Authors note: This is my attempt at a femdom, light bdsm succubus fantasy story. Hope you enjoy, happy reading.
*
Chapter 1
"Go!" my mom yelled out.
Our sleepy small town was under attack. Gray smoke and orange light filled the sky above the treeline. The silhouette of burning huts emanated from the nearby lake. It happened so fast. Without warning. And it wasn't all that clear to me what exactly had happened. One minute I was in my sweet dreams of heroes and conquest, the next my father was yelling to my mother to wake me up. I caught some glimpses as I was dragged out of the small hut and slammed on top of the saddle by my father, who promptly ran to join the rounded up lads to defend our sleepy small town. My mother had handed me some old rusty iron sword and sent me on my way. As if I knew where to go and how to use a weapon.
To say, I wasn't some bitch either. I was long and lanky, yeah, but my fingers were strong, and I knew how to use them, as a tailor's son. And I had just turned eighteen so now I was a grown up too. Riding into the night, leaving everything behind in the escape for safety, riding into solitude, I couldn't help but feel like a damn kid. My dad, who was both mayor and a master tailor, my mom. My sister. The local baker, the fishermen. My friends. All behind, while I got away.
I chose to ride for the mountains. It was a dreaded choice, as those very mountains were said to be as ominous as they looked. Shooting way up into the skies, they were said to be haunted by wicked creatures. But I thought, if anything, nobody would follow me there. And maybe the ruckus by the lake, the killing of my people, my family, was a distraction for even whomever roamed those parts.
As close the mountains seemed to be, they weren't. The cluster of narrow peaks was actually well away from the town, they just stood so tall that they looked like stone tosses away. I felt both hunger and thirst as I escaped the grasslands and occasional cluster of trees I escaped from, and entered into a dark, thick forest. The sun had been rising the last few hours, but entering the treeline, any natural source of light disappeared.
The ground became more treacherous, so I dismounted. I wasn't a total beginner when it came to these forests. There were still some leagues before I was in the so-called haunted parts. My dad and I had hunted plenty in these parts, and I knew a horse could lose its step here if you weren't careful. Even an experienced lad as Buddy could break an ankle, and that was something I didn't want to bestow on someone who might be the last being I knew in the world. I was not an expert on world politics, but if it was the Inquisition that had burned my town, I knew what that entailed. And it was no one but the Inquisition who had ambitions that matched the burning of a small, sleepy farming town.
I hoped that if I could get past these forests, cut through the mountain range, I could find the Marin League, the closest thing to an army that was in these parts. But those folks were dangerous as well, and they only cared about one thing. Or one person. And they owed my own liege no favors. Or anyone else for that matter.
I was scanning my brain for escape routes. Marin League was probably a safe haven, but they didn't suit what brewed inside me. I knew I wanted death onto these sorry sack of shits that had invaded my life, tearing it up and burning it all. Thinking of my dear mother, and what might happen to her... or my father... my friends from school... What had we ever done to deserve it? I clenched my fist. No, I would have to find someone who could help me bring fire and vengeance onto the Inquisition. If it were them, that is.
*
I woke up cold. I woke up hungry. I woke up alone. The flight had depleted my energy, and I had passed out as soon as adrenaline had left my veins. Right there on the cold moss I had keeled over. Waking up now, who knows how long after, I didn't really feel well rested. I was just as depleted of energy as before. By sheer willpower and grit did I manage to roll over onto my stomach, extend my arms to get myself into an upright position, and with another portion of willpower and grit I shot myself up onto my feet. I staggered for a bit, but after a few moments of recollection and stabilizing, I figured I dared a step. And another. And one more. Heel to toe, heel to toe. And soon I was outright walking.
I would've called out for Buddy, but I didn't think he heard me. And I didn't have the voice for it either. Looking around, I saw that he was gone. Maybe he had wandered off. May as well. A horse can survive on instinct. Maybe it was the better fate for him. But not for me. It meant that if I were to cross through the mountains, it would be afoot. If I ever got that far. Fuck me. Well. I was walking, so the first part of that ordeal was dealt with. Even if the second part was walking miles on miles in terrain that went up and down up and down, but mostly up.
I didn't dare feel secure from the Inquisition though. Not even here. Nobody ever walked these parts. Ever. The forest was filled with vile creatures, and the mountains were said to be haunted. Looking up at them, I guess it made sense. The mountains sent a chill down my spine just looking at them. If I felt I had any other choice to escape
and
survive, my tired brain told me this was the way. And I was not the only one. Big Burly was the town's bravest, and he had only climbed some of the first foots of those ominous peaks. What desperation drove me up here?
The breath of the Inquisition. Even as I told myself how mad anyone would be to venture into these parts, it was as if I could hear them behind me rustling around, searching the bushes and the branches for a long lanky lad. Or the horse, because if they found the mount that lad had rode out on, they were sure to find him. Nobody could travel this terrain swiftly, least of all on foot.
But me, the lad, I strode long strides up and up, trying to convince myself I made more ground than the pursuiters would account for by taking long steps. What a moron I was. A slick rock found the underside of my foot, or rather, I lunged my foot onto a rock that was wet as hell, stumbled and crashed to the ground again. After a serious fight, I managed to get up again. I walked more. I fell more. I got up again. Then I walked, fell and got up. I had to eat something. Anything. Drink something. Water.
Water.
It was all around me! I grabbed some moss and shoved it into my mouth and sucked on it. Heavenly water. It tasted like dirt and grass, but it most importantly tasted like water. I found another fist of moss and sucked it too. When I had enough dirt ridden water, I got up to my feet again. This time much steadier than before.
I have no idea how long, or even how, I wandered for. But I wandered. The nutrients of the water had done me good. Maybe the dirt had filled my stomach some, giving me energy to press up and up. It was dark again before I started my stumbling and falling procedure again. That went on for at least an hour or so until I found a decent rock I could pass out on. I didn't know whether I would wake up or not, but to hell with it. I had blisters on my hands and on my feet, scraped my knees and my elbows, and my head hurt as if someone was continuously beating it with a sledge hammer. I needed rest.
I started the next day like I had started my journey on foot. Step, fall, stand. Step, fall, stand. Then I remember. Yeah. Moss did me good yesterday. But maybe I should use the energy to find something to eat too. Moss filled water would only last me so long. And I was already having a rough start, waking up wet and cold from the moist forest ground. I swore I would never touch moss again by the time I was out of this moss infected fucking moss bed.
In some bushes I luckily found some berries I thought looked like they were not poisonous and ate them without thought. I didn't immediately die, so I ate some more, and even grabbed a few handfuls to have with me. And then with more purposeful strides, I thought I laid some decent work that day. Still, my blisters and my scrapings didn't take kindly to my treatment of them, and only got worse. When I passed out that day, I made sure to climb up on a rock that wasn't nine tenths covered in moss. Fucking moss.
The next few days I survived on berries, fucking moss and willpower. Where that willpower came from, I have no idea. But it was there. And it drove me on and on, and finally, after a solid week of bleeding blisters and fucking moss, I reached the first parts of the rocky terrain. There was a cleft in between the rocks that seemed to have a path that snaked along some of the mountains. Maybe it led all the way through. Maybe I was lucky.
I wasn't.
It was a dead end.
When I came down from the fucked path, I saw a rabbit munching on something around the clearing where I'd come from.
"Fucking hell!"
I thought.
"Meat!"
I was in such desperate hunger, I reached for my sword. There is no way I'd be able to kill it with a blade, as it would surely just run off as soon as I tried. But I didn't have my sword. I must've abandoned it somewhere when I couldn't carry it anymore. "Well fuck it then," I muttered under my breath.
The next few days I made almost no progress. My blisters were killing me and I had a fever that was
actually
killing me. My clothes were wet and torn, my energy depleted. My willpower was still there, but there was nothing left. I failed my mother, my father, my sister and my town in the conquest of survival. Here in these so-called haunted mountains, I would die. Hungry, cold, and alone. Haunted mountains my ass. The only haunted part of these fucking things would be my remains. I was a shell of what I had been. Sick and dying.
I didn't want to give up. I had to. There was nothing more I could do. I had survived as long as I could, longer than I had expected. I tilted my head back, leaning up against a rock on a ridge way up on some mountain no one had visited in forever. Here I sat, looking up at the bright sky. I closed my eyes, resigning myself to my fate.
Chapter 2
Then I woke up. I couldn't really tell where I was. Or if I was. I was sweating, yet cold. Trembling. Yeah. I had a fever. A pretty severe one. Through the haze of my head pounding like it was the morning after drinking, I tried to look around. I wasn't on that god forsaken mountain anymore, that was for sure. Slick stonewall surrounded me, except directly in front of me, where bars stood from ground to the floor. I was in a cell of some sort.
I tried to move my feet so I could inspect my new surroundings better, but neither my feet or my hands could move. I looked at my wrists. They were shackled to the stonewall. Not able to look down properly, I guessed my feet were shackled as well. And from how high up I was, I was guessing I wasn't exactly on ground level. Someone had picked me up, taken me into this wet, damp hellhole and hung me up like I was a painting.
"You are awake," someone said. I couldn't tell from where. The voice echoed from all around. Whoever spoke did so out of sight.
It was hard to tell from such a short sentence, and with all the echo, but the voice sounded like it belonged to a woman.
"You are awake," the woman's voice said again after a short while. For some reason, the way it spoke sent shivers down my spine. It talked like a predator. Like a hunter. The voice spoke softly, but with a tinge of power that was not to be tested. Not that I was in any position to test anyone in anything.
