Thyri's humble little shack out back

[Perplexia]

I've missed you too, Plexi. You and Cheska need to sleep when normal people sleep, and come to play when people are awake.

You want Cheska and i to be normal? you break my heart entwines fingers in your hair and gives you a OMFG kiss

 

[Annisthyrienne]

You want Cheska and i to be normal? you break my heart entwines fingers in your hair and gives you a OMFG kiss

*Moaning softly into that kiss, my thighs pressing tightly together.* I wouldn't want to change you two for all the world, Precious Plexilicious! I'm just sayin' I'd like to cuddle in your lap a little more often.

 

[Annisthyrienne]

Another story idea.

Legacy of Dr. Moreau: A man is the only survivor of a chartered fishing trip that is caught in an unexpected storm. The boat was blown miles off course before the man was washed overboard by a large wave. Just as he makes it back to the surface to see the boat too far away to swim back to, he sees another large wave slamming down on it, halfway swamping it. Within minutes it sinks.

The man thinks he is lost, barely managing to tread water through the storm, until the grey light of dawn begins to show the outline of a fairly large island within swimming distance. With the very last of his endurance, he drags his exhausted body ashore, collapsing on the beach.

As the following days begin to stretch into weeks, the man learns to survive, but just barely. He often reaches the limits of his hunger and manages to scavenge from a carnivore's kill just in the nick of time. Or so it would seem.

But unknown to the man, this island is home to a strange kind of creature. She's the only one of her kind left, and she's been watching him.

Soon he begins to wonder about his incredible good fortune, finding basically fresh kills abandoned just as he is near starving. And then he catches a fleeting glimpse.....of something. It looked for all the world like a humanoid female, but what manner of fur clothes must she have been wearing?

She is curious about the male, not at all like her kind, but stirring a memory or instinct within her. She begins to lead him deeper into the interior of the island with tantalizing glimpses or sounds, just enough to keep him curious. At the island's center, he finds the ruins of an extensive compound, apparently once a human habitation, with evidence that there were medical or laboratory facilities. Mysterious cages, manacles, chains, etc. make him wonder what kind of person lived here.

But it's shelter, and improves his chances of survival. As he pours though the old diary and records he finds there, he begins to grasp the bizarre things that took place there, and also begins to have suspicions about his scarcely seen benefactor. Intrigued, he determines to capture her. But what are his intentions?

 

[Annisthyrienne]

Another character

Name: Izanna Red Wolf
Race: Shape Changer (wolf form)
Class: *Beastmaster/Tracker/hunter
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Description: Appears human, dark coppery colored skin. Dark hair. Amber colored eyes. 5 foot 4 inches tall. Athletic build, 34C breasts, 26 waist, 36 hips.

Clothing/Armor: fringed hide vest and skirt, short mid calf moccasin boots. Furred animal skin cloak. Leather headband and wristbands. Feathers and tufts of fur and beads decorating her braids sometimes. At other times, her hair is held by the headband and otherwise loose.
Gear/Weapons: Spear, Short bow and arrows, knife. Shoulder pouch, waterskin, two blankets.
Major skills: Tracking, wilderness survival, hunting, stalking, stealth, communicating with animals.

Special abilities: Tracking by scent, shape change into a wolf.

Background: Izanna is a member of a tribal society of shape changers. They appear human, but tend to keep isolated since if humans find out about them, often they mistake them for were creatures, though they are significantly different. Their ability to change into their animal form is not subject to the moon's effects, and they do not change into a monster, just a normal wolf, but they manage to retain their human consciousness. In human form, they retain some of their heightened animal senses, keener than a normal human, but not as keen as a true animal.

Izanna led a normal life of a young woman of the tribe up until her ripening year. That year, strange circumstances led to her being separated from her tribe, isolated in a remote wilderness where she had to learn to live and survive on her own. She used her shape changing ability to associate with a pack of regular wolves, learning to survive in the harsh country by following their lead.

 

[HotKittygirl]

Hello all,

I just thought I'd drop by and say hiya, since I was invited to by Annisthyrienne. I'm looking forward to getting something started. I thought I'd drop in a picture of my character, Mae.


http://i659.photobucket.com/albums/uu311/themadryan/MaeVanDuran.jpg

 

[Annisthyrienne]

Hi Kitty! I like the picture. I was getting a Red Sonja vibe from reading some of the posts in your other stories. So is Mae a half elvish person?

 

[Annisthyrienne]

Nice. Did you roll those stats randomly? *chuckle*

No, in Arcanum for the first eight stats, you roll against a chart and are awarded a certain amount of points to divide up as you wish to customize your character. Some things can be higher, some have to be lower to make it work. After the basic attributes are determined, then you decide your race which adds racial modifiers up or down to your stats.

The last two stats were ones my friend and I added for our own purposes. Appearance is simply 4d6 and keep the best (or worst, if you prefer) 3. Luck is a straight up d20 roll one time. What it is is what it is. It serves as sort of a last ditch saving roll chance for when everything else fails.

 

[Annisthyrienne]

Breed

Name: Breed
Race: Andaman (Leopard)
Gender: Female
Profession: Slave pit fighter (Before being captured in the wild, she was a hunter.)
Level: 4th
Alignment: Neutral, but wild, potentially violent due to mistreatment and cruelty in the slave pits.

Height: 4'-10"
Weight: 143 lbs.
Eye color: Amber-green
Hair Color: Tawny fur, with spotted rosettes
Age: 14 in chronological human years, adult biological maturity for her race/species.

Strength: 17
Speed: 16
Dexterity: 14
Constitution: 15
Intelligence: 12
Will: 12
Charisma: 11
Perception: 17
Appearance: 14
Luck: 11

Weapon proficiencies: Spear, short bow, dagger, claws, and bite.

Armor: Natural fur absorbs 2 points damage except for critical hits.

Personality traits:

Special Abilities: Racial: Night vision, keen hearing, keen scent, track by scent 75%, move silently, communicate with animal type she resembles, natural weaponry, natural armor (fur absorbs 2 points damage except for critical hits)

Skills: Wood craft, stalking, read tracks, evade pursuit in wilderness settings, basic herb lore, set/disarm/detect snares, sign language, hunting, fishing, trapping.

Character history/background: She'd been a hunter for her tribe. And she'd been a good provider, keeping the little cubs fed even when game was scarce. She'd had a name among her own kind, but that was a different life, seemingly long ago. Now the fat human who kept her chained up called her only 'Breed'. He feared her now, but it wasn't always like that.

She'd been captured while hunting for antelope. It had been a lean season, and water was growing scarce. The herd animals had been on the move, seeking better forage. It was not so easy to move the tribe. So she'd had to range farther and farther afield to find game. On this occasion, she'd followed the trail of a buck she'd wounded with her spear. The blood trail had led into a narrow boxed canyon, and she was closing in, the sign fresh. She found it then, lying there, still kicking in its final death throes.

Quickly putting the animal out of it's misery, she paused to give thanks to it's spirit for the sacrifice to feed her kind. A sudden snap of a nearby twig alerted her to the approach of danger. The breeze was still, and no scent strong enough to rise above the blood smell made it to her sensitive nostrils to warn her of the enemy she couldn't see.

Suddenly a sharp pain in her side, like a thorn pricking her, made her jump and snarl. She grew weak, her vision blurring as the rush of her pulse sounded in her ears. The last thing she was aware of were the nets of the humans being thrown over her.

***************

She awoke in a different place, dark, like a den, but smelling of misery. The air was hot and stifling. She could hear voices, speaking in the human tongue, but the words were meaningless to her. The place she was in swayed and rolled, pitching her body one way and then another. Her head reeled and throbbed as her awareness climbed to the surface of consciousness.

She tried to move, and it was then that she felt the heavy iron chains binding her. She sprang up in panic, hitting her head on whatever darkness held her prisoner, and yowled in anger and frustration, trying to pull free of the bindings. The sudden movement tilted her stomach crazily and she retched, losing what little food she'd had, and leaving her tasting the sour bile.

The voices of the humans laughed in response to her outraged cries and growls, but it was only the first of many indignities she would endure.

***************

As an exotic, she was one of his favorites. She was beautiful, with her athletic, muscular form, and the striking pattern of the spotted rosettes on her tawny fur. Just having her leashed in his chambers had earned him many comments from visitors. And he was a man who reveled in the admiration and envy of others. So many had offered to purchase her, ridiculous sums, but he had turned them all down. She was his alone.

She was magnificent, an exotic beauty. It had taken time to make her understand that she was his slave and could not leave. It took even longer to make her understand his commands. But he persisted, and the answer came from an unexpected source. There was another slave in his harem, a concubine from the elvish race who knew a language spoken with gestures of the hands and expressions of the face. She taught the creature how to communicate, and in time he had learned too, though he would never admit there were things a mere slave could teach him.

As an exotic but prized pet, Breed was perfect. But she was an animal, right? He never considered the notion of fucking her until she came into season. But her incessant chirruping and squirming, the way she held her tail to one side, presenting her pink gash to clear view, the almost musical mewling and cries in the night......well, it was all too much to resist. And he had never been a strong man, never able to resist the baser urges of his nature.

He came to her when her need was greatest. She was nearly mad with lust, with the urge that had to be sated. It didn't matter that he was not of her kind. He was pale and pink, furless like a newborn kitten, oversized and all out of proportion to her. But he was male, and his musky scent attested to his ability to slake her needs. In the near madness of her season, that was all that mattered.

She received him, though it hurt her. He was brutal in this final and complete possession of her. His pet, his plaything, his. By the gods, if any one of his envious rivals knew what he was doing to her right then..... He thought his domination of this magnificent creature was now complete. He had her. He could have her, completely, anytime he wanted.

Or so he thought.

Of course they were not compatible, not really. The ancient sorcerers who had created her hybrid race had never intended her kind as breeding stock for humans. What civilized human being would lay with an animal, after all? That her kind were not completely the same as beasts, that her form was more the sleek curvy shape of a humanoid female was not taken into consideration. And the age of civilization that had spawned the magic it took to create her race was long over. A new rise of man had come, and they were not the same as before, they had not risen quite as high.

She nursed the hurt he'd caused and remembered it. Her need had been quenched with that act, though his seed had not taken hold in her. And when he tried to come to her again, tried to force his way into her, she fought him. Outraged that she dared to resist his advances, he tried to beat her into submission. But teeth and claws against bare pink flesh are more than a discouragement, despite the punishment that muscle and pounding fist can deliver. Each of his blows only served to enrage her more instead of cowing her. He barely managed to get out of her reach with his manhood intact.

But his wrath was great. He sent four men in to subdue her, and they nearly beat her to death before he ordered them to stop. No longer a tame pet, no longer an exotic plaything for his pleasure; he had a different fate in mind for her now.

*******************

They made her vicious. Cruelty and maltreatment saw to it. They taught her to bite and scratch and rend, anything to shred the flesh that fell under her claws and teeth. And when they threw her into the pit for the first time, she learned it was to kill or be killed. Mercy was a concept she no longer knew. Flesh was flesh, and blood was blood, it didn't matter what race or creature she was pitted against. All that mattered was who crawled out when it was over. The fights had begun to wrack up, some were slaughters, some much closer affairs. None were without pain or blood.

Soon it would be time to fight again, she knew. Soon they would tilt up the cramped small cage and dump her into the pit, no longer daring to try to handle her. And soon she'd feel the sensation of meat being ripped apart under her claws. Soon.

 

[Annisthyrienne]

http://www.demotivationalposters.org/image/demotivational-poster/1203/shit-happens-shit-toilet-crap-turd-friends-demotivational-posters-1332355492.jpg

 

[Annisthyrienne]

Scenario idea: Tomboy

She was always a tomboy, just one of the guys. Until the summer she grew boobs. That's when even her best friend started acting all weird around her. And that day when they went back the railroad tracks like usual, but he offered to give her his pellet rifle if she'd show her tits to him, that was when everything changed.

 

[Annisthyrienne]

Story or scene idea: The librarian

Meriem is a newly hired assistant librarian, just 25 years old, busty (38EE) and a typical nerdy girl. She wears glasses and usually has her hair either up in a bun, or on Fridays when she lets it all loose, maybe she wears it in pigtails or braids. She's happy to be able to put her library science degree to use. One night about 3 months after she began working there, the head librarian trusts her enough to let her close while she leaves early on a much needed date night.

It's just a few minutes until closing and there is only one customer left, a man who has been coming in regularly since just after Meriem started working there. He is always quiet and never checks out any books. So Meriem doesn't think it will hurt anything for her to visit the restroom a few minutes before closing time. She'd have to leave the front desk unstaffed, but she really needs to pee so bad! And he never checks out any books anyhow....It couldn't hurt, right?

She hurries to the bathroom after scribbling a quick note to leave on the desk just in case. But in her rush, the breeze from her passing blows the note off the desk. She doesn't quite make it completely to the bathroom, and decides to just take off her damp panties since it's so close to time to go home anyhow. No one would ever notice under her skirt, right?

While Meriem is in the bathroom, her male visitor goes looking for her to ask for help with a question. It's his excuse to talk to her after working up his courage after so long. He's been coming in a couple times a week ever since they hired the busty young librarian. He is smitten with her, and has finally worked up the nerve to talk to her.

But there is no one at the front desk when he decides to make his move. He goes looking through the bookshelves to try to find her.

Meanwhile, she returns from the bathroom, and goes looking for him to let him know it's time to close. She doesn't find him, but finds the books he has been researching, left on the study table near the back. She begins to gather the books to return them to their shelves and then realizes what the subject is: 'The Kama Sutra'.....'An Illustrated Guide to Human Sexuality'.....'How to Make Love to a Woman'.......And several other volumes, some even offering full color photos of men and women enjoying multiple sex positions.

Meriem is intrigued, and a photo on the page of the book left open catches her eye. She begins to get that hot flushed feeling as she looks at the image, and decides to hurry and lock up before spending a little time looking at the books. She figures the male visitor has surely left by now.

She locks the doors, inadvertently locking him in with her. As she hurriedly returns to the study table and the sexy books, he spots her from the other side of a bookshelf and follows her, hoping to finally break the ice with her. But when he sees where she goes, and realizes she has discovered what he was researching, he is stricken with shyness again, and conceals himself behind a shelf of books, but where he can still see her.

Meriem begins looking at the books again, sitting on the edge of the study table, her legs dangling off the edge. Soon the exciting pictures and their effect on her reminds her that she has no panties on. But no one is around, so why not give in to the urge to touch herself just a little. Her hand slips under her skirt, the hem rising to gather around her thighs as she begins to explore her incredible wetness.

He cannot believe his eyes. How could he be so lucky to witness something like this very hot librarian pleasuring herself when he has a perfect view!

What will he do when her head rolls back, her eyes closing partway in a sultry lusty gaze, and she moans quietly, "Oh Mister! make love to me, please!"

 

[fr33ks33k]

She was always a tomboy, just one of the guys. Until the summer she grew boobs. That's when even her best friend started acting all weird around her. And that day when they went back the railroad tracks like usual, but he offered to give her his pellet rifle if she'd show her tits to him, that was when everything changed.

Meriem is a newly hired assistant librarian, just 25 years old, busty (38EE) and a typical nerdy girl. She wears glasses and usually has her hair either up in a bun, or on Fridays when she lets it all loose, maybe she wears it in pigtails or braids. She's happy to be able to put her library science degree to use. One night about 3 months after she began working there, the head librarian trusts her enough to let her close while she leaves early on a much needed date night.

It's just a few minutes until closing and there is only one customer left, a man who has been coming in regularly since just after Meriem started working there. He is always quiet and never checks out any books. So Meriem doesn't think it will hurt anything for her to visit the restroom a few minutes before closing time. She'd have to leave the front desk unstaffed, but she really needs to pee so bad! And he never checks out any books anyhow....It couldn't hurt, right?

She hurries to the bathroom after scribbling a quick note to leave on the desk just in case. But in her rush, the breeze from her passing blows the note off the desk. She doesn't quite make it completely to the bathroom, and decides to just take off her damp panties since it's so close to time to go home anyhow. No one would ever notice under her skirt, right?

While Meriem is in the bathroom, her male visitor goes looking for her to ask for help with a question. It's his excuse to talk to her after working up his courage after so long. He's been coming in a couple times a week ever since they hired the busty young librarian. He is smitten with her, and has finally worked up the nerve to talk to her.

But there is no one at the front desk when he decides to make his move. He goes looking through the bookshelves to try to find her.

Meanwhile, she returns from the bathroom, and goes looking for him to let him know it's time to close. She doesn't find him, but finds the books he has been researching, left on the study table near the back. She begins to gather the books to return them to their shelves and then realizes what the subject is: 'The Kama Sutra'.....'An Illustrated Guide to Human Sexuality'.....'How to Make Love to a Woman'.......And several other volumes, some even offering full color photos of men and women enjoying multiple sex positions.

Meriem is intrigued, and a photo on the page of the book left open catches her eye. She begins to get that hot flushed feeling as she looks at the image, and decides to hurry and lock up before spending a little time looking at the books. She figures the male visitor has surely left by now.

She locks the doors, inadvertently locking him in with her. As she hurriedly returns to the study table and the sexy books, he spots her from the other side of a bookshelf and follows her, hoping to finally break the ice with her. But when he sees where she goes, and realizes she has discovered what he was researching, he is stricken with shyness again, and conceals himself behind a shelf of books, but where he can still see her.

Meriem begins looking at the books again, sitting on the edge of the study table, her legs dangling off the edge. Soon the exciting pictures and their effect on her reminds her that she has no panties on. But no one is around, so why not give in to the urge to touch herself just a little. Her hand slips under her skirt, the hem rising to gather around her thighs as she begins to explore her incredible wetness.

He cannot believe his eyes. How could he be so lucky to witness something like this very hot librarian pleasuring herself when he has a perfect view!

What will he do when her head rolls back, her eyes closing partway in a sultry lusty gaze, and she moans quietly, "Oh Mister! make love to me, please!"

Both of these ideas sound fun to write. The second appeals to my unhealthy lust for young, cute librarians with pigtails and skirts...

 

[Annisthyrienne]

Both of these ideas sound fun to write. The second appeals to my unhealthy lust for young, cute librarians with pigtails and skirts...

*Hugs Fr33k.* It's been a while since we've had a chance to talk. I'm glad you like the ideas. At least one version of the librarian idea is reserved for now, but the other one is still open.

 

[fr33ks33k]

*Hugs Fr33k.* It's been a while since we've had a chance to talk. I'm glad you like the ideas. At least one version of the librarian idea is reserved for now, but the other one is still open.

*Hugs back firmly*

It certainly has. Work's been sucking up all of my time. The tomboy idea has a very "Stand By Me" feel. That one may be even more fun since its so basic that the fleshing out of the story would be the adventure.

 

[Annisthyrienne]

*Hugs back firmly*

It certainly has. Work's been sucking up all of my time. The tomboy idea has a very "Stand By Me" feel. That one may be even more fun since its so basic that the fleshing out of the story would be the adventure.

I think so too. She would be a bit taken aback at the seemingly sudden changes in her best friend, not quite realizing that the reason he's suddenly acting so weird around her has as much to do with the changes in her as in him. Maybe it would start innocently enough, agreeing to trade something of his she wants in exchange for letting him see what he wants. Maybe a renegotiation for a feel instead of a peek. And where might it go from there?

 

[fr33ks33k]

I think so too. She would be a bit taken aback at the seemingly sudden changes in her best friend, not quite realizing that the reason he's suddenly acting so weird around her has as much to do with the changes in her as in him. Maybe it would start innocently enough, agreeing to trade something of his she wants in exchange for letting him see what he wants. Maybe a renegotiation for a feel instead of a peek. And where might it go from there?

It seems that it could only escalate from there, with repressed feelings being let out in a "truth or dare" sort of scenario, both of them realizing that maybe they've had these feelings long before other developments began...

 

[Annisthyrienne]

I thought that would be a good approach, or she could quickly see the advantage she could take of the situation. "What'll you give me if I let you see them?" "Oh, no! If you want to touch them, that'll cost you something special. How about that pellet rifle you use for hunting squirrels?"

 

[fr33ks33k]

I thought that would be a good approach, or she could quickly see the advantage she could take of the situation. "What'll you give me if I let you see them?" "Oh, no! If you want to touch them, that'll cost you something special. How about that pellet rifle you use for hunting squirrels?"

That's an equally viable avenue to take.

 

[Annisthyrienne]

Updated my idea post linked in my signature. Updated to delete ideas I've lost interest in. Occasionally I still add more ideas as I get them.

 

[Annisthyrienne]

Crow Captive

Southeastern Montana Territory– 1870 - Upper Yellowstone River valley – Apsaroke Crow Nation lands.

Washnepepiccewa (Wash-NAY-peh-PEECH-eh-wah) (Spotted Elk) struggled to pick her way through the camp from the riverbank, the heavy burden of the yoke on her shoulders making the walk more difficult. Suspended from each end of the yoke was a large buffalo stomach, preserved for use as a water skin. As she made her way to Black Wolf’s lodge where the prisoner was being kept, she reflected on the situation.

She had been scraping a buffalo hide with an elk bone scraper, preparing it for use in making a winter robe for White Buffalo, the man of the lodge she shared with Two Otters as a second woman. That meant that she did the majority of the work, except for the times when her medicine skills were needed, like now. White Buffalo had come, telling her to bring water and her medicine kit to tend to the strange white man that the warriors of the Red Hand Society had captured the day before.

Something must have changed in the way they thought of him, she mused. The warriors had brought him in after capturing him during a hunting trip. As usual, the women and children of the People had gathered around to whip at him with switches and taunt him with thrown rocks, insults, and horse dung. It was the way of the People, to treat their enemies in such a manner. It was a way to release some of the ever-growing tensions caused by the changes in their world that they couldn’t understand.

Where once their enemies had been the Shoshone, Lakota Sioux, Cheyenne, and even the Blackfeet, now even their enemies all agreed the biggest threat was from the whites. Even now, to the east, Red Cloud led the Sioux and some of the Northern Cheyenne against the whites in his war.

And so the women and children of the village acted out in the only way they could, the lone white man being a symbol of his entire race for them to lash out at. The warriors themselves would not strike at him, not until it was decided to kill him in whatever way the leader of the Red Hand Society would determine. Such a practice was unfit for warriors to engage in with an unarmed enemy; there was no honor in it. But they wouldn’t refuse the cruel sport pursued by the women and children.

Spotted Elk never participated in those practices herself. She remembered all too well the way she herself had been treated when she was captured from the Shoshone and brought back to be White Buffalo’s second woman. Two Otters had hated her in the beginning, but over time they came to an understanding, and now they got along well enough.

But if she was being called on to tend to his wounds; the fate of the white man must have changed. Everyone knew it could be bad medicine to kill a white man, depending on who he turned out to be and how important he was to his people. Such a thing was not done rashly, and she had overheard some of the warriors in council the night before when she brought them some food.

That this white man traveled alone in their territory, and was unafraid, spoke of the possibility that he had powerful spirits or medicine at his command. And that he came at this time, when they were preparing for the ceremony to ensure victory in their upcoming raid against the miners camped on the Bighorn, could be a sign of some kind. They would wait to find out more about him before they decided whether to kill him, and how to do it. They would wait for the return of Black Wolf, leader of the Red Hand Society. It would be his decision to make.

Spotted Elk made her way past the painted lodges of the camp, to the lodge erected beneath the spreading cottonwood tree. On her back she had her medicine pack strapped, just beneath the yoke across her shoulders. Her doeskin dress was decorated with elaborate quill work, and sported long fringes that brushed the ground when she walked. The dress was belted at the waist, and a sheathed knife was fastened at the small of her back. Around her neck she wore two necklaces of elk teeth and cobalt blue glass trade beads. Her feet were adorned by ankle high moccasins, with knee length leggings above, also ornately decorated with matching quillwork.

She was a natural beauty, with large dark doe like eyes that seemed perpetually to shine with a spark of intelligence and curiosity. Long natural lashes gave her a fetching look. Her long raven hair fell over each shoulder in two long braids. Her coppery skin stretched firmly over high cheekbones just below her slightly slanting eyes. She had a face that was ready to smile at a moment’s notice, despite the usual stoic expression that was common to the People, especially around strangers.

The lone warrior guarding the lodge opened the flap for her to sidle her way through the opening to the lodge, threading the heavy yoke through carefully so as not to spill the water that she had fetched so far from the river. Her eyes adjusted to the darker interior of the tipi, and she saw the white man lying on a pallet of furs at the far side of the lodge.

The guard from outside followed her inside and crossed to the side of the captive, cutting the rawhide thong that bound his hands, then went to stand just inside the opening, watching to make sure the captive didn’t try to escape while he was being tended to.

Spotted Elk lowered the yoke and water bladders carefully to the ground, then took a soft absorbent rabbit skin from her pouch and wet it. She knelt by the side of the man, reaching out to swab at the bruises and cuts on his face. At first, she saw the slightest flinch in his eyes as a hint of the pain he felt at her touch, just enough to make her treat him more tenderly. But as quickly as it appeared, he suppressed any more indication of his pain. It bespoke well of him, as a man and as a warrior of the whites.

She looked upon his features with open curiosity and some admiration for the bravery he was showing under the circumstances. Whatever his fate was to be, he intrigued her at the moment. She reached again for his battered face, more gently this time. When his eyes looked up to meet hers, she was struck by their color and for the briefest of moments, she forgot to lower her gaze demurely. Her lapse in manners brought the flush to her face, and her already coppery skin colored even darker and redder than before.

She mentally chided herself to keep her eyes on what she was doing as her ministrations spread to his neck. She could tell from this close that he had more wounds under his clothing. She turned to tell the warrior on guard that she needed the captive to take off his shirt.

To the captive’s surprise, he detected a familiarity to her accent. It sounded similar to the dialect of the Shoshone tribe he had spent time with years before. Her words were those of the language of the Crow, but the lilt of her accent made him wonder if he could remember enough to communicate with her.

In this story, the Shoshone woman cares for and develops an attraction to the white captive, eventually helping him escape on his promise that he would take her with him and return her to her own people. I'd like to find a writer who could at least write Hollywood style historical accuracy. I know that's an oxymoron, but it would be close enough. I don't expect 'college anthropology professor' level of historical knowledge. (PM me if interested.)

 

[Annisthyrienne]

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."

In this story the young elf Ranger escorts the dark elf refugee/prisoner back to the city of Randalee, the capital of the kingdom. There has been tension between the elves and dark elves for a long time, and Brennisen's father and uncle were captured by dark elves while hunting. They were tortured and her father was killed. Her uncle escaped but was maimed permanently. Now she finds herself stuck in the close company of one of her hereditary enemies, under orders from the princess-goddess to treat them as refugees, not enemies. Over the days they travel together, she finds that they really aren't so bad, nor so different from her own people. In time, she develops an attraction to the mysterious dark elf. (The dark elf could be of either gender. PM me if interested.)

 

[Annisthyrienne]

Princess in Exile

The veteran warrior eased his horse up the slope of the forested hill. He needed to get a good view of the surrounding countryside to try to make sense of the map he had tucked in his belt. When that crazy old duffer in the last village had sold it to him, he had assured the warrior that it was a good map of the frontier lands. But according to this map, he should be on a trade route at the moment, but instead he was picking his 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 him! It barely qualified as a game trail, let alone a caravan route. He had to face it, he was lost!

Of course, that was all a matter of perspective. Since he didn't really have a destination in mind at the moment, it wasn't like he was really lost. He just didn't know where he was. And it wasn't like anyone was expecting him to show up somewhere at any specific time either. He rather enjoyed the freedom of this kind of lifestyle, even if it sometimes lacked the comforts of a real home to call his own.

As he eased his horse up onto the ridge into a small clearing he had spied from below, he hoped it would afford him a view of the countryside and perhaps make it possible to spot some landmarks that would be on the map. If he could just get his bearings, he 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 he really could've used was a native guide, someone familiar with the wilderness he found himself in.

As if in answer to his thoughts, just as he eased his 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 were after something. His keen eyes caught motion on the valley floor below, not more than 60 yards from him. He 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.

He 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, he saw why. From out of the trees behind came a slavering fur covered figure, then another, followed by a third close on the small figure's 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 grey, with some lighter spots approaching a shade of tan or yellow even. Even from his vantage point, he could see that they wore remnants of poor quality armor and clothing that they had scavenged from previous victims. They also had weapons, although they had quite formidable natural weaponry, in the form of their claws and fangs.

The truth was he knew without needing to see them up close what they looked like. He had seen their kind before; had fought them. Gnolls! They were vicious, but a skilled warrior and good tactics could defeat them. He 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. He could hear the horse's labored breaths, coming hard. He could see as the rider cut through the brush, zig-zagging sharply to evade the grasping claws that even now tore at the rider's cloak and clothes, 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 he heard galvanized him to action. It was the sound of a scream from the gnoll's victim. It was the scream of a woman!

*******

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/adventure could be either gender. In this story, the adventurer arrives to intervene in the nick of time. The half elven princess becomes his native guide in gratitude for saving her life. Perhaps it's even a cultural life debt kind of thing. They travel and have many adventures together, eventually developing an attraction to each other. PM me if interested.)

 

[Annisthyrienne]

How mountain girls can love. Story idea.

Lory-beth's daddy made moonshine, the best in 12 counties. So did his daddy before him, and his grand daddy too. But as luck would have it, there were no sons to take over the family business, and only one lazy nephew who showed no interest. But from when she was a little girl, Lori-beth followed her daddy to the still one day and got her behind tanned for it. Still she persisted in following her daddy until he finally relented and let her come along. She learned the best ways to make moonshine, whether it's white lightening or mountain dew.

Now Lori-beth's daddy is gone, and she's taken up the trade. But Lori-beth has a secret. She's figured out how to combine her momma's apple pie recipe with the process for making shine, and developed a new kind of apple jack moonshine. It could be the most popular moonshine ever! But will it be more popular than the lovely mountain girl's charms that every one seems to want?

(This story revolves around Lori-beth and her dreams of a better life through the sale of her secret recipe moonshine. But for a poor mountain girl, getting along ain't easy and she has to use her feminine charms to get what she wants and needs. The story could include topics such as incest (with her cousin), Older men, maybe even women.)

 

[Annisthyrienne]

Combat! (From 'A Mutual Understanding'

I looked up as the hooves I had heard earlier were getting clearer. Up ahead I could see a patrol of soldiers. Crimson Mantles, that's what the army of the trade city's military forces was called because of their trademark crimson mantles, helmet combs, and banners.

"Halt travelers! What business do you have in Jeffry's creek, or are you traveling past it?" My eyes narrowed. That was odd. Patrols didn't just ask strangers on the road if they were moving to a specific point. And now that I look at them, their mantles look rather worn out and their armor is a bit aged. No knights of the Crimson Guard would allow their gear to fall into such disarray. These fellows were not Crimson Guards; most likely bandits attacking merchants or rich travelers going for the city to trade.

"We are simple pilgrims, here to visit the temple of the city before moving onwards." The false knights looked at one another. There were six in total, each one on an armor dressed horse. A rather fat man in a well decorated armor leaned over to the man who looked like the leader, another proof of their false identity, as the man who leaned over was wearing an officer's uniform. He would have been the one to be whispered to and not doing the whispering.

After they finished whispering the man gave us a smirk and I slipped my hand into my bag and grasped a vial of alchemist fire; a chemical mixture that exploded into a cloud of fire when exposed to impact and oxygen. "Well, while you sure look the part of pilgrims, do I not think you are what you tell us you are. No pilgrims would walk around in armor unless they got something precious to protect. I bet you got some precious holy item we can get good cash for! Sack them boys!" Two horsemen strode forward and I lashed out with my hand, throwing the vial. The cloud of fire that erupted caused the horses to panic and throw off their riders, their heavy armor breaking their bones, as they were too big for them, and then ran off into the fields.

"Bandits dressed up as Crimson Guards should get some brains before they attempt it." I shouted out before I reached out with my hand and shouted out a single word. "Welvushack!" A bolt of lightning struck out of my palm and seared a hole through a third rider and he fell off his horse. The leader and his two remaining men looked nervous but they drew their weapons and charged. "Take out the wizard and capture the girl! We might get a good price for her on the underground slave market!" I drew upon my magic and prepared to cast another spell, but I had to concentrate. I could only hope Spiriel didn't get injured.

*******
(My post)
Spiriel was unsure of what was happening at first. She could understand Jacob's words thanks to the spell he had cast on himself and on her, but she didn't know what these other humans were saying. Still, when they moved to attack Jacob, she grasped the understanding that these were bad men meaning them harm. And when the two men rode forward at her, it was obvious what they intended.

Spiriel froze, momentarily startled to inaction as the two humans on those large thundering animals bore down upon her. Then her survival instincts kicked in and she did what those instincts always compel to do; she turned and ran. She was fleet of foot - her drow agility rivaling that even of their surface cousins, the elves - but even she was no match for the mounted rider and his galloping steed. They ran her down, closing the gap quickly. She could hear the hoof beats drawing closer and closer behind her and in a panicked realization she knew she couldn't get away.

She impulsively tucked herself into a tight ball and rolled to the ground. The first rider's horse was too close to avoid her, and going too fast. Fortunately for Spiriel, when Jacob had put her cloak on, he had draped it over the shield she had strapped to her back for easier carrying. The shield protected her now from the stumbling hooves of the great beast that tripped over her balled up form. The horse stumbled and went to its knees on its forelegs, pitching the rider off over its shoulder.

Although knocked about quite roughly, Spiriel was not hurt seriously thanks to her wooden protection. She barely had time to look up before the second rider bore down upon her. She ducked to one side and he passed her by, missing his grab for her by mere inches. She came to her feet and tried to draw the longsword Jacob had given her, but the other rider was coming at her too fast. She gave up on drawing the sword from its sheath and scurried out of the rider's path again, but this put her nearer the downed rider, who by now was getting to his feet and coming for her.

Spiriel decided that she couldn't wait for them to come to her; she had to go on the offensive. She managed to pull the longsword out of its sheath, but she knew she was no match for the bandit, who pulled his own saber and grinned at the prospect of fighting her. He could tell by the way she held the sword that she wasn't accomplished in its use. She circled him, managing to get him between herself and the mounted bandit. She waited, trying to hold the sword in the 'guard' position that Jacob had taught her. The bandit made his move, lunging at her suddenly, but this is exactly what she had been waiting for. She saw him telegraph his intention just before he started moving, a skill she had learned from constantly having to ascertain the true intentions of the drow men and women who had abused her in the temple of the Spider Goddess.

As he made to lunge towards her, she flung the longsword directly at his face with all her strength, forcing him to spend his momentum parrying the flung obstacle. It gave her a moment during his confusion to act and she took full advantage of it. She drew the small curved sacrificial knife she had stolen from the temple before fleeing; the same one she had threatened Jacob with. Springing like a jungle panther, she went for his throat, hooking the point in on one side of his neck and spinning around behind him on the opposite side, drawing the knife across his throat as she went. By the time her arm had encircled his neck, his throat gapped open and a cascade of crimson blood spilled over her arm and down his chest. She let his body fall down and away from her, staring coldly at the remaining bandit who had come after her.

Past him, down the road about 75 feet, she could see Jacob dealing with the fat man and two other bandits who had been thrown from their horses and had now regained their feet. He could not help her. He had problems of his own. She looked back at the mounted bandit and knew she would have to deal with him on her own. He looked in shock and horror at what she had done to his companion, and that moment's hesitation gave her the chance to recover her longsword. Now she whipped off the cloak and slung the shield down into position like Jacob instructed her.

The rider spurred his horse towards her in another charge. She gulped down her fear. She knew she would have to get him off that beast if she was to have a fair chance to fight for her life. The horse and rider were coming fast! She didn't have much time to think. She acted out of desperation, totally unpredictable. She ran towards the horse, screaming like a banshee, her white silky hair streaming out behind her like a banner!

Seven feet away from being run down to the ground, her drow agility saved her again. She pivoted on the ball of her foot, to the opposite side of the rider's weapon hand, forcing him to have to strike across his horse's neck to get at her. She spun around in a whirling arc to her weapon side, letting her sword drop downward and bringing her shield arm up and out from her body, turning her arm so that the shield was parallel to the ground and letting her arm whip around, gaining momentum at the outermost arc of her swing. Time seemed to slow down for her. Every detail crystallized in her mind. Her motion brought the shield edge up just under the horse’s mouth and into its throat!

The horse caught the edge of the heavy wooden shield in the throat, panicked, and veered suddenly, pitching the rider off to the side. Spiriel's arm went numb from the impact and the top edge of the shield broke off. The rider, now pitched unexpectedly to the ground, was momentarily stunned, but so was Spiriel from the horrendous impact. Pain ripped through her shoulder, and she couldn't lift the shield. She let it drop to the ground. She advanced on the downed bandit.

 

[Annisthyrienne]

Combat! (continued from above)

Spinning my body I rolled away from the men as they rode at me, I had fought many things in my short time as an adventurer and these horses were not the fastest thing I had to learn to time down. I stepped to the left, evading a blade from above by leaning my head to the side and then spun low and rolled beneath the two who were trying to cut me from both sides and with my spell charged I aimed both my hands forward and chanted out the words that would unleash the power I desired. "Vreske ven meka haulbo kza!" A massive cone of frost blew out from my palms, aimed high above the horses' bodies, but at perfect range at the riders, the three men had no time to react as my magic froze their upper bodies into ice statues, their bodies shielding the horses' heads from injury, the three doomed men fell off their steeds and shattered once their frozen bodies impacted the ground.

Standing up from my crouched position I saw Spiriel walking towards the remaining bandit, she was wounded on the arm but I must say how she handled herself was amazing considering just how inexperienced she was with actual combat. But I saw a glint in the soldier's hand and saw him pull out a small crossbow from his belt; he was lying on his side, hiding the fact that he was loading the weapon. Thinking fast I rushed forward and I drew upon my magic and with my left hand out I screamed out a magic spell. "Repluvio!" A gust swung out and pushed Spiriel to the left as the man rolled over to fire, I didn't foresee the bolt striking my left arm and I have to grip my forearm in pain as it hit me just beneath the elbow, where my chain mail didn't reach.

Raising my right hand I raise two fingers and without speaking the words I fire a lightning bolt, frying the man to a smoldering corpse, I was bleeding badly, I am sure the bolt didn't hit any of my bones but it must have struck a nerve and at least one major blood vein. I couldn't remove the bolt safely until I have some proper medical potions; mine had run out for a week now. But I have other things to worry about, walking over to Spiriel where she lay in the grass I speak out in a slightly strained voice, having a bolt in your arm hurt like hell. "Are you okay Spiriel?"

******
(My post)
(Part two)

The bandit laid in the dirt, apparently stunned, images of what she had done to his companion still in his mind. By now, with her cloak and hood gone, he knew he was facing a drow, and he thought based on her actions that she must be some kind of warrior or perhaps an assassin. He thought now that her seeming to be an inexperienced woman was just a charade on her part, designed to fool him and his mate. It had cost his partner his life in the blink of an eye. He was determined not to fall for any of her tricks.

Secretly, keeping his actions hidden from her, he loaded a small crossbow. Suddenly he rose up and fired at her just as a mysterious gust of wind, seemingly coming out of nowhere, blew her to the left, causing the bolt to pass by her, barely a hand's breadth from her breast.

Spiriel recovered from the gust and started towards him again. Her blood was up, and she was in no mood for this. The combination of adrenaline and anger gave her a cold, hard expression, and the cascade of blood all down the front of her armor from the other bandit who's throat she'd cut gave her a very menacing appearance. But she didn't feel as threatening and dangerous as she looked. She knew it would mean her death if her luck didn't hold through this encounter. She'd been exceptionally lucky already. It couldn't last forever.

The bandit, having been foiled in his attempt to shoot her, got quickly to his feet and squared off against her. Spiriel held the longsword in her right hand, her numbed left arm hanging down at her side. She was slightly pivoted to present her right side towards him, weapon foremost. Suddenly the bandit made a feint towards her left side. In her inexperience, she swung, trying to knock his blade away. He reversed his swing back under her guard and upwards, catching her right arm near her bicep.

The gash made her flinch back, and the pain was evident in her eyes as they teared up.
It was a giveaway, but he thought it might yet be a ruse to lure him onto making a bold move. His attack had been tentative, as if he didn't really believe he could get through her guard and strike her. As a result, the wound, though painful, wasn't crippling enough to make her drop her sword completely. Still, she could not muster the strength to raise it to defend herself properly. She backed away quickly, making him come after her. Desperately she looked over his shoulder to see if Jacob could help her.

Before she could tell if she could expect any aid from Jacob, the bandit rushed her again. With a tremendous effort borne of desperation, she managed to raise her sword enough to take the downward blow, but the force of it jarred her wounded arm and swatted the longsword from her grip. Now having no other way to defend herself, she snatched the little knife again from her belt. The bandit realized now that she really was just an inexperienced wench who got lucky. A slow evil grin of triumph spread across his face as he savored the moment. He would take great pleasure in cutting this drow bitch down to size.

He raised his sword high and gave a thundering yell as he charged her. Spiriel screamed! She didn't know what to do, only that if that sword came down in that arc, that she had better not be under it. Knowing that if she backed away he would only keep coming until he overtook her, she opted instead to duck her head and charge into him. In her mind, she envisioned somehow being able to knock him down with a shoulder to his belly, maybe knock the wind out of him. It didn't work out like she'd hoped.

She tackled his torso, planting her shoulder, but only managed to bruise it on his armor. His bulkier body and superior weight stopped her cold. His sword was still raised high to strike, but she had calculated one thing correctly: she was now too close within his guard for him to swing the blade at her. He brought the pommel down into the middle of her back instead, driving a sharp, severe pain through her body that forced her to her knees, crying out in a shriek.

It was all she could do to breathe, and time seemed to stop for her again. She was now on her knees, her arms that had been wrapped around his waist, now hung somewhat loosely draped around each of his legs. She sensed him raising his sword for another strike. Her eyes glanced to her right, seeing her little hook bladed knife in her hand, but she saw something else too. She saw an opening in the backside of his knee that was unarmored, meant to allow him movement.

She struck with the speed of a rock viper, so common in the Underdark. The little hooked blade of the sacrificial knife sank into his flesh behind the knee, curving under the tendon running from thigh to calf. She ripped with all her remaining strength, outward, severing the tendon and bringing a scream to the bandit's lips as he collapsed backwards to the ground. Spiriel was on him in an instant, crawling up his body to straddle him the same way she had straddled Jacob that first time. She raised the little knife high above her head, both her hands on the handle now, and was about to drive it downward, aiming for the bandit's left eye.

Just then he brought up a heavily armored fist against the side of her head, knocking her off of him and away, stunning her senseless. He struggled to get to his feet, unable to put any weight on the leg that she had hamstrung. He found his sword and used it as a crutch, making his way over to stand above her once again. He looked down on her and spat on her in contempt. "Drow bitch! You WILL die NOW!!" So saying he raised his sword high above his head, ready to bring it down in a slice that would cut her head from her body.

But before he could begin his downward swing, the air was rent by a bright flash and a loud boom of thunder. The bandit stiffened and shook, his flesh charring and blackening as the powerful lightning bolt surged through him. It was over in less than a second. The man dropped to the ground, blackened and lifeless.

Spiriel regained enough of her senses to roll away from the dead man, holding tightly to her gashed arm, panting for each breath, her chest heaving. Blood trickled from just above her right temple, running down over her cheek from the blow she'd taken from the armored fist. After a few moments, from somewhere above her, a kind voice, one she'd come to know well, asked, "Are you okay, Spiriel?"

She opened her eyes to look up into Jacob's concerned face. She saw that he, too, had been injured, and it looked serious. "Jacob, you're hurt!" She hurriedly scrambled to her feet, retrieving her little knife from where she had dropped it when she'd been hit by the dead bandit. She hurried to where she had taken off her cloak and quickly cut two strips from the hem. Utilizing the knowledge of healing and treating wounds she had learned from her time in the temple of the Spider Goddess, she carefully bound Jacob's wound, working around the crossbow bolt. She dared not take it out yet.

Afterwards, she bound the gash on her own arm. Her left arm had regained it's feeling, but her left shoulder still hurt tremendously. It felt as if the horse had tried to drag it out of the socket. She worked with the knife to cut a couple more strips from the hem of the cloak and fashioned two slings with them, one for herself and one for Jacob. By now, the cloak, once large for her and dragging the ground; now was shortened to hang just behind her knees. But still the hood was intact, and would hide her features.