Darkest Dawn: Chapter 2 [forced, gore, monster]

Darkest Dawn Chapter 2

 WARNING: in this chapter, shit gets DARK. Really, really dark.

	Ishana’s first thought was of a blinding light surrounding her.  Slowly, she realized there was no light, only darkness and pain.  Dwarves were hammering on anvils inside her skull.  Her face felt as though someone as pressing down against it, crushing into her nose.  Every part of her body ached; it was an exhaustive effort to move so much as a finger.  She couldn’t breathe; it felt as though someone had their hands around her neck.

	The air felt heavy, but even in the oppressive heat she was shaking.  The pit of her stomach was roiling, but she felt too weak to heave.  She tried to breathe in only for her nose to erupt in flames.  She creaked her jaw open, taking small bites of the acrid, humid air.  Ishana coughed, her throat raw and sore.  Everything itched terribly.

	As her mind came together and cleared her thoughts, it registered to her that she was laying on a firm pallet; sackcloth over a thin layer of straw, judging by the bulges and itching.  Her head rolls to the side slightly and she realized it wasn’t her stomach that was heaving back and forward, it was her whole body.  The whole room.

	Ishana stilled, a chill frosting outwards from a knot in her stomach.  Then she began to shake, even more violently than before.

	Sidric.

	She had been captured, captured by druchii raiders.

	Sand shot up and down her throat as her breathing quickened.  Ishana grit her teeth and focused on her right arm, forcing it with all her will to move.  She had no way of knowing how long it took, minutes or hours, but eventually her fingers began to jiggle.  Then she made a fist.  An eternity later, she was able to start exploring her body with her hand.

	Naked, she was covered in a sticky film of sweat and dried blood.  A trail of crusty blood flowed from her chin, down her breasts, and even reached her thighs.  Her nose began to throb with the memory of Sidric’s foot snapping it clean in two.  A finger brushed the swelling and the explosion of pain knocked her out again.

	Sometime later, she awoke to the feeling of a coarse, damp cloth passing over her skin.  The scratchy material scoured over a nipple and her body twitched in pain, causing her to groan.  For a moment the cloth froze, shaking almost imperceptibly as it rested on her chest.  Then it began to move again, more gently this time.  It passed across her chest, tracing its way across in every direction.  She shivered as the cloth was raised and, presumably having been re-moistened, a trickle of water was dribbled onto her.

	Every now and then the cloth would be removed and she would hear a strange sound, something akin to quieted moan mixed and a wet slurp.  Then the cloth would be reapplied and she would feel it exploring her.  Down her sides, gently dabbing around her nose, across her arms.  Ishana tensed as a tiny, soft hand gently raised her arm up by the wrist, giving her bather access under her arm as well.  Again that strange noise, then the cloth was back.  It moved down her belly, lowering in increments until it was inching towards her sex.  A piece of wet cloth grazed across the side of her swollen lips and she reflexively slapped outwards with her right hand.  The effort sent aftershocks of aching down her arm, into her chest, and across her entire body.  Her weak blow grazed across skin, startling whoever it was cleaning her.

	“I sorry! I sorry!”  a voice smaller than a mouse squeaked up at her rapidly. Ishana could hardly make out what it was saying the accent was so thick.  Each word was forced out like it tasted of bile in the speaker’s mouth.

	“Beg no tell!” it said.  “Beg, beg, beg no tell!”  The words became even less understandable as the speaker started to hyperventilate.  It was the voice of panic.

	Opening her eyes was probably the hardest thing Ishana had ever done.  She tensed in anticipation of a blinding light, but the room was mercifully shrouded.  Ishana forced her eyes to remain open as they adjusted to the darkness.  Soon her vision cleared and she gasped at the diminutive figure pressing its head into the deck boards next to her cot.

	At first she thought it was a tiny skeleton, but after a moment of scrutiny, she realized it was an emaciated child.  The poor thing had shrunk into itself so far Ishana could make out its angular bones clear as day.  She could only guess at the child’s age or gender.  Even clad in a thin loincloth, as it was, the poor thing was too thin and sickly for her to tell.  It waited there, pleading for her not to tell.  Ishana took in the bald head and sharp shoulders, noticing the ears were small and rounded.  A human, then.

	“Tell what?” Ishana spoke slowly, partly from the effort of talking and partly so the human child could understand her.  Elven speech was, she had heard, incredibly difficult for humans to master.  She wondered how much this child knew, or if its words were simply stock phrases it had picked up to beg with.

	Shivering like chimes on a windy day, the human child raised its head.  Its dark eyes were trembling with fright, but the mouth was curled into a pathetic smile and no tears were falling.  “I bad,” it said.  “You hit.  Beg no tell.  No tell master.”  The pleading in that voice, pouring out of those eyes, almost made Ishana forget her own suffering.

	“I- I won’t tell.”  What else could she say?  The child’s eyes grew even wider as it started to thank her, repeating itself over and over again.

	They heard the sound of footfalls past the door and tensed.  When it passed, the child jumped to its feet and returned to cleaning, pausing only briefly to see if this angered Ishana.  She simply nodded and let her head fall back.  It was too hard to keep her eyes open.

	After a few moments, the child finished wiping down her arms and legs.  It had been as gentle as situations allowed as it cleaned between her legs.  Still, Ishana had to bite her lips and keep from moaning.
	And still, that strange noise kept started each time the cloth was removed.

	“What are you-” curiosity getting the better of her, Ishana opened her eyes and looked at the wretched slave as the noise began again.  Her eyes opened further than she would have thought possible with the swelling.

	The child had the rag shoved against its mouth and was sucking at the bloody mass of crust.  Seeing that Ishana was watching, the child dropped the rag like it was on fire and started begging again, even more fervently than before.

	“Asuryan…”  Ishana just stared in shock, looking from the prostrated child to the fallen rag and back again.  To be so hungry as to eat…  To be so scared as to beg forgiveness from someone who can’t even lift up her own arm.  What had they done to this creature?

	The door opened with a hackle-rising screech and the child spun around, changing the target of its begging to the new figure stepping through the portal.  The figure, a raider in chainmail and dark robes, ignored the child and marched to Ishana’s side.  He stroked a forked little beard as he examined her.

	Ishana’s cheeks burned with shame as she struggled force her arms over her body to cover herself.  Her inability to do so seemed to bring him no small measure of amusement.  He smirked, then turned to the child behind him.

	“Why haven’t you finished?”

	The child tried to say something, but the druchii slapped it aside before it could even raise its head.  He snapped his finger and another slave, this one a human female a head shorter than Ishana, rushed in with a bucket carried between two cadaverous hands.

	Snatching up the bucket, the raider sloshed the contents over Ishana’s head and tossed it back to the slave.  It caught her in the jaw and she scrambled to keep it from hitting the ground.  The water was so cold it hit Ishana light a lightning bolt.  She clawed at her icy flesh and gave a rasping choke of a cough.

	“Up we go,” said the raider.  He grabbed Ishana by the arm and pulled her off the cot.  She fell like a discarded doll to the deck.  Sighing, the raider pulled her to her feet, holding her until she found her feet.  As he turned to walk to the door, she wobbled in his grasp and fell down again.

	“I’m not in the mood for this,” he said, taking her by the waist and throwing her over his shoulder.  The rings of his chainmail bit into her painfully, but she couldn’t get a deep enough breath to gasp or cry out.

	The raider patted her buttocks and gave each cheek a pinch, twisting his fingers as he did so.  Ishana gave a slight squeak of pain, but didn’t move.  The raider laughed as he walked out the door and down the hall.

	Ishana bounced painfully at each step he took.  Blood rushed to her hanging head and in moments her nose was throbbing fiercely.  A few voices called to her captor, but he just told them to get back to work and kept moving.  All Ishana could make out was a succession of blackened floorboards, one after another.

	After an agonizingly long trudge, the raider stopped and Ishana heard two spearbutts thump against the ground.

	“State your business,” said a voice from the direction the raider was facing.

	“The Master is expecting this one.”

	Ishana heard footfalls draw the owner of the voice closer.  She felt a leather clad hand pinch her buttock, then pull it aside to get a better look in between.  A thumb brushed down her slit and she flinched.  The guard laughed.

	“Still fresh, eh?” the voice alone put into her mind the image of a hungry grin.

	“Face isn’t much to look,” said the raider carrying her.  “I don’t see why he bothered.”

	“Well,” said the guard, evidently losing interest, “you’ve expected.  Might as well go on in, eh?”

	Her handler simply grunted and pushed through a waiting door.  This one too, screeched on its hinges.  They stopped just inside the threshold.  She could hear heavy breathing and the occasional clang of striking steel over the jeering of a small but vocal crowd.

	Ishana stared at the floor, listening to the thumping of two combatants evading and dodging each other as best they could.  Just kill each other, she prayed.  All of you just die.

	There was a muted grunt, cut short by a wet squelch, and a heavy mass thudded to the ground.  Ishana smiled.  The sounds from the crowd died down.

	“How disappointing.”  The voice was wispy, but had a dangerous edge to it; like a cool breeze in summer.  There was something familiar about it.  It sighed, more bored than annoyed.  “Someone clean that up.”

	Several bodies ran to comply.  Soon Ishana heard scrapping against wood, drawing closer to the door.  She forced her eyes to stay open; she wanted to see the dead druchii with her own eyes.  The raider carrying her sidestepped to allow them to pass.  A black cloaked figure brushed by, pulling a corpse by the leg.  The pale flesh of the body was bruised and pitted with fresh scratches and shallow cuts.  As the rest of the body came into view, she noticed it was completely unclothed.  A deep rent was carved into the side of its chest, trailing blood as it went.  Then Ishana saw its face, and the hair.

	Though dirty and tangled, it was clearly wheat-gold in color.  Ishana felt molten tears well in her eyes.  High Elf.

	“Is this the one?” asked the commanding voice, its interest not piqued.

	“Aye, Dreadlord.”  Ishana fell from the raider’s shoulder and hit the ground with a dull -whump-.  Another skeletal servant gingerly scampered by, spreading sawdust over the oozing blood.  Some of it stuck to Ishana’s skin where she had rolled into the fluid.

	“And after I went through all the trouble to have her washed up.”  That was a voice she knew, though it was haughtier and more condescending than she was used too.  Sidric.

	Ishan braced herself then took in the deepest breath she could, pushing up with all her might.  She barely managed to raise her head up to see the throne room.

	At first she thought it a circle, but realized by the way the chairs were positioned that the room was closer to an octagon.  Several dark-haired elves in finely appointed, but equally dank-colored robes and ornate armors were seated at irregular intervals.  All were facing inwards, but some were closer to the center than others and seemed to be trying to form another circle around the raised dias at the back wall.  Larger than the other seats, this one was standing atop a raised pulpit of brass skulls.  A single, well cushioned chair some three paces away was the only piece of furniture nearby.  Atop the blackwood and iron throne reclined a surprisingly soft-faced durchii with on leg over the armrest.  His hair black, but had a silvery wave to it that shone each time he moved.

	It was Sidric.  He watched those under him with a possessive smile that sent shivers down her spine.  In the center of the room stood a white-haired elf with a bare chest and loose but well appointed silk leggings.  He breathed easy and held a dagger, casually dripping droplets of blood, in each hand.

	He turned towards Ishana and, had her jaw not already been opened to allow her to breath, it would have fallen to the ground.  This face, too, belonged to Sidric.  He smiled in recognition as another raider placed a purple and dark blue robe over his shoulders.  This Sidric let the robe hang loose and didn’t tie it closed.  He passed over to Ishana, still all but prone on the ground, and waved the raider who carried her away.  The lithe creature squatted in front of her and lifted her head with a finger.  She was too weak to shake off his touch.

	“It is so good to see you again,” he said.  Bile rose in her throat at his jolly tone.  “Did you sleep well?”  Ishana’s eyes flickered between the druchii before her and the one on the throne.  Following her gaze, he smiled and spread his arms wide.  “Where are my manners?” he said.  “Ishana, I would like to introduce you to Sargitar, Dreadlord of Naggorond.”  He leaned low, whispering, “He’s the one that planned out that whole raiding business, you know.”  Sidric stood and let his voice carry across the room.  “My friends, this is Ishana Starspear, the Deliverer of Tren’ac!”

	All around the druchii raiders and corsairs stood and clapped, cheering as she lay there in shock as though a cold dagger was resting against her spine.  Even the one on the throne, this Sargitar person was raising a glass of wine towards her in salute.  A damn broke behind her eyes and the trickle of tears falling down her cheeks became a gushing flood.  She let herself fall to the ground sobbing.  Her hand clenched at the sawdust and began to shake with shame and rage.

	“I know,” said Sidric, “I know.  Being a hero is a lot to take in.  Here, come with me.”  With that, he gently scooped his arms underneath her and carried her infant-style to the lonely chair standing to the left of Sargitar’s.  He sat down and pulled her into his lap, enveloping her with his loose but weighty robe.  His chest oozed warm through her back and into her body.  She hated herself for being grateful for the warmth and cover provided to her shaking, unclad self, but couldn’t muster more than a few moments of twisting struggle before she collapsed into his lap.  Sidric’s arms wrapped around her chest and pulled her close.

	“Shush now,” he whispered into her ear.  “I know how tired you must be.  We can play later.”  She shivered.  “For now, rest and enjoy the entertainment.”

	“Assassin,” said Sargitar, still reclining comfortably in his throne, “in honor of your performance, would you care to choose the next act?”

	“As you said, Dreadlord, it was a disappointing fight.  Hardly worthy of being called a fight at all.  And you know your crew better than I; I’m sure your choice will far exceed my own, eh?”

	Sargitar slapped the side of his chair, “Well said!”  He snapped his finger and held his glass out to be refilled.  He then waved the servant over towards Sidric.  “I’m a nasty mood,” he declared.  “Bring in Valha!  Bring in the Beastmaster!”

	Ishana saw the druchii in the room clap and shift excitedly in their seats.  Whoever this Valha was, he seemed to be popular.

	In moments the doors opened again and a startled high elf in a stained brown gown was shoved into the room.  She looked around, dazed, as tears rolled down her cheeks.  Ishana recognized her as one of the chief field hands of Tren’ac.  She was taller and wider than most elves and was used to hard work, keeping her light brown hair short and tied behind her head.  Now, barefoot and alone, the scraps of hair she had left dangled at odd angles around her face.  A ragged gash, crudely stitched with thick black fibers, streaked down her lip to her chin.  Her left eye was a black and blue mess.

	Ishana tried to call out to her, but Sidric caught her tongue with his hand as he pressed his fingers, gently, into her mouth.  “Shush,” he said, leaning closer to her face, “and watch.”  He forced her head towards the door.

	Two druchii carried an oddly shaped bench between them into the chamber, placing it in the middle.  One grabbed the elf woman by the wrist and forced her over the side, pressing her face down onto the wooden contraption and locking her hands into well placed shackled there for that purpose.  The other lashed her legs to the feet of the bench, and cut away what little fabric covered her.   He ripped it over her head and the two stepped away, leaving her stranded and immobile.

	The elf had trouble raising her head up to look around and seemed not to understand what was happening.

	A spine-tingling scream from the hallway caught Ishana’s attention.  There, a druchii raider was thrashing around on the ground, clawing at the blood squirting stump that used to be his arm.  But that wasn’t what Ishana was staring at.  No.

	Ishana was staring at the massive, bipedal reptilian being prodded towards the throne room.  Two bulky guards held on for dear life to polls affixed to the thick collar clamped to the creature’s neck.  Each time it snapped its jaws towards one of them, the other would pull back.  Evidently the process was less than entirely effective, judging by the one-armed bite victim currently having a spear shoved through his throat.

	Once the beast was fixed to the floor by a handy set of iron loops already imbedded into it; another druchii gracefully swept into the room.  Most of the crowd stood to give her a standing ovation, all except Sidric and Sargitar, who merely raised their glasses in salute.  The newcomer was the first female druchii Ishana had yet seen.  Her hair was dyed a dark purple and bound into a topknot by above her head by a string of white beads that looked suspiciously like bone.  She raised her hands upwards and bowed a salute to Sargitar, her scaly leather vest only covering one side of her chest.  Her exposed breast was thicker than her lithe form would have suggested and covered with an intricately spiraled tattoo wrought in the image of a white and a black dragon battling.  A sharp fang, pinned into her nipple by brass wire, jingled as she rose and bowed again to the crowd.

	“Lords and ladies,” she said in a raspy, sing-song voice.  “It is my profound pleasure to present you with tonight’s main attraction.”  Her hand swept over the growling reptile, struggling to break free of the chains, and the shivering elf on the platform.  Some of the audience actually cackled at this.  Smiling, slipped a hand down the side of her tight fitting chaps and drew a vile from a pouch at her thigh.  She held it high so they could all see.

	“This is a potion of my own devising, perhaps the strongest aphrodisiac the world has ever seen,” she let them all take a good, long look.  “Before you place an order for yourself,” she said, “know that I’ve had to quadruple the strength and mix it with several potent poisons, courtesy of the Temple of Khaine,” here she nodded towards Sidric, who returned the gesture, “in order for it to actually affect the chosen recipient.”  She glanced at the struggling beast and smiled.  “A nauglir’s noxious flesh is proof against most everything, so I had to make it this strong just so my friend here would feel it at all.”  She wiggled the vile in her hand and whispered loudly, “So strong, in fact, that it would kill just about anything else.”  She paused a moment.  “Though their brains would probably overload from the flood inducing orgasms a mere gust of wind would cause, of course.”  The beast tamer smiled wide and nodded her head.  “It would be up to you to know if it is worth it or not.”

	Many in the crowd laughed, including Sargitar.  Ishana tried not to notice him glance in her direction.

	Valha carefully lifted a large black leather muzzle form a waiting assistant, then gracefully slipped it over the animal’s head.  She had already finished fastening it when the beast noticed she was there.  As it swiped its head around towards her she hopped away and then neatly leapt back to its side, fondling the bottle.

	“As you can,” she said, removing the stopper.  “The creature is quite aggressive.  You will notice the muzzle is reinforced with steel, and its front claws are already gloved.  We don’t want the festivities to end too soon, do we?”  She jabbed a metal rod into just the right place and the nauglir froze, as if in shock.  The maneuver took the crowd by surprise, and they were soon clapping.

	Careful to keep the giant reptile immobile, Valha reached under its torso and, keeping the open vial between two fingers, started to probe at its genitals.  After a few seconds, a slippery pink mass slid from its orifice and began to enlarge.  She daintily stroked it from base to tip as blood pumped into the organ.  By the time she was done, its erect penis was as long as her forearm and bulging with thick, cordlike veins.  Someone in the crowd whistled.

	“The fun part is about to begin,” Sidric whispered to Ishana.  His lips brushed against her ear and his bare hand was beginning to creep its way up to her breast.  “Keep watching.”  She tried to look away, but his other hand was still holding her by the jaw.

	Valha tilted the vial and let the contents dribble out, one drop at a time.  Each droplet caused the creature’s rod to flick upwards in agitation.  It even began to tremble against the nerve-pain holding it in place.  Provoked by its reaction, she poured nearly the entire measure down the length of its penis.  The potion, a light green in color, could be seen as it congealed its way down the sides of the shaft.

	“And now,” she said with an overly dramatic flair, “we must prepare the feast!”  He step was more of a glide than a walk, and soon she was at the side of the struggling elf maiden.

	“P-please,” she cried.  “I’ll do anything!  Just don’t do this!”  Her eyes were red and puffy from the tears.  She struggled against her restraints with all her feeble strength.

	“My dear,” said the beast tamer.  “My dear, I wouldn’t dream of letting my pet loose on you without your permission.”  She nodded sagely, watching as the prisoner tensed.  Her face was a mass of conflicting emotions; hope, but with a healthy dose of fearful skepticism.  “No, in a few moments… you’ll be BEGGING for his cock.”  With that, she took the bottle and tapped it.  Three drops, no more, no less, fell from the tube.  They impacted the restrained elf’s vulva and began to ooze downwards.  Valha stood back, waiting.

	Her victim had wretched her eyes closed and seemed to be biting her lip. Every few seconds a muscle spasm would jolt across her body and she would fight to keep it from overpowering her.  After thirty seconds her mouth came open and she was panting heavily, gulping at the air before the last breath had even been expelled.

	Ishana watched in horror as cold one began to thrash wildly, pulling at its restraints. She could see the boards of the floor pulling upwards against its massive strength.  But what was happening to the blonde elf was even more horrifying.

	She was pulling at her own restraints like a wild beast.  Her wrist and ankles were raw from where she tugged at them with all her strength and more.  Blood began to flow.  Everything below her waist was shaking violently. Valha had to grab hold of her hair to keep her from banging face first into the bench.  Her labored panting turned into a hollow moan, and then to a fevered screech.

	The wretched elf was pleading with every fiber of her soul for them to stop her torment.  Ishana could see a small puddle forming below her groin.  She begged, again and again, for them to kill her, to just end it all.  The beast tamer nodded in understanding, but said nothing.

	Soon she was pressing the full weight of her body against the contraption, grinding her breasts into the wood.  She tried, desperately, to find something to press her pelvis against, but the design left that whole area alone and exposed.
	Grinning like a child with a stolen candy-apple, Valha slowly leaned back and put her face behind the jittering elf.  She pursed her lips together and slowly, ever so slowly, blew a small gust of wind across her vulva.  The elf gave a shriek and began to twist and contort as far as the restrains would allow.

	Sidric’s fingers were tracing the indention of bite marks around Ishana’s nipples that he had put there so recently.  They were still very tender, and each subtle movement caused her to twitch or flinch.  He gently grazed across her nipple and chuckled at the way she moaned.  It was the pain, she told herself.  It was just the pain

	She felt his other hand fall from her face and softly trace its way down her chest to her midriff.  He circled around the hole of her belly button.  “She’s done well to last this long, eh?”  Ishana twisted her head away from him, trying not to watch.  But she could not pull her eyes away.  “Not long now, I think.”

	“Please!” she shouted.  “Touch me!  Touch me!  Slap me!  Give me something!  I need it!”  The look of rapturous ecstasy pulsating from her face chilled Ishana’s heart as much as anything else she had seen on the ship.  So far.

	“Tell me exactly what it is you want, my dear,” Valha said  “I seem to recall you wanting me to stop.”  Her audience shared in her mirthful laughter.

	“Gimme!” she screamed, hardly able to talk.

	The beast roared deafening howl across the chamber.  Several patrons dropped glasses or cupped hands to their ears. Half a dozen handlers were struggling to keep the creature pinned with barbed spears.

	The drugged elf eyed the monster and her pupils dilated so large, Ishana thought they would pop.  The reptile’s already stiffened cock had engorged grotesquely into a bulging mass of purple flesh and hotly pumping black veins.  Its eyes, too, were large enough as to be completely black.

	Drool poured freely from the victim’s mouth, forming a puddle similar to the widening wetness pooling under her pelvis.  She pulled against her ankle restraints and pushed her ass in the creature’s direction as best she could.  There was a snap, and Ishana could not tell if it was a beast’s tale cracking against the ground… or the elf’s ankle.

	“GimmegimmegimmegimmegimmeGIMME!” she cried.

	“You heard her, lords and ladies,” said Valha, taking a careful step back. At a nod, the handlers let loose and the monstrous reptile pushed upwards with all its might, popping the iron loops from the wooden floor and charging forward like a primordial terror.

	With a smile too wide for her own face, the elf woman screamed out in joy, “YEEEEESSSS!” as the creature dashed towards her.  At the very last second, secondary chains fastened to the beast’s collar brought it to a halt.  It clawed at the air, it’s engorged member mere inches from the wet, turgid flesh of the elf’s sex.  At a signal from Valha, a dozen muscled handlers eased back slowly with the chain.

	The cold one’s penis nudged against the elf’s buttock and they both howled in animalistic pleasure.  A little closer, and the beast was pressing itself under her genitals, between her legs.  “IN!” she screeched.  Almost as if obliging her, the restraints were loosed a bit more and suddenly it was inside her.

	At the same instant, Sidric’s middle finger plunged into Ishana’s slit.

	On top of her, now, the creature seemed to forget how to proceed.  It kept pulling against its restraints, frantically trying to push further and further inside of her.  The elf seemed to forget how to breathe, and was simply staring blankly ahead, eyes wide and lips pulled into a wicked grin, as she was stretched and pounded into.
	Each time the beast went as far in as her body could take, the handlers would pull it back with the chains, letting it rock forward again.  The pool of juices turned red as blood mixed with natural lubrication.  The druchii’s victim seemed not to notice.  She simply took the full force of the monster’s equally monstrous cock as it surged forwards again and again.

	Meanwhile, Sidric was pushing his finger into Ishana and slowly drawing it out again.  She twisted in rebellion, but could hardly manage to put up even so little resistance.  Tears streamed down her face freely as she watched the horrendous spectacle before her.

	Sidric nodded to a slave girl and she rushed to him.  He barked an order and the slave was on her knees before him, delicately loosening his belt.  Ishana noticed it was the same human girl that brought the water bucket, earlier.

	The elf girl and the bulky lizard were both roaring incoherently as the slave girl opened her lips wide and took Sidric’s already swollen shaft into her mouth.  Ishana watched as her head bobbed up and down under the robe while the monster continued to rip into the restrained elf.  All the while, he was fingering Ishana’s cunt with one hand and messaging her breast with the other.  Strangely, he was almost gentle…

	After an eternity, the beast roared louder than it had before and rammed forward, pulling the chains out of the handler’s grips and pumping into the elf with wild abandon.  Her eyes had rolled up into the back of her head, but tears and drool still streamed from her face and dribbled to the floor.  Then something gave inside of her and blood began to surge out of her mouth each time the creature pumped forward.  Eventually it too reached the end of its abilities and its eyes started to glaze over.  It have one, final roar of defiance that sputtered what seemed like gallons of seminal fluid into the dead or dying elf.  It flowed into her hard, then surged back out of her again.  The white and reds mixed together into a delicate swirl of pinks, quickly foaming ankle-deep under their bodies.

	Without a word, Valha stepped forward and shoved a serrated spear into the creature’s eye socket, punching clean through and splitting the eye on the other side.  In a moment the reptile became a pincushion as all her assistants drove their own spears into the beast’s most vital areas.  It thrashed wildly in death, semen still pumping out of its throbbing purple cock.  When it fell over, snapping the hafts of half a dozen spears, the sound echoed through the throne room and down the hall.

	Every druchii present, save Sargitar and the assassin, rose to their feet, clapping wildly.  Sidric bit Ishana’s ear as his bucked upwards into the slave’s mouth, causing her to choke.  She coughed, then bowed herself away after closing up her trousers again when he was done.  Ishana noticed that she had swallowed as much as she could.

	He and Ishana sat there, waiting, as the cheering died down.  Sargitar gave a little nod of respect to the Beastmaster, which she returned with a full-bodied bow that took her head nearly to the floor.  Sidric was still breathing easily as he caught the druchii trainer’s eye with a wave of his hand.  He rose to his feet, still holding Ishana in his arms like a child.

	“That was masterfully done, Valha Beastmaster,” he said.  She acknowledged his compliment with another bow, not quite as deep, and a self satisfied smile.  “I am told you are also the taskmaster of the Dreadlord’s vessel.”

	“His whole fleet,” she told him proudly.  He nodded his compliments and apology.

	“I was wonder,” he said slowly, “if you could give this one your individual attention.”  He nodded towards Ishana, who was struggling to stay awake.  “I’d like its injuries repaired,” he said, “and she needs a branding.”

	Valha smiled and waved two handlers forward to take her out of Sidric’s arms.  “I will do my very best,” she told him.

	“I expect no less,” he said simply, a threat buried beneath the smile he gave her.  “And, as long as you don’t damage it further, please take some time to give her the usual… basic training.”

	“Oh, my lord,” she said, eyes gleaming.  “It would be my pleasure.”

	The beastmaster’s hungry smile was the last thing Ishana saw before drifting off into a mercifully dreamless sleep.  She had stopped crying.