Rebels Of The Broken Land

This is a sequel to the story Refugees of a Broken Land. It works as an independent story also but is much better if you read that one first.

Prologue

A weather-beaten and weary man in his greyish robes was following a narrow path in the dark woods. Rain was pouring heavily on him but if he minded about it, it didn't show. He had been on his quest for months, following the slightest hints and talking to everyone who could know something useful. No piece of information was too small or insignificant as he was putting up the pieces together.

He was old. With every second step, he used a heavy oak staff taller than himself to support his steps. Yet he fought the distances unusually fast. Almost as if each step he took was taking him actually two or even three forward. He tried to not let his hopes up but the information he had heard in the town was more than promising.

The path lead to an opening and on the other side, he saw dwellings. This must be it. He squinted his eyes menacingly and could spot a guard dog at its doghouse sniffing the air. Sensing the old man. Preparing to give its warning from the first sight or smell of him. As it was grasping a breath for making its first bark at the approaching figure the man made some gestures with his free hand and the dog remained silent. Even returned to its house with a tail between its legs.

The man sneaked around and stopped behind the main building's window. He wanted to make sure of it before he would take up any action. There was a middle aged lady working on the stow and a teenage girl helping her. The man's eyes however fixed on a third person in the room. A Boy. By the fire he was playing with something. Looked to be a group of acorn soldiers going at each other. His features were that of a child no more than six or seven years old but he was a big lad. Unnaturally big, almost as big as the teenage girl.

The toy soldiers made a charge and as the boy was acting out their war cries a pair of large and sharp lower teeth glinted in the light of the fire. A half-breed. The grey man nodded to himself, He had come to the right place.

Suddenly the hair on his neck stood out but he did not have time to react. A huge green paw was gripping his whole neck and throat from behind. With his final breath of air, he pushed out,

"Grok it's me, Balior, I come in peace."

A moment later the boy and his toy soldiers turned towards the door of the cabin as Grok stepped in. He was happy to see his father but his father looked irritated.

"We have a visitor," Grok announced, more to his wife Eve than to his son, "could you fix him some warm soup?"

Everyone froze to see what could it mean. They had visitors so seldom and the hour of the day was so late that it had to be something special. At first, they couldn't see a thing as Grok's huge frame was blocking the door but then a soaking wet grey man appeared. Looking almost like a rat straight from a lake or something like that.

Eve asked her daughter Sina to help the visitor with his wet clothes. But when Sina reached the man he tapped his robes as if flinching some dust off his shoulder with two fingers, smiled to her with a much younger man's twinkle in his eyes, and the robes were dry. Sina gasped for air. A mage had entered their house.

Balior thanked Grok for his hospitality and Eve for the warm soup. Grok grunted that he shouldn't have sneaked around like that. It was a matter of seconds before he would have broken his neck. The mage laughed,

"Good to see that you haven't lost your touch. And that is exactly why I am here. Have you heard the news? Javerel the Cruel, Eleventh of his name has died of sickness."

Grok had heard about it. And following the lines of that thought he had a pretty good idea why the mage was there. But he let him present the issue before jumping to conclusions,

"Now is our time. The son of Javerel is as cruel as his father but lacks all the determination and wits. We are gathering the forces up again. And we need you Grok. We want you to lead us. Just like the last time."

The young boy was listening with growing interest. He knew his father was an excellent huntsman with his traps and a decent farmer but if he understood correctly this grey-bearded stranger was saying that his father had been something else.

"It was not Javerel who defeated us last time," Grok reminded his old friend.

The mage's face turned sour. He knew what Grok was speaking about. "No. No, it wasn't. That snake is still the war marshal and serves the house of the Javerels. But we would have beaten him if there hadn't been the betrayal!", the mage was getting agitated.

It was an old and sad dispute. If and if. Grok and Balior talked long into the night about it.

When they finally retired to bed Eve asked Grok in a whisper what was going on and what was he going to do. He kissed Eve deeply and told her he would do nothing. His place was here with Eve. Eve sighed in relief and turned so that she could be the little spoon in Grok's embrace. She backed her womanly behind more and more towards Grok and was delighted to feel the familiar feeling of his manhood rising. In silence, Grok penetrated her wife from behind with a low growl of pleasure.

Eve had not lost any of her desirability over the years. She had always been quite a curvy woman but the years had put on even more pounds to her tits and hips. And Grok found this very very arousing. He reached around and encircled her large breast with one hand as he drove his cock into her over and over again. Eve had to bite the pillow in order to keep herself silent. They came together and Eve could feel her husband's seed filling her pussy like it always did.

In the morning Grok sent the old man away empty-handed. Balior was sad but took one look at Grok's wife, Sina, and their son and nodded to Grok,

"I understand. You are a very lucky man Grok. I wish all good to you."

As Grok watched his friend disappear into the woods he made a sigh. His son took him by the hand and asked a question that had been bothering him for the whole night,

"Father, were you really a warrior like the grey man said?"

Grok looked into his son deeply and answered,

"One day when you are old enough I will tell you all about it. But now you must run and feed the sheep."

Grok glanced once more where Balior had disappeared. His battles had been fought and he could not think of any reason that could make him return.

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The town garrison walls were fifteen to eighteen feet high. Their whole plan rested on Damoran's shoulders as he had told them he could do it. But fifteen feet was high even for him. And he would have only one shot to succeed.

He was not in any sort of leadership position but he could feel how his companions looked up to him. And how even the leaders of their city's underground army had certain expectations for someone with his abilities.

He had been seventeen when he joined them. Committing his life to the cause. From the very beginning, even the most skillful and the most experienced fighters had to be careful not to lose training bouts against him and now that he was nineteen there was no one in their branch who could defeat him.

But now he was nervous. Many had said that the walls were too high and it could not be done but he had assured them that it was possible. And now they had built their whole plan so that it depended heavily on his success.

The men at the top guarding the garrison turned in the intersection of the high walls and it was time. No need to prolong it any further. Damoran sped up from his hiding place and with twenty or so running steps reached the wall. When he was at the wall he did not stop at all but rather took two more giant steps from the wall to shift his momentum upwards. And he flew high.

He could see his hand would not reach the top rim of the wall. And that is why he had a 3 feet long hook on his other hand. In great arc, he flung the hook upwards and hear it cling to the wall. It was indeed over the rim and stick to it. Damoran felt the joy of succession. He had done it.

But it was far from over and he didn't stop there. With the same movement, he heaved his whole body up and was on the wall. The guards had heard the clang of the hook and did turn to face him but from their perspective, the large warrior had appeared from nowhere. There was no ladder of any sort and him being there in front of them took them by surprise.

And in that second of doubt, Damoran threw the iron hook and killed the first one of them. The second one was in time to draw his sword and gave even a small alarm but then he also was dead. Damoran had pierced him with his sword easily. Damoran followed their plan and went straight to the front gate and was able to open it before any of the other guards or reinforcements from the depths of the garrison arrived.

And when the gate was open the rebels just poured into the garrison. The fight was fierce but in the end quite short.

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There were two kinds of official authority in the town. The sheriff's men were the elite force making sure that everything was running as the king of the land had ruled things to be. Then there was the much larger city guard who had to answer to the sheriff also but who was actually recruited locally by the leaders of the town guilds.

After all the sheriff's men and the sheriff himself were killed the rebels negotiated with the leaders of the guilds and a sort of cease-fire was achieved. In the guilds and even in the city guard there were plenty of such men who saw how poorly the common people were treated by the king's law and they understood the reasons for the rebellion.

So when the rebels killed the sheriff and his men and told the guild leaders that a similar uprising was happening in all the cities in the kingdom there was no need for further fighting.

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Damoran hit his goblet to the table and joyfully roared for more ale. The rebel forces were celebrating their victory as only soldiers could. They toasted for their lost friends but rejoiced at the fact that finally, something real was happening. King Javerel the Twelfth would soon be only a bad memory.

The widow tavern keeper was maybe 15 years older than Damoran but she could not get her eyes off the young warrior. Every time she served him beer she made sure her white dirndl dress gave away most of her ample bosom for Damoran to enjoy. And she did not go unnoticed. Damoran's friends were openly joking about how there would be a special reward for his efforts. And the tavern keeper who had heard it all from drunken men before just made them laugh harder by confirming that she was up to it. But only if the young warrior was as skillful in the sack as he was in the fighting ground.

Damoran laughed with them. But within himself, he had some doubts. It was true in the fight he had been unstoppable. As it was his first time in real battle he had not been sure but he had cut through his adversaries like they were children holding wooden swords. He was much stronger than any man could be but much faster and nimble than any orc he knew. So he was thinking that being a half-breed was not that bad when it came to fighting.

"The sack" as the tavern keeper had put it on the other hand was not familiar to him at all. In their hidden rebel training grounds, there was little room for women. And he had seen the town bordellos but never visited them remembering his father's warnings. His father had said that only pain and misery could be found in such places. So in other words he had never been with a woman before.

The evening was not getting any younger and some warriors passed out from all the drinking and some retired to bed. The luckiest ones with some female companions. Damoran was taking a leak in the back of the tavern when he felt someone behind him.

"Does the young warrior need a helping hand?" the tavern keeper was laughing right behind him. Damoran was happy to see her but didn't have any clue how to answer. And he didn't need to. He had stopped pissing but his cock was still out as she hugged him from behind, took hold of his cock, and shook it in the air to remove the last drops of urine from it.

Damoran's heart leaped but he laughed heartedly to her merry attack.

"Oh, there's an ambush for me. How will I survive?" Damoran mocked her in a friendly manner. Both of them giggled and Damoran could feel his cock growing. Her hands felt super good on it.

"By the saint Inaria. Is this thing big thing real?" the keeper wondered holding his semi-hard penis by the base of it and waving it up and down and side to side playfully. Damoran hadn't really thought about it but as most of his body was large he guessed it made sense for his genitalia to be so also.

She pulled him back to the tavern. Not to the common room but to the back where her own quarters were. There they first kissed but then she surprised him by dropping to her knees and picking his hard cock into her mouth. Damoran had not known such pleasure would exist. He enjoyed the view of her on her knees. Her breasts were now completely on display and she fought to get his cock even deeper into her mouth.

So this is what it was like to be with a woman. Damoran was starting to feel anxious and somehow he realized that if she wouldn't stop soon he would most likely spill his seed right into her mouth. He was not at all certain if that was the proper thing to do. But he did know the general principle of what the actual sex would be and lifted her up from the floor. She kissed him passionately but then turned around lifted her skirt and with some help from Damoran dropped her knickers.

He had expected it to happen in this "missionary position", his friends had told him about, but was by no means disappointed as she bowed away from him to her own bed and revealed her big behind for him. He looked down at it and was very excited. His cock was all the time harder and harder and his pale greenish color looked very erotic against her pale white ass. He tried to find the right spot with his cock but was happy to receive help as she reached between her own legs and guided his turgid phallus in.

And Damoran gave the sexy wench such a boning that she had to ask him to slow down a couple of times. But for the most part, she also liked it a lot. It had been a while since she last time had such a thorough fucking from such a virile young man.

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A few days went by and Damoran was taking all the time he could to spend with the tavern keeper. She taught him all that she knew and was by no means prude about it. He preferred the actual copulation a lot but did enjoy it when she made him cum with her mouth. He even licked her pussy and found the female anatomy fascinating.

And they were just about to go at it again when Damoran's friends came running to get him.

"Damoran, all the squadron leaders have been summoned to the city hall and since Freddy died in the fight they have asked for you." said his panting friend. This was surprising but off he went.

The news on the town hall could not have been worse. Their city had been the only one where the rebels had succeeded. And in the capitol where the main forces of the rebels had been they had suffered an utter defeat. The hated war marshal Percy had found and tortured one of the rebel leaders before the attack. So he had known everything about how it would happen and was waiting for it with his forces. They had slaughtered most of the rebels and only a few remained to tell the story forward.

The guild leaders and rebels were furiously discussing what to do. If the rumors were true, the king had sent an army toward their city and something had to be done. After listening carefully, Damoran decided to speak. He did not have the rank but he had been summoned so he thought that they may want to hear his opinion anyway,

"Javerel, or Percy for that matter, is not known for forgiveness. So in my opinion this whole conversation is pointless. The guilds did join us and overthrew the sheriff. Javerel will not let that pass. He will punish you anyway even if you refuse our cause now. Our best chance is to stick together. Declare our city as an independent free city and we will defend it against Javerel. If they come we will close up the city walls and let them worry how to get in. The other cities are on the brink of revolution. If we show them a way to a better future they may do the same. And if the other cities rebel they will have to split their army."

The most powerful of the guild leaders was the leader of the merchants guild. And after he had listened Damoran to speak, he stepped up,

"Young warrior speaks with wisdom greater than his years. Javerel will kill most of us just to make an example. I vote that we should fight."

After that all the other guilds fell in line and the preparation for the city's defense could begin. However, after several weeks, when the king's army arrived outside the city walls a grim mood came with it. The war marshal Percy had not come with just his elite forces but with the full might of Javerel's armies. There were more than twelve thousand men with heavy war machines and cavalry. The cavalry was mostly for the show since it had little role in making a siege against a city. But the huge catapults and shielded ramrods were a completely different thing. Even to Damoran, those seemed like a huge problem.

Day after day the guild leaders and rebel leaders argued about what should they do. But nothing had changed from Damoran's speech. If they surrendered it was a common understanding that Percy would butcher all the people who had been in charge. But he would not stop even to that. Their families would be in danger too.

To Damoran all the arguing seemed pointless and he spent his time training and preparing the defensive lines on the city walls. There were always a thousand things to do. And this was the same with most of the rebel captains, they preferred action over the endless discussion at the town hall. But all of them were perplexed about Percy's plan. He had shown up in full force but for several days nothing had happened. On the other hand, the defenders knew they had food supplies for months if not for years so they were willing to wait at the walls.

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The leader of merchants was flustered. He had been summoned in the middle of the night to a special meeting organized by the stone masons guild. The only thing that was said in advance was that there would be something new for them to consider. When the meeting had assembled the merchant's leader noticed that only the guilds were there. All the rebel leaders were missing.

When they all had settled down the doors opened and one more participant entered, accompanied by four soldiers. The soldiers were lightly armored but they still looked like men whom you would not want to challenge. And the man leading them in was old and thin. Dressed in black and looked to be as hard and tough as an iron nail.

Everyone was whispering about who it may be and he certainly was the center of their attention. The leader of the stone masons did not even introduce him as he took a stand in front of them. With sharp eyes, he scanned the room. At the mid-row of the audience, one man was covering his open mouth in shock. He knew who it was too well.

"Gentlemen. I am Javerel the Twelfth's war marshal Percy.", he took a pause to let that sink in. "I have entered the city in secrecy with only these four personal bodyguards. There is no trickery, if you want you can ask the city guards to kill me and my men. I'm sure my men will kill at least three or four city guards for each of them but you will win." he took a new pause.

"But, you have all seen my army outside. My second in command has the orders to wipe this whole city down if I'm not back by tomorrow. And that means all of you. No man, woman, or children will be left alive."