelsea still.
After that battle they are less active for a while, waiting until reinforcements arrive to bolster their ranks. Now it is the night before they are to engage the enemy again. They know the enemy forces outnumber their own, and to make matters worse, they are entrenched within the high ground of a wealthy neighborhood of the capital city of the colony: Halcyon. The wealthy estates of former residents of the city are like small fortresses in themselves, each surrounded with stone or clay walls, large mansions with many rooms difficult to clear in savage house to house fighting. The mission is to drive them out and reclaim the capital for Hesperia.
*******************
Chelsea stood and watched the new reinforcements as they arrived, heading to the command tent to get their assignments. She looked at their fresh faces, so pretty and full of life, and she wondered how many would be dead by this time the next day. It was a terrible thought, she knew. But she was just tired of the fighting, tired of the carnage and bloodshed, tired of seeing women she knew get cut up or killed, or run through with a Quaddani spear.
She gave a weary sigh and was about to turn away to head for the bathing tent when one of the new girls caught her notice. Most of them looked scared; that was normal. Any Hesperian soldier had heard of this place. They all, no doubt, knew what had been happening here. The word had spread, even back in Chersonopolis, the Hesperian capitol. Chelsea would have thought anyone who didn't look scared was a damn fool.
But there was something about this one. She looked like she was just a little lost or something, resigned to her fate maybe. Yet she looked proud and defiant, a typical Amazon. She was exactly the kind who would probably fall in battle, never having had a chance to learn how to survive. It wasn't fair, Chelsea thought again as she turned to head for the baths.
For the next hour, she soaked and tried to relax. But knowing what was coming made it almost impossible. There was always a certain nervous energy before a big battle, and tonight was no exception. A warrior always longed for the comforts of life at such a time: a good hot bath, good food, comfort in the arms of a willing companion. Of course, that wasn't likely to happen for her, she reflected bitterly. Nobody was interested in bedding a half-sized half-breed, especially one with skin and hair as dark as hers. There was rumored speculation that perhaps her mixed racial heritage might include some Quaddani blood. It was ridiculous, of course. Her complexion was darker than normal for Hesperian women, but she wasn't Nubian in any way. Not for the first time, she damned the short islander tribesman slave who her mother had chosen to sire her.
She couldn't get her mind off the new women though, especially the one who'd caught her eye. 'She had stared right at me', she mused. 'Probably wondering why I look so different.' It didn't matter anyway. When Chelsea closed her eyes, she could see the girl's face, and if she kept them closed, she could see the girl being cut down cruelly. She kept her eyes open. "Damn it! Why did it have to be that way?" she said to know one in particular.
What if it could be different? Why couldn't someone do something to keep these women alive, at least long enough to let them get some experience? Why couldn't she? The more she thought about it, the more determined she became. She'd do something about this! She'd at least pick one of them and keep her alive, by the Mother, no matter what it took!
She got out of the bath and dried off quickly, motivated by her plan. There were still many preparations to be made before she'd have to get ready to move out with her squad in the early morning hours. She dressed in her short tunic, an off the shoulder Grecian style gown that came down to her mid-thigh. Her muscular thighs were displayed to good effect beneath the short hem. Her calves were bare but the laces of her sandals wrapped up to the top of her ankles.
Her cafe-au-lait skin tone and dark hair marked her as different from the other Hesperian soldiers, another trait from her 'father'. Her appearance always drew stares, and this time was no exception as she strolled across the camp to her tent. But she ignored them all, intent on her new idea. She arrived at her tent. It was a white canvas campaign tent large enough for two warriors and their gear, but she had had it all to herself since the last battle. Her former tent-mate had met her fate struck full of Quaddani arrows.
Chelsea whipped open the tent flap and ducked inside. She'd taken two steps before she noticed she was not alone. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the new girl setting up her cot.
Halcya: the ‘No-Hopers’ colony was not an honorable or much requested assignment for Hesperian soldiers. It is renowned for the lack of pride of the Amazons who are stationed there and for the incidences of poor discipline, unfitness for duty, and downright incompetence. It is a colony remembered for being the place where the Amazons were stopped in the expansion of their empire by the Quaddanis, a place of dishonor to many.
Chelsea was a young Hesperian soldier, sent to Halcya as a trumped up punishment for the blame laid upon her for her mother's death. Her mother had died from wounds received from a duel fought in defense of her mixed race daughter. Afterwards, Chelsea's 'aunt'; her mother's lover, laid the blame for the untimely death upon Chelsea. Chelsea's mixed heritage was a cause for plenty of scorn and a source of embarrassment for polite Hesperian society. It was better to send her somewhere that she would be out of the way, perhaps for good.
Soon after Chelsea was assigned to the post at Halcyon, (the capitol city of the colony) reports started coming in of a recent upsurge of isolated raiding incidents near the Quaddani border. This was not completely unusual; after all, the truce with Quaddan was an uneasy one and small border skirmishes were common. But these recent raids were more deliberate incursions and were better organized and planned.
Events were already in the works, however, that would change things dramatically. The raids continued to increase in frequency and intensity until full scale conflict had broken out. By this time, it had been confirmed that Quaddani regulars were behind the raids all along, and had just been testing the strength of the Hesperian lines and their willingness to fight. The Quaddani had recaptured much of the surrounding country and small villages, pushing the Hesperian forces back, and had even occupied parts of the capital city of Halcyon. Chelsea was nearly 20 years old by this time. She was to see four major battles before she was 21 years of age.
The first one took place near a small village called Heironimus. The Amazons were victorious in recapturing the town and preserving their line of supplies, but it was more of a personal triumph for Chelsea. She received a promotion and the satisfaction of knowing she fought extremely well. Many of her sister’s lives were saved by her actions. She quickly learned that where lives are at stake, one’s physical differences became most minor and the only thing that really mattered in her squad leader’s opinion was her performance in battle. In that she excelled. Her mother had been a weapons master, and had her own battle school before she died. She had trained Chelsea from an early age in the use of the Hesperian gladius, the war spear, archery, and unarmed combat arts. Her expert training was not to be wasted and Chelsea's abilities were further honed by the actual battle experience, so that her squad leader came to have a grudging admiration for her abilities, despite her mixed racial make up.
Her next battle experience was also favorable. The Amazons won the battle and Chelsea had many enemy casualties to her credit. However, her third engagement with the Quaddanis was not nearly so successful for Hesperian forces. They lost the battle as well as many of their sisters. The Quaddanis had been learning the tactics of the Hesperian soldiers by this time, and had adapted to counter them. The carnage was terrible; a thing of such horror to behold that the effects are with Chelsea still.
After that battle they are less active for a while, waiting until reinforcements arrive to bolster their ranks. Now it is the night before they are to engage the enemy again. They know the enemy forces outnumber their own, and to make matters worse, they are entrenched within the high ground of a wealthy neighborhood of the capital city of the colony: Halcyon. The wealthy estates of former residents of the city are like small fortresses in themselves, each surrounded with stone or clay walls, large mansions with many rooms difficult to clear in savage house to house fighting. The mission is to drive them out and reclaim the capital for Hesperia.
*******************
Chelsea stood and watched the new reinforcements as they arrived, heading to the command tent to get their assignments. She looked at their fresh faces, so pretty and full of life, and she wondered how many would be dead by this time the next day. It was a terrible thought, she knew. But she was just tired of the fighting, tired of the carnage and bloodshed, tired of seeing women she knew get cut up or killed, or run through with a Quaddani spear.
She gave a weary sigh and was about to turn away to head for the bathing tent when one of the new girls caught her notice. Most of them looked scared; that was normal. Any Hesperian soldier had heard of this place. They all, no doubt, knew what had been happening here. The word had spread, even back in Chersonopolis, the Hesperian capitol. Chelsea would have thought anyone who didn't look scared was a damn fool.
But there was something about this one. She looked like she was just a little lost or something, resigned to her fate maybe. Yet she looked proud and defiant, a typical Amazon. She was exactly the kind who would probably fall in battle, never having had a chance to learn how to survive. It wasn't fair, Chelsea thought again as she turned to head for the baths.
For the next hour, she soaked and tried to relax. But knowing what was coming made it almost impossible. There was always a certain nervous energy before a big battle, and tonight was no exception. A warrior always longed for the comforts of life at such a time: a good hot bath, good food, comfort in the arms of a willing companion. Of course, that wasn't likely to happen for her, she reflected bitterly. Nobody was interested in bedding a half-sized half-breed, especially one with skin and hair as dark as hers. There was rumored speculation that perhaps her mixed racial heritage might include some Quaddani blood. It was ridiculous, of course. Her complexion was darker than normal for Hesperian women, but she wasn't Nubian in any way. Not for the first time, she damned the short islander tribesman slave who her mother had chosen to sire her.
She couldn't get her mind off the new women though, especially the one who'd caught her eye. 'She had stared right at me', she mused. 'Probably wondering why I look so different.' It didn't matter anyway. When Chelsea closed her eyes, she could see the girl's face, and if she kept them closed, she could see the girl being cut down cruelly. She kept her eyes open. "Damn it! Why did it have to be that way?" she said to know one in particular.
What if it could be different? Why couldn't someone do something to keep these women alive, at least long enough to let them get some experience? Why couldn't she? The more she thought about it, the more determined she became. She'd do something about this! She'd at least pick one of them and keep her alive, by the Mother, no matter what it took!
She got out of the bath and dried off quickly, motivated by her plan. There were still many preparations to be made before she'd have to get ready to move out with her squad in the early morning hours. She dressed in her short tunic, an off the shoulder Grecian style gown that came down to her mid-thigh. Her muscular thighs were displayed to good effect beneath the short hem. Her calves were bare but the laces of her sandals wrapped up to the top of her ankles.
Her cafe-au-lait skin tone and dark hair marked her as different from the other Hesperian soldiers, another trait from her 'father'. Her appearance always drew stares, and this time was no exception as she strolled across the camp to her tent. But she ignored them all, intent on her new idea. She arrived at her tent. It was a white canvas campaign tent large enough for two warriors and their gear, but she had had it all to herself since the last battle. Her former tent-mate had met her fate struck full of Quaddani arrows.
Chelsea whipped open the tent flap and ducked inside. She'd taken two steps before she noticed she was not alone. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the new girl setting up her cot.
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
- Joined
- Oct 17, 2010
- Posts
- 11,435
Happy New Year, my dear friend! 
I hope it brings you peace and joy. 
And if the Mayans are right, we won't have to fool with anymore of them after this.
I hope it brings you peace and joy. And if the Mayans are right, we won't have to fool with anymore of them after this.
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
- Joined
- Oct 17, 2010
- Posts
- 11,435
Sure ways to bug me (and probably lose all regard I have for you)
I'm borrowing an idea from my friend Cheska, and outlining here a few things that bother me so that people can be fore-warned, or fore-armed in their dealings with me, depending on what they hope to accomplish.
Normally I'm playful, cheerful, easy going, and like to keep things light, but there are a few things that get to me, even if I may not let it show out of politeness. So here goes.
1) I don't mind being called slut or whore or tramp or trollop if it's in the heat of a passionate encounter, especially if I'm acting like it. Some dirty talk like this is even a turn on. The trick is to know when it is and when it isn't. Using those terms as pet names when we are not intimate is probably not something that will win you any points with me. There are very few exceptions to this, but if I like you, I may let you do this. I have to really like you though. If we don't have some kind of connection, either here in the lounges or in chat, don't think it's going to go over well.
2) You may claim me as whatever you want me to be to you, in affectionate terms, but you will note that I DO NOT wear a collar! I've been down that road here, and it ended badly. I am NOT cut out for that. And I'd only be a disappointment to you. Everyone who gets to know me wants a piece of me for their very own, and I understand that. Lay your claims as you wish, but remember that the only ones that really matter are the claims that I honor. It's my choice, always. Therefore, cultivate the relationship you want to have with me. If you earn my desire to honor those claims, you will have something then, not just a name you refer to me as.
Sub note: If you earn the title of friend from me, it matters. I do not go on Facebook primarily because they cheapen the term 'friend' by making it apply to everyone who even faintly knows my second cousin's uncle or something, and may not know me at all. If I say you are my friend, it is real to me. It also matters very much to me if I do something stupid to ruin this. Please tell me before that happens. It makes me heartsick to think I hurt someone I care for.
3) I am not a public utility and I'm not hanging out on a virtual street corner here. Just because you read about my encounters with someone else here in the lounges does not mean I take on all comers (cummers?) no matter how hot you get from my writing or the writing of others. Get to know me before you PM me or take liberties with me in any way. It's just being respectful. If you can't show respect, you don't deserve mine. Now there are some long time residents of the lounges here that have more latitude by virtue of the fact that we've interacted before, even if not necessarily playing together. Still, be nice and I'll probably like you. Be rude and crude and I'll probably be turned off.
This also relates back to the above statement about those who claim me. If I allow those claims and you have some relationship with the claimant, do not assume that you can help yourself to me as well.
4) There are no real subjects that are off limits for discussion with me, but its the way you discuss them that will determine whether there is a conversation or not. Don't be arrogant. Don't assume your way or opinion is right and mine is wrong. A closed mind is an empty mind.
I actually like to philosophize about spiritual questions. It's interesting to me. But I try to do so in a way that doesn't' have to alienate a particular belief system. I explore my own belief's in my other thread, 'Where Elvish Blood Sings' as that is meant to be a little more dignified. It seems unseemly to discuss a relationship with God in an outhouse setting. Just sayin'.
As for politics, you probably won't get me interested. I was once, but am so thoroughly fed up with all sides now that I just don't want to hear it anymore. Arguing about who is the better crook for the job is pointless and futile. They all take their marching orders from the same masters anyhow.
5) 'Know it all's are not fun people to interact with. Have a little humility with your knowledge base. It's appealing. I don't mean not to be confidant in what you know about. But I seriously doubt that you know everything, so don't crap on other's claims unless you know and can prove them to be mistaken. And even then, don't do it in a way that makes them feel stupid just so you can feel superior.
6) Don't take pride in being an asshole if you are interested in my respect and friendship. I find there are enough unpleasant people in the world that I already have to deal with in real life; I have no wish to associate with any here in a fantasy world. I try to live by this saying:
"When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced. Live your life so that when you die, the world cries and you rejoice."
In short, make of yourself someone that people want to be around and will miss when you leave.
7) Lit is a lie. At least it is for what it seems to promise. And it's all too easy to fall for those seductive promises. Every one is sexy. Every one is oversexed and horny all the time. Everyone wants everyone; there is no such thing as rejection. And sexy everyone will give you what is missing in your life.
Not.
Lit gives only two things that are real. Interaction in a community of like minded people, and entertainment in the form of writing sexy fiction with others. You will not find love here. You will not find fulfillment here. You may think you do, but ultimately you will be deeply disappointed and let down. If you cannot see the promises for what they are, you are headed for depression and sadness. Too many of my friends here have been sucked into this. Take Lit for what it is worth, and recognize that to get true fulfillment and happiness, you will have to find it elsewhere.
More as I think of it, I'm sure.
I'm borrowing an idea from my friend Cheska, and outlining here a few things that bother me so that people can be fore-warned, or fore-armed in their dealings with me, depending on what they hope to accomplish.
Normally I'm playful, cheerful, easy going, and like to keep things light, but there are a few things that get to me, even if I may not let it show out of politeness. So here goes.
1) I don't mind being called slut or whore or tramp or trollop if it's in the heat of a passionate encounter, especially if I'm acting like it. Some dirty talk like this is even a turn on. The trick is to know when it is and when it isn't. Using those terms as pet names when we are not intimate is probably not something that will win you any points with me. There are very few exceptions to this, but if I like you, I may let you do this. I have to really like you though. If we don't have some kind of connection, either here in the lounges or in chat, don't think it's going to go over well.
2) You may claim me as whatever you want me to be to you, in affectionate terms, but you will note that I DO NOT wear a collar! I've been down that road here, and it ended badly. I am NOT cut out for that. And I'd only be a disappointment to you. Everyone who gets to know me wants a piece of me for their very own, and I understand that. Lay your claims as you wish, but remember that the only ones that really matter are the claims that I honor. It's my choice, always. Therefore, cultivate the relationship you want to have with me. If you earn my desire to honor those claims, you will have something then, not just a name you refer to me as.
Sub note: If you earn the title of friend from me, it matters. I do not go on Facebook primarily because they cheapen the term 'friend' by making it apply to everyone who even faintly knows my second cousin's uncle or something, and may not know me at all. If I say you are my friend, it is real to me. It also matters very much to me if I do something stupid to ruin this. Please tell me before that happens. It makes me heartsick to think I hurt someone I care for.
3) I am not a public utility and I'm not hanging out on a virtual street corner here. Just because you read about my encounters with someone else here in the lounges does not mean I take on all comers (cummers?) no matter how hot you get from my writing or the writing of others. Get to know me before you PM me or take liberties with me in any way. It's just being respectful. If you can't show respect, you don't deserve mine. Now there are some long time residents of the lounges here that have more latitude by virtue of the fact that we've interacted before, even if not necessarily playing together. Still, be nice and I'll probably like you. Be rude and crude and I'll probably be turned off.
This also relates back to the above statement about those who claim me. If I allow those claims and you have some relationship with the claimant, do not assume that you can help yourself to me as well.
4) There are no real subjects that are off limits for discussion with me, but its the way you discuss them that will determine whether there is a conversation or not. Don't be arrogant. Don't assume your way or opinion is right and mine is wrong. A closed mind is an empty mind.
I actually like to philosophize about spiritual questions. It's interesting to me. But I try to do so in a way that doesn't' have to alienate a particular belief system. I explore my own belief's in my other thread, 'Where Elvish Blood Sings' as that is meant to be a little more dignified. It seems unseemly to discuss a relationship with God in an outhouse setting. Just sayin'.
As for politics, you probably won't get me interested. I was once, but am so thoroughly fed up with all sides now that I just don't want to hear it anymore. Arguing about who is the better crook for the job is pointless and futile. They all take their marching orders from the same masters anyhow.
5) 'Know it all's are not fun people to interact with. Have a little humility with your knowledge base. It's appealing. I don't mean not to be confidant in what you know about. But I seriously doubt that you know everything, so don't crap on other's claims unless you know and can prove them to be mistaken. And even then, don't do it in a way that makes them feel stupid just so you can feel superior.
6) Don't take pride in being an asshole if you are interested in my respect and friendship. I find there are enough unpleasant people in the world that I already have to deal with in real life; I have no wish to associate with any here in a fantasy world. I try to live by this saying:
"When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced. Live your life so that when you die, the world cries and you rejoice."
In short, make of yourself someone that people want to be around and will miss when you leave.
7) Lit is a lie. At least it is for what it seems to promise. And it's all too easy to fall for those seductive promises. Every one is sexy. Every one is oversexed and horny all the time. Everyone wants everyone; there is no such thing as rejection. And sexy everyone will give you what is missing in your life.
Not.
Lit gives only two things that are real. Interaction in a community of like minded people, and entertainment in the form of writing sexy fiction with others. You will not find love here. You will not find fulfillment here. You may think you do, but ultimately you will be deeply disappointed and let down. If you cannot see the promises for what they are, you are headed for depression and sadness. Too many of my friends here have been sucked into this. Take Lit for what it is worth, and recognize that to get true fulfillment and happiness, you will have to find it elsewhere.
More as I think of it, I'm sure.
Last edited:
Perplexia
Romance embellisher
- Joined
- Jul 25, 2007
- Posts
- 18,296
Annisthyrienne
Drive-by mischief maker
- Joined
- Oct 17, 2010
- Posts
- 11,435
