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BUT OPEN FOR FILLS
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BUT OPEN FOR FILLS
HELPFUL TIPS
>Please post your prompts with the paired characters and any notable kinks/trigger warnings in the title.
>When posting prompts, always remember to add kinks you're both looking for and wanting to avoid in a potential fill.
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>Our character limit here at LJ is 4300.
>If you have any other questions about posting, visit the HOW TO KINK MEME THREAD, under the Page Summary on your left.
>When posting prompts, always remember to add kinks you're both looking for and wanting to avoid in a potential fill.
>When filling, please remember to add your story tags: characters, relationship types, kinks, series and universe (ie: skyrim)
>Our character limit here at LJ is 4300.
>If you have any other questions about posting, visit the HOW TO KINK MEME THREAD, under the Page Summary on your left.
The Ashlander and his Enslaved Scholar (1c/??)
Date: 2014-04-10 03:04 pm (UTC)He observed the woman investigating the ancient foundations, from the safety of the shadows, as she jotted down notes on each of the unique puzzle chambers that lead to the Dragon Priest's resting chamber. She based her camp near the entrance, based on the balcony that overlooks the great and deep fire pit, which has the trapdoor mechanism connected to the lever on the very alter.
He pried into her journal to find that loyal and long dead Vohlak was a particular Mythic historic figure to his little Manmer's research into the betrayed Dragon Priests. The Ashlander could just translate the befuddling pompous but eloquent notes that she will return back to Raven Rock in a few days time; unless time will be extended due to possible blizzards or ash storms once she enters the Morrowind landscape of the Isle.
His elongated ear twitches at the echo of footfalls, resonating carelessly throughout the curved ancient walls of stone. The Dunmer swiftly replaced her journal next her sleeping form, deeply inhaling the exotic, clean floral scent of her before he retreats into the shadows.
The Ashlander takes out his flawless ebony bow, taking out an Elven arrow as his sharp eyes were trained on the entry of the massive tomb. He briefly looked over to the unconscious Manmer, still blissfully slumbering away. His hot coal red eyes shifted back to the doorway.
A small group of Dunmer stepped into the chamber, dressed up in makeshift fur armour and parts of Chitin armour brandishing iron swords and axes, one of them joyfully pointing out the miniature encampment of the Outlander. Reavers.
Zairan wasted no time in notching an arrow into place, drawing back until the bowstring was tensed to its perfection aiming it at the advancing barbarian of the foursome. Grey fingers released the string; sharp whistling pierced the air before the grotesque but triumphant sound of the arrow striking the exposed temple of the target's head. He tumbled down onto the stone ground sideways, the clanging of the insect slates of his Chitin exploded throughout the massive chamber, disturbing his Manmer awake. She had enough time to absurd what's happening and took the advantage of the distraction of the three Revears by rolling away down the steps of the alter.
The Ashlander notched another arrow into place, swiftly coating the sharp golden tip with a potent poison to greatly damage magik and stamina, allowing it to sail then pierce the bare blue skin of a scantily fur-clad mage. The kinsman shrilly cried out as she doubled over, clutching at her skewered thigh as she gritted her teeth in pain. The last two threw themselves back into the entry hall, covering from their unknown and undetectable attacker. As the mage desperately pulled at the slender shaft of the arrow, the swoosh of a great ice spike flew cuts into the pitiful fur armour to impale the heaving chest. The Reaver gawked down in shock, the death rattle of her last breath sounded from her before the Dunmer falls back lifelessly.
The huntsman stared at the great icicle protruding the dead Reaver's chest, the frosty fog ghosting over the cooling corpse. He was stunned initially before reeling to the side of the ice spike's source. Zairan spotted his Outlander, crouching behind the rusty iron railing with her raised left hand that glowed in blinding blue-white energy. Her face, still puffed up and flushed from sleep, was stone-set in determination and mild fright from the unexpected visit of those damned Revears.
Shouts sounded from the remaining two outlaws, threatening the human and her possible accomplice to surrender themselves if they wish to keep their lives. What complete, utter guar-crap thought Zairan.
Love!
Date: 2014-04-11 02:33 pm (UTC)"xx
OP again
Date: 2014-04-13 06:57 am (UTC)<3 OP
The Ashlander and his Enslaved Scholar (1d/??)
Date: 2014-04-18 01:19 pm (UTC)Marelle rushed to her bedroll, snatching out her staff of ice storms and scroll of paralysis. She sprinted up the ancient corridor, the frosty back of her Atronach filled out most of the doorway, just spotting one of the Reavers crouching in surrender from great injury whereas the other roared and fought with such fury it unnerved the mage. With the flick of her wrist to command her weakening ice demon to stand a side, the Breton used her staff to release a great storm of blitzing knifes of ice. The dreadful whirling blizzard swallows up the two Reavers. The sickening, wet sound of flesh being slashed and torn apart by the numerous ice daggers, taking their lives mercilessly. After the ice storm crashed and dispersed against a curved wall, it leaves behind a frosty trail of magic ice with the frozen, cut up corpses of Marelle's enemies. The Atronach crumpled into a heap of ice blocks next to her, rapidly melting away from existence.
The Breton tore herself away from the grisly scene, readying a ball of crimson energy then tossing it above her. Apart from the red aura of mice and insects, she cannot detect any life forms of another person. She scoured around the entry hall, bolting in the lock of the entrance in place. Brandishing her staff and summoning another Ice Atronach, she hurried into the first chamber, scanning the entire area before checking every nook and cranny. After she throughly checked the other chambers, her massive ice demon jogging behind, she returned to the first chamber, heading towards her camp to start packing. Despite not finding another person, she wasn't naive enough to sleep in the chamber; Marelle noticed the Elven arrows puncturing the first couple of Reavers.
The Breton knew someone was there. Watching her.
She has all she needs on Vahlok anyway. She should head towards the only Nord village of the Skaal, convince and pay one of them to escort her back to Raven Rock, so she could leave this dreaded island. The Breton was unnerved enough by the Ash Spawn, rising up from the hot ashes on the ground, their horrid hot-coal eyes glowing in blind rage to kill anything threatening and harmless. She sure as the thirteen planes of Oblivion that she doesn't want a damned stalker on top of all that.
Without warning, her Atronach dispatches into a rubble of ice once more. She didn't have enough time to react when a sharp shot of agony seized her left shoulder. The young Mage cried out in alarm, urgently grasping the fragments of a weak, wooden practice arrow. She staggers away from her belongings, her legs were becoming harder and harder to move as if transforming into leaden poles of stone. Marelle falls to her knees, cursing Lady Luck when her numbing hands fail to draw magic from the source within her stiffening body. She collapses to her side, recognising the poison from the arrow as paralysis. Her eyes bulged and breath quickens in fear as light footsteps approach from behind.
Arkay preserve me, Marelle prayed internally as her paralysed form was turned, her eyes meeting burning garnet eyes and a war painted face of a Dunmer ruffian.
OP again!
Date: 2014-04-18 05:42 pm (UTC)A!A
Date: 2014-04-18 10:18 pm (UTC)Aye, t'is rather nice of Zairan; after all, he needs to take care of his little fragile slave.
Oh yes, you certainly will in the next parts~ ;)
The Ashlander and his Enslaved Scholar (1g/??)
Date: 2014-04-21 01:54 pm (UTC)Claim her.
Intoxicated from this horrid notion, the Ashlander unceremoniously thrusts inside the Manmer's sheath. Ignoring her muffled shrieks of anguish he fucks blindly without savouring the tightness and slickness of her intimate core. Concentrating solely on the angry penetration he has set for himself.
She is rightfully yours.
Zairan grabs and wrenches out his Elven dagger. Pulling out of his Outlander, he roughly hauls her petite form onto her forearms and knees, slamming himself back into her from behind to resume his harsh invasion of her cunt.
You saved her from those Revears; she does not appreciate your effort.
The enraged Dunmer takes hold of her white-bone hips, his large hands inflicting bruising pressure that mars the flawless skin with blossoming black-blue stains. He leans over her small body, pathetically shuddering, sinking his teeth into her bony shoulder.
She deserves to be punished.
Zairan stops moving, his cock still buried deep within her. With one hand he slaps her rump, striking it with a downpour of vicious lashings of his calloused hand. The Manmer screams and whimpers behind the sodden cloth, sweat dripping off her sickly skin, her pitiful sobs shook her body as red welts appear on her tender buttocks. Satisfied, he continues.
She is yours.
"N'wah!" He grunts through gritted teeth, feeling the fire within building up in intensity, threatening to devour the Dunmer in flames as he reaches his peak. He twists his hand in her damp hair, yanking it painfully back as he glares down at her sorrowful, tear-streaked face. *"Ohn nchow n'wah!"
Yours to have.
With a cry, the Ashlander bucks into her a final time before the fire within engulfs him in ecstasy, causing him to see blinding light behind eyelids, exploding within the battered and relented body. With a sigh, he collapses on the Outlander in exhaustion.
Yours to control.
The thick red mist and quilt of sleep gradually dispatches from his mind, leaving Zairan feeling the sobering draft of air sweeping over his back and the shaved sides of his head. He acknowledges the crackling of the fire pit, the film of sweat cooling on his skin and the soft wheezing of his Manmer crushed beneath him. The fully-awake Ashlander bolts up, concern crawls up into his chest to replace the warm euphoria from before. He studies the Outlander, cold and still but breathing. The Dunmer moves away, hissing at removing his sensitive length.
It was a mistake but unpreventable for him to look down, seeing his flaccid, violet shaft painted with red. By Azura. He looks alarmed to her sex, also smeared in congealing blood. Realisation hits him harder than a kick to his stomach.
He brutally broke his sweet, beautiful Manmer's maidenhead. The thoughtless Dunmer stole her innocence.
Zairan rushes to remove the wretched gag, tearing at the cloth straps to allow her to breath. He lightly turns her over on her side, her face caused his heart to painfully ache. Her kind, soft and beautiful face was corrupted by the anguish and defeat poisoning her expression to be drawn. Her harsh hiccups racked her petite form, as floods of salty tears break loose from her blood-shot, heartbreakingly dismal eyes. The bright colour of gentle green fade to an ailing, dull shade Zairan will forever be reminded of his foul deed.
He looks away in shame. Anathematising himself for assaulting his little Manmer in such an unforgivable way; nothing could possibly compensate her loss of something so personally precious. The Ashlander is no worse than those cutthroat Reavers.
He is scum.
~~~~
*"You damn foreigner!"
The Ashlander and his Enslaved Scholar (1e/??)
Date: 2014-04-18 10:05 pm (UTC)The Ashlander drags her by the scruff of her night tunic towards her half-packed camp, holding her in place with one arm while he unrolls and pats down the bedroll single-handedly. He unsheathes his Elven dagger, stabbing it in a crack on the stone floor, above the head of the bedroll. The Dunmer hefts the woman onto the bedroll, guiding her tied wrists over the planted blade to hold her in place, a keening sound escaping her indicated that the poison's effect is passing. Her body weakly struggles beneath him, moving upwards in pushing the Ashlander off only furthered his want to claim her. He stares down at her. His arms planted on either side of the Manmer's head to support his weight, pressing himself between her short legs kicking out on either side of him. His lean body drapes over the flailing, petite form of the Manmer's. He had taken the liberty to strip off his light chitin armour, leaving on his thin blue tunic and dusty black trousers before he taken out her summoned dremora.
B'vek, the twisting of the Manmer's body is starting to get to him. He gripped the front of her clothes, slamming her into the ground to halt her frantic movements and yells of defiance. Her frightened eyes stare up at the fearful Dunmer, her plump lips red and trembling as tears glistened in her eyes.
"W-wh-what do you w-want?..." She stutters, her soft, mousy voice choked by the fear gripping at her throat. Zairan pondered over his answer, fitting himself more firmly against her pelvis to press his aroused length against her thigh.
"I want... claim you." He responds in his deep, ash-rough voice.
She gasped then cried out more in renewed fear and determination on escaping. The Ashlander, to say the least, was beginning to grow weary of her screams and yells of defiance. He tears off the long sleeve of her tunic, ripping the fabric into a long strip as he looped each end twice to double knot the middle section of the ruined material. He stuffs the knotted ball into her wide, noisy mouth to muffle her tying the two strips behind her head. Zairan's fingers linger in brushing her hair, the tousled locks of red-brown shine under the light of overhead torches. He leans forward, pressing his hooked nose to deeply inhale her addictive scent of lavender, skin and paper.
The Dunmer sits up, his hands moving down to hover over her chest. He unlaced then tears the neck of the tunic open, causing the Manmer to gasp, to have more access to her bust. After pulling down the retched band, two milky globes met the curious, lustful gaze of the hungry huntsman. Although considered small to humans, the Manmer's breasts were bigger than the female Dunmer back in his tribe; he cups one, the mound filling half of his hand. His calloused thumb brushes over the tightened nub adoring the breast, reacting to Zairan's ministrations. The Ashlander covers his hands over them, groaning lowly as he kneaded the pliant flesh, the hardened nipples teasing the skin of his palms. The Dunmer admires the contrast of his lavender skin to her milky white flesh. He silently moans as his erection pulses, demanding to be freed from its prison.
(Curse you character limit!!!)
The Ashlander and his Enslaved Scholar (1f/??)
Date: 2014-04-18 10:09 pm (UTC)His hot lips trail to the deep valley, trailing wet kisses and curious licks to taste her sweat and feverish skin. His eyes of fresh blood stare up into the Outlander's face, her eyes clenched shut as tears of shame rolled down her flushed cheeks. His eager tongue runs itself down the firm plains of her stomach, nipping at the jittering muscle and soft belly, jumping beneath his smirking mouth. Zairan comes to face her groin, seeing a thin strip of dampness on the cotton between her legs. The Dunmer's mouth waters as he could smell the musk of his human's sex. He unlaced the ties, tugging down her cotton bottoms to the top of her shivering knees.
His large hands steady the tensing thighs, halting and spreading them to observe the secret region of her being. The huntsman's face inches forward, inhaling the strong smell of her sex calling for him to taste and claim. He could see the outline of her neither lips, pressing through the sodden rabbit felt, feeling it with the tip of his tongue. He chuckles a little from the startled jump of her pelvis. With his teeth, the eager Ashlander pulls down the ruined garment to at last see the fine treasure of feminine beauty. It was a remarkable sight to be behold.
Puffy petals guarded the entrance, glistening from the delectable dew of her body's desire. The shade was a fresh pink shade, blushing prettily from the arousal ripening within his Manmer's core. There atop the blooming flower was the virtuous hood covering the fleshy pearl, peeking at the intrigued Dunmer. His Manmer's sex was glorious in its beauty, luring the young male to sample and drink the flowing nectar. Zairan breathed air onto the parting slit, sweeping his tongue across the neither lips to taste the bittersweet cream. The Ashlander only had the one taste before being thrown off guard by the thighs constricting around his neck.
He startles back in surprise to have a white knee smashing into his face, catching his cheekbone and eye. The Dunmer yelps from shock, sputtering out blood from his dislodged tooth and gashed inner cheek flesh. He cradles the left side of his assaulted face, the skin of his cheekbone burning and his eye stinging from the brute impact. The huntsman partly recovers, turning to see his Manmer desperately sawing her Netch leather bindings on his dagger; to her lack of knowledge, it would take up to five minutes to cut through the tough leather. Foolish girl.
His streak of anger flares up, conspiring with his lust as his mind clouds from the red mist, commanding him to take what is rightfully his.
Zairan shouted in blood-boiling rage, stomping over to the defiant bitch still kicking out with her legs in a fury of her own. He grabs her flailing leg, smiting her with the back of his hand, stunning her. The Ashlander angrily unbuckles and loosens his bottoms, slamming down on her other leg to sit on while he throws then holds the other firmly in place on his broad shoulder. He whips out his engorged, angry looking cock. The Manmer's pitiful attempt at defying her new owner has not deterred Zairan's arousal, only making the mistake in awaking his wrath.
Her insolence shall be repaid with righteous punishment.
~~~~
My early Easter present to you; triple postings!!! ;-D
OP is soooooooo happeh!
Date: 2014-04-19 05:20 am (UTC)<3 OP. :D
A!A
Date: 2014-04-19 06:44 pm (UTC)I'm so glad that you're pleased and love my Easter surprise! <3
Yeah, I'm such a cruel bitch when it comes to cliffhangers! >D
Thank you and I hope you have a great Easter as well~ :D
PS - The next update won't be up for a while; I've got two incoming class tests, a practice exam and have my first real exam in the following week, so I will be busy unfortunately. I'll make sure to make the smut as sinfully tasty as possible, my dear OP~ >;)
OP
Date: 2014-04-20 03:13 am (UTC)A!A
Date: 2014-04-20 08:31 am (UTC)I've had my fair share of fellow A!As who leave the story at the moment the characters have hot sex. So unfair!>_<
Thank you, I'm glad that I got his typical Dunmer attitude spot on there. :)
I've tried to search for it but it keeps coming up that the sever doesn't exist. Could you give me the title or tags of the pic so I can search it on the engine?
OP
Date: 2014-04-20 05:54 pm (UTC)And ya, you've got the Dunmer attitude down perfectly. I felt kind of bad for her when he hit her... But being kneed in the face would piss me off too. XD
A!A
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2014-04-20 07:55 pm (UTC) - ExpandOP
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2014-04-20 11:32 pm (UTC) - ExpandA!A
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2014-04-21 01:12 am (UTC) - ExpandRe: The Ashlander and his Enslaved Scholar (1f/??)
Date: 2014-04-21 03:21 am (UTC)Re: The Ashlander and his Enslaved Scholar (1f/??)
Date: 2014-04-21 06:50 am (UTC)The Ashlander and his Enslaved Scholar (1g/??)
Date: 2014-04-21 01:57 pm (UTC)Claim her.
Intoxicated from this horrid notion, the Ashlander unceremoniously thrusts inside the Manmer's sheath. Ignoring her muffled shrieks of anguish he fucks blindly without savouring the tightness and slickness of her intimate core. Concentrating solely on the angry penetration he has set for himself.
She is rightfully yours.
Zairan grabs and wrenches out his Elven dagger. Pulling out of his Outlander, he roughly hauls her petite form onto her forearms and knees, slamming himself back into her from behind to resume his harsh invasion of her cunt.
You saved her from those Revears; she does not appreciate your effort.
The enraged Dunmer takes hold of her white-bone hips, his large hands inflicting bruising pressure that mars the flawless skin with blossoming black-blue stains. He leans over her small body, pathetically shuddering, sinking his teeth into her bony shoulder.
She deserves to be punished.
Zairan stops moving, his cock still buried deep within her. With one hand he slaps her rump, striking it with a downpour of vicious lashings of his calloused hand. The Manmer screams and whimpers behind the sodden cloth, sweat dripping off her sickly skin, her pitiful sobs shook her body as red welts appear on her tender buttocks. Satisfied, he continues.
She is yours.
"N'wah!" He grunts through gritted teeth, feeling the fire within building up in intensity, threatening to devour the Dunmer in flames as he reaches his peak. He twists his hand in her damp hair, yanking it painfully back as he glares down at her sorrowful, tear-streaked face. *"Ohn nchow n'wah!"
Yours to have.
With a cry, the Ashlander bucks into her a final time before the fire within engulfs him in ecstasy, causing him to see blinding light behind eyelids, exploding within the battered and relented body. With a sigh, he collapses on the Outlander in exhaustion.
Yours to control.
The thick red mist and quilt of sleep gradually dispatches from his mind, leaving Zairan feeling the sobering draft of air sweeping over his back and the shaved sides of his head. He acknowledges the crackling of the fire pit, the film of sweat cooling on his skin and the soft wheezing of his Manmer crushed beneath him. The fully-awake Ashlander bolts up, concern crawls up into his chest to replace the warm euphoria from before. He studies the Outlander, cold and still but breathing. The Dunmer moves away, hissing at removing his sensitive length.
It was a mistake but unpreventable for him to look down, seeing his flaccid, violet shaft painted with red. By Azura. He looks alarmed to her sex, also smeared in congealing blood. Realisation hits him harder than a kick to his stomach.
He brutally broke his sweet, beautiful Manmer's maidenhead. The thoughtless Dunmer stole her innocence.
Zairan rushes to remove the wretched gag, tearing at the cloth straps to allow her to breath. He lightly turns her over on her side, her face caused his heart to painfully ache. Her kind, soft and beautiful face was corrupted by the anguish and defeat poisoning her expression to be drawn. Her harsh hiccups racked her petite form, as floods of salty tears break loose from her blood-shot, heartbreakingly dismal eyes. The bright colour of gentle green fade to an ailing, dull shade Zairan will forever be reminded of his foul deed.
He looks away in shame. Anathematising himself for assaulting his little Manmer in such an unforgivable way; nothing could possibly compensate her loss of something so personally precious. The Ashlander is no worse than those cutthroat Reavers.
He is scum.
~~~~
*"You damn foreigner!"
OP
Date: 2014-04-21 05:19 pm (UTC)Perfectly done. I was fangirling throughout. I'm such a bad person but hey, a kink is a kink is a kink. >:3 Love the bits of Dunmeri language throughout. Gives it a realistic feel. Keep it up, A!A, I love the way you write!
I bet he is going to be super nice to her for a bit. If not nice, at least not as aggressive. I wonder how the rest of his people are going to react to her. I hope he doesn't have a jealous girlfriend back home. XD
A!A
Date: 2014-04-21 08:11 pm (UTC)That's the personal quality I wanted him to have; he isn't like his tribespeople. Depending on how many characters the next part has, hopefully I can get this chapter finished then move onto the next chapter that's "Meet the Ashlanders"; not real title but just a brief summary.
You're welcome and thank you for your encouraging words, OP. I was unsure about the use of Dunmeri but thankfully I got a hang of it now. :)
Well, now and again I also enjoy a bit of non/dub; as long as no characters get horribly hurt, everything's cool. So don't feel guilty OP! We humans get aroused by the most unusual things.
Oh, you'll see soon enough in the second chapter! I'm really getting excited over writing it; it'll be a major blast! XD
I'm wondering, do you enjoy reading some of Marelle's POV? The story is gonna be largely focused on Zairan but I'm just asking your opinion on this method I'm using?
Also, do you have any suggestions on what you would like to include when they settle in with the other Ashlanders? Anything else you would want to see?
OP again
Date: 2014-04-21 08:36 pm (UTC)I always love reading alternating POV's. Third person is the best to write in, because you can literally write from as many POVs as you want to. It gives the story a deep feel, imho. First person isn't as easy to immerse yourself in. I'd love to read about her response to what just happened. I'm sure the poor thing is utterly confused/hurt/terrified and whatever else after that. So please, switch between them as often as you'd like.
Well, I'd like it if the others treat her as a slave as well... because at this point, that's exactly what she is. Also, maybe a couple of the other males are interested in bedding her. For the sheer novelty of it, if nothing else. Of course, Zairan is having none of it because she's HIS. X3 You could go total cliche and have her being attacked by another male while she's off doing some slave chores... and then here he comes to rescue. That's always fun.
Maybe the other women are mean to her, because of the interest the males show her? It'd be cool to see one woman feel badly for and the two of them end up becoming friends. Maybe the woman tries to be comforting to her after she sees how sad/scared Marelle is? There's always gotta be at least one that's nice to the heroine after all... It'd be nice to see Marelle have another female to take comfort in/confide in. The woman could try and give her tips on how to make her new life easier etc...
Sorry for the speech, I just kind of went off there didn't I. :D Ya know, I'm a decent writer myself. Is there maybe something YOU'D like to see that I could write for you? Like a return fill or something?
<3 OP
A!A
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2014-04-21 11:09 pm (UTC) - ExpandA!A again
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2014-04-21 11:16 pm (UTC) - ExpandOP
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2014-04-21 11:41 pm (UTC) - ExpandA!A
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2014-04-22 07:10 pm (UTC) - ExpandOP yet again :D
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2014-04-22 10:43 pm (UTC) - ExpandA!A
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2014-04-23 03:17 pm (UTC) - ExpandOP again!
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2014-04-22 07:48 pm (UTC) - ExpandRe: The Ashlander and his Enslaved Scholar (1g/??)
Date: 2014-04-21 06:52 pm (UTC)Re: The Ashlander and his Enslaved Scholar (1g/??)
Date: 2014-04-22 02:06 am (UTC)The Ashlander and his Enslaved Scholar (1h/??)
Date: 2014-04-22 07:03 pm (UTC)When the great fireball of the sun hovers above the Sea of Ghosts, the Dunmer leads Marelle to a small cabin, abandoned by the looks of it. Her captor leads her towards the porch of the cabin, brushing away an inch of snow for them to sit down. What this actually meant by them sitting down was her being tugged forwards by the leash from the Dunmer's grasp to her tightly bounded hands.
Marelle sat on the wooden porch obediently, not wishing to evoke his wrath. The Breton was freshly scarred by what happened less than twelve hours ago. She is terrified of her captor. She has experienced firsthand on what he is capable of. She has never felt that sort of agony in all of her life. Oh Stendarr's Mercy, the pain was almost indescribable. The red-hot agony scorched her insides, how the cruel flames burned her abdomen then greedily spread across her struggling person consuming her in a hell of physical and emotional pain. Marelle begged to the Nine on why this happened to her.
Did she deserved it? If so, what had she done wrong to be rewarded with such brutality?
Was it apart of some plan by fate for her endure such a horrific ordeal?
Whatever the reason, Marelle certainly did not want an encore.
The poor woman was further thrown off balance by the moral complexity shown by her assaulter. After having his violent way with her, he healed her wounds then cleaned up the appalling mess between her thighs, consisting of her maiden blood and his vile semen, before he helped her traumatised self into her bedroll.
He is fearfully unpredictable as the Daedric Prince of Madness.
Her captor reaches up to remove his chitin helm, brushing off the worst of the snow then taking out a piece of tattered cloth to polish the monocles set within the large insect hallowed shell. Despite her newfound fear of him, the Breton could not help herself but become intrigued by his outlandish appearance.
His Mohawk has drooped to the side, the result from being suppressed by the helm. Both sides of his head were shaved, whereas the tall strip of his orange-red mane allowed a waterfall of hair flow over the nape of his neck, shining strands of it escaped from his armour to drape over his shoulders. The pointed ear facing her has a slight tear at the taper of the blue-purple shell; the earlobe was impaled by a small tusk of sorts, creamy at the fine tip darkening downwards to the thick, dark brown base of the bone jewellery. There were aged light pink scars trailing from under his crooked nose to the sharp chin, possibly made by some small but viscous animal's claws. There was also a singular, thin braid hanging from his mohawk over the shaved side of his head, a small white feather tied at the strip of hide securing the braided threads of copper. His blue-purple skin reminded Marelle of the blooming flowers of lavender. His slanted eyes definitely resemble the crimson gemstones of garnets. The vivid, flawless colour reflected the lights of his emotions; the impact of it was hard-hitting to say the least. His war paint consisted of crimson square patterned back of a snake, creating a semi-curl around the ride side of his jawline, repeating the design that dominates the top of his left, shaved scalp. For a Dunmer, she could not deny his rugged good looks.
Marelle did her best in not facing him directly, allowing herself to steal glances at her mysterious captor. Other than stating his want of her in broken Common and shouting at her in the unknown tongue of Dunmeri, he has not uttered a word to her since. The silence was both comforting but also quite unsettling.
The Ashlander and his Enslaved Scholar (1i/??)
Date: 2014-04-22 09:36 pm (UTC)Even if he does care about her well-being, it was made crystal clear to the scholar that he was not planning on letting her go.
The Dunmer still kept her wrists bound by some sort of unfamiliar leather that shocks her every time when attempting to summon her magick. Even on their brisk, 2 mile trek from Vahlok's Tomb to this forgotten cabin he looped a thin but sturdy piece over her restraints; gods, she felt like a pet being leashed by her new "owner".
A deep grunt draws her attention to the Mer sitting next to her. His burning eyes peered under the slope of his broad brow, his thin lips pressed in a tight line of uncertainty than anger. He straightens up his sloughing posture, coughing a little for measure in preparing what he was going to say to her.
Marelle sat alert. Waiting anxiously for him to speak.
He curls a chitin-leather hand into a fist, drawing it to his left breast plate then rapped against his chest as he inhales breath for what he has to say.
"Zairan..." The Dunmer states to the anticipating Breton. She was taken back by surprise. He told her his name. After a few moments has past, he uncurls his fist gesturing to her to speak.
Oh. He wants her name.
"... Marelle..." The scholar said after great hesitation, reluctant in giving the Dunmer her name but knowing the foreseeable results if she did not do so.
"Marelle..." The Dunmer named Zairan repeated her name, tested the sound and feel of it on his tongue. The husky quality of his deep voice, choked by ash, resonated in the Breton's ears. It was as if his voice was imprinting itself to her library of memories, to lie in wait for any chance given to dominate her thoughts and dreams. The Breton suppresses the unusual shiver caused by the Mer's exotic, smoky baritone.
He looks away in thought, planning on what to say to her next. She already sussed out that he knew little of the Common language.
Where in Oblivion is he from? Clearly from some small community of Dunmer who strictly spoke in their own tongue. He must not be a Reaver; he would've raped her then cut her throat before he stole her belongings. The only Dunmer populace Marelle is aware of on this Isle is Raven Rock. The design of his chitin armour was different from the standard type; it has the Dunmeri swirls and spools painted blood red on the beige and ochre plates of the armour.
"You listen good." He states to her, breaking the Breton away from her collection of thoughts. "I take you home... My home... You are n'wah," He places a firm hold of his daunting on her shoulder, strengthening the impact of his explanation of her dire situation; his hand seared a brand into her flesh, her layer of furs and robes useless as comprehension sinks it's teeth in. "My slave..."
It hit the Breton like an ice spear, piercing her back as the ice seeps into her flesh. Her body frozen in place as she is made vulnerable to the predator claws of fear clamping down, dragging her away into a prison filled with taunting nightmares and poisonous, backstabbing emotions with a vile intent on wearing down her strong will into nothing.
No...
She stared at the Dunmer. Her master. Terror drains the colour from her face. Zairan, this Dunmer who stalked, raped and captured her, is an Ashlander.
The Dunmer heaves a sigh at her dismayed expression before continuing.
"You follow and serve only me. You do as told by me. You behave well, life easy for you. If bad, punishment. Worse punishment if you run away." He finishes, grasping both of her shoulders. His fierce gaze bores deep in her eyes, waiting for her to confirm her understanding.
With a single nod of her head, she whispers a silent and defeated "yes".
~~~~~
Almost finished!
The Ashlander and his Enslaved Scholar (1j/??)
Date: 2014-04-22 10:21 pm (UTC)With a grip on the porch's wooden handrail he rises to stand, turning he heaves the Breton up on her leather-booted, cold feet. Wrapping the rope around his hand the Dunmer leads them away from the cabin, treading towards the towering wall of solid stone.
It was not until they approached that Marelle spots the flutter of a tall flap, the faded grey of the cloth almost blends in with the stone. The Dunmer grabs the side of it before ushering the enslaved scholar into the cave, lit decently with the flames of the torches lining the drizzling walls.
With one last look to the frozen landscape, she commits the amazing blue skies to memory, as she inhales the crisp air of freedom. The sweet freedom that has been taken away from her. She allows a single tear to trail down her cheek to show her consuming grief.
Marelle steps into the passageway, leading her to her new life as a slave; serving under the ruthless iron fist of an Ashlander.
~~~~
That's the end of Chapter One, folks!!! :D
I really needed to finish this to put myself at ease. Now I have time to plan out and write the next parts to Chapter Two of this story.
I will be busy this week and the next (start of exams you see), so updated will resume, roughly, in the second week of May.
Thank you all for your wonderful support!
I shall return with Marelle meeting Zairan's fellow Ashlanders.
Speak to you all soon~
The Ashlander and his Enslaved Scholar - Summary + Tags
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2014-04-22 10:53 pm (UTC) - ExpandOP!! Let's be BFF's Kay? XD
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2014-04-22 10:55 pm (UTC) - ExpandA!A - Sure, let's be BFFs!!! :D
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