Age of Penance - The Tear of Sarwen

Draven was standing behind the battlement on top of the recently requisitioned Inquisition building, his stern face and jet-black hair brushed by the cool mountain air. He was observing the courtyard below where had been set in motion. There was a dance of guards dragging-in captured women, pushing and shoving the girls with no consideration, their clothing ripped and taken away before they were made to kneel down in the dirt, lined up in rows. 

There were screams and cries but by and large they were not fighting back even though they had to know a visit to the Inquisition was unlikely to end well. There were few who came really kicking and screaming. For those, he had conceded to Inquisitor Jael that they be immediately brought down to the dungeon for questioning. He was sure that any girl who truly held sensitive information would make herself discreet and avoid being noticed as much as possible. Second he hoped the screams of those recalcitrant prisoners would soften the hearts of all the others. And it was working, although they behaved the whole lot of them looked terrified. If he closed his eyes he could almost sense that fear, like a slight dissonant aura over the lined-up girls. 

Draven had to admit, his senses and his usually unreliable magic abilities had been especially sharp since he had arrived in Cragvale. The night of the assault, his ‘Sensing the Shadows’ spell had given him precise intuition of the guard’s location at the gate tower. And his ‘True Aim’ grapple-shot had hit perfectly and silently. At first he had thought it had been sheer luck. But slowly he had started to convince himself there was more to it. For starters he had felt absolutely exhausted the following night. Practicing magic, even unsuccessfully, had always left him drained and demanded substantial recovery. But that night had been on a whole new level of exhaustion, and he was sure it would be long until he could cast again. This again had proven false, when the abuse of Jennie’s tight holes and pain longing body had worked miracles to replenish his stamina. He was sure something more was at play here, but had not the slightest notion of what it could be. No matter, it seemed fate looked kindly on him or once, and he was going to use all the good fortune he could get to succeed and find a way into the Convent of the Sisters of the Rock.

*-*

It took a few hours for the guards to round up the women in the courtyard. As instructed, they brought every woman who had inquired to exit the city walls since the assault. After they were done, Draven had finally come down from the battlement to the courtyard, to stand in front of roughly a hundred and fifty girls kneeling down naked in the dirt. They ranged from maidens to middle-aged, and most were in relatively good shape, perhaps thanks to the pure air of the mountains Draven thought. Their skins ranged from pale to a golden tan, their exposed breasts from full heavy jugs to small perky mounds. He noticed that many of them were kneeling with their thighs closed. This would be severely punished In Stormguard, where women closing their legs at rest was considered an offense. Cliffrock rulers had been lenient indeed, and the adjustment would be brutal for the female residents. Well trained or not, today, he had absolute control over the whole hundred and fifty of them. The thought made his cock stiffen and push against the leather of his pants. Power over multiple women was in most instances reserved to the wealthy, and certainly not accessible to a former thief such as himself. Overall, and including the ongoing abuse of maid Jennie, this adventure had played out beautifully for him.

Unfortunately, now was not a time for foolery. There had to be one girl in the crowd who knew the secret of the convent, and he needed to find her. Not saying a word, with his eyes hidden in the shadows of his cloak hood, Draven walked to the back of the lined-up prisoners. He noticed a few eyes following him, but anyone giving him more than a quick glance was immediately reprimanded by the guards, or hit with the handle of their halberds if they were in range. He positioned himself behind the back row, took a deep breath and emptied his mind. He dug deep and focused as intensely as he could on the fear of the distressed prisoners. With muted words and what hand and finger gestures hidden beneath his cloak, Draven cast “Glimpse of Deception”, an old spell he had managed to successfully use on a few occasions. It worked by giving a peek of the emotional state of the target, including his intention to swindle the seller, very handy when fencing the spoils of a robbery. Getting it to work on such a large crowd was a different story altogether, and would be impossible if not for the apparent exceptional state of his abilities.

On cue, the Captain in front of the girls started his angry tirade. He screamed at them from the bottom of his lungs. He was menacing, unhinged, threatening hell if no one would confess on how to enter into the convent. With the help of the spell, Draven felt the terror rising from the group of captives. He exhaled, to focus as much as he could, trying to discern anything unusual about the nature of their fear. For the most past their terror was raw and primal, fear for their own safety under the threat of imminent danger, servitude, torture or death. Desperately, he was trying to look for a hint of something else. It was hard, the power of the spell was so spread and diluted. Under normal circumstances it would have never worked, but here in Cragvale, with his senses and powers sharpened, there was a chance. He was putting all his focus and quieting down the noise in his perception, looking for the smallest peculiarity … and then saw it. At the exact moment the captain yelled the words “secret way” while berating the girls, there was an almost imperceptible change somewhere on his left. 

In one spot the fear had shifted nature, it had become pure and selfless for a brief moment. He needed to isolate it quickly or it would fade. Frantically he worked to search his senses, working to pick the echo apart from all the other terrified girls. He looked motionless but inside he was in pain, pushing through a herculean effort of focus and perception. Finally he located it, just an instant before it faded away… In a swift motion he flicked his hood off, opened his eyes, and just caught the faint glow over one of the girls, a brunette with long curled hair, kneeling a few feet away from where he was standing. The feeling lingered for a moment in him, a strange sense of selflessness and sacrifice. Being afraid for others was something a lonesome man like him hadn’t felt in a very long time, and the strange sensation staggered him for a short moment. It didn’t take long however for his drive to return and wash away any hesitation. He pointed to the girl with a satisfied grin on his face, uttering “Her!” towards the Captain, and two guards rushed on to seize her. Ignoring her pleas and cries, they dragged her to the entrance of the dungeon. 

*-*

Draven stepped down the narrow stairwell of century-old stones. The low ceiling forced him to hunch as he walked down the torch-lit corridor to the dungeon. In front of him the two guards were carelessly dragging the singled-out prisoner, and bringing her down into a cell. An Inquisition interrogator followed suit. Draven stopped him for a moment before they both entered, to remind him that he himself was in sole charge of directing the session.

The room was slightly larger than a common cell and rather dark, cold uneven stone on the floor and the walls, and a slightly arched ceiling. What little light there was came through the small iron barred vent on the top of the backwall, which opened right onto the pavement of the inner courtyard. The interrogator promptly lit the torches on each corner of the walls revealing the naked skin of the collapsed sobbing girl in their flickering light, as well dark red stains on the rock floor beneath her. There had been pain and suffering in this room recently, and soon there would be more. Without wasting time, Draven turned to the inquisition man:

- “We don’t have any time to waste. One hundred lashes.”

- “As you wish, sir.”

The man stepped to the workbench on the side. He calmly removed his tunic, revealing a muscular chest, and donned the traditional red full-enclosing leather mask that the men of his profession always wore in such circumstances. He directed the two soldiers to force spread the ankles of the helpless girl apart, and each one was promptly locked into a heavy leather brace and tied to iron loops that bolted directly into the floor. He then tied her wrists together with a rough long rope, which he then looped through a hook right above her. Handing over the long end to the two guards, he instructed them to stand aside and pull. The girl was quickly forced upright, her ankles tied apart, her shoulders lifted and her arms stretched above her. Her cute face framed by her long curly hair looked terrified, with her watery eyes tracking every movement of the interrogator. 

The whip’s loud snap resonated in the small stone room before landing onto the pale skin of the stretched prisoner in a loud “slash!” It sent her hair flying, her head flicked up and a short shriek came out of her shocked mouth. The masked man was skilled and the lashes fell quickly and consistently. Before long there was a continuous howling of the stretched up girl, punctuated by shrieks every time the leather wrapped around a particularly sensitive spot. She was shaking, her chest alternating between short heaves and violent shakes which sent her heavy breast bouncing from side to side. Her abdomen was tightening under each strike of the whip, her hips wavering from side to side. Draven was calmly studying her, observing her torment. The shakes, the cries as her body was getting striped in whip marks. The hits were strong, marking the skin but for the most part did not draw blood. Once every few hits however, the tip would wrap faster around her lovely curves and leave a small indent into her skin, with sometimes a droplet of blood pearling to the surface. Her suffering was incredibly arousing to Draven, and from the looks of the leering eyes of the guards pulling on the rope, he was not alone. He gestured for the whipping to stop, and approached the girl. With no more hits coming, she broke down into a full weeping. He grabbed her hair and forcefully lifted her pretty face.

- “What is your name, wench?” he asked in a loud, aggressive tone.

- “.... snff… I…”

The girl did not manage to articulate a single word. 

- “Your name!” he repeated, louder this time.

- “...”

She was gradually managing to calm herself, but no words were coming out of her mouth. She might have been in shock, or maybe she was intentionally holding back. In any case, she needed to snap out of it. He smacked her across the face with the back of his hand and repeated, louder this time.

- “YOUR NAME!”

The hit sent her face flicking to the side and pulled her out of her mutism.

- “... I… I’m sorry… sir.. I don’t know anything…  …I am sorry…” 

- “You will learn to answer!”  

Draven turned to the interrogator.

- “Resume the lashing. Harder this time.”

The whip fell again, and the screams filled the small room once more. The guards put their back into pulling the rope and stretching the poor girl up. Her feet and hand quickly turned a purplish shade of red under the constricting action of the ankle straps and wrist rope. The masked man was now putting all his weight behind each strike, sweat was pearling on his bare chest. The leather was leaving deeper, more severe marks across her skin and the sting of the tip cut deeper. The screams were increasingly louder.

- “Haaaaa…. Haaaa…. st…. stop…. please stop…. please…..”

There was a smirk on the corner of Draven’s face. She was not in shock after all it seemed, she had been trying to hold back. Perhaps, he had the right girl. He of course ignored her plea and let the hits rain on her and batter her body for a long while, admiring the way her tender flesh reacted to the forceful strokes. He was getting very hard watching her buckle under the blows, her large breasts swaying and her vulnerable voice screaming for mercy. The two soldiers were also mesmerized by her screams. Any time she attempted to turn herself away from the whip, in vain, they would double the pull on the rope and painfully strain the girl’s wrists and shoulders ever closer to the breaking point. Finally, Draven gestured to the man to stop again, and approached the sobbing victim.

- “Let us try one more time. Your name.” Draven asked, with a calmer voice.

It took a while for her to stop sobbing. The whipping had been violent. Her entire body was striped in long cruel marks, with the occasional drip of blood where the sharp tip had cut.

- “... snff… my name is… my name is Elsie…”

- “That’s much better, cunt.”

He was standing right against her and could feel the bulge of his cock beneath his leather pants brushing against her trembling skin. 

- “Now, dear Elsie, you will tell us the way into the convent.” he asked softly. 

It was subtle but he clearly felt her tense up upon hearing that question.

- “...I swear… sir… I don’t know anything… about this… I’m a simple girl…”

The spell had worn off, but Draven was sure this was a blatant lie. He brought his mouth right to her ear, and spoke softly as his hand brushed her shoulder and slowly slid down her sweaty marked back.

- “You swear, and yet you lie. You can’t imagine the pain and suffering we can inflict upon you. Are you truly prepared to bear it all? For something that will be revealed in the end, whether it is your doing or not…”

She did not answer immediately. In such a level of discomfort and pain, resisting must have required strength and focus.

- “Sir… I truly don’t know… I beg you… please believe me…”

- “I do not believe you,” Draven answered in a louder voice, before stepping away. 

He took a deep breath, then looked to the Inquisition man.

- “She needs more pain.”

- “With pleasure,” the masked man replied. 

He lowered his whip arm and rolled up the wet, reddened leather lash. He returned to the work bench and hung the whip up. On the sturdy wood laid a variety of implements, each meant to inflict agonizing pain onto the tender flesh of women. 

- “May I recommend?” the masked mad added, grabbing in his hand a long metal probe with a hooked, sharp end.

The breathing of the tied girl had visibly accelerated, her eyes fixed on the sharp implement. 

- “Not quite yet.” Draven replied, “The pliers here.” 

The pair of tongs were as long as a man’s forearm with the jaws closing onto a flat crushing surface, which suited Draven. The last thing he needed was the girl bleeding out before she could talk. 

- “Of course.” the man replied. “Lower her!” he gestured to the two soldiers.

Without the pull of the rope, Elsie collapsed on the cold stone floor, her legs obscenely open by her ankles still tied apart. The four men took position around their victim. The taller soldier secured her legs by setting his kneeling on her thighs just above the knees, which gave his perving eyes a full view of her open sex. The shorter one secured her wrists by stepping on the rope tying them together, pressing his weight and digging into the poor girl’s skin. Draven lowered himself next to her, grabbed her curly hair and tilted her head up, forcing her to look upon her heavy exposed chest before whispering in her ear.

- “Look at what you are bringing upon yourself.”

The bare-chested man knelt in turn by her side. Her breath was getting faster, and her tear-filled eyes were locked onto the metal pliers. He grabbed her left breast with his strong hand, squeezed and pushed the delicate flesh between the iron jaws. Without wasting any time, seized each prong with one hand and forced the metal jaws into the soft flesh of her breast. Her breast tensed like a pillow pressed in the middle, her nippled peaking out her wide areola. Whether by shock or disbelief, she watched silently. He started to rotate the pliers in a wide gesture around, while at the same time slowly twisting them. His motion was precise and practiced. Gradually but inexorably, the tit complied and bent to the metal. The more he pushed, the more resistance by the twisted flesh, and the more contorted Elsie’s face became. The motion gradually slowed; he pressed further, her tit now looked like kneaded dough. The muscle on the man’s arms started to tense, a sure sign of the pressure he was now applying. Elsie’s eyes were showing real signs of distress, her lower lip was starting to shake, but she was holding strong, resisting the urge to break down. The interrogator waited, giving her just a moment of hope, letting her think she had a chance to resist that she could remain strong and dignified. And then he pushed through, tightened the muscles of his upper body to violently distort her bosom into a reddened knot of skin and flesh. Her fear turned into a panic as the horror and the pain set in and she screamed.

- “Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhiiii…” 

The dam was broken, what restraint she had left shattered. The masked man pushed the pliers even further. There was more screaming, louder this time.

- “AAAAAAHHHHhhhhhh…. NO…. PLEASE...”

Her voice was helpless, desperate, overwhelmed by the pain. Her whole body tensed. Darven was having a hard time maintaining her head up

The masked man opened the metal jaws. The freed flesh slowly returned to its natural state of a soft round mound, except of course for the vicious indents on each side, and the bruises left by the overstretched tissue. 

- “We’re only getting started,” Draven made sure she heard.

The interrogator’s pliers bit into her again, closer to the nipple this time and once again bent the malleable flesh into an excruciating mangle of skin. More screams, only punctuated by sobs.

- “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH……”

And again, the right breast this time. Draven was not even asking questions anymore, he was just letting the agony continue. He wanted to break her, make her feel powerless, make the pain unneluctable and build it up to be insurmountable. 

When the interrogator returned the pliers to her left breast, and crushed it once again, the scream that came out of her throat sounded inhuman. She shook so hard that the taller soldier was all but thrown off from her legs to the side. He barely managed to balance himself and to secure his grip on her thighs once more, before witnessing a gold hewed flow gushing from her parted lips. The pain had been so intense she had just lost control of her bladder, as his eyes almost popped out of their orbit and his bulge threatened to crack through his hose. The man had to restrain himself from jumping onto her. 

- “Keep going.” Draven ordered the interrogator, after the four men managed to get Elsie under control once more.

- “Aaaaaaaaaaah… no please… no more I beg you…………” Elsie managed to articulate in between spasms and sobs.

- “The way into the convent!” Drave immediately replied.

There was a pause before she opened her mouth again.

- “... I really don’t know… I’m sorry please… I don’t know… I don’t know…”

- “A pity!” Draven exclaimed, barely managing to hide his frustration. “Again!” 

The Inquisition man closed the metal onto the bruised and damaged breast and twisted again, in evermore abrupt and violent motions, causing the poor girl to buck. It took the force of the four full grown men to pin her down as she screamed and suffered. The torture continued until both breasts had been twisted over several times. They were starting to look like two purple and black swelled mounds, with indents where the metal had pressed, and deep scratches and rips where the tension had been too great and the flesh had slipped between the jaws. 

The girl was sobbing uncontrollably, but she didn’t break, she held on to her “I don’t know” and “I’m sorry” without giving Draven an inch of progress. Could he have been wrong? Maybe her fear was different because she had been scared for her loved ones. The distinction was so faint, he couldn’t know for sure. And all his magic stamina had gone into casting the spell on the crowd of captive girls, so he had to rely on his regular senses now. He needed to think if he was going to see this through. 

*-*

To be continued in Chapter 5: Breaking Pressure