Siege of Graesol Ch. 02

While all eyes focused on the barbarian horde advancing towards the small town of Graesol, Chala watched the expressions of the men around her, the mercenary group that she now traveled with. They were riddled with fear; she could tell by their wide eyes and slack jaws. Some were even visibly trembling. Her dark green lips rose in an odd little grin. Since her people's eyes slanted downwards at the ends, their expressions would usually look sad. When she smiled, Chala just looked cruel. The men of this land were showing their true nature now. Their fears and weaknesses were bubbling to the surface, just the way they should. It reminded her of home.

Her crystal blue gaze peered up to the leader of their band, the giant of a man, Hograth. She barely reached his stomach. The large unwashed man in his tattered furs looked like he'd belong better fighting on the side of the attackers. The food he left stuck in his matted grey beard would probably be enough to feed an army for a month. The man chuckled and said something in the language of the slaves, which she never bothered to learn. He put on a brave front, but Chala could smell the fear on him. It was delicious.

"Coward," she said quietly in her own language.

Chala always felt a particular irritation from such people. It was against the natural order of things for the weak to be above the strong. Men were supposed to be submissive, but even in a backward culture like this the strong should lead the weak. This was a flaw in human nature she never understood. Things just didn't work that way in the forests of Obara.

To an outsider, it would look like she was following this man as well, which made her more then a little angry. However, the thought of how she joined the group brought a smile back to her wicked little face.

*****

Weeks ago, Chala had found herself wandering the night skies outside of the Ashwoods, many miles from Graesol. Her skin was the color of a jungle at dusk, but it did not blend in well with the dirty grey trees that surrounded her. The forest had painful memories; she could feel them. There were spirits too. Whether spirits of man or spirits of the wood she did not know, and she never came close enough to find out. Still, it was a forest, and as close to home as she could find.

The scent of slave flesh filled her nostrils, and she let out a soft sigh from her soft lips. It had been months since she had last taken a slave, and for some time now, her desires were consuming her thoughts. Her skin was itching in anticipation under her blackened hunting leathers. There were many of them, and they were unwashed and unclean. It didn't matter. She wanted them all.

She stepped tentatively onto the trail in front of the group of men, keeping her head down so she would not appear aggressive. She let her long, straight black hair fall across the left side of her face, obscuring her features.

Chala's attention was trained on Hograth, and she could see even then that he was a poor leader. Though she couldn't understand what they were saying, the men were bickering amongst themselves. Several started to advance towards her, and the giant of a leader had to shout to keep them in line.

Chala spoke softly in the silky language of her people, "One at a time or all at once. It does not matter to me."

The men looked at her, not understanding. They had probably never even heard of an Obaran, much less spoke to one. She looked forward to showing them just what she could do.

Hograth stepped forward, grinned, and slammed the shaft of his greataxe in the ground before her. He then spun it in a flashy display. The axe blade whirled dangerously close to her face, blowing her hair back and displaying her innocent, dark green features. Chala did not move.

When his hand came down and touched her head, she just dropped her gaze to her feet, and let him pet her. The stench was almost overwhelming. His finger dropped under her chin, and he lifted her face to look at him. The grin washed away when he saw the expression on her face.

In a heartbeat, Chala's foot lifted high into the air and slammed into Hograth's groin. As the man fell forward, she rolled to the side, and came up wielding her Obaran blade. It was a slender piece of enchanted steel, wickedly curved and sharp on both sides and tip.

The men just laughed at their leader's humiliation, and Chala allowed some of the tenseness in her muscles to relax. A retching sound exploded from the big man's throat as he vomited from the pain. Laughing with the rest, Chala placed her foot on the man's shoulder and pushed him to the ground on his back. She gracefully stepped out of her sandals and stood upon his chest.

To get what she wanted, she knew that she had to make this man give a symbol of his submission to her, so she decided to treat him the way she would a slave at home. She held the sole of her foot above his head, looked down at him suggestively, and licked her lips. The idiot stared at her for a moment, then a spark of understanding hit and his eyes squinted in anger.

Hograth barked out an order, and two men drew steel and moved to attack her. Chala simply held her blade loosely, waiting for the men to move. One, carrying a dagger, moved behind her to a flanking position. The other readied his sword and shield and prepared to engage. Both men were sweating, nervous, afraid. The scent was intoxicating. The mercenary commander underneath her was still yelling incessantly, so Chala put her foot on his face to silence him. That's when the two men attacked.

Chala turned to the man with the dagger, and ducked under his clumsy thrust. She lifted her blade and slid it across his abdomen, spilling his intestines on the ground. Her momentum spun her as she leapt into the air. The second man raised his shield to cover his face, but Chala easily kicked it aside, flipped her blade around, and let it slide cleanly through the man's throat, decapitating him.

She landed softly back on Hograth's chest. As the two bodies fell next to her, headless and gutless, she raised her green foot again over the big man's face. This time, he said nothing; he just stuck out his tongue and performed his manly duty of licking the sole of Chala's dainty green foot.

The young Obaran giggled as Hograth's wet tongue touched her foot. It was such a feeling of power! Her hot pussy screamed for release, but she would savor this moment first. She let him lick the bottom of one foot, then the other. She fed him her toes, allowing him to suck on them each individually. Chala sighed in pleasure. The big man's eyes closed in response; he seemed to be enjoying himself. It was good to know that she could let this brute of a man know his proper place: on the ground, under her, worshipping her feet. Looking behind her, she was pleased to find a large tent in the man's pants.

"Good boy!" she cooed in her sylvan language, enticing a moan from him in return. He was better endowed then most slaves.

Chala slipped out of her leathers, revealing her body to the rough men. The lustful tension was thick as they took in her form. Her breasts were small, with hard nipples even darker then her skin. The muscles of her legs and torso held tightly in a way that her leathers could not show. A small, clean black bush was visible between her legs.

Kneeling upon his arms, Chala pinned Hograth to the ground with her light body. She sat upright, and her pussy was just inches from his face. The man had not likely seen a woman in months, and she was practically dripping on him. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, inhaling her scent. When they opened again, they were glazed over with lust.

Giggling, Chala opened the soft folds of her pussy, revealing a bright pink that was in stark contrast to her dark thighs. A drop of her nectar coalesced and fell into the big man's open eye. He didn't even blink; he just accepted her juices with a groan.

The man's face lit up when she lowered her hips, letting her pussy hover just above his face. He stuck out his tongue, desperate for a taste, only to earn a slap from the young woman atop him. When she dipped even closer, he thrust out his tongue again, but she simply moved back and slapped him again. Helplessly, Hograth lay there in overwhelming desire while Chala rolled her hips, just out of his reach. Several more drops of her lust fell onto his face, until he was saturated with her scent. Then, finally, she lowered herself onto his outstretched tongue, and moaned in ecstasy.

For long minutes, Chala rubbed her body against his tongue. Heavy with arousal, she liked the rough feel of his mustache when her clit ground upon it, and how his head was so large that she didn't fully cover him, even when she let herself rest fully upon his face. The big man's face began to turn red, then purple as she cut off his airflow. Even when she lifted off to give him room to breathe he immediately lifted his tongue to taste her more, heedless of his own safety. It was so natural; Chala couldn't contain herself, and screamed out in orgasm. Hograth's face was drenched with her juices, and his own saliva.

A giggle came out of the little Obaran's throat as she leaned over to lick the dew from the man's face. She loved her own taste, like salted melons. After the man had gathered his breathe back, she sat back down upon his face; this time she let his nose slide into the depths of her pussy. Up and down she bucked, as her fingers rubbed her clit fiercely. When his tongue reached up to lap at her bottom, she came even harder. The girl continued to ride his face until her orgasms subsided.

Turning around, she saw the cock throbbing in Hograth's pants. "Oh, I forgot about you! For being such a good boy, I will let you give your essence to me. How does that sound?"

Of course, he didn't understand her, but the painful groan he gave seemed to be approval enough. Spinning around, she let him have her feet again, which he devoured greedily. When his pants were undone, his cock sprung out, throbbing. The tip had a bit of fluid already leaking from it in anticipation. Her hot mouth licked the semen from his head, and she wrapped her lips around the tip of the large organ, while her hands stroked the bottom. In less the ten seconds he was cumming into her mouth, which seemed to be great humor to the rest of his band. Chala didn't spill a drop.

As the warm fluid flowed down Chala's throat, she felt revitalized. In a sense, she was a starving woman who had just taken her first bite of food in weeks. Obarans had the unique ability to sap the strength of those they mated with, stealing their energy. She inhaled deeply while he lowered his head and fell unconscious. It was satisfying, but she was still hungry.

The men around watched in awe. Some were obviously turned on, despite the still lingering smell of fear and death. This pleased Chala, but not everyone honored her properly with their arousal. Frustrated, the dark green girl pointed to a trembling man, soft in the crotch. She smiled evilly and licked her lips, then pointed to the ground near his dead comrades and unconscious leader.

The man's eyes went wide, and for a moment it looked like he would obey, drawn to her like a bug to a lamp. However at the last moment he turned and ran down the forest path, hands and legs pumping clumsily as he tried to escape. Calmly, Chala picked up the dagger from the dead man at her feet, and flung it gracefully. It flew end over end until it plunged deep into the back of the fearful man's neck. He turned stiff as a board then fell forwards, dead.

Turning back with the same malicious grin, she pointed to the next man. His cock grew as she selected him, and he nodded obediently and came to her. Unable to control his own legs, the man tripped to the ground and crawled the rest of the way to her.

This earned a smile from the young Obaran. He wanted her to take him so badly she could smell it. "You're a good boy just like your master, aren't you?"

He rolled over on his back, held his hands behind his head, and waited for her to do as she pleased with him. She ripped off his pants and mounted him, moaning as his hard cock slide into her small, but welcoming pussy. After a moment, she road him viciously until he neared orgasm, at which point she stopped and made him lick her pussy until he calmed down. Repeatedly she would fuck him until he was near release, and then make him worship her pussy, her feet, or her dark breasts. By the end, he was screaming for release. She just laughed and took his cock into her mouth, tasting her sweet juices as he gave his seed, strength, and energy to her as well. Like his leader, the man passed out.

At that point, it became a free for all. Chala would take one, two, or three men at a time, devouring their essence like a crazed woman. By dawn, she stood triumphantly over this band of men, who slept like mewling babes. Her chest heaved in the after-glow, and she smiled, reflecting on her conquest. These men were hers to take whenever she wanted; they were a reservoir of strength that she could draw upon to feed her hunger and enhance her battle prowess.

Still, she had not accomplished what she came here for. None of these men were allowed to release within her womb, because none of them were worthy to give her the daughter she sought. There were slaves in Obara with stronger bodies and wills then these men. She would find a free man with the strength to give her a child, wherever he may be found.

*****

Dural Frost's eyes narrowed in the dawn light as the archer captain Stalwain approached with his count.

"Twenty-five hundred."

Dural grunted in return. He'd estimated twenty-three. In the past, he'd fought against much larger forces. Of course, at the time he was not stuck with a meager force of two-hundred, most of which were militiamen or lazy sell-swords. The wooden palisade they had constructed around Graesol was beginning to feel less like a fortress, and more like a deathtrap. Of course, he couldn't let the men know he thought so.

"Live with honor, die with glory." He whispered to himself, so that even Stalwain could not hear. They were the words of his old kingdom, Virage, before the birth of the Empire some twenty-five years ago.

The size of the army still shocked Dural. Never has there been a horde this size from the eastern-lands. The lands were always at battle with each other, raiding when they didn't have enough of what they needed, whether it be food, weapons, or women. Occasionally they would slip westward, but never organized like this. If it weren't for the lack of siege equipment, he could almost see this as an army.

The scouts had reported a small band, and thousands arrive. Dural wondered if they had lied, or if this were some trickery by the enemy. Regardless, many tribes had rallied under the Fenal, and these many tribes were once leaderless and squabbled amongst themselves.

Why have you come? What brought you all together? He thought to himself. There was nothing of any real value in Graesol, no hidden treasures or bountiful lands. Strategically, the town was of little import. The townsfolk lived a difficult but simple life-style, and it was enough for them just to get by and to see their children grow.

For a moment, he also wondered what had brought the armies together, but when his eyes focused again on the darkly garbed woman in a throne in the enemy encampment he knew. Her beauty was obvious from here, where just a hint of flesh was visible. The early morning sun seemed to cling to her. He couldn't even see her general features or form; the beauty seemed to radiate from her.

Perhaps it was magic. Virage had magi of the mind, who could read thoughts and manipulate others emotions. Maybe she was doing so to him. It seemed a silly thing to speculate about, and right now there were more important things to consider.

Dural pivoted himself to regard his men. He was a large man, though not so large as Hograth. His strength was evident, and even after years in exile from the Empire's army he still had the tightly woven muscles of his youth, though they were not visible under his chainmail hauberk.

If only they could see the scars this body, perhaps they wouldn't admire me so, he thought. His brows had grown a bushy grey as he approached his declining years; they furrowed in concentration.

Impossibly fast, he whipped the gigantic greatsword off his shoulder, and buried it into the ground. His left hand lifted the war-banner carrying the crest of the Empire. It was an intricate thing, displaying a three-headed dragon on a field of black spewing flames of silver, brown, and green upon a knight, a bear, and a snake, respectively.

Shouts came out from the militiamen.

"For Bearune!"

"Strength and freedom!"

"For love and life!"

Although the platoon of Empire soldiers was silent and stoic as always, Dural was pleased to see that even some of the sell-swords were rousing themselves enough to be inspired. Graesol was once part of Bearune, before the Empire, and Dural found its people emulated the bear on their sigil very well. They were lax in times of peace, but when war was upon them their strength and ferocity were unrivaled.

The men were looking at him, expecting him to say something. He hated this part, even after years of leading armies. It felt dishonest to tell them that they could win against such over-whelming odds, but it was something his men needed to hear and it was him they needed to hear it from. Although the men of Graesol did not know of his past as a general for the Empire and thought him to be a simple soldier, he had led them through numerous barbarian raids, over a dozen in the last decade. But never this.

He wanted to sigh, but on the outside Dural was all grins and confidence.

"Brothers!" he shouted. "We have been through decades together. We have shared love, hate, and had our share of battles. We have watched our children grow to fight by our sides."

Dural nodded respectfully to his son, Fallon, who beamed in return. He continued.

"When things look grim, you must remember what you fight for. You must remember what is important for you. Fight for your lives, but more importantly, fight for the lives of those you love. Fight for your sons, your daughters, your fathers and mothers, your wives. Fight for them, and no enemy will match your ferocity. Fight for them, and we will win the day, no matter the odds against us!"

When a booming cheer arouse from the soldiers, Dural allowed it to wash over him. The speech was hogwash, he knew. They always were. However, the men needed to hear it, and as the roars washed over him, he realized that he needed to hear it as well.

*****

"Back for more, you whore?"

Daisy Groben moaned in approval of the verbal abuse. It had been half a day since Tiran Shamus had invaded, and then left her home. Most of her time had been spent with fitful rest, interrupted by an unyielding fire in her loins that her fingers alone could not douse. She'd even let her husband make love to her last night; though that only served to frustrate her more. Her husband was just too compliant.

She knelt next to Tiran's bed, and lowered her head submissively, the way he liked. Partly, she felt to blame for his condition. It was, after all, her daughter who pulled the trigger to the crossbow, and Daisy was not stupid enough to think she did not have a part to play in her daughter's apparent anger towards this man. She was actually quite proud of little Tulip, for standing up to this evil man, and protecting her family.

Though she didn't know exactly what happened afterwards, the sexy memory of his young girlfriend, Shana Frost, catching Daisy and Tiran in bed together was still fresh on her mind. The young girl had run away from the sight, and Tiran chased after her. Somewhere along the way, Tulip had followed him and shot him with the crossbow that her husband, Doctor Hal Groben, had given her.