Age of Penance - The Tear of Sarwen

The stars were shining in a dazzling mosaic of colors over the sleeping city of Cragvale. Down in the city, in a dark room above a raucous and lewd tavern laid a bruised blonde chained to a bed post. She was curled in a ball, sleeping on her side, her martyrized cunt lips visible between the back of her upper thighs. Her pussy was swollen from a whole day spent on the wooden horse, and then from having been ravaged by the oversized cock of her newfound master. She seemed content, fulfilled by the harsh punishment she was allowed to take for him. 

Outside the city walls, her master Draven was a shadow, walking under the dim light of a blue sliver of moon. He was approaching the flicker of torches in a small clearing. There were six men waiting for him, all clad in leather armor. Four of them were Inquisition Assassins, recognizable to the crimson upside-down Y patch on their right shoulders. They were warriors specialized in bringing the full might of the Order onto unsuspecting targets. Draven recognized the elegant thin mustache, well trimmed curly hair and dark eyes of their leader Silas from the night of the assault on the city just a week earlier. They all nodded at the sight of him, without a word. 

A few feet away, he found two familiar faces. The soldiers who had helped him interrogate Elsie, welcomed him warmly and introduced themselves as Liam, the tall horny one, and Dirk, his shorter but much better endowed counterpart. Draven saluted them, embarrassed for not having asked their names earlier. Liam immediately led him towards the back, where supplies were piled up and where two females were waiting on their knees. He ordered the one on the right to stand up, which Draven recognized as Elsie. 

The reluctant informant was naked, bound and gagged. Her arms and hands had been tied into a reverse prayer position with her shoulders propped up. Another rope had been run over her arms and around her chest, looping several times at the base of each of her breasts and making her two bruised and scratched orbs stand unnaturally straight. Liam enthusiastically explained that the threat of a strike on her bound bosoms was particularly effective in getting her to follow instructions. Yet another rope was fastened around her abdomen, then pulled down on each side of her mound, and back up between her round buttocks to the small of her back. The rope was securing the monstrous studded implement still lodged inside her, and was pushing it deep into her cunt.

Her ties were snug and dug into her curves. They were sure to rub and chafe during the long climb ahead. She had one more piece of thick rope bound to each leg just over the knee, with a foot of play in between. This would make it impossible for her to run should she make the mistake of trying her luck. She might have complained about her predicament if not for the wooden gag secured in her mouth, a thick piece of wood running left to right, pushing her the corner of her mouth back and forcing her jaws open. With scared teary eyes, thick drool dripping from her chin onto her bulging breasts, and tight rope digging into her tender skin, Elsie had all the looks of an innocent damsel in terrible distress. One whom, to Liam’s delight, nobody was coming to rescue.

The girl next to her looked like a forced labor camp inmate. Naked as well, she was emaciated and muscular. Her head was completely shaved, and she wore a heavy collar fitted snug around her neck. Her pose was that of a well trained slave, knees wide apart, arms held together behind the small of her arched back, chest up and head down. The light of Liam’s torch revealed a skin covered in marks, old and new, from what looked like years of severe mistreatment. Deep indents into her arms and thighs indicated she frequently wore torture chains and belts. Her tits, generous, if slightly sagging on the visible ribs of her lean torso, also bore the marks of beatings of beatings, and were scarred by the overuse of torture bras. Draven, curious, grabbed her face into his hand. To his surprise he felt she was shaking despite her apparent calm. He lifted her chin and turned her towards him. There was a bolt inside a shield branded into the skin of her cheek, just below her right eye.

- “What do we have here… Stormguard Iron Slave? But something isn’t right…” Draven commented as if talking to himself.

Stormguard Iron Slaves were infamous for being one of the most inhuman Slaving Orders in the whole of Elarya. From the very first moment they were taken, slaves were brutally tortured until fully broken, both physically and mentally. Then started a long and barbaric training process that left them in a state of total and complete obedience to their masters. Finally they were branded, the sign of Stormguard was burnt onto their face so they could never hide what they were, and a slave code was also branded just above their cunt, replacing forever a name that was now meaningless. And that was only the start of an existence in hell. After their initiation, and Iron Slave was to be maintained in pain at all times, often with worn devices like cilices or torture  bras. The torture never stopped, whether the slave was in use or at rest.

- “I do see her markings…. XVI-LV, but no torture device on her?” Draven turned towards Silas“... she’s a reject isn’t she? Damaged?”

Given the level of use and abuse, it was frequent for Iron Slaves to get seriously injured. Oftentimes it meant termination on the spot, but in some circumstances they could be sold or traded, usually towards an even crueler fate. Silas stepped closer, his bright and determined black eyes meeting Draven’s:

- “It is. The useless cunt managed to tear her shoulder and break her forearm” he explained.

Indeed, her right shoulder was misshapen, and she was gripping her right forearm in her left hand, bent at an odd angle. The pain must have been excruciating and yet she managed to maintain an appearance of composure. 

- “Stormguard has no need for it anymore in Cragvale, but it can be of use to us” Silas continued.

Draven was fascinated by the amount of suffering the slave must have experienced, aroused to some extent by her level of submission and endurance. And he was taken aback by the dismissive tone of Silas’ voice. For him, it seemed she was just a thing, less than human. 

- “Well, now that we are all acquainted, we can put out the torches and depart!” Silas concluded in an imperative tone.

- “Is this all of us?” Draven interjected,  “A handful of men and a damaged slave?”

- “This is not your concern. Just make sure your roped-up whore is able to get us inside the walls, we will take care of the rest” Silas replied, not used to being challenged. 

- “On the contrary, it is very much my concern. You will explain yourself now, or we’re not getting inside anything” Draven replied, not willing to let it slide.

Silas tensed up at the challenge, his hand slid towards his weapon. With his eyes locked on Draven’s, he hesitated a moment. But then he reconsidered, assessing there was nothing to gain from an open confrontation.

- “If you insist”, he replied, annoyed. “Most of my men are already waiting in the mountain, stationed just under a league away from the convent. With my companions here, we will complete the squad. And this one, well,” he gestured towards the hairless slave, “we can use it as a mule and a meat shield.”

Those cruel words drew a muffled whine from Elsie, not yet used to the brutality of the Inquisition. But there was no reaction from the damaged slave in question. Satisfied with the answer, Draven nodded to Silas, and the group started its journey.

*-*

The day had advanced well into the evening, the sun was almost setting. The group had walked for a long time and ventured far up the mountain. What had started as an easy trek under the cover of trees had quickly turned into a difficult climb. Silas had led them off the beaten path, it was the price to pay for staying out of sight of the convent. And for the last few hours, they had been slowly scrambling through large boulders and scaling ever increasing high ledges. Finally, the group had arrived at the bottom of a sixty feet high escarpment, nested beside a waterfall. 

The assassins made their way up first, agile and nimble, working together and pulling each other up when necessary. The two soldiers Liam and Dirk and their precious cargo went next. Ever since the hike had turned into a scramble they had roped themselves to the bound girl. It was both to prevent her from falling to her death, but also to lift her up when it was needed. With her hands tied and her legs restrained, she was useless facing even a moderate obstacle. 

Dirk opened the way and got himself up to a stable position, and then he pulled the girl up while Liam gave her a push when needed. The rope was running beneath Elsie’s chest bindings and was attached to her crotch bondage, so tugging her up did not only constrict her breasts to near bursting but also painfully shoved the oversized studded implement against the back of her bruised cunt. It took multiple iterations, each with its share of muffled whining, but in the end the bound captive and her two guardians made it up to the top.

For Slave XVI-LV however, the ascension had turned into a true ordeal. Silas had forced her to carry a thick L-shape wooden pack on her back, heavy with supplies. It was secured with crossing thick ropes which pressed on her injured shoulder. She had been growing increasingly fatigued by the long hours of the climb and by her taxing injuries. Draven had been observing the way she was suffering in silence through what he knew was an excruciating ordeal, and yet obeyed every order despite her condition. Looking at her and thinking how much suffering she must have experienced all her life was turning him on immensely. He did not fully understand while the others were so dismissive of her. For him, and this downed on him as he was watching, her attitude was the embodiment of what a true woman in servitude should be. 

But even her complete dedication and resolve was wearing thin. In the face of this last cliff, the broken slave was forced to dig even deeper. She kept trying to stay in control of herself but her composed face from the early morning was betraying her intense pain. She was sweating, and her lower lip was trembling. When she moved up the escarpment, it was slowly and with extreme difficulty. Several times she had to use her damaged limb to save herself from a fall, each time with a deep cry of agony. By the time she reached the top, her whole body was shaking, nearing complete exhaustion.

As soon as she disappeared over the ledge, Draven took his turn and scaled the cliff up. Reaching the top he discovered a slightly widening vale bordered by tall cliffs but opening up to a beautiful meadow. Frail green grass and small purple flowers ran between large slabs of grey rock striped with veins of blue crystal, and a pristine stream flowed in lazy winds before disappearing into the fall. 

While the rest of the group was gathering their strength, slave XVI-LV had staggered to the side and had slipped off her backpack, without permission. She was sitting down, shaking and holding up her arm. Draven didn’t think much of it at first, impressed as he was by her resilience and obedience, but the assassins appeared to feel differently. The tallest of the group, a man with slick braided black hair and cruel eyes named Lance immediately walked towards her, 

- “How dare you forget yourself? On your knees, Slave!”

The two other assassins promptly joined in. The slave didn’t react at first, but finally she lifted her head and revealed a tired face and teary eyes.

- “It… It hurts… so bad…” she mumbled in a soft voice.

Her speaking sounded difficult and painful, like she had almost forgotten how. Draven thought it may actually be her first time talking back to a man. The three men didn’t like her answer and moved closer to her. They were now aggressively crowding her.

- “Such insolence!” one of the companions accused.

- “You need to be reminded what you truly are” Lance added.,

A dark and lewd smirk had lit his face as he spoke those words. 

- “I am… just… so tired…” she dared reply.

Her eyes looked lost in a far away horizon, caught in a haze of extreme tiredness, barely aware of her surroundings.

- “Shut your face hole! Defying your masters amounts to insulting the Gods! I will teach you your true place!”

His hand immediately followed and he caught her across the face. She looked startled for a brief moment, before a violent hit to her sternum tipped her onto her back. The two assassins jumped on her and with all and pried her legs open from each side, while their companion took his already hard cock out of his leather hose.

- “No… please…” 

Her voice was barely audible, muted by a lifetime of blind obedience. She sounded like she was asking permission to protest. But there would be no mercy. Lance dropped on her like a predator on his prey. He used his full weight and strength to force his erect member inside her unwilling cunt. With his two friends pinning her down, he started to ram his cock into her. The assault was savage, meant to hurt and degrade. It was a rare thing to have an Iron Slave protest any kind of mistreatment, but it looked like her distress was only encouraging the three men. His hand was moving from her neck to her injured shoulder, making sure that she hurt while his cock was punching her deep in the gut again and again, while the others were slapping her, or clawing at her tits. She was still whining in protest when he unloaded inside her. And then another took immediately his turn and raped her again. And then the third one, as brutal and violent. By that time Lance had recovered his energy and with it his desire to hurt her more. He knelt beside her, looking into her imploring eyes.

- “Let me remind you the only reason you exist, slave...”

And with this he gave a violent twist to her injured arm. Her scream tore through the peaceful evening skies and echoed through the high peaks above.

- “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!”

Her agony was only answered by a sadistic grin on the face of her sadist. 

- “... Pain, only pain! Yes that is what you are for…” he concluded before twisting again.

- “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!”

She was thrashing, using the last of her strength to try and break free, but in vain. Her momentary defiance only encouraged the man trouncing her to increase his grip and the violence of his assaults.

Elsie’s eyes were locked in horror upon the scene. Even Draven felt uneasy. His sadistic nature was instinctively turned on by the brutal abuse, but he was surprised to find himself disturbed by the relentlessness of the violence inflicted upon the so-perfectly submissive and obedient slave. It felt wrong to him and, without even realizing he got up and walked to the group.

- “This is enough!”

Lance immediately raised his eyes to Draven.

- “Mind your own business, sellsword!”

That last world was spoken with the disdain of a man belonging to the divine Order of the Inquisition.

- “I’ll cut you at no cost if you don’t step away!”

Draven’s hand had found the handle of his weapon, his eyes deadlocked on the sadistic Assassin. The dangerous banter was interrupted by a loud voice.

- “Keep it quiet!” Silas scolded the group from afar.

The two men didn’t budge from their staring contest, and it was the injured submissive who heeded the order, betraying the training that had been beaten into her all her life. Almost instinctively, she brought her uninjured hand to her mouth and bit on it. This could not have pleased Lance more.

- “See for yourself, white knight” he told Draven, “your little princess knows her true place. Even in agony… this pain cunt obeys. I’m sure deep down, she wants us to keep hurting her…” 

The assassin’s look upon the slave was full of satisfied contempt. Her teeth were digging into her own hand, muffling her cries as each violent fuck was rocking her twisted injured arm into further agony. Abundant tears were springing from her eyes, perhaps from the realization that her torturer was right. Even degraded and hurt to the extreme she still chose the path of obedience in her agony. 

- “You filthy pain cunt!” the sadist threw at her in victory.

- “Quiet I said!” Silas repeated.

There was a real worry in the Squad Commander’s tone. Draven finally pulled his attention away from the girl and turned to the voice. Silas had gotten up and was scrutinizing the rocks above. The rogue promptly joined him.

- “I heard something from…” Silas started.

Before he could add another word, something massive leapt from a ledge above and landed in a loud “thump” right in between all of them. The impact sent a shockwave into the ground. The mass then rose onto its two thick back legs, and roared with such power it hurt the ears of the whole group and stunned all of them for a short moment. Draven took two steps back feeling light headed. He tried to focus his eyes again on the dark creature, and finally came to see the beast for what it was. There stood a gigantic bear taller than two full men, right in front of him. Its fur was long but hirsute and disheveled, tainted in dark like it had been soaked in tar. Its claws looked sharp with an unusual dark shine to them. But the most peculiar were its eyes, pitch-black with a strange purple smokey halo around them, like traces of a malevolent energy was dissipating around them. 

The creature sniffed the air for a brief moment, then turned to the men ganged up on the slave. All three of them looked frozen in shock, mouth gaping and eyes fixed on the monster but unable to move on from their hurting of the girl. The one between her legs, with his head turned back, only had an instant to realize a wide open jaw closed on him and shut down his light forever. The beast yanked him off the ground, his cock still inside the slave, and with a quick snap of the neck it hurled him into the air. His body came slamming against the nearby cliff, bounced off and then collapsed to the ground like a ragdoll.

- “RU…. RUPTURE BEAAAAAR!!!!!!!”

The scream came from Lance, who just a moment ago was so proudly twisting the broken arm of the Iron Slave. He had gotten up and was stumbling back, his eyes switching back and forth between the monstrous face and his companion’s lifeless body. The bear roared again at full power, sending the two terrified assassins flat on their asses. The iron seemed less affected by the cursed cry, maybe she was too distressed herself to succumb to the panic. She had simply sat up, was holding her injured arm again while looking on, but with a seemingly detached expression on her face.

- “GUARDS! PROTECT THE PRISONER AT ALL COSTS!” Silas yelled, putting the mission first.

There was a whistling sound and an arrow struck behind the neck of the animal. Silas had equipped his bow. He let fly another one, this time hitting his back. Draven joined in the effort, sending a bolt right into its shoulder. While the projectile didn’t seem to hurt the beast, that last was enough at least to get its attention. The beast turned towards the two ranged aggressors, lowered himself on his front legs again and charged with an impressive speed for its size. Silas and Draven swiftly leapt in opposing directions, narrowly avoiding being mauled in their turn by the powerful jaws. The distraction was enough of a reprieve for Liam and Dirk to grab Elsie and start retreating to a safe distance. On the other side, the two rapists had recovered their senses and used the opportunity to run and grab their weapons. Finally, the group was getting their senses back and bringing the fight to the monstrous aggressor. Silas, 

Draven and the men started a dance of letting arrows and bolts fly when they could, then leaping and jumping to narrowly avoid the deadly attacks of the monster, who accumulated the projectiles. To their dismay however, the hits didn't seem to injure the beast much at all. Whereas for each of them, it was just a matter of time until they would miss a dodge and take a fatal blow. Even worse, the monster was not showing any sign of fatigue while they could each feel the fatigue rise from the constant running and jumping. Draven was seriously considering casting a spell, even if it meant being short later on. But it was Silas who took the initiative.

- “USELESS CUNT!” he screamed towards the Ironslave, “OFFER YOURSELF!”

The words were direct, imperative, with a tone that was well known to the girl, one she had been trained all her life to obey. She got up and readied herself to face the monster. It was anybody’s guess if she did it by pure compliance or because on some level she wanted this. And perhaps, she didn’t even know herself. Standing up, fully nude and unprotected in the face of mortal danger, she calmly stepped towards the frenzied beast. The corrupted bear caught a whiff, then a glimpse. And as if surprised by the unlikely creature confronting him, he stopped his attacks. He brought his massive head towards the girl, and gave a few inquisitive sniffs. She let go of her arm and abandoned herself to him, tilting her head back and taking a deep breath. 

For a short moment he paused, and then his instincts got the better of him. His claws, sharp as razors, came swiftly from the side and sliced through her offered body, sending her stumbling back. Her right breast was split in two in a diagonal in a split second, and five clean lines started to seep blood across her chest and abdomen. There was the start of a timid smile on her face, and a sense of welcomed peace in her eyes as her bowels peaked from her slashed belly. She wavered then collapsed on her back without a sound, but the impact of her flesh on the grey rock. She laid there with a newfound serenity, in a quickly widening pool of blood. 

It hadn’t taken long for the beast to end the life of slave XVI-LV, but it had created enough of an opening for both Silas and Draven. After exchanging a quick look, each one had unsheathed their blade and dashed, coming to the monster from a different angle. Draven, choosing not to leave their fate to chance, decided on the moment to cast his ‘True Aim’ spell as he ran. They leapt onto the bear at the precise moment it swept its serrated claws across the slave, and both men successfully buried their blades deep inside its neck. Draven’s magically enhanced hit sliced through the beast’s artery and dark blood spurted from the wound while the rogue tucked and rolled further away. The beast arched itself up and screamed in agony. It tried to resume its hunt but its movements were quickly slowing and becoming erratic. More dark sticky blood was seeping from its neck. The arrows and bolts which kept coming, were visibly hurting it this time around. Before long, there was one last desperate owl and for all its might it collapsed right next to the Iron Slave’s lacerated body.

*-*

To be continued in Chapter 7: Raid on the Convent