Finders, Keepers {Black Hand & Modesty}
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Exotic Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Modesty on 11-12-2012, 11:24:43</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Finders, Keepers {Black Hand &amp; Modesty}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Modesty</strong> on <strong>11-12-2012, 11:24:43</strong>
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				<div align="center">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v348/asilentgoodbye/finderskeepers.png)<br>The following is an epic fantasy centered around how one woman's need for firm guidance changed a nation forever. </div><br><div align="center">• • • • • • • • • • •</div><br><div align="center">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v348/asilentgoodbye/fk1.jpg)</div><br><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>“Hush, listen carefully.” </strong><br><br>Her voice was quiet, though strained from the frantic excitement that was boiling within her. Her dainty hands took their fill of the contents of her jewelry box, uncaring of what broke or tangled, and shoved them into a cloth. The corners were hastily folded and the bundle thrust into the waiting arms of her servant. Soft hands, naïve to a hard day’s work, then folded around the lady-in-waiting’s. Brilliant blue eyes searched the scare face of the maidens. <br><br><strong>“Take these, don’t let anyone find them. Take a horse from the stables and ride through the night... tell the guard on duty that I’ve sent you, and pay him off. Go back to your hometown, find your family, change your name. Live free! Tell no one of this night. Do you understand me? Tell no one or we will both be <em>killed.</em>”</strong> <br><br>She squeezed the hands of the woman she had known since her arrival in the castle before pushing her out the door. The maid paused, glancing once over her shoulder at the princess before running into the dark corridor. Senalae sighed, softly breathing a prayer for the closest friend she had ever had before turning back to the task at hand. The princess paused in the mirror, glancing over her figure. Her usual fine gowns had been traded in for the regalia of the staff, and once in town she would need to change into something more common. Her flesh, pale and flawless, had been stripped of all the jewels and precious metals that usually adorned it. Long, platinum locks had been tied back away from prying eyes, and just in case she pulled the oversized hood of the livery cloak further over her head. <br><br>Slippered feet quietly padded down the halls, taking the familiar turns out into the courtyard. The corridors were unnaturally empty. The doors were peculiarly unguarded. A smile played across her shadowed lips. <em>So, bribery does work.</em> She thought, remembering the gold and notes she had circulated through the night watch. <br><br>While the door to the stables had been unlatched, it was heavy for the small framed woman. Her shoulder pressed against the large bay door and pressed with all her wait. A slender hand stifled a squeak as she caught her balance when the door finally swung open. The huff and shuffle of two dozen steads came to her attention, though her sights were set only on two. A roan and a cremello stood in the open room both saddled and ready to go. Their side bags were filled to the brim with all the items she had requested. Senalae quietly thanked her husband for her riding lessons, the only good thing he had ever done for her, as she mounted and lead the pair out the door; her on the cremello, and the roan in tow. <br><br>The princess paused at the palace gates, giving one last fleeting glance at the castle. It had been a house, but never a home. Her heart pounded in her chest, her head dizzied with fear and excitement, but somewhere she found the strength to urge the equines onwards with a silent vow that her husband, the King, would never touch her again. <br><br><div align="center">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v348/asilentgoodbye/fk2.jpg)</div><br>The days that past were sure to be the most difficult in all her years. The world outside the palace walls was nothing close to what she had imagined. Three days it had been since she slipped away like a bandit in the night. Three days had nearly stripped her of her resolve.&nbsp; <br><br>The princess had rode though the night, and exchanged royal cloak for common fabric that itched her sensitive skin, as had been planned, but that was where it ended. The bed at the Inn was hard, the straw of the mattress poking her and making sleep near impossible. What little sleep she had managed that first night had robbed her of what currency she had brought for bargaining. She had awoken with her blonde hair in knots, shivering and hungry with a room void of her property.&nbsp; Still, she aimed her horses southwards towards freedom and the only lands that the King’s command didn’t yet reach. <br><br>That second day was when she began to hear the gossip. News spread like wildfire that the King’s young bride had been taken from her bed. Whispers told of ransoms, of enemies of the kingdom, of ghosts and things that couldn’t be more from the truth. Senalae scoffed, knowing full well the truth; the kings bride had fled away from a man that disgusted her, ran from a life she didn’t wish beside a king that was too lazy and egocentric to fix the turmoil in his own household yet alone his country.&nbsp; That second night had also been the first search by the King’s Guard. It had cost her the roan to be hidden when the came. She had hid beneath floor boards as the overturned rooms and prodded bays of hay. Sleep did not come easy that night.&nbsp; Her thoughts laid heavy on the valuables that had been taken from her, longing for the warmth of a room. Still, the truly valuable item was still present on her person. The King’s family ring, past down through the ruling family, had been sewn in to the hem of her gown. Sena let it be her one last fuck you to a man unworthy to be King. <br><br>At dawn on the third day the Princess set out with only herself and her stead, disheartened and hungry as she took the roads less travelled. The heat was felt, magnified by the thick cloak she wore, though too stubborn to shed it. Each stranger that she passed could have easily identified her by her pale hair had she not remained covered. The road had not been kind to her. Her fragile body ached, unused to the constant travel and life on the road. Her stomach grumbled, tying itself in knots as a constant reminder of its hunger. Her head spun, dizzy from thirst and exhaustion. The sun had passed the halfway mark of it’s arch, beginning the decrescendo into early evening. The desert had been in her sights for some time, and only no was grass fading into sand. Her eyes grew heavy, posture slouching as her figure threatened to teeter off horseback. <br><br><strong>“Please... water?”</strong> She asked, voice cracking out of dryness as she addressed the first figure she had seen in hours. <br><br><div align="center">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v348/asilentgoodbye/fk3.jpg)</div><br></div>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Finders, Keepers {Black Hand &amp; Modesty}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Black Hand</strong> on <strong>17-12-2012, 23:32:17</strong>
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				<div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote"> Dictionary of Anai greetings<br>Da'Brute- Blessings, my friend (normal greeting)<br>Da'Brute Shelai- Blessings on your family, my friend (More formal form)<br>Go'Zu'Jai- My life is yours (Slave greeting their owner)<br>Go'Duse- My life is service (Slave greeting free non-owners)<br>Mas'Du'Am- Master rules over us (Slave greeting slave)<br></blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br>A cloud of dust and sand and gravel expanded over the makeshift road like a wildfire. Beneath it's billowing sheet, an army larger then ten thousand or a tribe smaller then ten people could have made their way over the narrow passage unseen by the naked eye. The rock pass, long as a river and built of walls of stone one hundred feet high marked the only way over the border of the kingdom. On either side of it's opening stood ornate towers carved from rocks of thirty different colors on either side of the opening. Neither had a single living soul inside, the last time the Rainbow Gate had been manned had been three hundred years ago, when Red King of the Isles of Hearth had landed an army on the western shore of the continent, trying to take the kingdom unaware from the lands. <br><br>Now caravans and hordes and refugees like the sixty people huddling beneath their cloth barriers inside the dust storm walked into the vast domain of the Kingdom of Simach. Between the gates and the nearest town, the hustling bustling Cod Harbor, a vast dessert spread openly for a hundred miles. Travelers like these were used to such a land though. The westerlands, unsettled and arid, had few places off the coast that were anything but the dessert. <br><br>Forlor Fairweather rode hard and fast on his old horse, circling the length of the caravan. Eleven of the thirteen other tribesmen led the column in a procession of wicked steel curved swords, imported pikes from the Hearth Islands, boiled leather breasts plates and scale mail. Behind them came a swath of dark shadows. The freeborn women of the tribe, dressed from head to toe in black cloaks that made them look like wraiths gliding over the ground. Some were wives and daughters of the mounted tribesmen, a few even the children of the veterans. next along came a scattered and diverse affair. Women and wrinkled old men and children wearing rags and sacks, chained with steel manacles, mixed with colorful and lovely young women wearing revealing silk clothing and adorned with silk mouth scarves and ornate jeweled slave collars. Another ten men came behind them. They wore a mix of slave collars and leather armour, with gaunt eyes and spears in their hands. The rear in the column was brought up by two more tribesmen riders, each with a hand on the hilt of their wickedly curved blades. <br><br>"<em><strong>Da'brute</strong></em>" One Eyed Jojen bellowed when his surviving eye caught Forlor riding down the line to meet him. <br><br>"<em><strong>Da'brute,</strong></em>" Torren joined in, banging his fist against the drumshaped steel of his shield.<br><br>"<strong><em>Da'brute Shelai</em> to you both, friends.</strong>" Forlor greeted, trotting his horse up besides them. "<strong>No sign of anyone following us?</strong>"<br><br>"<strong>Aye,</strong>" Jojen nodded, gathering up his reins. "<strong>Can't see anything in this storm, but I can't see no tail.</strong>"<br><br>"<strong>You can't see shit on a bright sunny day, old man,</strong>" Torren barked, pulling his head back and laughing like a mountains roar.<br><br>Forlor twisted his mouth into a smile, feigning a laugh. Jojen was one of the eldest members of his party. He'd been loyal to his father to a fault, having saved his life during the Suppression Wars forty years ago. Most of his small horde were inexpierianced, especially some of the younger ones such as Torren. He doubted that they could have pushed through the gap if there had been a single archer in either of the Gate's towers. <br><br>"<strong>And none of the merchandise has attempted to make a break for it?</strong>" He asked, eyeing towards the front of the caravan.<br><br>"<strong>Haven't heard a peep from any o'em. They're more in line then even Andri</strong>" Said Torren.<br><br>"<strong>Good,</strong>" Forlor grunted, turning his horse back towards the front. "<strong>You both can pick out a girl of your own for tonight. Your choice.</strong>"<br><br>"<strong>Even, that Mellanie slut o' yours?</strong>" Jojen asked with a grin.<br><br>"<strong>Okay, not her</strong>." Forlor admitted, kicking the spurs. His horse flew into action and trotted dilligently down the dessert sands. "<strong>Or Azarora for that matter either.</strong>"<br><br>He rode hard and fast, kicking up more earth underneath him as he passed the weary trail of slave soldiers and folded into the line where the merchandise has clustered. The old and young slaves, skinny and haggard, pulled to the side to let their master past. The slave girls, ranging from lovely to adequateness endowed turned their bodies and attempted to shake their hips. Most of them didn't even warrant a look from Forlor. <br><br>"<strong>You will join me in my tent tonight</strong>," He said coldly towards a tall and slender young woman, covered in translucent blue silk from pants to her vale. Even in the blemishing sandy&nbsp; desert winds couldn't diminish the lovelyness of her smooth copper skin. She nodded at her command and bowed her head, slowing her walk and letting the slaver pass. <br><br>Forlor's next stop was at the very back of the collection of camels that carried along the tribeswomen and children. One of the slave girls, a short lithe thing was helping a tall tribeswoman in a long black cloak carry a sleeping toddler. He slowed his approach, sneaking up right behind her and gave her ass a loud but soft smack with the broad side of his sword. The girl yelped and jumped half a foot into the air.<br><br>"<strong><em><strong>Go'zu'jai</strong></em>, Master</strong>." Melanie said, lowering to her knees. Even beneath her fluttering vale, her rosey pale cheeks had turned a bright shade of red. <br><br>"<strong>Forlor-Das,</strong>" The free woman grunted, narrowing her eyes beneath the small slit between the top of her cloak and her thick black veil. She reached down and shoved the child out of the blushing slave girl's arms. "<strong>Must you always be so crass?</strong>"<br><br>"<strong><em>Da'brute</em> Gasa-mama</strong>," Forlor replied, trying to keep the sneer from his voice. Gasa was always getting mixed up with the slaves. If she wasn't Hushni's wife he'd have booted her from the caravan or sold her to the Fig men years ago. "<strong>Mind if I borrow my property?</strong>" <br><br>"<strong>Do as you like,</strong>" The woman muttered, and walked off, her son giving the petite slave girl a parting wave.<br><br>"<strong>What will you have of me, Master?</strong>" Melanie asked giving a sloppy excuse for a courtsey. Entitled and fresh under her collar, she still needed alot of work, but earnestness and a desire to learn went a long way.<br><br>"<strong>You are to warm my bed tonight.</strong>" He said, examining the blond girl's blue eyes. When they caught sight of his gaze they sought the comforts of the ground. "<strong>I want to find you in my tent after I've made sure camp has been set properly. You will be allowed two goblets of mead should you desire. Ask Latata, she is the owner of the baggage train.</strong>"<br><br>"<strong>Your words make my heart, Master</strong>." She said, voice quivering. Forlor considering asking something more of her, maybe what she thought of the journey so far, but instead he gave his horse another kick and rode towards the front of column. <br><br>The welcomes he got traveling through the free men's section of the caravan were warmer. Some of the women and children shouted out <em>Da'brute</em> as he passed, and when he went passed three of the new swords, huddling together to fight off the dust, he even got a cheer. If they trained with half the energy they cheered with, then they wouldn't be such fucking disgraces.<br><br>"<strong>When does it look like the sandstorm is going to abate?</strong>" He called towards the front. A one rider dressed in light scouting gear prowled a quarter of a mile in front of the relatively tight rest of the line. <br><br>"<em><strong>Da'brute</strong></em>" Hushni called back, stopping his horse to Forlor time to catch up to him. "<strong>It's not looking like it's going to happen any time soon. If we try to wait before making camp, then we will be walking this storm all night.</strong>"<br><br>"<strong>If we stop now we won't be able to light any fires.</strong>" Forlor said, more to himself then to hushni. <br><br>"<strong>There won't be fires till this clears up either way,</strong>" Hushni replied stroking his youthful goatee. "<strong>I say we tell everyone to stop here. We can possibly try to light fires under the tents. We run little risk in a storm like this of getting snuck up on.</strong>"<br><br>"<strong>Positive there is no one out there?</strong>" Forlor asked one more time, raising his eyebrow. He loudly spat towards the ground, leaving a ball of saliva on the ground next to him. "That is what Ja-haja thinks of your confidence. The chaotic ones owns Andri not the other way around. Remember that." <br><br>And then Forlor was back on his ride up and down the trail. this time with each trot he bellowed out that it was time to raise tents. And somewhere on the edge of the seemingly endless sandstorm that seemed to go on and on for as far the desert bloomed, a distant figure on a gaunt horse wandered further and further away from home.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Finders, Keepers {Black Hand &amp; Modesty}</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Modesty</strong> on <strong>05-01-2013, 00:41:42</strong>
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				<div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>“Mama, she’s stirring.” </strong><br><br>Thick lashes pressed tighter together, attempting to cut out any of the light in the room to no avail. Lips parted, a soft moan escaping from her throat through cracking in dryness. The voice that narrated her movements was young and Sena couldn’t place it in her half-dazed state.<br><br>The next voice was older, richer, calmer. <strong>“Give her some water, Odi, and then leave her be. She doesn’t need any of your pestering. Th’ questions can wait.”&nbsp; </strong><br><br>The Princess tossed her head, fighting the awakening before relenting and opening her eyes. Her heart nearly stopped, as she took in the sight of the ceiling and walls, afraid for a moment that she had been captured and somehow spirited home in her slumbered state. The fear ebbed, slowly, with realization that, like the voices, the pictures on the walls and homespun blankets were far from familiar. She closed her eyes again, tight, and pressed her hands to her head in an attempt to remember. She could only recall being hungry and exhausted, walking through the night and then nothing. She must have passed out. <br><br>Sena opened her eyes again to a spindly girl with cobweb fine tawny hair eagerly holding a ladle to her face. Better sense told her to question the stranger, but the burning in her throat won out and she accepted it greedily. The first swallow left her sputtering, unable to process the cold water. Not dissuaded, she drank again.<br><br><strong>“Slow or you’ll get a bellyache.”</strong> The girl laughed. By her side and a step back was a young boy, barely older than a toddler, who stared wide-eyed and said nothing. The girl herself looked about twelve. She followed Sena’s gaze behind and explained. <strong>“Oh, that’s Rinn, he doesn’t say much. And I’m Odinna!”</strong> <br><br><strong>“Sena.”</strong> She replied, voice a little stronger. <br><br><strong>“I knew it! Ohhh, I know it! You’re the Princess they’ve been looking for. The King’s soldiers are everywhere, but don’t worry, Momma sent them away! They wanted to search the houses, but she wouldn’t let them step one foot inside that door. You’re safe here, and don’t worry, I won’t tell.”</strong><br><br>Senalae, who looked much thinner than she had been several days before when she had set out and a few shades paler, paled even more.</div><br><div align="center">✧✦✧✦✧</div><br><div style="text-align: justify;">A faint smile shadowed itself across her pretty lips at the memory. She had spent three days travelling, three asleep, and two more in recovery in the trader’s home. Sena had found herself on the road again, heading south and loaded with supplies. Despite the hot sun above, she was content. Maena, the trader’s wife and mother of two, had seen fit to load her with both food and water, new clothes and a horse. For all the resistance Sena had offered, the woman insisted. The Princess wasn’t quite sure why the stranger had helped her, but the woman asked for no payment except that if she were caught that she not indite her family. <br><br>Even with the sturdy beast beneath her, the water, food and appropriate clothing she had been having a hard time of it. Her back was sore from travel, and head swam from the heat. Behind her she could no longer see the trading down the bordered the vast and endless deserts of the South, and ahead of her only sand and sky, and the weird illusion that played between. <br><br>It was by some higher power that the sandstorms had let up. Had they stretched on for even another day the soldiers, she feared, would have been on her and she’d be whisked away. The smiled faded from her face at the thought of her husband and his wrath; she was certain he would have worse things than death planned for her should he get his fat fingers around her neck ever again. Not only was the entire kingdom now aware of his fleeting bride, but she had managed to snatch something dear to him. The ring, carved with his family crest and symbol of the one who bore the title King, had been torn from its hidden stitches and hung from a cord around her neck. In long and hard days it was her solace. <br><br>Determination was all that kept the bleak future from her thoughts. She wasn’t certain where she was heading, or how she’d ever find anyone in the vast expanse of nothingness before her. Maena knew as little of the tribal slavers as she did, and told her only that they would find Sena, and not the other way around. Still, it was a foolhardy plan. It was well-known that they hardly supported the King, but that was what she was counting on. Who else, in all of the land, would house her? If she was lucky they wouldn’t recognize her. If she was lucky they wouldn’t kill her.<br><br>Aquamarine eyes looked out over the unending sea of dust and sand. Somewhere, hidden in the heart of it all was a place she sought for sanctuary. Somewhere there was a caravan, rows of tents, pack beasts, slaves and traders... but nowhere that she could see. A single sigh escaped. Sena, as much as she hated to admit it, would just have to be patient, and hope and pray that someone found her in the wastelands.</div><br><br><br><br><br><br><br>
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