Never Say Never



Fuck Him! Never Again!

Urt Bastard!

The cramped quarters made it hard to wipe the snot from her nose that rolled down from the sobs that wracked her now smallish frame. How long could she take this voyage across the Thassa to Port Cos? It seemed like weeks….Why hadn’t he taken her with Him? Was she going to be sold? The Captain of the ship had given her direct orders, she was only out of her small slave cage to swab the deck and clean dishes for the crew. She was caged other than that. Food was put before her but she wasn’t hungry. The tossing of the boat, the waves pitching it about made her ill most of the time. Anything that went down her throat would soon be tasted again.


Where was He? Why wasn’t he here with her?

More tears fell. She wasn’t the only slave on the boat but she was the only one ignored by everyone. No man, nor boy flirted with her, grabbed her or even looked her way. She only bathed using the soapy water she swabbed the deck with. Her overly voluptuous curves seem to diminish before her eyes. She could see her ribs again, she was returning towards more of her panther form, lithe and athletic. He didnt like her like that, He preferred curves. Fuck Him! Didn’t matter what HE preferred, did it?


Her mind had concocted thousands of scenarios………….She would show Him. She didnt care about him. She could see the land far off. tomorrow they would dock in Port Cos. Another slave had a dried talander bouquet. She had dropped one upon the deck. Quickly Torr scooped it up. She would give it to her Owner. NO!!! Why would she even think that? As she was locked away in her cage for the final time, she looked up at the old rough crewman , hopeful to see something in his eeeeyes, a look, a glance but nothing.

Was she so unattractive? a pariah? Not only did her Master not want her but these men who had been at sea for days wouldnt even give her a second glance.  What had she done to disgrace Victor? Anger him so much he would not even travel with her. She didnt need this! She didnt bneed him! She would go back to the woods…… As her crate was carried upon the deck it faced outwards


She kept chanting that word, it was her mantra, never would she allow Victor to do this to her again…

Her eyes caught a tall lanky man with a huge headpeice upon him, a larl’s mantle worn. It was him.


She couldnt mistake him , her breath was caught in her throat.


Her heartbeat quickened, inner thighs tensed, perhaps because of being cramped in the cage ..


He treated her like a beast she would act as such and attack him, the flower still held in her fist..


A single tear rolled down her cheek….

NEVER could she ever

NEVER ever

leave Him.




Return to Port Cos

Victor Klavinham was having an animated discussion with one of the ship mates of the slave galley he used to have Torrid delivered to him and his base of operations in Port Cos after that whole smuggling affair to get her out of the outlaw encampment rather sooner than later – their haggle loud and enhanced with wild gestures being tossed at each other. After they were done Victor’s footfall reached the caged slave cargo, walking up to its door to squat down to the wooden boards of the docks* “Long time no see, my Darling.” *he said, a dazzling smile casting deep dimples against the edges of his bearded lips. His first gaze drew to her hands, hoping she’d still hold the small penchant he gave her as a token of encouragement – aware of her fear of confined spaces, it was not much but he hoped she’d be able to squeeze it tightly and think about him if despair gnaw at her mind. The voyage was but two hands long, easy on turbulences and throughout the day she could sweep the deck while at night she was returned to her cage
to find rest. Brushing against the bars with the back of his hand he put her temper to trial, knowing she was as unpredictable as a she-larl in captivity, untamed and wild to a human’s touch.* “You alright, Torrid? Must have been quite the adventurous ride!”

Torrid  morning consisted of the crewmen reaching in to pinch her nipples or prod her cunt. They were getting the last chance taunts in before she was delivered to her owner. The two week trip had been long, very long. Her only freedom was to clan. She was barely let out of the cage to relieve herself. As the rope pulley delivered her upon the deck she could hear her owner haggling. She had barely eaten on the trip afraid it would come right back up again. Her once overly voluptuous form was now trim and svelte. Once she started running again it would be back to her early panther shape. She supposed that was a plus. Around her neck she still wore the penchant he had given her, once opened the locket held his picture, she only altered it slightly. ” Why wouldnt I be all right my Master?” Deep thassan blues stared up at Him a smile upon her full lips. ‘

Victor Klavinham ‘s head bobbed from side to side, the larl’s cowl on his head giving him a weird arrangement of four eyes instead of two. Like a pacing animal he just wasn’t quite clear whether to pounce yet or not – greatly eager to diminish the chances of a spear opening up his belly mid-leap, unexpectedly.* “Show your hands, Sweetness.” *he demanded lightly, wondering where else she could hide a splinter big enough to penetrate his chest-plate.* “And why not? Well because it was a lengthy travel and I know you’re not the best when it comes to suffering….small places.” *he admitted, his lips curving in a broad smile as his fingers played with the bolt driven into the hinge of the cage door*

Torrid’s one eyebrow cocks up as she looks at him, her smile abruptly changing,” And why must I show you my hands my Master?” Stares up at him questioningly not mentioning the larl that sat upon his head, frankly nothing he could wear surprised her any more.

Victor Klavinham laughed before he repeated his demand in a more encouraging tone, promising underlying consequences in itself.* “You want to show me your hands, I am sure. Proud of how they paid for your shippage all by themselves. I barely needed to add much coin to convince the captain when he saw you at my side. Oddly he was quite jumping the blade on granting you blind passage for as long as I desired.” *his smirk held that usual note of arrogance and oblivion meshed into one clusterfucked mix of not letting people onto his real thoughts*

Torrid  shakes her head slowly not buying any of the crap he was trying to feed her. ” Let’s try this again my Master,” Her voice calm and soft. ” Why don’t you tell me the real reason you want to see what’s in my hands?” cants her head which as there was not much room had it leaning against the side of the crate. Her crimson locks were decidedly longer and more matted. Baths were something for the affluent, not cleaning slaves although she did use the water before she cleaned the decks to use it on her own body. Haunting cornflower blue eyes held his gaze unflinching.

Victor Klavinham rolled his shoulders, the lavender scented oils used on his face to trim his beard still carrying the intensity of their scent. Taking a few steps back he sat himself down, striping the cowl back so he’d not have to feel its weight throughout their conversation.* “We’re all the artisans of our own fortunes, Slave. Disobedience will pave your stay within this city quicker than you might wish.” *he winked at her playfully, reaching behind his pack to unwrap the cloth of one fresh loaf of bread, breaking its heel from its body to eat it appreciatively while his deep green eyes never left the slave’s naked form before him, caged and subject to customs as any other cargo that laid in that particular ship’s belly today*

Torrid’s  gaze unyielding as he completely avoids her question,” You seem to have not answered my question Master…Your rhetoric while many enjoy and hang on your every word also cause many to be befuddled and confused. That is not the case with me. Again I ask you , why do you wish to see my hands?”

Victor Klavinham ‘s corner of his lip crooked in a smile, furrowing a deep dimple. “Far from it. I didn’t seek to confuse you with my rhetoric, Mine. I thought I made myself quite clear of having no intention to give reason to an outspoken command of mine. Now if you’d comply, I’d be more than glad. If not. There’s still the pulley right above you. I am sure a kick against the box to fall into the water – would make my slave a lot more communicative when it concerns her Master’s wish to see her open palms. Test me, Love. I am not afraid to yank back that leash of yours.” *he assured, her – making no arrangements yet to stand up – so she complied*

Torrid  lifts her hands, two fists facing him and the talander flower she had meant to present him with were ruined, brown and in pieces. They floated to her lap and the bottom of the crate. Her face was expressionless.

Victor Klavinham canted his head as he took a look between the bars. “Why would you let them die such a miserable death?” *he asked, rather intrigued of the carnal plea he associated with the flower*

Torrid said  ” I didnt let them die you did.” eyes unblinkingly remain as expressionless as a dead fish.

Victor Klavinham shook his head, not agreeing at all it seemed. “I did? How could you ever chalk that up to me? I told you to show me them from the get go – you drew it out, challenging my wishes. See what good it did you. And with that snout, my dear. I’ll rather drill a hole into one of those grape kegs than get my cock anywhere near those pouty lips!” *he winked at her, reaching out with his foot to lay his sandal toe underneath the bolt, shoving it out of it the hinge to open up the gate of her cage*

Torrid stated plainly,: ” You can say all you want but you ruined the surprise of being suspicious. Did you really think I had a shank? a knife? ” shakes her head and says nothing. As the door slowly swings open she remains in the cage and waits to be told to exit the horrific box. She was far from amused. ” Arent you going to ask about what I have behind my back?” taunts him.’

Victor Klavinham shook his head as she had a way to absolutely ruin things on her own. Stubborn as he was, his shoulders rolled forward as he lunged towards her – his shoulders squeezing past her as he sat there, right next to her, inside the cage.* “Takes two thick skulls to bang them together, you know?” *he laughed, planting a hand on her thigh just sitting there – curling his toes around the steel bars to jam them shut behind them – staring out against the shack, silently*

Torrid looks at him , her anger instantly melted. She wanted to hurt him, bite him like an animal, like an animal that had been caged for no reason. Instead, as her anger melted, the tears came. Tears of hurt , mistrust and misunderstanding. What had she done to deserve this? It wasn’t her fault she was captured all the time! Contemplates all her thoughts as her vision was blurred with tears free flowing. She hated crying and even more hated showing her vulnerability. The tears rolled down her thigh leaving a trail of clean flesh, washing away the filth. He had hurt her, wounded her and he didnt understand or perhaps he did because her anger melted away as her tears flowed.

Victor Klavinham ‘s palm squeezed against her thigh for comfort as her dams broke and pearls of brilliance coursed down to purge her flesh. He didn’t say a word, still not feeling inclined to justify his intentions – fully aware that what he did was to the benefit and ease of her escape, whether she enjoyed the means through which he achieved it – was secondary at best. Bestowing a warm smile upon her he leaned in, tilting her head up to drink in the wealth of her lips, as passionately as when he first tasted her rouged cushions in the middle of a tempest-temptress’ turbulent tantrum*

Torrid trembling lips felt his upon her kissing her ever so gently, the sweet taste of him and the saltiness of the tears was a bittersweet mix that did not cure all of her anger. As quickly as it dissipated it was a hurricane downgraded to a tropical storm suddenly picking up wind speed and turning from a category one to a four in a split ihn. As he kissed her , her hands moved and started to pummel whatever body part was closest. Her anger spilled out , teeth sinking down into the fleshy part of his lips, tasting his blood she releases it and pulls back. Glaring at him in that cramped space, she said choked up,” I hate you!” Scrutinizing him, her lips crimson with his blood, her tongue darts out and licks the blood and the blood upon his lip.

Victor Klavinham ‘s neck stretched ase he leaned into her, threatening to bury her underneath his body when suddenly her tiny fists hailed down across the breadth of his leather harness and the more exposed shoulders and arms of his, taking the hits he growled into her mouth as her teeth came crushing down into his lip. Feeling her soft tongue lash out to cure the wound she caused his head merely tilted like a lion’s, a dark mane of black swaying in the wind as he let himself be groomed by his fierce lioness. Keeping his quiet as her anger slowly ebbed.*

Torrid whispered softly, kissing the damages,” I..I…am sorry. How can you make me love you and hate you?” Bursts into tears again hugging him tightly. Her body wracked with sobs as she begged,” Please dont ever do this to me again…it..it..was horrible….I missed you so much, I didnt know if I was going to see you again….the crew was hateful..” She didnt bother explaining how she was picked on, it really didnt matter. He would see whenever and if ever they exited that she had indeed shrank to half her size, not eating much at all. When the sobs had stopped she snuggled against him, not as if she could snuggle anywhere else and said softly,” I…..I…am sorry my Master.”

Victor Klavinham ‘s cracked-in lip wearily spread into a smile as her heard her sobbing pleas for forgiveness. Swallowing the coppery taste of his own blood his tongue darted across the ridge of his teeth to clean them off the red hue.* “You were shipped, Mine. As befit a slave, admittedly lower than my station would grant you – but given the circumstances I think I showed myself generous, setting foot into that damned outlaw dwelling, losing two of my print plates – invaluable I might add – to reclaim what was mine to begin with. Spiteful remarks and a grope here and there? I think you have no ground to complain, Sugar-Plum.” *brushing her fiery hair back his nose drew across the nape of her neck, trying to determine where on her body he’d get even with her, for the split lip

Torrid cries ” Hmmph!” obviously not agreeing with his summation. ” I am not just any old slave, I am YOUR slave !” nods emphatically as she pushes the bars open and starts to crawl out of the now sweltering box. Victor could stay in there all he wanted she was getting O-U-T! Limbs stiff and much smaller now she easily crawled out of the crate not caring to go back in there anytime soon. Eying the water she couldnt decide whether to just jump in or not

]  Victor Klavinham ‘s eyes clung to his slave’s rich derrier like he’d have challenged her cheeks for a staring contest – reading the tilt of her head towards the water he lazily leaned back, lifting his foot to put his sole to her cheek, making the decision for her as he pushed her towards the edge of the docks with enough force to haul her into the basin’s water. “Of course you’re my slave. That’s why I don’t appreciate that sort of behavior, any other slave – I’d stand above it, ignore it most likely, but within my own property? I’ll be sure to nip that in the bud as soon as I can.” *he laughed*

Torrid turns listening to him, as he speaks she sticks her tongue out at him knowing that her bared bodunkadunk was just too much for him. As his foot connected with her rather cushy heiny she puts her hands together and with the force of the punt dives headfirst into the water. The splash was large and loud as she could make it hoping some of the water would get him drenched. As the cool water caressed her flesh she almost moaned in pleasure. Swimming under the water she moved like a dolphin. Suddenly her head would pop up then dive down , only seeing a flash of her bottom then the soles of her feet, This continued for several ehns before she swam over to him.

For Good.

Things were changing in Salernum, she didnt know what the future held for them. As she laid back on her small island in front of  Victor’s  bank and just over the wall, she recalled the day He brought her back home for good.

Victor Klavinham took a step forward as her eyes averted from his own, a gloved hand laid upon the edges of her stomach, gently squeazing its pink flesh in his grasp. “There are things no man can hold a slave accountable for. I am surprised you didn’t fight your captors, teeth and nails, at least it didn’t seem like it, by the lovely picture the envoy I sent, painted me upon his return. But then – maybe that’s just all the more, a compliment – duteous and loyal enough to go cross the city of dust twice in order to come back to your owner? That alone, humbles me, beast.” *his voice was casual, her grief clearly swept over to him as she stood there, stricken by her assumed betrayal.”

Torrid Streeter: ” I did try and fight them, you have no idea………how…………horrible………how excruciating….how debasing it all was. Whipped , beaten and nttled daily not to mention raped over and over and over. A hole….I was chained on the wall, my shackles prevented me from ever being able. He was going to kill me, I wasnt responding, I couldnt open myself to him. When the messenger saw me Id like to lie to you and say it was all part of grand scheme. I missed you so much and he told me you werent coming. He teased me and I…..I.reacted . There is the betrayal Victor. Not in the forced fucking but in my mind I was excited”

Victor Klavinham glared at her openly, his body language spoke volumes, tomes and encyclopedias of how tensioned he was. “I do not blame you, slave. You’ve been conditioned that way since the very first day I have claimed you, taken responsibility for your actions and provided shelter, guidance and ownership in return for your obedience.” *his voice trailed off for a moment* “I am no fool, Torrid. I know others can excite you just as I can, it’s a reaction your body is won’t to give in response to what is done to you, it’s natural, beast. If you had a chance, it would only be half as useful.” *the faint whisper of a smile flashed across his lips as he said so, remembering their times, before this whole dilemma* “He will answer for his crime, theft by name and I’ll try my best to catch the loathsome vermin, setting an example for everyone to know what may happen if they flirt with disaster…” *his voice grew determined again as he said so, his knuckles pressing against the cloth of his gloves, tensioned.

Torrid Streeter softly,” Do you really understand why I feel I dont deserve you? I love you so much, gave everything to you, promised you everything. I kept them all til the Beast. I dont know how badly I am damaged Victor. You only know bits of what happened”

Victor Klavinham tried to read in the maelstrom of ocean blue eyes. “Deserve…that is an interesting notion, Girl. Would you have a chance if I didn’t deserve you? I don’t think so, can a man not deserve a slave he chose? Can his actions misgrant him the birth given right of owning a woman so he may afford her? Is natural order a privilege in reality?” *reaching for her chin his fingers draped along its jaw, tilting her head from side to side to inspect his property before he let his eyes strafe downwards upon her bosom* “And I will listen to you, telling me what happened to you, in its completeness, before I will pass any further judgement on you or your captors. I collared you for your spirit as much as your cunning and beauty, slave. Don’t tell me some Northerner broke what I created in years of dedication and demand….”

Torrid Streeter feels tears build up as she chokes out the next words,” No my Master, I wouldnt let him,” Tilting her chin down she kisses his gloved fingers .” I cant believe we are here , that I am here with you now.I……I.dont want to discuss the whole ordeal, I wish I could forget it.”

Victor Klavinham caressed across her cheek with his thumb as she said so, he might have been mistaken but the chirping in her voice carried a hint of pride over the fact that she wasn’t broken by that man* “Don’t forget it. Ever. It can, despite its cruelty and the repercussions still serve you as a valuable lesson, Slave. You tend to push the fact aside, but you’re no slave to one man, you’re slave to every free man and woman, for them to do as they see fit. Owing explaination to me alone.” *closing in on her his grip gained a firmer note* “Make sure to never forget this, Torrid.” Leaning into her his lips seeked her’s – pressing himself against her to claim her breath, to taste the sweetness of her mouth – it had simply been too long, her flavor went pall over the weeks she’s been away, longing for something that served him as a tasty morsel, on a daily basis prior to it*

Torrid Streeter refusing to close her eyes she wanted to be reminded who was kissing her that it wasnt some tease, some dream where she would wake up and he would be gone or worse it would be the BEAST. More tears slowly rolled down her cheek, they were tears of gratitude and overwhelming love for this man in front of her, this man who chased her down to the ends of Gor, how she loved him. Finally she closed her eyes and pressed herself against him inhaling his scent…….his unique and splendid smell

Victor Klavinham carried his stature tall as he stood there, a hand lacing against the small of her back, pulling her closer. No words could describe the relief that twitched through his every fibre, the moment those quivering lips pushed back, letting him forget the salty taste of her tears. A breath of life was inhaled with every moment he lingered in the kiss, relishing her taste and the sheer feeling of holding that woman in his hands. It were whispers he uttered between his kisses “You’re loved as much as you’re owned, slave.”

Torrid Streeter thought they were the most beautiful words to her ears ever. Hating to unravel herself from His touc, from his embrace she did. Dropping to her knees she holds that statuesque body tall, lifting her arms she crosses them at her dainty wrists. head between her arms and bowed so low her chin touches her marred chest,Her voice rang out loudly, th waterfall unable to drown it out,” I beg to be owned by you Victor Klavinham, please honor me by bestowing your steel around my neck. I ahve so much more fight left in me and you are the only one I care to fight with” smiles through her tears,” Please my Master.please.”

Victor Klavinham groaned in disdain as she distangled herself from his embrace. Sullen he stood there, glancing down upon her body as she slowly fell to her knees. Listening to her pleading in its entirety before he strode behind her, his lean fingers wrrapping around her neck* “Nothing could prevent me from doing so, again. No Priest King’s divine intervention, no madly raging northman, no-one. You’ll pass into my property for me to have and hold you till death do us part.”

Torrid Streeter almost faints from pleasure,” Please keep me on your leash my Master, I cant bare to be let out of your sight. Let me come with with you on your trips? I’ll not bother you I swear please…….dont leave me…..please…..” breaking her position she leans down and kisses his boots, wrapping her arms about his leg clinging to him tightly, wondering if he realizes how afraid she is to let him out of her sight

Victor Klavinham nodded more to himself than to her, the look of her lips connecting on the rugged leather of his boots – pleased him greatly. Undraping the cape from his shoulder he took a loose string on its chestbelt, to twist it around his wrists, tearing it off with a snap. Knotting it double he led her head through it* “It shouldn’t ever be the symbol, that holds more meaning than its message…but I’ll gladly provide you with a makeshift icon until we return home and get a you a new, collar, manufactured.” *assuring himself of the double knot he made, not to let her improvised collar become a noose, now that would have messed things up severely, no use for a garrotted slave*

It Wasn’t

It wasnt her pride that kept her from Him. Seeing him there in Treve, almost at the exact spot she submitted to Him, threw her off. Indeed it was full circle but a broken circle as she dropped the ring and ran from Him. What pride? She had none….

It wasnt that she didnt try to hold out, to be strong against the BEAST. She was starved, fed sea water, her body whipped to a mass of bloody  crimson shredded skin. She missed Him so much, why couldnt she have escaped. It was futile. They were futile.

It wasnt that she wanted to be free! She could have run any time from Him. Her heart, mind, and body was now that of a lowly passion slave. She wanted nothing more than  to serve in any way He saw fit. Being reduced to the chattel she had been, her focus on Him and only Him.

It wasnt that she killed a man to regain her freedom. That didnt bother her at all, she would do it again if the circumstances arose. Killed or be killed? There was no choice but the one she had made. She lost none of her fierceness when her back was to the wall .

It wasnt that He didnt love her, she knew He did. Love was blind, love can  whitewash faults, make things seem much better than what they were. Love can make you forgive anything. Some things should never be forgiven.

It wasnt that she didnt love Him. She would give anything to turn back the hands of time, to make things right. Like a broken Ming vase it could never be pieced together and remain as priceless, the cracks, no matter how minute , how  invisible, exist.

It just was.

  Torrid Streeter feels her whole word come crashing down as she cannot believe her eyes. She shakes her head as if to clear her mnd, Victor. It couldnt be, why was he here? The color drained from her face as she leaned against the wall. Sje just stares at HIM, tears welling up

 Arianwen Mercy: ” Can I help you sir ?”

  Victor Klavinham snapped his fingers to either side to have the grey-shrouded men behind him, split their numbers and rummage through the various buildings. He was determined in what he did and after the cavern he only came minutes late, storming it with smoking arrows, fingers red from drawing his bow’s string. Just to leave that rotten smuggler’s hideout with empty hands. They could track the ship’s course, some villages they stopped, up the north, some they didn’t but always – a hint remained that gave them a lead to their next destination. Thentis was the last, but after a quick ask-around, it doomed him that he was late, again. The search was gnawing on nerves and resources, if he wouldn’t find her soon, the men would inquire their payments more and more frequent. And even if he’d find her, chances were that he’d still end up broke. A moment, when he passed the woman and the back of his hand grazed her skirt by accident – a gaze exchanged, furrowed brows distorted his features, but there was a brief connection of their eyes. Getting torn out of his musings he glared at the woman “I would like to believe so, but chances are little…I am looking for a slave, well shaped, feminine..with her head screwed right…not sure about her heart but she certainly does have a talent to get into situations she can’t come out of….” *blabbering on and on about a girl that sounded both, perfect and blemished at the same time his tongue tired of speaking* “Torrid..her name’s Torrid, blonde hair…blue eyes, as deep as the Thassa and a small brand o her thigh…Have you seen her by chance, Lady?”

 Arianwen Mercy: “What is her name sir, do you know ?” looking him up and down wonder about him .. he almost scares her just by the looks of him

Victor Klavinham narrowed his eyes slightly as she inquired “Torrid, Lady. Her name’s wild and sylvan…Torrid she’s called.” *his eyes averted, staring into the faces of his men as they came out of the buildings* ‘Nothing’ *said one of them, the other just nodded and a piece of Victor’s heart, broke a little further

 Arianwen Mercy:”  I do not know this girl you speak of but will keep my eyes open .”

  Victor Klavinham:  “Please do so, Lady.”

 Torrid Streeter softly under her breath, not even as loud as a whisper,” red hair………red” His looks were changed, how could he even be more handsome then she remembered Him. Tears immediately welled up in her eyes. Her hands clasp the ruby ring worn on the outside of her gloved hand, cradling it. She wanted to call out to Him, wanted to tell Him she loved Him with all her heart but she couldnt. Betrayal ruined things and she had ruined what they had.

    Arianwen Mercy: ” We get a lot of girls through here .” looking over to the woman behind him not ever seeing he before sne smiels and greets ,” Tal lady may I help you as well?”

 Torrid Streeter looks but startled,” Umm No Lady…” Her voice low and choked with emotion.

  Arianwen Mercy:” I am the head merchant here if you have trade of any sort let me know .” then looks to the woman directly,” Im sure we could help find a place here if you need ”

  Victor Klavinham: I suppose you do, girls are plenty but those like her…not… *he muttered underneath his breath, clenching his fist in sheer frustration with the situation. Following the invisible line of sight the Lady drew to the other his amber eyes lingered upon her scarlet dress, smiling as the colour reminded him of the autumn that ran through his girl’s hair when he first met her, as wild as it was clustered with small twigs and leaves, carrying the scent of wood. A smile upon his lips as he looked half-ways through her, it wasn’t the Lady he saw, but the memory he had of his property*

  Arianwen Mercy:  ” Ssir do you know what took her away from you?”

  Victor Klavinham looked at her, that was, confessed or not, a pretty good question. “I…I don’t know..” *he said, thinking about it, for the first time, really* “My wishes might have been a little…out of the norm..my city a little too quiet for a forest girls tastes..but…I thought she loved my steel…I digress I fear..” *tearing his mind of the subject he didn’t want to talk about her for too long, the messenger’s note was still in his mind*

  Torrid Streeter frozen in her spot she wanted to flee but she couldnt move. It was a gift from the Priest Kings to see Him. Almost laughing bitterly at that thought, they mocked her, tortured her. She wanted to crawl to Him but her disgrace held her back, He deserved better. Twirling the ring about her finger she listened in her own silent hell.

  Arianwen Mercy:seeing the hurt is his eyes, ”  Give her time if she is free she will come back to you  but I have a quetion if she is free sir how will you treat her ?”

 Victor Klavinham held a proud stance, the man was a reputable merchant after all. “If she’s free, I am a fool hunting a dream. No way I’d find her where she’d go…” *he realized all of a sudden* “How will I treat her? I’ll throw her in chains and force myself upon her, if I wish so. And she’d melt in my palm and ask for me…” *he smiled at the woman with that cunningly haunting smirks that made him, him*

 Arianwen Mercy: grins .. ” well hmmm,” looking him over his words sticking something in her depths feeling for the woman he seeks yet he feels with passion for her is it only pation of is it love .. she smiles and nods in her most uppity manner her being of Treve she knew how it was to be a proud woman and not to let a man effect her to much. Yes even now her love sleeps in a distant land she knew the love of a man well and knew of her love lost her he would seek the ends of the world and the 3 moons for her .. this man before her is not different, in many ways she felt sorry for him .

Torrid Streeter whimpers hearing that, her hand lifts as if to reach out towards Him. Quickly she turned about , her back to them. Inhaling deeply she slowly exhales. Calm down Torr she told herself, she needed to get a grip. Turning back she watches Him, his arrogant stance made her knees buckle. How many times did she just watch Him from her knees as He moved like that?

  Victor Klavinham turned around, his fingers dancing across the pummel of his sword in caution, a quite unhandy tool but he knew the pointy end goes into the other, that was enough to best a good half of people already. “Have you seen something maybe, Lady?” *his eyes fell upon another besides at the fountain, chirping like a bird as the dusk settled across the sky* “Or you, Lady? If she was here..I need to know…”

  Arianwen Mercy: ” Although I do deal in slaves…”
  Torrid Streeter swallows. ” There was a heartbroken slave here some time ago……..crying by the well. ”

  Arianwen Mercy:” Heart broken oh did she say her story lady ?”
 Arianwen Mercy:” It might be the one he seeks.”

 Victor Klavinham knew his slave better than anyone and crying in a foreign city, did sound as much as her as pouring her heart out, on a slave auction block. “That can’t be mine.” *he said briefly, parts of him also had the image the messenger instilled in him, that didn’t sound heartbroken at all.* “Tell me her story, that’s a good idea though, if she shared it…that is.”

  Torrid Streeter: ” She talked about someone being her heart, that she had betrayed Him, she was besides herself. Sylvana said she would be with him no longer, ”

 Arianwen Mercy:” I do wonder how she had betrayed him, sounds sad.”

 Victor Klavinham: Betrayed… *he echoed for himself, listening to the slave’s story poured from the Lady’s lips* “How can a slave really betray though..is she not…subject to every Free’s whim, ladies? Is she the owner of her body? Of her thoughts even? Chattel, they call them in public….Loves in private and still…can they be held accountable for things out of their influence?”

  Arianwen Mercy: ” Ooh I agree maybe she was confused?”

Torrid Streeter pulls the ring off and holds it in the palm of her hand.” I……I…..asked her that, something about it not being her fault but in the end it was, she didnt endure enough for Him. I ….I was afraid she was going to throw herself in the well.”

  Arianwen Mercy: “oh I do hope she did not .,” looking at the woman noticing that her rags she wear was remenants of her shop but not willing to point out the fact thinking it best she let the woman pretend a bit she was free .

 Arianwen Mercy: Her mind read ant the catch in the womans speech as if she was holding something back and her self hurt deeply even with every world she spoke about the slave she talked of it was as if she was saying them herself trying to resove her issues with herself and her life. She nods to the lady and smiles sadly letting sympathy fill her eyes as if she felt she knew somthing but could not say .

 Torrid Streeter drops the ring on the ground,” I wish you well Lady……..and you Banker” Turning she rushes out of there and heads towards the boat.

 Victor Klavinham watched the Lady’s gloved fingers as they daintily removed something, keeping it stashed in the smooth of her velvetty palm. He craned his head from side to side to steal a glance from those eyes he saw earlier. “You…she did not did she?…” *his heart was racing, he’d not hesitate to lunge after her if he knew she was dead…nothing would keep him from it

Victor Klavinham: Be well, Lady…*he said…turning around…a moment later his eyes shot open, jumping to face her* “Banker…she said…she knows me! Who is this, Lady?! Do you know her?!” *he asked Arianwen

  Torrid Streeter flees from the area , running towards the docks blinded by tears and overwhelmed with Him. Stepping onto the ship she tosses the captain a coin says,” Thentis”

Arianwen Mercy:”  No sir I do not she is new to me. I did not know you were a banker ..” smiles,”  but yes it seems she knows you I heard it in her voice .”

  Victor Klavinham rushing to the spot where she stood he looked upon the cobbles, kicking a pebble with the tip of his boot…just to spot the small ruby engraved ring she dropped..”That…that’s Torrid… Excuse me, Lady!” *he said, rushing off*

A New Chapter

 Berg Bergan had his men in high spirits as the last day proved to stay as gorey and entertaining as it started, a man was found to join the their rows as a free man, fighting without his shackles to the benefits of Torvaldsland among the other men of the boat’s crew. The night was quiet and although the former slave slept in the captain’s cabin he didn’t feel the urge to touch her, to take her, to make her doubt her newly gained freeom. There were principles he upheld like the banners of his army and a person gaining her freedom, not out of a benefactor’s generosity but out of their own determination, belonged to those things he treasured as his own personal codex. “Oh, yer still ‘ere, eh?” *he asked, slightly perplexed, when he left the cabin a good hour after her, seeing his men antsily breaking down the sails to anchor in in the small fisher’s makeshift of a dock.*

  Torrid Streeter dressed in the clothing she found a small hand mirror in the pilfered treasure chest.Staring at herself she fought not to cry, at least all her bruises were gone. Looking again in ther bottom of the treasure chest she saw the ruby ring Victor gave her. Her heart dropped, she wanted it but she would not steal it. Rising up she moved to the deck feeling odd. She didnt know if she would have the courage to do this. Seeing Berg she strolled up to Him and clearing her throat she says softly,” Sir I need to ask something of you….” Inhaling deeply she slowly exhales and says softly,” I know you have given me much including clothing, coing and most of all my freedom but I ask one more thing from you. May I please have the ruby ring you took from me? I dont care about the others but that one had special sentimental value. I….I.cant pay you for it now but I plan on being gainfully employed and I will pay for it. SOme reason I think I shall being seeing you eventually.” Thassan blues stare up at him as she awaits his answer.

Berg Bergan looked down at her, a thick rope coiled about his arm as he helped the men to tear down the hoisted soils, going harder than they expected. “The ring..” *he said, remembering how he slipped them from her dainty fingers, one by one* “There are nine others…” *he stated bluntly – laying his eyes upon her through that distinctly narrow slit of her Free Woman’s hood, what wonderous treasures they had on board, sometimes he thought the fat slaver might have a cross-dressing fetish or something, for their pillage consisted of big parts of gowns and jewelery. “What is that one ring compared to the others I got from yer?” *he kept his stare, knowing she owed him more than just her mere life* “Yer can keep that cursed thin’ – I have no need fer it. Now be gone, before any of me men decides yer been too good a fuck to let yer dangle way in those robes. Off with ya!” *he roughly spat out to her, leaning backwards to steady the rope behind him* “PULL!”

  Torrid Streeter quickly she runs back and digs into the ches pulling out the ring that meant so muh to her. She could hear His voice ” a ruby in the rough……” Tears started to fall, she couldnt help herself. Rising up she took not one thing more than that which was given to her. Wiping her eyes and with her sleeves she moves to the deck and towards the gangplank stopping a moment. Quickly she turns and running back to Berg she kisses him on the cheek and murmurs,” May Loki watch over you” With that she turns and departs.

Berg Bergan followed her movements as she swept over the deck like a whirl wind, lunging for that ring. The kiss nearly went unnoticed as he wrapped his mind around the task at hand, the ship needed tending and every man had to focus to keep things running. But when he saw her disappear behind the railing of the dragon long boat – he mused about her farewell. “As closely as he has been watchin’ ‘is brother Baldur…belov’d Baldur…oh treach’rous Loki…” *muttering into his beard he forced the slave out of his mind, trying to forsake her as quickly as he could, to not regret his folly*

Berg Bergan brooded over the awkward circumstances that followed their departure from the smuggler’s cove. A voice he heard, distant, but he was sure he heard them, followed by others – but whenever he looked to one of the many mouths in the sheer of the coast, another seemed to poke its tongue out and mock him. Wherever he looked, nothing was to be seen and suddenly a sound again and a rustling like someone hid beyond a bush in a forest, it has been eldritch but then – none of the others twitched at the sounds or seemed to hear them, he wasn’t terribly known for the sharpest ears in his village but his eyes seldomly deceived the old bearm, but this time it seemed. “Slow…” *he commanded, with his arm lifted, clamping his boots against one of the small barque’s benches as he reached for the ship’s tow – slowly pulling them closer to the old lady’s swollen bilge. ‘The captain!’ he heard his men shouting from many a throat, lowering roped ladders for them to embark. Gripping it Behemoth climbed up, giving the oddest sight, the mountain of a man trying to ascend a loosely dangling rope-ladder with only one arm, certainly made a hilarious picture to those daring to laugh* “Come up ‘ere!” *he shouted down towards Sylvana, knowing the other’s would follow after*

Torrid Streeter watches her new Owner scramble upon the tricky rope ladder with such poise and grace she was shocked a man of his size could move like a larl. Quickly bolting up almost forgetting she was on a dingy she felt the boat sway in reaction to her movement. Laughing a man smacking her in the ass as she steadied herself. ” Yes my Jarl, Coming!” Wincing as His heavy hand left a pretty bright red hand print upon her ass she quickly moved up the ladder with not too much issue. Reaching the deck she quickly dropped to her knees at His feet, bowing her head. She was frightened she did not want to ride the front of the boat. She had heard about it from a Karian slave.
Berg Bergan spied his first mate and walked up to him, reaching for each others lower arm the shook their hands and pulled each other into an embrace. “Good t’see ya again, ol’ Seawolf. Everything has gone quiet I be hopin’, eh?” *speaking about gods and worlds he was remembered of his latest acquirement by a thud on the deck behind him.* “Oh.” *he said reaching out to grip the girl’s wrist – giving her a strong shove to ram the bare-bellied slaver on board. Ghastly lines went across his fat belly, bronzed his tan with white lines, created by axes or blades, marred his potbelly in awkward patterns* “Take’er and feed ‘er well, she’ll be needin’ the strength once we’re out far enough to order the rowers a break.” *laughingly he amused himself with the other Northerners on boat, seeing how the slave was brought underdeck, into a long aisle, wth small cages on either side to the railing, some empty – others filled with one or sometimes two thralls for cheap labor forces on board. Only one turned to her, pinching his shaggy bearded face between the bars, poking his tongue out and groaning wildly – a moment later he leaned back against the small cage’s backpiece again and laughed madly* “You won’t make it longer than a week with those man, Chunky!”
Torrid Streeter slowly lifts her head to see who the BEAST was yammering with. Taken back she stares at the ghastly man. The blue and yellow striped swatch about His belt loop marked Him as a slaver. Horrified she stared up at her Owner as He grabbed her small wrist throwing her to the slaver. As the man’s hand snaked out and grabbed her collar tossing her down below she quickly moved trying not to stumble over her own feet. As her eyes adjusted to the lantern lit underbelly of the ship she noticed two things, the horrific stench and the small lined up cages on both sides. As she was dragged towards the bow she was shocked to see men in the cages. Hearing the insult she hissed at the man,” Shut up boy!” knowing that for a man to be a slave was a horrific thing. He was probably a capture from a city the BEAST plundered.
Berg Bergan walked the lines of his men, the other ships seemed day ahead and for a change, they’d join them instead of the other way around. “Yer father been a good axe, mate. Fierce, sharp and a bottomless hole when it came to ale. HAR! No man could drink as much as yer ol’ man! Trust me on that..” *praising each of those, newly sailing under the crimson league banner he was pleased to see that many new faces, hoping they’d prove their worth sooner or later, not in his band, but for the greater good of the operation. A few feet underneath him a thrall cackled in his chains, jolting on the cage’s horizontal bars as he heard the new slave’s insult* “You wait til they feed us, no chains then, just you and me, bitch. I’ll cut your fucking throat!” *hissingly he pressed his distorted face against the bars again, trying to see at the end of the aisle, looking for her with a single eyes* “Shut it, boy!” *the slaver echoed after her earlier saying – opening one of the cages he thumbed her in* “He’s right about the feedin’  though, girl…ya better have some young bastard fall in love with ya, if ya don’t want to end up as every men’s spunk-throat! Slave or Free alike…” *laughingly he leaned against the empty cage door behind them, licking his quivering lips as he took the woman’s sight in himself for the first time, with a greasy hand he reached for her crotch from behind* “Might want to get me a piece of that later meself if ya prove to be feisty!”
Torrid Streeter quickly dropped to her knees, turning she backed into the cage so she could see the Slaver. As He leaned His hand in she thrust her slit towards His hand reacting to His touch. Moaning softly her hands reach up grabbing the bars. Sliding her thighs apart as far as the steel cage would allow her she gives the man better access to her vertical smile. Heavy hips started to move wantonly as she could feel herself moisten. She knew the SLaver was right the only way to survive on this ship was to be the hottest hole available. It was a matter of self preservation. She would do what she needed to do to survive. Her voice soft almost purring, ” Yes Jarl I only want to please You in any way You need”
Berg Bergan: *The Slaver’s eyes widened for a moment before his face was entirely enlighted by a deeply satisfied smile “Feisty the Stallari told me, fuck no – only feisty to a man who doesn’t know how to handle the bitch!” *laughingly he felt in tune with his professional pride – feeling her heat up with fat fingers obtrusing every inch of her slit.* “Kneel down, beast – has been a while since we got a cock sucker who’s beard stubbles are not itchin’ on me balls!” *laughingly he searched for his cock behind those shabby brown breeches, poking through the bars for her to take it between those sweet lips – down the aisle one could hear desperate moans as grown-out men, thralls to be exact – pressed their weight against the bars to glimpse a sight of what was going on, cocks stiffly in hand*

Torrid Streeter hand grips around the Slaver’s  sweaty sac and starts stroking it, willing Him to cum faster. She knew these men hadnt much sex, at least with females, He would be quite easy to bring to climax. As she plunges down into the nest of his dark curly hairs she almost chokes as He easily spills a good amount of spunk down her throat. She oblivious to the  other sounds about her only needing to make the Slaver think she was a hot commodity, because frankly she knew she damn well was and she needed them to think she was special. Swallowing hungrily she pulls back grinning widly saying sweetly,” Thak you Jarl for letting me please you”

The slaver wiped across his beardy face, snorting up snot in his nose, some spittles of drool caught on his hairy cheeks as he released himself inside the slave’s wet mouth before* “Ye will get a lot more of that, Honey.” *he promised, pushing his hand into his hollow-back to push the fat jerkin outwards with a painly moan* “Gods be good…fuckin’ through a cage …what did I think meself…twenty?!” *laughingly he buttomed up his sticky breeches, just one more stain who’s heritage he wouldn’t be capable of tracking back. Rattling with the butt of his whip’s shaft against the row of cages he smacked the men on their fingers, salivating against the bars.* “Back ye lazy bunch. Don’t fuckin’ care if yer jerk yourselves off to the new one. The one who rows the quickest later will get ‘er in ‘is cage for a few sloppy moments.” *laughingly he walked up the stairs, fixing his trousers one last time before he emerged up to the deck* “Well stashed she is, Stallari.” *Berg didn’t look behind him as he heard that, but the inclination of his pelt-covered head made it clear he nodded contently.* “Why so many thralls, Seawolf?” *he asked his first mate* “They…they came cheap in exchange for grain and we thought we’d make faster t’take them for the rows…” *Behemoth narrowed his eyes at the men, lashing out with a stingingly sharp backhand* “I WON’T have fuckin’ thralls row me ship, aye?! Is that clear, ol’ friend or did ye make yerself the captain in my absence?!” *staggering to his knees the man held the half of his face, abashed* “No…it’s clear, we will drown them” *Another sharp back hand hit the man off-guard from the other way ’round* “DROWN THEM!? Yer trade me damnable grain for chattel we DROWN on open waters then?! Get yer head outta yer arse, bugger! See those befit for battle and bring ’em up!”

Torrid Streeter moves back away from the front of the cage looking around her now. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand she feels all eyes upon her. She didnt dare look up. She was used to men looking at her but this was different these were collared men, captured men. Tears start to roll down her cheeks as she allowed her long now greasy locks to cover her face, hiding her vulnerability from these men. She peered through the bars looking to find a woman among them there was none but her.. She was the boat’s hole. There was no other here but her. She would be the prize for everything. An anguish sound like a garbled meow escaped her trembling lips. She could hear the men walking above, perhaps an cccasional booming laugh but that was it. She needed to figure out how to escape.

Berg Bergan saw the first mate shagger into the corpulent slaver who just approached – giving him a swift, demeaning slaps against his torn up belly – mocking tongues said the slaver bore a wale’s child when he wouldn’t listen, and innovative healer decided to cut it out of his round belly – he passed the chain of violence onto him and pushed him back against the edge of the hatchway that led underdeck.* “Come up, come down – why don’t ya just fix me a bell and ring fer me..” *the slaver complained as he was told to decide whom of the men were capable of fighting and who wasn’t – going through the narrow corridor underboard he emblazed each cage “Can ya fight, man?!” *he asked nearly each one of them til up to Sylvana’s – of course, the glimpse of freedom was tempting for some and each of them said yes, a quick thrust with the butt of his whip against the prospects stomach and he knew, those staggering backwards were unbefit of battle, the others however, proved resilient and would at least get presented to the captain. Stopping before the pleasing hole’s cell he cheesily leaned against the bars, whatever he did with his tongue seemed like two sickly snakes throwing up into the other’s gap, certainly not quickly though, but he himself, had of course a very subjective stance to his own allurements, thinking himself irresistible – but who could blame him, underdeck he was the only Free man and the consumption of that awareness left a whole different caliber of men – powerdrunk.* “How about us two, Girly? Will we fight later aswell?” *laughingly he drummed with a dagger against the metallic web that prevented her esacpe* “Might long a taste of that hilt up yer ass, eh?” *feeling himself salivating he wiped it off once more, smacking his lips in delight*

Torrid Streeter cries out,” I can fight, with a spear and bow! Lemme have a chance Master please!” pleading with the Slaver. The man was disgusting , his obvious obliviousness to His less then attractive way was what made the whole package even more unpalatable. ” I am stronger than these men and I can pull my own weight. Let me fight! ”

The round man slipped the end of the dagger’s hilt between his thickly sausage fingers as if to exhibit his imagination of how it would went through the pink of her ass, clacking his tongue as he nearly choked on laughter* “A spear and bow? Oh a spear I can give ya, slut. A bow? Well depends how deep ya bend over!” *sheathing his dagger back he turned around* “Two, Three, Seven and Eleven. Ya four step back from yer doors, Maggots!” *chaining them up one by one – each after another he led them upwards* “Girl, push the door open, it’s not locked, ya come up too.”

Torrid Streeter scrambles up quickly dying to get out of the fetid hull. The stench was unnatural and assaulted even the least smelling person’s senses ” Yes Jarl, ” Quickly she follows the thralls out knowing the slaver was directly behind her as she climbed back up to the deck. She knew she had had a chance to spill that tarsk Slaver’s blood but it would only bring upon her own death. She was not quite willing to give up yet.

Berg Bergan leaned on the railing of the starboard, some men to either of his sides, glaring down on the hatchlock when head for head the iron-shackled men appeared from underneath the deck. They didn’t seem weak at all, nearly all four of them stalwart men. “Where’s the blonde form Brynn?” *plucking on the goatee that bristly grew on his chin* “Might be one o’ Lucius’ men. We plundered one o’ their cargo vessels while they tried to ship supplies to Thentis…” *pondering, Behemoth canted his head from side to side, trying to take in the lithe form of what must have been a personal guard, the poise and the certain pride in his stance gave him away as such* “Me coins on ‘im. Any takers?” *laughingly some agreed to take the bet, taking in the others’ shapes. A few moments it took and the cargo-loop that made up half of the boat’s deck was covered with nets and hulls, treacherously steady it seemed while each step could mean one’s death.* “What’s the slut doing there?” *Berg shouted down full of indigation* “Bitch wanted to show how fierce she is, Stallari!” *the Slaver said at once* “Are ya sea-sick, Sylvana? Get yer ass down me deck!” *turning around he heard the men demanding to see the spectacle* “LET HER FIGHT!” “MAYBE SHE DISMANTLES THE GUARD WITH HER BOSK-RINGS!” *just two of many slogans they canted in unison, the lust for cunt was big, but then, the greed for a spectacle seemd to surpass those needs that very moment* “Good…” *he said – reaching besides him he tossed down a whaler fork – a high-sea fishing weapon used to gut whales as the name would let assume, much alike to a panther’s spear* “Fight then…” *he announced – the slaver gave her shove towards the spanned net of their improvised ‘arena’ the other man, a shaggy haired man way beyond his zenith in life, coughed when he lifted the axe that was given to him – but freedom was a strength-awakening outlook – fiercly he growled towards the blonde*

Torrid Streeter catches the whaling fork, brillaint blues shine. Quickly she tosses it to one hand to the other feeling the weight, the blanace of the instrumental weapon .It was heavier on the top then a spear, not by much but enough that she took notice. It was not as long, but definitely longer than the shorter axe handle her opponent had. She did not have the benefit of practice , there was no rehearsal, it was kill or be killed. Spinning around she held the spear against her right flank. Torrid had spent many ahns of the day when a panther being ambidexterous, that might somehow pay off this day. Her breasts were as big before so that was not the issue, however the added weight Victor forced her to gain may be what is her final defeat. How ironic that would be. She had lost a lot of weight since being in the BEAST’s claws. Was it enough? Surveying the small arena she needed to know the perimeters, there were no endless woods here. All this these thoughts only took s second or two to race through her mind,crouching low with fork in both hands she starts to circle her prey careful on the unstable lifted cargo net.

Berg Bergan laid his gaze warily upon his slave as her hand shot out to catch the whaler’s choice mid-air, evaluating its worth as a weapon. Battle-wise he knew, never to estimate a foe, no matter how small the challenge might seem, their always are odds against oneself. Seeing her crouch she made it clear that the shakey underground was nothing that could impress her much, with feline grace she dug with her toes along the crude-roped cross pieces of the cargo-net. The man on the other side, his gaze was fatigued – he remembered the weathered face of his when he last walked the thralls’ corridor – wondering why the fat slave driver would still tabor the drum for the likes of him, weak links were prone to delay the knots of a galley – he just couldn’t understand it himself. But crone as he was, he still had the advantage of strength on his side, of experience maybe. Seeing him gingerly step on the netted battleground he knew at least, from whose stance he read determination and from whose doubt. It happened in the: blink of an eye when the elder lunged forward with his one-handed axe, driving its blade down as if he wanted to split the girl like a log*

Torrid Streeter watched the haggard man rush as the axe came down she knew it was an arc, a swing that could not be stopped or redirected too much as the full force came down. One handed he swun downward. Scooting to the left, still crouched she moved as quick as she couldattempting to drive the trident into the abdomen of the attacker. Jabbing forward with full strength, she lunged.

Growling through a ruin of teeth the old man had lunged, the axe’s blade sliced air as a reaper cuts through blades of grass but the slave – unharmed, catching the flash of steel aiming for his waist he evaded to the side, stumbling, bringing the whole net they were fighting on in a turmoil, swinging back and forth heavily with crates bound to its middle, acting like a pendulum. The applauds and chants of encouraging sailors around them echoed on the boat – relentlessly the sun piereced through the clouds above them, only mildly dampered by the hulls on the three-master, throwing generous spaces of shadows.*

Torrid Streeter trying to move behind the man as He lunged , the net started swinging, watching Him lose His balance, she tucks the fork under her arm. Reaching down she grabs the ropes with both hands and starts shaking the rope. Using her bodacious bottom to keep her balance low and to the ropes she moves the rope up and down as fast and as wavey as she could.

Berg Bergan kept ahold on the wooden balustrade on top of the captain’s cabin, his eyes cast downwards, uneasily shearing the wood from the railing as he dug his fingers in, nervously. It was his property in jeopardy at least, the men deserved a little distraction – bread and games so to speak but losing the only female on board for it, he wasn’t entirely convinced albeit he thought it through with both his heads. The elder had visible difficulties to get back on his feet – the girl’s relentless shaking on the ropes certainly made it no easier. Bit by bit he pulled both his knees together to at least, regain some resemblance of a battle stance. Coughing heavily the sun reflected on the old man’s spotted, bald head – some leftovers of grey, whispy hair around it in a crest. Cursingly he grabbed a hold of the rope beneath him – pulling himself closer to the slave, nearly on all fours, the axe clamped between his jittering teeth, adrenaline and the occasional spray of sea that crossed the ship in high tide certainly: gnawed on the weary crone*

Torrid Streeter crouching low the fork still held tightly under her arm. , she saw the old badger still coming, having the wisdom to kepp low. The weapon thrown to her was not as good as a spear but had the one thing she desperately needed, it had the ability ti give her space yet do damage. Pulling it from under her arm, both hand grip it tightly as she stays crouched.taking one step towards the man still low she shoves the spear toards his higher bared chest, shovign as hard as she could, then pulling the trident bac as quick.

Baldhead must have seen the strike coming, turning to the side his heart stopped beating for a moment as his toes curled around nothing but air, limping to the side which’s foot treaded nothing, he felt how the rope cut into his thigh. A wrong step could mean the end – although he didn’t feel it, when it happened – one of the tridents jags gored right through his shoulderblade – leaving a ragged wound. Choking on blood that filled in his mouth the axes dissolved its grip from his teeth. A dead man’s silence filled the boat as the man coughed a last time, falling forward the dull sound of the axe slipping between the net and thudding on the underdeck – was all to be heard. Hissing through scraggy rows of teeth he tried to lunge, throwing his weight upon the slave in fearless despair.

Torrid Streeter seeing bright crimson pour from the man’s blade, she crept back a step, waiting for the counter attack. It was almost slow motion as the next chain of events happened. A flash a silver catching the light suddenly falls from the attacker’s mouth. Odin’s luck was with her as the axe slipped through the netting, landing in the cargo hold. Eyes not leaving the old man she heard the hiss, the battlecry of desperation. Seeing Him lunge for her, throwing all his weight, she tilted the spear upwards sitting back on her haunches and as he lunged forward at her, she held the pitchfork at a ninety degree angle from her body close to her body, knowing he would hit the spear before touching her

Berg Bergan glanced left and right of him, the men hugging the railing nearly fell over it as they leaned to see what happened, primordial uttered bravos to both the fighters as they clashed into each other. Keeping his eye on the old man’s back, Behemoth felt a perplexed twitch, pulling on the folds of his eyes – a sanguine coloured trio of spikes jutted out of the man’s back all of a sudden, countering his attack. Like a hungry shark the charged into his open bane, piercing his chest to exit his flaccid body on the rear side of his torso. Lifeless the body of his slumped down, making leeway for another few centimeters to penetrate his body due to his own weight, before he finally fell to the side – a pain drawn visage glaring at Sylvana. “Ahooo!” *the men to Berg’s side shouted out of mead-ridden throats in a chorus. The slaver was the first to approach her again* “Lay down the weapon, child and get off my net, we got other slaves that want to take a shot at each other!” *laughingly he glared up the small tower of the cabin to receive a nod from the captain* “Come ‘ere, Sylvana, leave the whaler for the next, seems a damn lucky charm for its bearer!”

Torrid Streeter felt the man’s wretched body impale itself upon the tines, using all the strength she had, she held the spear steady and prayed. She willed herself to keep contact with her opponent’s eyes as again everything happen s slowly she could have sworn it took half an ahn. Feeling every muscle and bone it sliced through she screamed a feral call, seemingly one from her panther days. Staring into the old man’s eyes she watched the sudden knowledge that his meager existence had come to a halting finish. Torrid stared back at Him with nothing but sheeer determination in her face. She would not stop until the life had slowly bled out of HIm. She was oblivious to the men’s cheers.Growling and hissing she held the spear tight not letting go even when the man collasped to the side. Gnashing her teeth and growling she suddenly looked up and saw the Slaver. She blinked at him trying to focus.He was giving her orders……….Ok she had to let go of the weapon. She didnt want too, what if the man popped up again. Looks at the slaver and slowly releases the fork. Shakily she scrambled up the nets and felt overpowered by all the men, the hooting and hollaring. It was fearful. She wanted to lie in a corner and cry. She had killed a man. Again almost in an echo chamber she heard the captain call her.She wasnt sure she could trust her legs but she climbed out of the makeshift arena dropping to her feet in a low crouch. Slowly she stood to her full height and climbed the ladder to reach the deck of the Captain, there she stood before him. Body glistening with perspiration, trembling as the adrenaline pumped through her blood.

Berg Bergan spoke, “A sylvan woman, me friends. Ain’t fer nothin’ that the northern woods stay off the fuckin’ map fer anythin’ clearer than a few greenly splashed scratches and scribbles…beware ’em women…” *laughingly the others joined their captain’s musings. While his eyes staid upon the slave’s gleaming body, the exhaustion apparent in her very stance, a soft pair of boobs gently swaying from side to side with every breath she took. “Ya did well, slave. Tell me yer prize.” *as if to fathom the answer the man glared into her eyes with that consuming leafy green in his eyes, as inscrutable as the thicket of a tree. Slowly the man yanked the motionless body from the hatchway arena, some ham-fisted fellows nearly falling into the slight pit of it by themselves as they moved, while others laughed on the top of their lungs, having a bloody good time.