The sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple as Lyrrin and Dasen guided the pair of goats through the heart of Taryn. The village, nestled within a serene woodland landscape, boasted well-maintained wooden buildings with thatched roofs that whispered tales of simple, hardworking lives. The meticulously laid cobblestone streets echoed with the rhythmic clatter of the goats' hooves, a sound that seemed to blend seamlessly into the fabric of daily life.
As they moved along, the scent of freshly baked bread and roasting meats wafted through the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of woodsmoke from cooking fires. Villagers, their faces etched with lines of contentment and toil, glanced up from their tasks—a woman hanging laundry, a man sharpening tools by his doorstep—offering nods of recognition before returning to their routines. The simplicity of their expressions spoke volumes about the tranquility of Taryn, a place where the biggest concern was often the stray animals wandering off.
Lyrrin's eyes swept over the scene, her heart swelling with affection for this unremarkable yet dearly cherished home. She exchanged a knowing look with Dasen, who smiled back, his hand briefly squeezing hers in silent agreement.
As Lyrrin and Dasen neared the village center, Radeim hurried towards them. Relief flooded the Mayor's son's features as he reached out to take the goats' leash from Lyrrin. "Thank the gods you found them!" he breathed, his voice tinged with genuine gratitude. "I feared they were lost for good this time!"
Lyrrin chuckled, her grey eyes sparkling with amusement. Radiem's clothing, though simple, was notably cleaner and less patched than most in Taryn, a subtle testament to his family's relative wealth. At twenty, his face bore a youthful, almost boyish charm, framed by unkempt sandy hair that seemed perpetually tousled. "You really need to keep a better eye on your livestock, Radeim. It's not like anyone has too much else to worry about around here."
Dasen, standing tall beside her, nodded in agreement. "It's true. Taryn is peaceful... but that doesn't mean you should let these boys wander too wide."
As they spoke, movement caught Lyrrin's attention... and seconds later, Illiri was upon them. Lyrrin's younger sister's snowy-white hair shimmered in the fading light, and her delicate features were framed by the soft glow of the lanterns that began to flicker to life around the village square. She smiled warmly at Radeim, her doe-eyes filled with affection. "Did you find them?" she asked, her soft voice so gentle it could soothe a startled rabbit.
"We did," Lyrrin replied, wrapping an arm around Illiri's shoulders. "And just in time, too. The forest can be a dangerous place after dark."
The laughter of the group melded with the soft rustling of leaves and the distant call of a night bird, weaving a tranquil melody that Lyrrin once might have found dull. As a child, she had been a tomboy, restless in the village's serene embrace, dreaming of adventures beyond Taryn's borders. But those days were buried under the weight of loss and the harsh lessons of reality. Her parents' deaths had been a stark reminder that peace was not a given, but a treasure to be cherished. Years spent as the rock for her sister, Illiri, had instilled in her an appreciation for stability and the quiet strength it required.
After their parents had died of the Weeping Plague, Lyrrin needed to shoulder most of the responsibilities of Illiri, taking on challenges far beyond her years. She had been both mother and father to her younger sister, ensuring Illiri's needs were met, her fears soothed, and her dreams nurtured. It was a role that defined much of Lyrrin's youth, shaping her into the resilient woman she was today. When Lyrrin had finally married Dasen, the transition had been bittersweet. While she gained a partner and a deeper sense of home, she also had to let go of some of the daily care for her sister.
Fortunately, the village seamstress, Elara, a kind-hearted woman with a fondness for Illiri, offered the young girl a place in her home. Elara, known for her skillful hands and warm heart, had been a family friend for years. Her home, filled with vibrant fabrics and the routine of needles, became a new sanctuary for Illiri. This arrangement allowed Lyrrin to focus on her marriage and her own growing responsibilities, knowing her sister was in good hands.
Now, as she stood in the heart of Taryn, surrounded by familiar faces and the comforting routine of village life, Lyrrin felt a deep gratitude. Here, they had land that yielded bountiful harvests, rivers teeming with fish, and a forest rich with resources. Elsewhere, far from the protective embrace of their woodland haven, other villages struggled—some starved, others faced the relentless terror of raiders from across the sea... but here, it was safe.
Lyrrin glanced at Dasen, his presence a solid reassurance. She thought of their shared dreams, modest yet filled with promise, and felt a surge of contentment. It was a times like this that she remembered just how lucky she was. Dasen met her eyes and looked back at her with a small smile, understanding without needing words.
As Radeim led the goats away, the sisters turned to each other. Illiri's cheeks flushed a delicate pink under Lyrrin's knowing gaze. "So," Lyrrin began, her voice light and teasing, "I noticed you couldn't take your eyes off Radeim. He seems quite fond of you too."
Illiri's blush deepened, and she glanced down, her fingers nervously twisting a strand of her white hair. "Oh, Lyrrin, it's nothing serious. We just... enjoy each other's company."
Dasen, who had been watching the exchange with a gentle smile, chimed in. "He does seem to find any excuse to be around you, Illiri. It's quite endearing."
Lyrrin laughed softly, squeezing her sister's shoulder affectionately. "See? Even Dasen has noticed. You should invite him over for dinner one night. I'm sure he'd appreciate a home-cooked meal that doesn't come from his parent's kitchen."
Illiri looked up, a hopeful smile playing on her lips. "Do you really think he would like that?"
"I think he'd love it," Dasen affirmed, his tone warm and supportive. "And it would be good for you both to spend more time together."
The conversation then drifted to lighter topics—the upcoming harvest festival, plans for the next day, and the latest gossip from the village. The trio stood there, enveloped in the comforting rhythms of Taryn's life, their laughter mingling with the evening sounds of the village. Soon, however, Illiri dismissed herself, and if Lyrrin was any judge, she was thinking about what she could make for Radeim sometime soon.
As Illiri departed, her thoughts clearly on the dinner invitation, Dasen and Lyrrin began to walk slowly through the village square, their shadows stretching long in the twilight. Dasen glanced at Lyrrin, his expression thoughtful. "So, when do you think we'll be hearing wedding bells for the two of them?" he asked, a teasing note in his voice.
Lyrrin chuckled, shaking her head. "I'm not sure yet. I need to see more from Radeim. He's got to prove he's worthy of my sister."
Dasen nodded, understanding her protective stance. "I know how hard to impress you are," he said with a grin, which made Lyrrin laugh heartily. The memory of their own courtship came to mind—a spirited chase through the dense woods around Taryn. Lyrrin, ever the wild spirit, had led Dasen on a vigorous pursuit, her laughter echoing through the trees as she expertly evaded him. It had taken days of tracking and clever strategies before she finally relented, admitting that perhaps there was no escaping Dasen's persistence. That was the first time she had let him court her.
As they walked, Lyrrin's attire mirrored her spirited nature. She sported tight-fitting brown woodsman leather pants and a matching vest, practical for both daily tasks and spontaneous escapades. Over her outfit, she draped a green cloak that swayed with each step, hinting at the adventurous soul beneath. Her hair, the color of beaten copper, was gathered into a high ponytail, strands occasionally straying to caress her lively, expressive face. Her eyes, deep grey, gleamed with a mix of intellect and playful mischief, reminiscent of her wild days roaming the woods around Taryn.
Their conversation drifted to lighter topics, punctuated by shared laughter and fond memories. As they continued their stroll, the village life hummed around them, a comforting backdrop to their deepening bond. In the quiet moments between words, Lyrrin felt a profound contentment as they reached the home they shared.
Dasen, as the village ranger, had been granted a modest yet comfortable home by the last mayor in recognition of his crucial role in protecting Taryn from wild beasts and the occasional bandit. The house was nestled on the outskirts of the village, offering a clear view of the surrounding woods and fields, which Dasen often surveyed with keen eyes.
As they entered their home, the warm glow of candlelight greeted them, casting flickering shadows across the wooden walls adorned with various hunting trophies and maps of the local terrain. Lyrrin's eyes sparkled with mischief as she playfully nudged Dasen towards the kitchen area. "Race you to see who can prepare dinner faster," she challenged, already moving towards the pantry.
Dasen laughed, accepting the challenge with a grin. "You're on, but don't blame me when you're eating my superior cooking."
The kitchen soon filled with the sounds of friendly competition—pots clanging, laughter echoing, and playful jabs exchanged as they each prepared their dishes. Lyrrin deftly chopped vegetables, her movements quick and precise, while Dasen expertly seasoned the meat, his hands steady and confident. Despite the teasing, there was an undercurrent of deep affection between them, each glance and touch laden with years of shared history and love.
Once dinner was ready, they sat down at their small dining table, their faces lit by the soft glow of candles. They ate, continuing their light-hearted banter, savoring each bite not just for the flavors but for the joy of being together.
After the meal, Dasen stood and extended his hand towards Lyrrin. "Come here," he said softly, a note not of command but of gentle hunger in his tone. With a smile, Lyrrin took his hand, and without hesitation, Dasen scooped her up into his arms. She let out a surprised laugh, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.
Dasen's steps were deliberate as he carried her to the bedroom, each one echoing the depth of his affection. The room, softly lit by the glow of a single candle on the bedside table, cast gentle shadows across the walls, creating a sanctuary of intimacy. Gently, he laid Lyrrin on the bed, his eyes locked onto hers, conveying a silent promise of tenderness and care.
Lyrrin felt the weight of his gaze and allowed herself to sink into the plush mattress, her body relaxing under his attentive watch. Outside, people would call her tough, fierce, or even prickly. Here in the sanctity of their shared space, however, she felt no need to maintain the strong facade she often wore outside these walls. With Dasen, she could shed the layers of responsibility and simply be vulnerable and open, cherished for every part of who she was.
Dasen moved closer, his hands gently tracing the contours of her face, his touch reverent. "You are my everything," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. Lyrrin's heart swelled at his words. Her hands reached up to cup his face, drawing him down for a kiss that spoke of years of shared love and understanding.
Their lips met in a dance as old as their relationship, each movement familiar yet filled with newfound passion. Dasen's hands roamed over her body, unlacing her vest with practiced ease, revealing the soft skin beneath. Lyrrin sighed into the kiss, her body arching slightly towards him, inviting more.
As they undressed each other, the air between them crackled with anticipation. Dasen's fingers lingered on the curve of her waist, then slid lower, igniting sparks of desire wherever they touched. Lyrrin responded in kind, her hands exploring the hard planes of his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her palm.
Their naked bodies came together, melding seamlessly as if crafted by the same sculptor to fit. Dasen's form was a testament to his life in the wild—wirey muscles rippled beneath his skin, each contour honed by years of tracking and hunting. His chest was broad, covered with a light dusting of dark chest hair that tapered down to a narrow waist. He wasn't what a blushing maiden would consider the beauty to capture a princess, but to Lyrrin the stubble on his chin and cheeks added a rugged edge to his handsome features, making him look both untamed and irresistibly attractive to the hunter.
As he kissed her again, it was deeper, more urgent this time. His tongue danced with hers, setting a rhythm that mirrored the escalating pulse of their shared desire. Lyrrin moaned softly, her body responding instinctively to his touch. Her legs parted, an unspoken invitation for him to come closer, to claim his place within her embrace. Dasen moved with a grace that belied his muscular build, each motion fluid and deliberate, reminiscent of a predator stalking its prey. Yet, in this intimate space, there was no threat, only a profound connection that bound them together. His hands roamed over her body, exploring every curve and angle, his touch igniting fires of longing wherever it landed.
Dasen entered her slowly, inch by careful inch, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. But there was only pleasure, etched in the lines of her smile and the flutter of her eyelids. They moved together, a synchronized dance of love and lust, each thrust and counter-thrust building a crescendo of sensation.
Lyrrin, caught in the whirlwind of sensation, surrendered to the storm of emotions and desires swirling within her. With Dasen, she found not just physical fulfillment but an emotional bond that transcended the mere act of coupling. Here, in the quiet sanctuary of their bedroom, they were more than lovers; they were partners, bound by love and respect, exploring the depths of their relationship with each passing moment. The auburn-haired girl gripped her husband's shoulders firmly, her nails lightly scoring his skin to add yet another layer to the sensory feast. Dasen groaned, his pace quickening, driven by the primal urge to claim and be claimed in turn. Their breaths mingled, harsh and needy, filling the room with the sound of their passion.
As they neared the peak, Lyrrin's body tensed, her muscles tightening around him. Dasen watched her, his eyes dark with desire, whispering encouragements until with a cry, she shattered, waves of pleasure coursing through her. Sensing her release, Dasen followed, his own climax crashing over him, leaving him spent and sated.
Exhausted, they collapsed onto the bed, limbs entangled, hearts pounding in unison. Lyrrin nestled her head against Dasen's chest, listening to the rapid beat gradually slow to a peaceful lull. In the quiet aftermath, surrounded by the scent of their lovemaking, she felt an overwhelming gratitude for the life they had built together in Taryn.
As sleep beckoned, their breaths synced, and the world outside faded away, leaving only the cocoon of their love, warm and secure as it slowly faded away. In Dasen's arms, Lyrrin found not just peace but a profound sense of belonging, knowing that here, in this small corner of the world, she was truly home.
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Lyrrin jolted awake, her heart pounding as the piercing sound of screaming sliced through the night. The scent of smoke invaded her nostrils, sharp and acrid. Panic surged through her veins as she clutched a blanket to her naked body, her eyes darting around the dimly lit room. Dasen was already up, his movements swift and decisive as he tossed her clothing towards her while stringing his bow with practiced ease.
"What's going on?" Lyrrin demanded, her voice hoarse with sleep and fear.
"Raiders," Dasen replied tersely, his face set in grim lines. "Get dressed. We need to move."
The word 'raiders' reverberated in Lyrrin's mind, a chilling echo of stories she had heard from travelers about distant villages ravaged by ruthless invaders. Taryn, nestled deep within the woods, had always seemed too remote and peaceful to face such horrors. Yet here they were, the nightmare crashing into their tranquil lives without warning.
Lyrrin's hands trembled slightly as she hastily pulled on her clothes, the fabric rough against her skin. Her mind raced with thoughts of the tales she'd dismissed as mere whispers of a world far removed from their own. She didn't have real armor - as far as she knew, nobody in town did - but she did have some thicker leathers for winter that could serve. Before she could do more than start digging around for it, however, Dasen tossed her bow at her. "There's no time," he said, urgency lacing his tone. "We need to help defend the village."
The familiar weight of the weapon was both a comfort and a grim reminder of the danger that now loomed over them. Lyrrin knew she had to be strong, not just for herself but for Dasen and the village that had been her sanctuary. Her heart pounded fiercely, a mix of fear and determination fueling her movements. She quickly pulled her shirt and pants back on, and with each piece of clothing she donned Lyrrin felt a surge of resolve, her spirit hardening like the leather of her boots.
"We can protect our home," she muttered under her breath, more to bolster her own courage than anything else. Dasen glanced at her, his eyes reflecting a similar fire of resolve.
Without another word, they burst out of their home, the chaos of Taryn unfolding before them. Flames greedily consumed the thatched roofs of nearby houses, casting an eerie glow over the cobblestone streets. The village militia, though small and hastily assembled, stood bravely amidst the turmoil. In stark contrast to the militia's desperate resistance, dozens of figures clad in gleaming armor moved with lethal efficiency. These raiders, armed with shields and swords, raced through the streets, their intentions clear as they cut down any who dared oppose them. The clash of metal against metal rang out, punctuated by the cries of the wounded and the shouts of those trying to organize a defense. Other villagers, armed with whatever weapons they could find—pitchforks, axes, even kitchen knives—were rallying together, their faces etched with determination and fear... but they were outnumbered and overmatched.
Lyrrin's heart clenched at the sight of her peaceful village being torn apart. She nocked an arrow to her bow, her hands steady despite the adrenaline surging through her veins. Beside her, Dasen's eyes scanned the battlefield, his own weapon ready. They exchanged a brief, grim look, understanding the gravity of the situation without needing words.
"Stay close," Dasen murmured, his voice barely audible over the din of battle. "We need to hold them back until we can evacuate the others."
Nodding, Lyrrin took a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. Together, they stepped forward into the fray, ready to defend their home with every ounce of strength they possessed.
As Lyrrin and Dasen plunged into the chaos, the air was thick with the sounds of clashing steel and panicked cries. They moved swiftly, their bows at the ready, scanning for targets amidst the smoke and fire. Lyrrin's eyes narrowed as she spotted a raider, his armor glinting in the flickering light, advancing towards a group of fleeing villagers. She drew her bowstring taut, took aim, and released. The arrow found its mark in the gap between the raider's helmet and breastplate, and he crumpled to the ground.
Dasen dispatched another raider with precision, his arrow piercing the man's thigh, rendering him immobile. They advanced deeper into the village, their movements synchronized, each shot carefully calculated to protect the vulnerable and hinder the invaders. Villagers streamed past them, some wounded, others helping the elderly and children escape into the safety of the woods.
Lyrrin's heart raced with urgency; the more people she saw dead on the ground, and the more people fled into the woods, the more her thoughts were consumed by the need to find her little sister. "We have to get to Elara's house," she shouted over the din, her voice strained with fear. "Illiri will be there!"
Dasen nodded. They fought their way through the streets, arrows flying from their bows, each taking down raiders with deadly accuracy.
Finally, they reached the seamstress's home... it wasn't burning yet, thankfully. The door, however, was ajar. Lyrrin rushed inside, heart racing... and inside, the scene was grim. Elara lay motionless on the floor, her throat brutally cut, a pool of blood staining the wooden planks beneath her. Lyrrin's stomach churned at the sight, but there was no time for grief. "Illiri!" she called out, her voice cracking with desperation as she searched the small house. Tears filled her eyes as she looked around frantically. "Illiri!"
There was no sign of her sister.
Dasen's urgent call snapped Lyrrin from her frantic search. "Lyrrin! Ware!"
Rushing outside, Lyrrin's heart plummeted as she witnessed the dire situation unfolding before her. Three raiders, each armed with an axe and a shield, were rapidly closing in on Dasen. The shields of the raiders bore the evidence of Dasen's earlier efforts—three arrows were embedded deeply into the wood of two shields, a testament to his skilled archery. However, as the raiders advanced relentlessly, Dasen was forced to abandon his bow, dropping it to the ground with a clatter. In a swift motion, he drew his short sword, the metal glinting menacingly in the firelight. It was a desperate measure, a last line of defense against the imminent threat.
The air was thick with the cacophony of battle, the clash of steel and the guttural shouts of combatants filling the night. Dasen stood his ground, his stance wide and defensive, ready to face the onslaught of the approaching raiders. His eyes, fierce and focused, locked onto his adversaries, calculating their every move... and then he was locked in a desperate battle.
Lyrrin's heart pounded as she watched the brutal confrontation unfold before her. The tears that had blurred her vision now mingled with her fierce determination to protect Dasen. Her hands trembled slightly as she nocked an arrow onto her bowstring. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, clearing her vision just enough to aim.
Dasen was a formidable figure. His stance was wide and balanced, and his short sword was held defensively in front of him. The raiders circled him like wolves, their axes glinting dangerously under the flickering light of the burning village. Dasen moved with a calculated grace, each step precise, and his eyes never left his opponents. He was waiting, biding his time, looking for an opening in their relentless assault.
The first raider lunged forward, his axe swinging in a wide arc aimed at Dasen's head. With a swift movement, Dasen ducked under the blow, his sword flashing upwards in a counterattack that cut across one of the raider's right legs... a glancing flesh wound but still one that forced the raider to retreat hastily or risk being cut down. The other two raiders advanced simultaneously, one from the left, the other from the right, trying to flank Dasen and catch him off guard.
Lyrrin's grip on her bow tightened as she tracked the movements of the raiders, her mind racing to predict their next moves. She knew Dasen well; he was patient, a predator in his own right, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. But the raiders were relentless, their attacks coming in quick succession, testing Dasen's defenses, looking for any weakness they could exploit...
And she sensed the opening coming before she saw it. The arrow's fletching sliced against her finger as the string snapped taut, launching the arrow forward and striking the raider in the knee just as he turned, exposing it. Dasen seized the moment, thrusting his sword into a gap in the man's armor at the armpit, and blood splattered as the raider fell.
But the victory was short-lived. Another raider hurled an axe with deadly precision, striking Dasen in the back. He collapsed instantly, his body hitting the ground with a thud that echoed in Lyrrin's ears.
"Dasen!" she screamed, her voice raw with anguish. Her eyes narrowed in rage as she glared through the smoke, drew, and fired. The man reacted to her shout, however, and he was already moving... it was all that saved his life. The arrow sliced obliquely across his breastplate instead of stabbing through it, and he staggered, but he didn't fall. The now-disarmed raider cried out and backed off, and Lyrrin quickly lost him in the smoke.
Lyrrin's heart pounded fiercely, her mind a whirlwind of rage and desperation. She wanted desperately to chase the bastard who had hurt her Dasen, but she couldn't... not when the third raider was charging right at her, his face twisted in a snarl.
With a swift motion, she drew another arrow from her quiver, her fingers trembling slightly as she nocked it onto the bowstring... and as he closed in, Lyrrin released the arrow, aiming for a vulnerable spot between his armor. But the raider was quick; he lowered his shield just in time, the arrow thudding harmlessly against the wood. The sound of impact echoed sharply in the chaos of the burning village.
Desperation fueled Lyrrin's next move. As the raider swung his axe in a wide arc aimed at her head, she ducked low, feeling the whoosh of air as the weapon narrowly missed her. In that split second, she noticed the bloodied state of his leg—the wound Dasen had inflicted earlier! Seizing the opportunity, Lyrrin kicked out with all her might, targeting the injured leg. The raider's eyes widened in shock as his leg buckled under the force, sending him crashing to the ground. His axe clattered away, lost in the smoke and debris.
She ripped another arrow from her quiver, lining it up on the bow. Her eyes, burning with unshed tears, locked onto the downed raider who was also struggling to rise. With a deep, steadying breath, Lyrrin focused on the vulnerable spot at the base of his throat, visible through the gap in his armor... and she released the arrow
Her aim was true despite her trembling hands, slicing forward, and its point sank deep into his throat. The raider dropped lifelessly to the ground, a gurgling sound escaping his lips as he succumbed to the fatal wound.
Lyrrin, gasping for breath and covered in soot, pushed herself up off the ground, her muscles screaming in exhaustion. Her legs felt like lead, and her heart pounded fiercely as she glanced back at Dasen's fallen form, panic clawing at her chest. The sight of him lying motionless spurred her into action. "Dasen," she choked out.
But before Lyrrin could take more than a single, faltering step toward Dasen, the world around her erupted in a sudden burst of pain and chaos. A heavy shield, wielded by an unseen raider, crashed brutally into her from behind, striking the back of her head with bone-jarring force. The impact sent a shockwave through her skull, stars exploding across her vision as she staggered forward, her legs giving way beneath her.
Dazed and reeling, Lyrrin crumpled to the ground, her body hitting the cobblestones beneath her with a dull thud. Darkness crept in at the edges of her consciousness, threatening to engulf her entirely as she fought to stay awake, to stay conscious amidst the overwhelming pain and disorientation.
Lyrrin's vision blurred, her head pounding with each heartbeat. Despite the agony and disorientation, she forced herself to move, crawling towards Dasen through the debris-strewn street. Her hands scraped against the rough cobblestones, leaving trails in the soot and blood. "Dasen," she croaked, her voice barely a whisper.
With every agonizing inch, she drew closer to him, her heart clenching with dread. Finally, she reached his side, her trembling hand reaching out to touch his face. She recoiled as she caught sight of her husband's open, staring eyes—lifeless and unseeing. The realization hit her like a physical blow: Dasen was gone.
A sob tore from her throat, mingling with the sounds of battle that still raged around her. She felt a profound emptiness, a void where her heart had once been. Before she could fully process her grief, a heavy boot landed on her back, rolling her over onto her back.
Lyrrin's gaze lifted to meet the eyes of one of the raiders—a man with a scarred face and a beard, his features twisted into a malicious grin. Recognition and hate flared within her; this was the man who had thrown the axe that killed Dasen.
"Well, look what we have here," the raider sneered, his voice dripping with malice. Lyrrin's eyes burned with a fierce, unyielding rage as she glared up at him, her mind seething with the need for vengeance.
Before she could muster any response, however, the raider drew back his foot and rammed it forward, kicking her across the face. The impact was immediate and devastating, sending a shockwave of pain through her skull that left her reeling. Her vision swam, a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors and shadows blurring together. The world tilted and spun around her, each heartbeat pulsing with agony. Lyrrin's anger, so recently aflame, was quickly overshadowed by a creeping sense of disorientation. She tried to focus, to cling to consciousness, but the darkness was relentless, swallowing her world in its suffocating embrace.
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Lyrrin's consciousness returned in fragmented whispers, her mind a swirling mist of disjointed thoughts and sensations. The world around her was a blur, colors and shadows merging into an incomprehensible tapestry. She felt detached, as if floating in a void where nothing made sense. Sounds reached her ears—distant shouts, the crackle of flames, the clashing of metal—but they were muffled, distant, like echoes from a dream.
Gradually, awareness began to seep in, but it was a slow, torturous process. Lyrrin tried to focus, to make sense of her surroundings, but her vision remained clouded, and her thoughts were jumbled. It was as if she were trapped in a foggy labyrinth, each turn leading her deeper into confusion.
The first tangible sensation that pierced through the murk was a dull ache, spreading slowly from the back of her head. It was a distant pain, almost surreal… as if it belonged to someone else. Lyrrin blinked, trying to clear her vision, but all she saw were blurred shapes moving against a backdrop of smoke and flames. The ache grew more insistent, becoming a persistent throb that demanded her attention.
As the fog in her mind began to lift, the pain in her scalp intensified, a burning that tore at her mind. Then, all at once, everything needed to snap into focus as a jolt of panic came through her and she realized where she was. Dasen! She jerked, and as she did the pain in her head grew so much worse that she almost blacked out again. She gasped, the sound barely audible, as she realized with horror that she was being dragged across the ground by her hair. Each step of the man dragging her scraped her body painfully over cobblestones and sent spikes of pain shooting through her head, making her gag and cry out.
Lyrrin tried to struggle, squirming to break free, but the only thing that accomplished was to make her dizzy... her hands had been bound tightly behind her back, rendering her helpless. She cried out, screaming for help... and her scream was echoed by dozens of others.
She blinked, clearing her vision. The town was ablaze around her, the air thick with the acrid scent of burning wood and the soft cries of the wounded and dying. What really made Lyrrin's heart pound in her chest, however, was the cacophony of terror and despair coming from some of the other women in Taryn.
She stared in horror as the scenes unfolded before her eyes of women she had known since childhood being subjected to unspeakable horrors. A baker named Leiza, someone she had bought her bread from for a decade, now had her face contorted in terror as she was bent over a fence, her breasts exposed and flopping wildly as the raider behind her yanked on her hair, using it as a handle to brutally take her from behind. Another woman, a farmer named Jayna, was tied to the well in the center of town, gagging as a grinning invader stood before her and forced her mouth against his groin.
Lyrrin's gaze darted frantically, searching for any sign of her sister in the chaos. But Illiri was nowhere to be seen. Instead, she watched in revulsion as a crying woman crawled across the cobblestones, her clothing torn and shredded by the whips of three raiders who chased after her, their laughter sickeningly gleeful.
The reality of her situation crashed down upon her, a wave of despair mingling with the relentless pain. Tears streamed down Lyrrin's face as she struggled against her bonds, her heart breaking at the sight of her once peaceful village. To her surprise, not all the buildings were burning—in fact, this side of the town appeared to be largely untouched. The raiders seemed to have made an effort not to destroy it, their focus instead on the brutalization of the villagers. It was then that Lyrrin realized the grim intent behind this selective destruction; they intended to use the undamaged structures for shelter while they ravished their prizes.
The thought sent a shudder through her, her mind racing with the implications. These invaders weren't just here to pillage and burn; they planned to stay at least long enough to enjoy themselves with their captives, using their former homes and beds to indulge in their depraved desires. The realization was almost too much to bear, adding a layer of horror to the already nightmarish scene unfolding around her.
As she was dragged further through the streets she just saw suffering on top of suffering, each cry and sob a dagger to her soul. She saw more familiar faces among the victims, all of them now reduced to mere objects of conquest.
It was only when the man dragging Lyrrin by her hair began to pull her towards one of the undamaged houses that she realized with a sinking heart where she was... this was her house. The brute kicked down the door with brute force, the sound echoing ominously through the now-desolate home. He yanked her inside, the door slamming shut behind them with a finality that echoed in her pounding head. Inside, the house was dimly lit by the flickering light from outside, casting eerie shadows across the walls. The familiar surroundings—the hooks on the wooden walls adorned with their hunting cloaks from yesterday, the still-soaking mess in the basin of their small kitchen area—all seemed like they belonged to someone else, and being here was just mockery to the woman now that her lover was gone.
With a rough motion, the raider lifted her up painfully and tossed her onto the bed. She bounced and squirmed away from him, her eyes looking back at her captor... and abruptly locking onto his scarred face. Recognition and fury surged through her as she realized this was the scarred man who had murdered Dasen.
"You!" she spat, her voice thick with hatred. "You monster!" With a surge of fury, Lyrrin twisted her body, her legs lashing out with desperate strength to connect with his hip and sides, the only parts of the man she could reach. "You'll pay for what you did to him!" she screamed, the hate in her voice making it feel like claws raking at her throat. "I'll see you rot in the fires of damnation!"
The raider tried to grab at her feet, but Lyrrin got in a good kick to his midsection. The larger man grunted at the impact, his grip on her leg momentarily loosening. Seizing the moment, Lyrrin squirmed away and continued to beat at him, her eyes blazing with defiance. She wished with all her heart that her hands were free so that she could drive her thumbs into his fucking eyeballs. " You'll regret this! I swear it on my life!" Her chest heaved with exertion and rage as she continued her assault, each kick and curse fueled by the memory of Dasen. "You'll suffer for every tear you've caused! For every soul you've damned! Mark my words, your end will be brutal and slow!"
The raider, much larger and stronger than her, grunted at the impact but remained undeterred... forcing his way through the storms of kicks until he could grab one of her shoulders and use it to wrench her around, forcing her over and back down against the mattress with brutal force, pressing her face against it. "Silence, wench!" he growled, his voice a low rumble of menace. He pinned her down, his weight pressing heavily on her back, immobilizing her completely. "Enough!"
"You murdering bastard!" Lyrrin hissed, continuing to try to squirm away. She no longer had any leverage to kick... her leg could only bump weakly against his side like this. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you for what you did to him!"
The scarred man laughed, a low, mocking sound. "You already had your chance for that, girl," he taunted, shoving her face down harder with one hand. His grip on her was unyielding, his strength overwhelming... just one hand and his weight held against her entire body struggling, no matter how fit and ferocious the huntress had always been. "Honestly, I'm almost impressed. You're a feisty one. Exactly the sort of tough girl I've been looking for."
Lyrrin's struggles were met with a relentless force as the scarred raider maintained his grip on her, his strength evident in every movement. She felt a surge of despair as he began to undress, each piece of armor and clothing removed with a deliberate slowness that seemed designed to torment her. She could already see most of his face but as his helmet came off it revealed features marked by a network of scars, each one telling a story of battles fought and survived. His hair was dark and matted, clinging to his scalp with sweat. As he unbuckled his breastplate, the metallic clink echoed in the small room, a harsh sound amidst the chaos of her thoughts. The breastplate fell to the floor with a heavy thud, exposing his broad shoulders and the beginning of a muscular torso that was further exposed as he let his tunic drop carelessly to the ground.
Lyrrin's eyes, despite herself, were drawn to the expanse of his body... a canvas of hard muscle and old wounds. None of the markings were as savage and distinctive as the one across his face, but even so, she could see dozens of scars crisscrossing his arms and chest, some thick and jagged, others thin and precise, a testament to a life lived in violence. His muscles were defined, each movement rippling with power, a stark contrast to the helplessness she felt.
Then, finally, Scar finished unfastening his pants and let them drop, and Lyrrin's breath caught in her throat.
Even before marrying her husband Lyrrin had developed a solid appreciation for the variety of sizes men could possess. Both before and after her parents died, Lyrrin had never been an especially feminine girl, into womanly activities... ever since she was a child she had always been causing trouble and seeking adventure. She would sneak into places she wasn't supposed to go, her small frame and quick feet often keeping her out of sight. One of her favorite pranks had always been to wait by the river where the boys bathed, hiding their clothes and throwing pebbles at them until they chased her, naked and flustered, through the woods.
Those days had given her an early and unflinching view of men without their armor or clothing. The boys, with their youthful bodies and the dangling snakes between their legs, had never seemed threatening to her. They had never caught her, of course... no one but Dasen had ever done that, so it was only right that his nakedness had been the only one she had taken interest in. Her husband's skill and gentleness with the cock god gave him had done nothing to make the tool more threatening.
Before her stood the largest, most threatening cock she had ever seen, swollen and throbbing with an almost angry energy. It stood erect, a menacing presence that seemed to mock her defiance. The sight of it filled her with a flash of primal fear... a stark reminder of the brutality of her situation. Her heart pounded in her chest, a desperate rhythm against the looming threat. Despite her efforts to remain defiant, the reality of her captivity pressed down on her, a suffocating weight that threatened to crush her spirit. The raider's gaze locked onto hers, a predatory gleam in his eyes that spoke of his confidence as he loomed over her, ready to claim his prize.
The first, and only, man she had ever laid with was Dasen. Her second would not be the man who had murdered him.
Lyrrin's heart raced as she thrashed against the raider's hold, her every muscle straining to break free. "Get off me, you bastard!" she screamed, her voice desperate… But Scar's grip was unyielding, his strength overwhelming her frantic efforts.
With a cruel smile, he reached into the pile of his discarded clothing and pulled out a knife. The blade glinted menacingly in the dim light, a stark contrast to the terror that gripped Lyrrin's heart. "Go ahead, kill me if you dare!" she cried out, trying to sound brave. "In death I'll haunt you! Every nightmare will be of me, coming to claim your wretched soul!"
Scar, however, chuckled. "I have better things in mind," he said, pressing the blade closer.
Lyrrin's struggles intensified. She twisted and turned, trying to evade the blade, but Scar's hold on her was too strong. He pinned her, pressed the knife against her shirt, and began to drag it through her clothing with an ominous ripping sound... again and again.
With each slice of the knife, her clothing fell away, exposing more of her body to his leering gaze. First, her shirt was cut open, ruining the shirt she had saved for a season to buy. Then he cut the laces in her prized boots, yanking them off of her before returning to slice through her pants. Then Lyrrin was naked and vulnerable, laying there exposed with her bound hands helplessly behind her back.
Scar casually dropped the knife back into his pile of stolen loot. In the midst of her terror, Lyrrin's eyes followed it and noticed a familiar sight: her unstrung bow, among the things he had taken. It didn't take much thinking to realize where the string had gone. Her precious weapon was now binding her wrists behind her back.
Scar's eyes roamed over her exposed body, a predatory gleam in his gaze. "Such a pretty little thing," he taunted, his voice low and mocking. "But don't worry, I'll make sure you enjoy this."
Scar settled behind her, his body pressing against her back as he tried to align himself with her. Lyrrin's heart pounded furiously as she wiggled, desperate to keep her exposed body away from his hardness. Her protest felt pathetic; she knew there was no chance of escaping him. Yet, she remained focused, determined to prevent him from getting inside of her.
Lyrrin's body tensed as Scar attempted to align himself with her, his cock pressing against her from behind. She squirmed desperately, her muscles straining against the bindings that held her wrists. The heat of his erection brushed against her sex, sending a shiver of revulsion through her. Each time he tried to press closer, she jerked away, her movements frantic and desperate.
"Stop fighting," Scar growled, his voice laced with hunger. "You'll only make it worse for yourself."
Lyrrin's resolve, however, was unyielding. She was not going to let the man who had taken her husband away from her take this as well. She twisted and turned, her body moving in a constant, almost rhythmic dance of resistance. The sensation of each brush of his cock against her was unbearable, a reminder of the violation she was about to endure if she failed, and excellent motivation to keep struggling... and Lyrrin managed to keep herself just out of reach, her movements fueled by sheer willpower.
Finally, Scar's patience wore thin. He paused, his breath hot against her ear. "Very well," he muttered, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "We'll do it your way."
Lyrrin didn't have much time to wonder what he meant before the raider raised his hand and brought it down hard on her ass. The slap echoed in the room, accompanied by Lyrrin's sharp intake of breath. It stung a little, but her main reaction was surprise... surprise that only grew when he raised his hand a second time and brought it back down. Then a third time. And then a fourth.
At first, the slaps didn't bother her. They just stung a little. Lyrrin just gritted her teeth and kept squirming, determined not to let him pin her down and push inside while she was distracted. As he continued, however, each slap felt like it landed with ever-increasing force, and the pain began to register.
Each time his hand landed on the already-struck flesh the stinging sensation grew stronger, her skin burning under his relentless assault. Lyrrin's attempts to squirm away became more desperate, but his single hand and weight held her firmly in place. The slaps started to hurt worse and worse, each one sending a jolt of pain through her body. Her cries of fury mixed with involuntary yelps of pain she couldn’t control.
Scar's hand moved with a practiced rhythm, each slap landing with precision. The pain was sharp and relentless, growing with each hit until they all genuinely hurt, and she was biting her lip to deny him the pleasure of her screaming out. Lyrrin's mind raced, searching for any way to escape the torment, but her options were dwindling. She was naked, bound, and at the mercy of a man who had already shown no mercy.
Then, suddenly, he wasn't pinning her head down instead. Instead, he yanked backward with his hand twisted in her copper hair, wrenching her head back towards him. She yelped in the sudden, surprising pain as her upper body was lifted off the bed and pulled toward him... and in that second of shocked stillness Scar thrust into her with brutal force, and his cock slid home.
Lyrrin's body tensed, a scream that had been trapped in her throat finally breaking free as the reality of her violation hit her like a physical blow. She felt her body fighting against him and losing as he forced inch after inch of himself inside her, a cruel reminder of her helplessness. The sensation was overwhelming, and Lyrrin could imagine no more stark a contrast to the gentle, loving intimacy she had shared with Dasen. This was not the slow, tender entry she was accustomed to; this was a brutal invasion, a desecration of what had been sacred between her and her husband.
Dasen, with his considerate touch and patient lovemaking, had always ensured that their moments together were filled with tenderness and mutual pleasure. His size, though substantial, had never caused her discomfort; instead, he had taken care to prepare her, to ensure that each encounter was a union of love and desire. But this man, this scarred raider, was neither considerate nor patient. His cock was even larger than Dasen's had been, and his entry hurt like he had drawn back her bow and fired an arrow straight into her womb.
Her unprepared hole stretched painfully around him, the sensation akin to being torn apart. Each thrust was a violation, each movement a reminder that this was not a union born of love but of conquest and cruelty. The pain was sharp, a searing agony that seemed to burn through her very being. She could feel him deep inside her, filling her in a way that was both physically and emotionally devastating.
The realization that this man, this monster, was taking something that didn't belong to him filled her with a rage that was almost as intense as her fear. He was defiling the most intimate part of her, a part that had been reserved for Dasen alone... a piece of her that should have been his, even now that he was gone. The thought of this scarred raider taking him away from her and now taking her away from him, claiming her in such a personal, invasive way, was unbearable.
Lyrrin's mind screamed in protest, her body writhing in a futile attempt to escape the torment. But there was no escape. The raider's strength overpowered her every effort to resist, and he barely had to try. With each thrust, he drove deeper, the pain intensifying with every movement. Lyrrin's cries mixed with sobs of despair, her voice echoing in the small room as she endured the brutal assault on her body and soul. Each thrust was a dagger to her spirit, tearing through her dignity with ruthless efficiency.
Lyrrin's mind raced with a torrent of emotions as the scarred raider continued his brutal assault. Each thrust was a relentless reminder of her helplessness, his cock sawing into her with a force that left no room for tenderness. She fought to keep her thoughts away from the pain and violation, focusing instead on the sting of his slaps against her already reddened ass. The spanking provided a different kind of hurt, one that she could almost compartmentalize, giving her a fleeting distraction from the invasive intrusion within her.
Her home would never feel safe again, even if she could have stayed… it had been reduced to the site of her greatest nightmares. She thought of Dasen, of the gentle love they had shared on this very bed just hours ago. The contrast was stark and painful; where Dasen had cherished and respected her, this man treated her like a mere object, a conquest to be enjoyed and discarded. Each slap added another layer of humiliation, the sharp pain mingling with the dull ache of being used in such a demeaning way. She couldn't see him, couldn't meet his eyes, and that anonymity made the act even more impersonal, more degrading.
To Dasen, she had been his precious wife, someone he had pursued with patience and won with love. Here, on their marital bed, she felt stripped of that identity, reduced to a nameless victim of a brutal invader. The thought fueled her defiance, even as her body ached from the relentless assault.
Scar's grip on Lyrrin's hair tightened with each of her struggles, his fingers digging into her scalp as he forced her head back. "You're quite the fighter, aren't you?" he taunted, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "I like that. I've been looking for a tough girl like you."
Lyrrin's heart raced with fear and revulsion as she continued to fight against him, her body tensing with every thrust. "My wife," Scar continued, his tone almost conversational despite the brutality his cock was inflicting on her. "She could only give me daughters. Three children, and not one of them a man who can grow up to run the farm and take care of us seasons from now. Worse, after the last birth, she's become too frail to work much... and too frail for more children." He slapped her again, the echoing impact of his palm against her ass filling the room. "But you," he said, his eyes raking over her body, "you're strong. I know you'll give me sons..."
The idea was horrifying to Lyrrin. She and Dasen had talked about raising a family and dreams of a future filled with laughter and love. The thought of her belly growing with this monster's child was sickening. "That will never happen!" she screamed, her voice filled with emotion.
Scar chuckled, the sound dark and mocking. "It's not your choice anymore," he said simply, his confidence unshaken by her defiance. He resumed his brutal thrusts, each one a reminder of her helplessness and his control.
Lyrrin's mind reeled with the implications of his words. She couldn't bear the thought of having her rapist’s child forced into her, burdened forever with a constant reminder of the violation she had endured. Her struggles grew more frantic, her body fighting against the inevitable. Scar's relentless assault continued without pause, however, and each thrust was accompanied by a sharp slap against her already reddened ass. The pain was building, a fiery ache that seemed to intensify with every movement. Lyrrin's body tensed under the dual torment, her cries mingling with gasps of pain as she struggled against him.
"You're mine now," Scar growled. He yanked on her hair, forcing her head back even further, as he drove into her with renewed vigor. Each thrust was harder, more punishing, as if he sought to assert his dominance through sheer force.
Lyrrin's resistance, already faltering under the relentless assault, began to crumble completely. As Scar's climax approached, Lyrrin's dread intensified. She could feel his seed gathering, a relentless tide ready to flood her insides. The struggling huntress he felt the unmistakable pulsing of Scar's cock inside her, a prelude to his climax. Each throb was a brutal reminder of her helplessness to stop what was about to happen to her.
With a final, brutal thrust, Scar drove himself all the way in, holding her tightly as he released his seed deep within her. The sensation was invasive beyond belief and more humiliating than anything she had ever felt as his warm, viscous fluid filled her. Lyrrin's body tensed involuntarily, her mind reeling from the invasion. She could almost feel each individual sperm, like tiny soldiers, marching through her body, seeking to claim her deepest sanctum... it was easy for her straining mind to envision his emissions like conquering raiders storming the village of her womb, looking for a victim of their own to gangrape into submission. The image was horrifying - each drop of his issue was another invader looking to claim what should not belong to them.
The pain and humiliation were too much to bear, and despite herself, Lyrrin started to cry, tears streaming down her face. The thought of carrying this man's child was sickening. Her body trembled with the effort to endure the pain, her cries mingling with gasps of despair as she felt the full extent of his seed within her.
Scar's grip on her tightened, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered. "I've decided I'm keeping you. You're mine now." The words were a dagger to her heart, a cruel affirmation of her new reality. Lyrrin's tears flowed freely, her body shuddering with each sob as she endured the aftermath of his brutal conquest. The village of her womb had fallen, and she was left to face the consequences of its defeat.
As Scar withdrew from her, leaving her empty and aching, Lyrrin lay there, sobbing quietly. The room seemed to spin around her, the familiar surroundings now a cruel mockery of the life she had once cherished. She felt lost, broken, and utterly defeated.
Scar's smile was a cruel twist of his lips as he looked down at Lyrrin, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "You're mine now," he repeated, his voice a low, menacing growl. He reached into the pile of loot he had taken from her and pulled out an arrow from her quiver. With a swift motion, he snapped off the arrowhead, leaving a sharp point.
"The only problem is," he continued, his tone almost conversational, "I'm just a raider. I'll need to bid for you. You're pretty enough... not so pretty that one of the rich men will insist on taking you to warm his bed, but pretty, and strong... a good worker. They might want you for the mines, or someone else might put you on a farm and take my child with you." His eyes narrowed as he leaned closer, his breath hot against her skin. "I don't want to take any chances."
With a swift, brutal motion, he stabbed the broken arrow's tip into the front of her thigh like a knife. Lyrrin screamed, the sound echoing through the room as the sharp point pierced her flesh. The pain was immediate and intense, a searing agony that radiated through her leg. Scar pushed the arrow further in, twisting it to give it the signature look of an arrow puncture... and while the stab was nowhere near as deep as a real bowshot would have left, the wound was equally obvious.
"Too bad a strong girl like you took an arrow during the battle," he said with a smirk as he withdrew the arrow and tossed it aside. "Thankfully, no one is going to buy a slave with a limp... not for as much as I will. That means you're all mine."
Lyrrin's vision blurred with tears as she struggled to breathe through the pain. The wound in her thigh throbbed relentlessly, a constant reminder of her new reality. She was his now, marked and claimed in the most brutal way possible. The thought filled her with a despair that seemed to swallow her whole.
Lyrrin lay on the bed, her body trembling with pain and humiliation. The wound in her thigh burned, a constant reminder of her subjugation. Tears streamed down her face as she hated herself for her weakness, for not being able to fight back more effectively.
Scar watched her, his expression cold and unsympathetic. "Stop crying," he growled, his voice rough with irritation. "The injury isn't that bad. It will heal. You'll have to get used to it." He paused, his eyes narrowing as he considered her. "Besides... we can't be sure you're pregnant yet. It might not have taken after a single time, and I've been waiting for a son long enough."
His words only made Lyrrin cry harder, her sobs echoing in the small room. Then, seconds later, Scar began to rape her again.
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, Lyrrin lay spent and exhausted on the bed, her body aching from the relentless assault. Scar had raped her four more times throughout the night, each violation leaving her feeling more broken and defeated. After the last time he had fallen asleep on top of her... he hadn't even bothered to take his cock out of her first. All night, she squirmed with him still inside of her, a cruel reminder of her violation.
The sound of banging on the door jolted the scarred raider awake. "Hail the house! We're moving out!" a voice called from outside. Scar grunted, his eyes snapping open. The man outside, however, had already moved on... seconds later, Lyrrin could hear another call as he knocked on the next door in a row.
Scar paused to smile at her as he pulled out of her, making seed leak from her swollen slit. He then rose and began to dress quickly and toss his stolen belongings back into a sack. He quickly rushed around her house, finding anything else that could be valuable and adding it to his bundle. Then he returned and tied a rope around Lyrrin's neck like a collar, using it to yank the athletic girl to her feet. "Time to go," he said cheerfully.
Lyrrin stumbled as she stood, her body screaming in protest with every step. The exhaustion was overwhelming, her muscles trembling from the relentless abuse they had endured throughout the night. She felt as though her hips were no longer her own, the joints aching and protesting with each movement. The raider's brutal thrusts had left her feeling plowed and raw, the sides of her pussy sore and tender, every movement a reminder of the violation she had suffered. The arrow wound in her thigh throbbed with a fiery intensity, threatening to rob her of her balance. Each wobble on her feet sent sharp pains radiating through her leg, making it difficult to maintain her composure. The combination of physical pain and emotional trauma made every moment an ordeal.
The rope went taut and Lyrrin stumbled forward as Scar dragged her naked body out into the street. Cum dripped down her legs, mingling with the blood from her thigh wound, which ached horribly as she limped along.
They passed dozens of raiders, and she could feel their eyes flick over her naked body. Lyrrin's cheeks burned with embarrassment at being exposed in public, but she was far from the only one. Every woman in sight was naked, most of them looking just as obviously raped as she did. There weren't all that many, all things considered—Maybe a quarter to a third of the women who had been in Taryn.
Lots of people must have successfully escaped. The raiders must not have chased them. Bitterly, Lyrrin could see that that made sense. Why would they? They had all the wealth they came for and the victims they needed right here. She noticed there were barely any men. There were a few tied up, but it looked like the raiders had killed almost all the men who hadn't escaped.
Just like Dasen.
The scene was a stark reminder of the brutal reality they now faced. Lyrrin's heart ached with sorrow and despair, but a flicker of defiance remained. She would survive this, no matter what it took. She had to.
As Lyrrin was dragged away from the village, she couldn't help but notice the chaos around her. Groups of raiders were bickering and fighting over the spoils they had gathered. The air was thick with tension and the clash of egos, revealing a stark contrast to the unity they had displayed during the raid. It became clear to Lyrrin that these men were not a cohesive unit but rather a collection of individuals bound only by their shared greed and brutality. They would slit each other's throat for a piece of bent copper, and then sleep well th-
Illiri!
Lyrrin's heart clenched in horror as she spotted her sister standing among a few other captive women, her once pristine white hair now matted and stained with dirt and blood. Tear tracks marred her delicate features, and her eyes, usually so full of life, stared blankly into the distance, devoid of any spark. Cum smeared her breasts and face, a stark contrast to the pure innocence that had once defined her. Virgin blood mingled with the semen leaking from between her thighs, a brutal testament to the violence she had endured.
Lyrrin's chest tightened with despair. She struggled against the rope leash, her movements clumsy and desperate as she tried to reach her sister. "Illiri!" she cried out, her voice hoarse with emotion. But before she could take more than a few steps, however, the rope ran out.
Scar's grip on the makeshift leash tightened, yanking her back with uncaring savagery. "Leave that used-up tramp alone," he growled, his tone cold and dismissive. He dragged Lyrrin away, the rope cutting into her neck as she stumbled, her eyes locked onto Illiri's broken form. Lyrrin's heart ached with the need to protect her sister, to hold her and offer some semblance of comfort... but she could do nothing. The distance between them grew, each step a painful reminder of her helplessness. Then she rounded a corner of a burned-out house as he marched her out of town, and her sister disappeared behind her.
The realization struck her as she was tied up alongside dozens of other women from Taryn, all of them looking equally traumatized and defeated. The rope around her neck felt like a noose, each tug reminding her of her new status as a captive. She scanned the faces of the women around her, hoping for a glimpse of Illiri, but her sister was nowhere in sight.
She wondered if she would ever see her again.
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
It had been two weeks since the brutal raid on Taryn, and Lyrrin's life had become a relentless nightmare.
The raiders had marched them through the dense forest to the sea, where several boats awaited just offshore. The slaves were shackled in heavy metal restraints and tossed into the dark, cramped spaces beneath the boats... then they set sail. Lyrrin desperately searched for her sister, Illiri, but chained up in the darkness, combined with the cacophony of crying and wailing, made it impossible to distinguish one traumatized slave from another. She couldn't tell if Illiri was even on the same boat as she was. Days passed in that agonizing limbo, each moment a testament to their helplessness.
Finally, they arrived at their destination, pulled out of the holds... and out into another small city that Lyrrin had never seen before.
She thought it wasn't a large city. It consisted mostly of wooden buildings, dirt roads, and tents. She didn't see any structures made of stone or brick, though Taryn had some stone structures. Despite the village's apparent poverty, however, it was quite crowded with people, horses, wagons, and tents. Lyrrin noticed dozens of different warlord banners. Many different tribes had come to visit.
Led through the streets in chains, naked and filthy, Lyrrin and the other slaves endured the stares of dozens of men they passed. and jeers of the crowd. The air was thick with anticipation and the scent of sweat and fear as they were paraded like livestock, and already her once vibrant life in Taryn seemed like a distant dream... and the reality of her captivity weighing heavily on her spirit.
Lyrrin's mind was a haze of pain and despair as she trudged through the muddy streets, her bare feet sinking into the muck with each step. The rope around her neck pulled her forward, but her thoughts were far away, lost in the memories of Dasen and the life she had once known. She barely registered the crowd of men around her, their eyes raking over her naked body with predatory interest.
It wasn't until she reached the front of the line that the reality of her situation fully dawned on her. Wooden benches surrounded a makeshift amphitheater, and men sat upon them, their gazes fixed on the women being paraded before them. A man stood at the center, his voice booming as he extolled the virtues of each captive, turning them this way and that for the audience to inspect.
Lyrrin's heart pounded as she realized what was happening. This was an auction, and the women were the goods up for sale. The thought sent a shiver of dread down her spine, but she remained silent, her eyes fixed on the ground, unwilling to meet the lecherous stares of the bidders.
The women before her were subjected to humiliating examinations, their bodies prodded and inspected like meat at a butcher. Some began to scream, their voices shrill with terror, but none fought back. The fear of further punishment kept them compliant, their spirits broken by the relentless cruelty they had endured.
As Lyrrin limped to the front, the auctioneer's eyes raked over her. Lyrrin tried to stand tall and proud as she faced the horde of thousands of tan-skinned men, her heart pounding in her chest. She clenched her fists, determined to maintain some semblance of dignity despite the degrading circumstances. He grabbed her arm, forcing her to stand upright, and her resolve wavered somewhat as the auctioneer began his appraisal of her.
"Look at this one, folks," the auctioneer announced, turning Lyrrin around for the crowd to inspect. "Small ass, small breasts... not much to look at, but she's got a sturdy frame. Might be decent to put to work in a field."
A murmur rippled through the crowd, people muttering to themselves. Someone coughed. Then someone else yelled out, "What good is a limping slave?"
The comment was followed by laughter, and Lyrrin's cheeks burned with humiliation. Another voice chimed in, "Even a boyish slave would feel better on your cock than your wife does, Bragen!" More laughter erupted, and Lyrrin's eyes stung with unshed tears.
The auctioneer chuckled, clearly enjoying the spectacle. "Well, she might not be too much to look at, and she might not be in the best of shape, but I'm sure this girl's worth something, right?" He gave Lyrrin a rough shove, forcing her to stumble forward, her injured thigh sending sharp pains shooting through her body. "So tell me... who will pay to buy this girl?"
Lyrrin bit her lip, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing her cry out. She stood there, exposed and vulnerable, as the bidding began, and to her utter humiliation the amounts were shockingly low. Each bid felt like a slap in the face, reducing her worth to mere coins. The auctioneer's voice droned on, "Do I hear five silver? Five. Six silver? Six!" She continued, but the numbers remained pitifully small. Lyrrin's cheeks burned with shame, her heart sinking with each passing moment.
Finally, the auctioneer declared, "Sold for seven silver!" Lyrrin's eyes widened in disbelief. Seven silver pieces... She was worth less than one of the goats she had brought back to Radeim at the start of this nightmare. The thought was almost too much to bear.
As she stood there, trying to process her new reality, Scar emerged from the crowd. His presence was unmistakable, his scarred face and menacing aura making him stand out. Lyrrin's stomach churned as she realized his plan had worked... he had bought her for scraps, and she belonged to him now. She didn't even know his name.
There was a real collar and chain around her neck now, and Scar was more than happy to pull on it to drag Lyrrin forward into the crowd. Lyrrin stumbled, her injured thigh sending sharp pains through her body. As she limped along, she couldn't shake the feeling of worthlessness that clung to her like a shroud. She was no longer a respected villager, a loving wife, or a protective sister. She was just a possession, bought and sold like livestock.
Scar pulled Lyrrin along with him and sat back down on one of the benches, his grip firm as he maneuvered his exhausted slave onto his lap. The chains around her wrists clinked softly, a constant reminder of her captivity.
Scar's fingers traced the contours of Lyrrin's bruised and battered body, his touch both possessive and cruel. His right hand cupped her breast, squeezing it roughly, the sensation sending a jolt of pain through her already tender flesh. Lyrrin winced and whimpered softly, feeling pathetic.
With a smirk, Scar's thumb and forefinger found her nipple, pinching it between them. The sharp sting made her gasp, her body tensing involuntarily. He twisted it slightly, enjoying the way she flinched under his touch. "You're mine now. Bought and paid for," he whispered into her ear, his voice low and menacing. "Every part of you is my property now."
His left hand slid down her body, tracing the curve of her waist before slipping between her legs. Lyrrin's breath hitched as his fingers brushed against her swollen, sore pussy. Weeks after the relentless night of rape her slit no longer burned with every movement, but as he touched it she imagined it was still just as raw as it had been that morning... the memory of his brutal violation fresh in her mind.
Scar's fingers delved further, probing her sensitive flesh. He pressed a finger against her clit, applying pressure that made her shudder. "You're still so sensitive," he murmured, his tone almost mocking. "I wonder if you'll ever get used to it."
Lyrrin bit back a sob, her eyes fixed on the auction stage where woman after woman from Taryn was being sold into slavery. Each familiar face brought a fresh wave of despair, but she couldn't tear her gaze away. She felt a deep sense of helplessness as she watched her fellow villagers being paraded like livestock, their dignity stripped away just as hers had been.
Scar's hand continued to explore her body, his touch invasive and degrading. He moved his finger inside her, feeling how she squeezed on his finger. "You're still so tight," he commented, his voice laced with satisfaction. "I doubt that will last after a few children... but we can enjoy it while it lasts, can't we?"
One after the other, women she had known forever went up on the auction block and were bought like cattle. A pretty young one named Risha had just been sold. "Look at that one," Scar whispered harshly in her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "That man? He runs a brothel, and he loves buying the prettiest ones he can get. That little virgin will be making up for lost time by spreading her legs for pennies until the day she dies." His tone was matter-of-fact, devoid of any empathy.
Lyrrin's stomach churned as she imagined the grim fate awaiting her fellow villagers. Scar continued, pointing to the next woman being dragged off of the stage. "And that one? She was purchased by one of the foremen. I doubt she's firm enough to dig for ore, though... She's probably going to spend the rest of her life as a comfort slave in the mines. They'll use her to keep the male slaves that do the work sane... she'll probably never see the light of day again."
His hand moved possessively over Lyrrin's belly, causing her to flinch. "And you," he said, his voice low and menacing, "you're going to be bred. Just like that third one over there. You'll bear my children, and they'll grow up knowing nothing but this life."
Lyrrin sobbed softly... the feeling of his fingers tracing over her bare belly feeling like they were squirming beneath her skin. She wondered if it was already too late... if Scar's child might already be growing inside her even now.
Then, her sister Illiri was pulled onto the stage.
Lyrrin's heart clenched as she saw Illiri being paraded on the stage, the white-haired girl smeared with dirt and looking utterly exhausted. The sight of her sister in such a degrading situation was horrifying. With a surge of desperation, Lyrrin shouted. "Illiri!"
Scar's reaction was swift; He clamped his hand over her mouth, silencing her cries. His other hand continued its invasive exploration, delving between her legs and teasing her sensitive flesh. A few men glanced over at her, but they didn't pay much attention... one more screaming girl wasn't a big concern for them. "Shut up," he hissed, his voice low and threatening. "You're being very rude."
The auctioneer began the bidding for Illiri, and Scar's grip tightened on Lyrrin. "Is that your sister?" he asked, his tone mocking. When Lyrrin nodded, tears streaming down her face, he laughed cruelly. "That's unlucky for you both. She's pretty... the brothels will be paying top coin for her. She might be young, and she might have been innocent a few weeks ago, but been fucking thirty or forty men a day from now on... in another week, she'll have taken more miles of cock than you'll take in your lifetime."
Lyrrin's body trembled with fear and helplessness, her muffled sobs the only sound escaping through Scar's fingers. She could only watch in horror as the bidding for her sister escalated, each bid a hammer blow to her shattered spirit. She strained to think of anything she could do... but she could only think of one single thing.
As soon as Scar removed his hand from her mouth, Lyrrin turned to him, her eyes filled with desperate tears. "Please," she begged, her voice trembling. "Please buy my sister too. I'll do anything you want!"
Scar raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "Why would I do that? She's too pretty. It makes her expensive, and she's too frail to work on the farm. She doesn't have the hips for breeding, either. What would I get out of it?"
Lyrrin, her heart pounding in her chest, sobbed... tears flooding down her cheeks in a rush. "I'll have enough children for the both of us," she cried, her voice breaking. "I swear it! Please, "
Scar's grip on Lyrrin loosened, and he roughly pushed her off his lap. She tumbled to the ground, her knees sinking into the muddy earth, coating her legs in a thick, cold sludge. The sensation was revolting, but she tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the man who held her fate in his hands. Her eyes, wide with desperation, looked up at him, pleading for mercy.
"I already have one feisty slave to break," Scar said, his tone icy and devoid of empathy. "Two would be too much trouble."
Lyrrin's heart sank as she knelt there, her body shivering not just from the cold mud but from the hopelessness that enveloped her. She knew she had to convince him. Her desperation grew, eyes wet with tears. "No trouble... I promise. Neither one of us will be any trouble for you. I won't fight if you save her... not ever! Please!"
Scar's eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion still clouding his gaze. "Have you forgotten I killed your husband?" he taunted, his voice dripping with malice. "And now you really want me to believe you are going to be a meek little kitten?"
Lyrrin's heart clenched at the reminder, but she couldn't afford to dwell on the past, not when Illiri's fate hung in the balance. "I haven't forgotten," she whispered, her voice trembling. "But I can't let Illiri suffer. Please, just save her, and I swear I won't cause any trouble."
Scar's hand moved to stroke the sobbing girl's hair, his touch both soothing and invasive. "Did you forget about threatening to kill me already?" he reminded her, his tone mocking. "You were quite the wildcat back in Taryn, weren't you? How am I supposed to trust that you'll suddenly become docile?"
Lyrrin swallowed hard, her mind racing for any argument that might sway him. The only issue was that everything he said was true. She just couldn't allow herself to feel that way. If she did, she would lose both her husband and her sister.
And she could only think of a single way to convince him that she was dedicated to being a good, well-behaved little slave.
Lyrrin, driven by sheer desperation and fear for her sister's fate, completely abandoned her pride. With trembling hands, she reached for his belt, but then paused, realizing that doing that might not send the right message. Instead, she leaned closer, nuzzling at his crotch with her face, trying to undo his pants with her teeth.
"Please," she whispered between labored breaths, her voice choked with tears. "I swear... it doesn't matter anymore. My husband never gave me a child. You can give me one instead. Or... or more than one! As many as you want."
Her words were a desperate plea, a total surrender of her dignity. Then, with just a little help from her fingers, her teeth finally managed to free his erect penis from his pants. The sight of it made her stomach churn, but she forced herself forward, opening her mouth and taking him into her mouth.
The taste was overwhelming—a mix of blood, salty seed, and the lingering scent of her own arousal that clung to him beneath the layers of sweat and dirt. Each swallow was a reminder of her submission, her utter helplessness in this man's hands. She gagged slightly, the metallic tang of blood mingling with the acrid taste of his seed, but she pressed on, determined to prove her willingness to do anything for her sister's safety.
She cried as she sucked, each movement a betrayal of everything she had once held dear. Every taste was a bitter reminder of the night of loss and brutal rape that had shattered her life, but she swallowed her revulsion, focusing only on the hope that her submission might save Illiri. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she bobbed her head, taking him deeper, straining not to gag as her mouth accommodated him.
She had only taken her husband into her mouth once before, a memory that now felt like a lifetime ago. Dasen had suggested it tentatively, obviously sensing her uncertainty. The idea of being so submissive, kneeling before her man and looking up at him as she worshipped his manhood with her mouth, had seemed wretched to her. It went against everything she believed about herself—strong, independent, not one to kneel for anyone. But... she loved Dasen, and she wanted to please him, so she had tried it.
The experience had been worse than she anticipated. The taste had been salty, and it had been hard to breathe, hard not to gag. She had almost thrown up several times, the sensation overwhelming. Before he had finished, she had stopped, tears in her eyes, and they had made love instead. Dasen had never asked again, respecting her discomfort, and she had never once volunteered.
Now, here she was, willingly sucking on her rapist and her husband’s killer. The sensation was familiar yet horrifyingly worse. The taste was even more degrading, and made her want to gag even worse. The act was degrading, a stark contrast to the love her time with Dasen had filled her with. Desperation drove her, however… the thought of saving Illiri overriding any personal revulsion. She forced her nausea down, her focus entirely on the task at hand. She needed to convince him, to show him that she was willing to do anything to save her sister. The auctioneer's voice droned on, each bid for Illiri a hammer blow to Lyrrin's shattered spirit. She swallowed hard, the taste of him filling her mouth, a constant reminder of her submission.
Scar's voice was cold and calculating as he watched Lyrrin struggle with her desperate act. "I still don't know," he mused, his tone indifferent. "What use will she be to me?"
Lyrrin, her mouth filled with his cock, paused for a moment, tears streaming down her face. She pulled back just enough to speak, her breath hot against his flesh. "It... it won't matter. I... I will be worth it all by myself," she gasped, her voice muffled but determined. "If you save her, I promise... I will be the best slave in the whole world."
She put her mouth back down on him, gagging as the swollen tip of his cock bumped against the back of her throat. The auctioneer's voice continued to drone on in the background, each bid for Illiri a relentless reminder of their dire situation. Lyrrin resumed her efforts, her desperation driving her to suck harder, her movements more frantic.
Scar's expression softened slightly, a hint of curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Maybe," he suggested, his voice low and thoughtful. "Maybe she'll be worth it. She can fuck with us. Would you like that, girl? You and your sister serving me together?"
Lyrrin's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing with the implications of his words. She shuddered, a wave of revulsion coursing through her at the thought of being with her sister in such a degrading act. The idea was abhorrent, more than she could bear, and she felt a fleeting desire to die rather than submit to it. But even that unbearable thought paled in comparison to the horror of letting Illiri be sold to a brothel.
She had raised her sister. She had protected her all of her life... and it was only when she met the man she loved that she had let her get even a few houses away. Now Dasen was dead. She couldn't lose Illiri too...
With trembling resolve, she pulled her mouth off his cock, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She tried to steady her voice, to hide the tremor of disgust that threatened to betray her. "That... that is an excellent idea," she forced out, each word a struggle against her revulsion. "The two of us together can be much better for you than just one." Her eyes pleaded with him, hoping he would see the desperation behind her words and take pity, or at least be swayed by her willingness to endure anything for her sister's sake.
Scar's grip tightened on Lyrrin's hair, his fingers knotting into the strands as he yanked her head back. With a forceful thrust, he shoved her down onto his cock, the swollen tip pressing past her lips and into her throat. Lyrrin's eyes widened in shock, her body tensing as the intrusion stretched her beyond anything she had endured before.
She felt her throat constrict around him, the sensation overwhelming. Sucking on a man had been bad; this was so much worse. Her stomach churned violently, bile rising in her throat as she struggled to breathe. She retched and choked, her body convulsing with the effort to keep from vomiting. Each gag was a desperate plea for release, but Scar only held her there, his hand firm on her head, forcing her to take him deeper.
Lyrrin's tears mingled with the drool that spilled from the corners of her mouth, her face contorted in a mixture of pain and humiliation. She could feel his cock throbbing against the back of her throat, each pulse a reminder of her complete submission. The world narrowed to the relentless pressure of his shaft and the suffocating grip of his hand.
Desperation clawed at her, but she found a shred of resolve buried beneath the layers of degradation. She focused on the thought of Illiri, on the hope that her suffering might save her sister from a fate even worse. With that thought as her anchor, she managed to steady her breathing, fighting back the urge to vomit and choke. She knew she had to endure... she had to prove that she would be worth it, no matter how much it cost her. For Illiri's sake, she would submit, again and again, until Scar saw her as nothing more than a docile, obedient slave.
Scar's grip tightened on Lyrrin's hair as he held her down, his cock deep in her throat. "That won't be nearly good enough," he growled, his voice cold and unyielding. "Your sister is the pretty one. Every night, you'll lick her holes until she's wet and ready. Then you'll use your tongue on my balls while I fuck her. When I'm ready to cum, I'll pull out, and spend my load on you instead until your my child is making you swell. Then both of you will clean up with your tongues... my cock, and one another."
Lyrrin's mind reeled from his words… it was too much, too much to even think about. Even the pain in her lungs was preferable to thinking. She struggled to breathe, each breath a ragged gasp against the intrusion. "And then, after you are too swollen with child to be worth fucking," Scar continued, his tone menacing, "I'll start breeding your sister instead, and you can be the mouth getting her ready."
His words were a dagger to her soul, each syllable a reminder of the life she was about to lose. "Imagine how good it will feel for me," he taunted, "to have two slave girl mouths pressed against my cock at once. That is how it's going to be, or it's going to be no way at all. If you want me to buy your sister and keep her out of the brothel then you better start sucking... because I'm not going to bid until I cum."
Lyrrin's mind reeled with the horrifying images Scar painted, each scenario more degrading than the last. The thought of being reduced to such a submissive role, especially alongside her sister, was terrifying and disgusting... But the alternative—Illiri in the hands of brutal brothel owners—was worse. With a shuddering breath, she steeled herself, focusing on the single goal of protecting her innocent sister.
Lyrrin's mind was a whirlwind of torment as she forced herself to focus on the task at hand, her lips wrapped tightly around Scar's cock. She tried desperately not to think about whose member she was servicing. This man had brought devastation upon her village. He had killed her friends, killed the woman who had taken Illiri in, and brutally murdered her beloved Dasen. He had enslaved her, and it was horribly likely that he had already raped a child into her womb... and yet, here she was, kneeling in the mud, begging this monster to do the same to her sister; worshipping his cock to convince him with a desperation that made her feel lower than the most diseased whore.
She had absolutely no dignity left. Instead, Lyrrin redoubled her efforts, her lips wrapping tightly around Scar's shaft. She wrapped her tongue around his cock, sucking with desperation that bordered on frantic. Her inexperience was evident in every clumsy movement, but she how to make up for it in sheer effort; Each swallow was evidence of submission to the man who had ripped her life away, showing how desperate she was to not only please him but please him quickly.
It was a twisted mercy that Scar was clearly enjoying the situation... it wasn't taking long for her to encourage his orgasm. His breathing grew heavier, his grip on her hair tightening as she felt his cock twitch in her mouth, his climax approaching. Lyrrin's eyes watered, her throat aching from the strain, but she continued, driven by the fear of what might happen if she failed. Finally, with a low groan, Scar's body tensed, and he began to cum.
Lyrrin felt the hot jets of his seed filling her mouth, the taste overwhelming. She choked and coughed, tears streaming down her face as she struggled to keep it all down. The humiliation was complete, her body trembling with the effort to endure. As Scar pulled away, she remained on her knees, gasping for air, her body coated in a mixture of mud, sweat, and his semen.
Through her blurred vision, Lyrrin watched as Scar raised his hand to bid for Illiri. Her heart pounded with a mix of dread and relief... others bid back, but the man who had raped her bid again, and again. When the auctioneer declared Illiri sold, Lyrrin's stomach churned, but a small part of her felt a grim sense of victory. They were together, at least, even if their future was bleak.
As one of the men dragged Illiri over, and her eyes widened in horror at the sight of her brave, strong big sister on her knees, Lyrrin realized with a heavy heart that this was just the beginning. Their lives had been irrevocably changed, and whatever lay ahead would be filled with degradation and suffering. Yet, amidst the despair, there was a flicker of hope—a hope that, somehow, they could endure this. That they could survive together.
After all, what else did they have left?
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