She came into my smithy with a haughty look on her face. She was spoiled, no doubt about that, in her expensive, royal blue dress, dyed to perfection. Her perfect, thick brown hair spilled over her shoulders and she tossed it occasionally as if she was glancing at something far away. She had perfect, hazel eyes. A princess, the daughter of a lord, and just as arrogant as you might expect.
He was pathetic. Leaning over, as if permanently in fear of being beaten. He scurried behind her into the smithy and when they stopped, he cringed behind her as if afraid of being beaten. He wore very simple, rough cotton pants and a ragged motheaten shirt. Despite all this he was about her age, maybe 25, and apparently handsome, though it was difficult to tell with a man who never gave eye contact and always seemed about to burst into tears.
"I am willing to pay good coin to have you fit a collar to my slave. I trust it will not be difficult?" She addressed me directly, haughtily. I was her inferior, though a free craftsman and someone with at least some status. She addressed the slave harshly. "YOU. Lick my shoes."
As he rushed to obey, I considered. I had a few in stock, I just needed to provide a price, a price that was reasonable. "Of course, milady. Ten sciat." I held her eye contact as I gave my price. She may have been my superior, but I towered over her. Hopefully enough to intimidate her out of haggling with me over it.
"Done."
I headed to the back of the smithy, where I had a few collars of varying sizes ready. I picked one that seemed as though it would be a good fit, without chafing too much. I returned and handed it to her.
"Excellent. Now we can get out of this dark, smoky hole of a place, but first -- YOU. STAND."
Her slave immediately stood. He was handsome, thin but almost pretty, with large lips and round eyes. He raised his head slightly as she applied the collar. It snapped shut and she gave a nod and a subtle smile. Her slave was now collared.
"Thank you."
"Good day."
She left the smithy. It was getting dark, and I headed back to my hut. In some ways, I envied the man. The simplicity of his life -- nothing to do but obey. And she was a beautiful woman. Even as I had towered over her, I dreamed of how she could... Command me. What it would be like to follow her into her palace, to cook her meals, to undress her... I put the thought out of my mind. God did not permit such...
Longings.
Yet I fell asleep dreaming strange dreams.
I awoke to screams, and shouting. Something was happening. Someone burst into my hut.
I scrambled around to find my sword. It was a basic thing I had crafted mainly for rare cases of self defense. It was slightly uneven in places, but I was proud of it -- it was certainly as sharp as any weapon a lord or lady might wield. My hut was simple, round with a thatched roof and a fire in the center. The door was on the other side from my bed.
That was where she stood. She was tall, almost as tall as me, perhaps a couple inches shorter. She wore braided blonde hair under a wolf pelt that she wore on her head and draped over her back. Otherwise, she was naked, her skin covered with detailed tattoos of wolves, bear and other wild animals. She had large breasts hanging down, swinging as she moved. She was foaming at the mouth slightly. She carried two swords hanging from a belt, which were sheathed. The belt also carried a series of collars hanging from a chain, and rope.
"Leave this place heathen!" I yelled desperately.
She laughed heartily and made towards me, which I responded to by swinging at her wildly. I am not built like perhaps the stereotypical blacksmith, but I have a tight muscle to my 6 ft frame. I was naked, not having had a chance to dress.
She easily dodged the blow and grabbed the sword out of my hand before I could recover, throwing it away. She grinned as she rounded on me, and I tried to throw a punch, which she caught easily. Using the wrist she had caught, she turned me around and threw me to the floor close to the door.
With a knee on my backside, she grabbed my wrists and tied them together. I continued to struggle, and she turned me over so that I lay with my wrists tied together behind my back, trying to get up. She punched me in the gut as I did so and I was winded, then with her other hand she pushed me back to the ground. I tried to get up again and this time she slammed my head to the ground so that I was dizzy for awhile.
She grabbed a collar and, holding me in place, snapped it shut around my neck. She gripped the short chain connected to it and violently pulled me up, hands still tied, to a standing position. Then she rushed me to the door.
Outside, the raid was almost over. In the middle of the dirt road stood a string of naked women on a chain, dirty, crying, the end of the chain held by a mean looking armoured man with a yellow beard. Each wore a collar locked to the chain, that kept her inexorably in time with it. He was huge, and the women, some of whom I knew, looked tiny behind him.
Our huts were burning beneath the blackness of the night, and I knew that god had forsaken us. The screams continued, but distant laughter and possibly the clinking of jewels and metals could be heard from faraway.
My captor kept up the pace, headed to somewhere in the village. I could tell whatever high she had been on was starting to clear up, she foamed at the mouth less, but she still had those wild blue eyes that gazed back at me now and then. She pulled me to a clearing at the center of the village, where an argument was happening in front of the thatched roof and wooden walls of the meeting hall.
"We need virgins. Virgins sell for the best prices."
"It has been a long voyage! We thirst for women! Give us but one!"
An argument was occurring between the Jarl, a very tall man with a grey beard and grizzled face, and some of his men. His sworn housecarls appeared to be taking his side, flanking him intimidatingly. They each wore a shield emblazoned with his sigil, whereas the riff raff he had brought along as support were not.
