tagSci-Fi & FantasyConquest of KoC

Conquest of KoC



Achteon crept quietly through the town. He'd already visited the armory and the barracks. He'd committed to memory the size of the enemy army, their weapon supplies, and their armor. Now, all he needed to do was make it back to safety and relay the information. After that, his job was done. He could just kick back and relax and let the fighters do the rest of the work. The trick was getting home alive.

He slipped silently through the darkness, praising the night for its cover. As he danced from shadow to shadow along the quiet street, he peeked through the open windows of the buildings around him. More out of habit than anything else. The training process of becoming a spy had a tendency to instill plenty of habits into young minds like Achteon's. It was the view in the next window that would bring Achteon on the stop and cause him to crouch down and peer inside--all in order to gain information on the enemy, he told himself.

There, in full view of Achteon, bathed in the pale light of the candles spread around the room, was the General. He could barely see her belly-button over the lip of the bathtub in which she knelt. Two young handmaidens knelt beside her bathtub, drawing sponges up out of the water, gliding them along her body. Achteon's gaze followed a sponge as it caressed her stomach, washing along the curve of her hip, easing up along her side. It disappeared from his view behind her back, only to reappear at her shoulder, brushing along her neck, and stopping just below her collarbone. Lithe fingers squeezed the sponge, forcing a cascade of water to flow down her chest, encasing her breasts in the waterfall, causing them to glisten in the candlelight even as the water trickled away.

A sound drew Achteon's attention away. The night watch was coming down the street, their hounds sniffing for his trail. After one last, longing glance at the General, Achteon turned darted down the street toward the town's wall. Scaling it was no problem for the trained spy, and moments later, he was running over the open plain beyond, heading for the safety of his army's encampment.

Kings of Chaos

I unsheathed my sword, Freud, for the umpteenth time and began to spar with an imaginary foe, mostly to kill time. I hate waiting for spies to return. They're always so unpredictable. Most of my spies had returned already. All of them, in fact, except for one. Achteon was still in the field, and I wouldn't start the attack without him back in camp. Unless he was dead, of course. But my spy network was good, and Achteon was one of my best--and one of the most thorough. It was best to wait.

But I hate waiting.

I had all the information I needed from my other spies. They were able to bring back everything I needed to know. Enemy troupe size was minimal, their treasury was full, their defenses were strong, but that can be overcome. Maybe Achteon was taking it upon himself to do a little sabotage? He certainly has the skills, and if the right opportunity presented itself, he could very well have taken the chance.

Just then Achteon came running into camp. He came before me and knelt.

"I bring my report, Sir."

"I've already gotten all the information I need from the others."


"What was it that took you so long, Achteon?"

There was a silent pause. Achteon's lips curled slowly into a large, boyish smile. His eyes glazed over slightly, staring off at some memory that only he could see. "I saw…their General, Sir."


"And…" He stood. The smile on his face grew slightly, changing into a roguish grin--a type of grin with which I was all too familiar. "…and, I'm not sorry that I'm late." He turned and dashed off, heading deeper into our encampment, seeking out, presumably, the tent of "entertainment".

The attack would come at night, under the cover of darkness. My troops were ready to move as soon as.…

The gate of the town wall broke open under the assault of our siege. My army surged forward, trained soldiers and mercenaries leading the less experienced. Inside the town, their night watch sounded the alarm, then charged to meet us. The sound of battle filled the air--swords clanging on shields, the sharp twang of bowstrings, the cries of the fallen. A squadron of my men rushed forward to their vault, and began loading silver coins into sacks. Shoulders squared, standing tall, I walked deeper into the town, glorious battles raging all around. Suddenly, the armies, still fighting, parted to either side, and there, at the end of the tunnel of battle, she stood.

General Boudicca.

She stood, flanked by two handmaidens, each dressed in filmy gowns, their hair wet and slicked back. I walked slowly down the corridor of battle, until I stood before them.

The General was lovely. Cast in the soft glow of the moonlight, she looked just like a…well, like a Celtic Goddess. Her features were strong, yet feminine. Her light, white dressing gown clung to her still damp body, showing all the gentle curves of feminine grace. Yet, those curves could not hide the power that lay within. She stood, tall and proud, refusing even to shiver against the cool night air that only added to her beauty.

As I stood, gazing at her a few paces away, my sword rose.

Boudicca's gaze met mine. When she spoke, her voice was harsh, throaty, and resonated with the power inside her. "I have no spear here, Sir."

My gaze descended along her body, peering through her translucent gown in the moonlight, and noticed the obvious truth of her statement. My sword hand shivered at her voice. My sword quivered, and finally, fell, it's tip pointing earthward.

My lips curled into a slight grin. "I certainly don't mind, Goddess."

With ease, I thrust downward, burying my sword into the dirt of the road beneath my feet. I stepped forward, past the handmaidens, to stand before Her. My hand reached out, my arm snaking around her waist, drawing her to me. My lips crashed into hers, parting them easily, the tip of my tongue finding hers in between. With her body pressed to mine and our lips locked together, the world fell away. In that space of eternity, I knew only the soft flutter of her tongue, the torrid pulse of her heartbeat against my chest, the fresh scent of her skin.

And, when my army had retreated with it's ill-gotten booty, I eased away, disappearing, like the fading mist, into the darkness, leaving only a memory upon her lips….

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