1 comments/ 8433 views/ 1 favorites The Sword of Demokles By: FlashingSteel Dear readers, Allow me to regale you with tales of horror, and beauty, and seduction and love- making. Allow me to entertain you with tales that span over centuries and continents -- and are as timeless as time itself. Allow me to take you beyond the reaches of time and space -- to the Romuthian Age, when the Earth was yet young, and the stars forming, and the moon shone twice as bright as it does now. And on the Earth, glittering kingdoms lay spread like diamonds from a broken necklace -- kingdoms that warred among themselves -- vying for land and power. But supreme of these kingdoms was Utopia, the land of bold Knights and comely maidens -- the valour of the Knights as legendary as the beauty and allure of the maidens. It is said that the fear felt at seeing the winged skull banner of the Utopian Knights was almost the same as the flash of desire experienced at seeing a Utopian woman disrobe. Our tale begins on a winter day in Utopia, in a small village called Washawow on the far Eastern marches of the Kingdom. The Kingdom had been suffering unrest lately due to the frequent raids from the neighbouring kingdom of Harlotria, which was ruled by a queen who was as ruthless as she was alluring. The lord of the village of Washawow, Lord Jaden Demokles was all but the last of an illustrious line of Knights, who had served the Kingdom. He was of the line of Lord Steren Demokles, who had single handedly impregnated each of the five hundred members of the elite Amazonian guard of Harlotria, in the space of only two years. Lord Steren begot Lord Madsin, who destroyed the temple of the evil demi-god Sedultra, who transformed nubile maidens into sexless zombies, and was rewarded with the lifelong admiration of the thousand acolytes of the temple. Lord Steren begot Lord Jaden, who seduced the King's wife, his daughter, and all of his concubines, in addition to many of his other illustrious deeds. This last exploit however, caused him to lose favour with the King, and he was sent to the Eastern marches, to ostentatiously guard the frontiers. Lord Jaden was childless, and the only surviving member of the Demokles line was a young lad of seventeen named Damien. Although young of age, he had the heart of a Knight, as he had already seduced most of the women of his age in the village, and some of their mothers as well, and had disposed off about fifty of their male relatives who had been so foolish as to challenge him in combat. Lord Jaden sighed as he contemplated his evening glass of corn liquor. The snow outside was falling steadily though not heavily, and the roaring fire in the hearth felt good. He raised his hand and pulled on the bell cord, which caused the entry of Staten, his manservant, and erstwhile page. "Send my nephew to me." He commanded. The slight start of the servant did not escape his eyes, nor did his slighter hesitation before he remarked, politely "I believe Master Damien may be occupied, My Lord." The patronisation of his servant did nothing to improve Lord Staten's temper, and he roared "Tell that horny son-of-a to get his lazy arse in here. He can go back to balling his tavern maids when I am done with him.' The servant speedily departed to find Damien in his bedchamber with the door locked. Noises emanating from the room spoke for themselves about two consenting males enjoying each other's flesh. However, if he had possessed the ability of looking through doors, he would have seen the following scene: Damien was riding a luscious little tavern-maid doggy style, piercing her tender pussy with short, hard strokes that left her squealing with pleasure. As his lust mounted, Damien grabbed the maid by hair and lifted her off the bed, leaving her to scream uncontrollably with pleasure as Damien's cock seemed to reach her innermost depths. Damien slapped her buttocks hard and fast, raising welts and reddening her cute little ass, and grabbed her nipples and twisted, causing the maiden to scream even louder with pleasure. Damien twisted her head around and was about to claim her lips with his own when there was a sudden loud knock on the door. "Master Damien!" the voice of Staten was muffled but clear. "The master wants to see you in his chamber." Damien raised his head and let pushed his dark hair out of his steel-grey eyes. The thin scar that ran down his temple to his eyebrows served only to accentuate his rugged good looks. Standing tall at six and a half feet, and boasting of the muscular physique that is so inherent of heroes, and a cock that was impressive in its length as well as its girth, he drew the eyes of females in any and every company. He pulled his ten inch cock out of the girl's pussy and dressed without so much as saying goodbye. His utter disregard of women was matched only by the ease with which he conquered them. Putting on his dark cloak and belting on his rapier, he left without a backward glance at the girl who was forced to masturbate furiously in order to relieve herself of the sexual tension that had built up within her. Damien walked in the chamber with the same deadly grace that permeated his every movement, the grace of a panther lounging on the rocks, ready to explode into lethal movement. "You wanted to see me, Uncle Jaden?" he asked. "Who was the wench?" Lord Jaden growled. "Some tavern maid...Erica or Erina... some name of that sort. Why?" "You are old enough to stop balling around and start realising your responsibilities." Lord Jaden shouted. "Oh, spare me Uncle!" Damien sighed. "At my age you probably had balled more than I had, and screwed all your aunties to boot." He grinned at his spluttering Uncle. "It runs in the family, Uncle. You of all people should know." "Regardless." Lord Jaden growled. "The time has come for you to assume some of your responsibilities and duties. Help me up. We are going to the armoury." "Bring down that long box from the top shelf and that black chest. And hold this blasted torch. It smokes so much I can hardly see." His Uncle rattled non-stop instructions at Damien as they went in the armoury. Damien could not but grin as he complied with his Uncle's instructions. "The old battle-axe has lost none of his sharpness." He thought to himself. He handed down the box to his Uncle, who clasped it in his hands reverently. Damien, possessor of great physical strength as he was, had to struggle to lift the chest, and carry it out of the armoury. Back to the chamber, Lord Jaden could not help but think of his own youth, as his father had performed this same ceremony in his time, and his father before him, and so on. "Open the box, Damien." He said. Damien gasped as the lid swung back on its hinges. Inside lay a sword in a magnificent scabbard. The scabbard was of dark ebony, and inlaid with dark jewels that seemed to absorb light instead of catching them. "Take the sword." His Uncle ordered. Damien lifted the sword out and drew it, gasping again at the sheer beauty of it. The long blade was just wide enough, and had many runes inscribed on it. Two opposing crescents framed a huge jewel set in the hilt of the sword which at the moment was pure white. "This is Valinor. The Sword of Demokles." As the name was spoken, the jewel changed colour, shifting from white to clear blue and back again. "You must make it yours, Damien." Young as though Damien was, he was well versed in the lore of the Demokles family and he did not hesitate as he drew the sword across his palm. He hardly felt anything as the blade cut through his skin and a thin red line appeared. The jewel flashed to blood red and through several shades of colour before settling on steel-grey. "Open the chest, Damien." His Uncle ordered. Damien knew what to accept, but it still did not take away his amazement as he lifted out an entire set of body armour out of the chest. He knew that the breastplate would repel any attack, the shield could not be broken, and possessed the powers of teleportation. The gauntlets could detect poison, and the helmet granted him the power of seeing far. The boots would enable him to move faster than even the fastest doe. "Put it on, Damien." In a daze, Damien pulled on the armour. It fit him as if it had been made to his size, though he knew that the armour had belonged to his family for at least five generations. "Kneel." Damien knelt. He knew what came next. His Uncle rose and placed his hands on his shoulders. "Damien Demokles" he intoned "You are now the Knight of the line of Demokles. Your sword shall stand for truth and justice and Utopia. Stand and be gone. Do not return until you have made your mark upon the world." Damien rose. There would be no more words. No farewells. He went out to the stables, moving so stealthily that no one could see him. He saddled his mount, a fiery dark steed named Balzer, which in the ancient tongue meant 'hurricane', and rode out in the night. The border of Harlotria was but two days ride away by normal horse, but Balzer would never tire and was as fast as his master with his boots on, so the journey took only a day. It was morning when Damien dismounted at the border village of Misfortunat. The smoke from the burning huts had still not dissipated in the morning breeze, and the bodies of the inhabitants of the village lay strewn where they had tried to make a stand against the invaders from across the border. There were no survivors. Damien gritted his teeth as he surveyed the carnage. The border outposts were getting lax if they had led this party through. He followed the tracks of the raiders out of the village, heading due east. He came upon them half an hour later, a party of fifty barbarians, laden with their spoils, riding fast. The raiders had no warning as Damien attacked from behind. The last two barbarians were decapitated before they even had the chance to draw their sword. Such was Damien's speed and skill with the sword that he seemed to be in five places at once. The spears and arrows of the barbarians missed him and hit their own, or bounced off his armour. Within a short time, only the leader was the barbarians was left, who raised his sword and charged at Damien, who being preoccupied with the onerous task of slitting the throat of the last three barbarians, did not see him. The sword of the leader crashed down on Damien's helmet, only to be met by Valinor. No ordinary sword could withstand Valinor in straight combat, and the leader's sword shattered upon impact, leaving the hilt in his hand, and causing him to cry out in pain. Damien, about to lop off the head of the barbarian, slightly altered the stroke of the sword and it cut across the armour, which fell away, revealing a luscious female body. The reverse stroke of the sword cut away the helmet, which revealed a pale, heart shaped face, and long eye-lashes. The cold caused the nipples of the woman to harden instantly and peak. Damien felt his cock standing to attention. He swung up his sword to the neck of the maiden and asked "What can you offer me to spare your life?" "Anything that you ask, my Lord Knight." Her voice was tremulous with fear and cold, and her eyes widened as Damien pulled out his cock. "That will be a pleasure." Damien was in no mood for listening to female chatter, so he grabbed her head and pushed it down on his cock, filling her mouth completely. His cock knocked against the back of her throat, causing her to gag. She recovered and began to run her tongue around his shaft, and thrust it into the opening of the penis. Damien grabbed her head and began to fuck her face with brutal strokes, hardly giving her room to breathe. She reached up and grabbed his balls as they swung against her face, slapping her chin, and squeezed them. Damien growled and grabbed her breasts and mauled them, rubbing her nipples in his gauntleted fingers, twisting them, pinching them. He lifted her up and set her down upon his cock, effortlessly holding her in mid air as he fucked her pussy with his huge cock. The barbarian leader was nearly being transported out of her mind with the sensation of a ten inch cock moving in and out her pussy, and when Damien leaned forward and bit one of her nipples, she arched her back and let out a quivering cry that seemed to resound in the morning air as the blast of a herald's trumpet. She began to move, thrusting her hips forward, and rubbing her clitoris furiously and locking her legs around Damien's hips. As a mind blowing orgasm ripped through her, Damien started moving faster and thrust in and out of her almost like the piston of a steam engine. She screamed at the invasion of her pussy and the merciless assault that it was suffering at the hand of this cock, and held on for dear life as Damien shot load and load of cum in her in bursts that seemed to penetrate her very insides. As soon as he was done, Damien pulled out his cock and unceremoniously dumped the girl in the snow. He tucked his cock back in, and rode away, leaving the girl staring at his back, Damien's cum still oozing out of her pussy and dribbling down her thighs. TO BE CONTINUED... The Sword of Demokles Ch. 02 Know, O Scholar, that in the years between the cataclysm of the destruction of Atlantis, and the rise of the people of the High Mountains, there was an age undreamt of, an age where the kingdoms of the world lay upon the world as glittering as the field of stars on the black velvet of the sky. Hither came the clan of the Demokles, sword in hand, pirates, rovers, swordsmen, with great virility and greater prowess, to break the rules and to make their mark on the world. - The Numenorian Chronicles. * Damien journeyed on the path from the scene of the border raid. Behind him lay the bodies of the raiders that had so foolishly intruded upon the peace of the fair country, and the body of the satiated woman who had been fortunate enough to escape with her life. The way to the kingdom of Eritronia(check) was through either if the two ways. One was through the trade routes that five days through the Scendona desert, and the other was through the Misty mountains, the true name of which was Magnutin. The pass through the mountains was reputed to be held by the bellicose Janhvar tribes, led by their shaman. There was also the rumour of a vast treasure within the mountain, the secret to which was guarded by the tribe. Damien stood at the crossroads and contemplated the choices. The trade wagons rumbled past him on their way to Eritronia through the desert. He looked up at the Misty mountains and the familiar thrill of adventure and recklessness come over him. "What's life without a few challenges?" he said to his trusty steed. The pass was dark and foreboding. Impossibly high walls reached upon one side, as if trying to capture the Sun itself and the other side looked into a gaping abyss, the bottom of which was lost in shadow. "Brrrr... I certainly don't want fall in there." thought Damien as he rode on. It was bitterly cold on the mountain and he wished he had brought some warm clothing with him form the bodies of the brigands he had slain. So absorbed was he with the thoughts of the border raid and the wanton pleasure thereafter that he did not notice that pairs of eyes were watching him from the ledges above. Being supremely confident of his martial abilities, it is hard to be sure of whether he would have cared if he had noticed them. He camped on a ledge for the night, wrapping himself up the best he could against the cold. The morning brought hope to Damien's heart. One more day, and he would be in Eritronia. He laughed aloud at the thought, and jerked his reins. The pass widened into a valley, and the vegetation soon changed from sparse moss to stunted trees to a coniferous forest. Riding on through the forest, Damien was surprised to notice a strange form of vegetation protruding from a bush. It was a female posterior, and of such perfect shape and size as to set his manhood to attention immediately. He alighted from his horse in one swift movement, and just as swiftly drew his sword without a sound. Proceeding silently to the bush he shot a hand into the bush and drew out, accompanied by an indigent squawk, a young and nubile woman who was dressed in the most outlandish clothes -- a headdress of feathers, a mans shirt, and a tattered skirt that hung to her ankles in the back and was cut to her thigh on the front. "Release me, you fool!" the woman shrieked. Suddenly the forest around filed with the creak of arrows being nocked and drawn. Damien reacted instinctively, securing his back against the nearest tree, and bringing the woman in front as a human shield. "Go ahead, shoot." He snarled, holding his sword to the throat of the woman. After a few tense moments, a man stepped out of the foliage. He was big, and well built, and carried a crude axe, which he pointed at Damien and began a long rant in a foreign language. "What?" The confusion of Damien was apparent, and the point pointed the axe at Damien, then at himself, and swung it around in an obvious manner. "A fight, huh?" The blood of Demokles was always ready for a good fight, and Damien pushed the woman away from him and dropped in the classic stance of the sword fighter, leopard crouches. The man gesticulating wildly advanced on Damien, swinging his axe. Damien dropped under the swing. The axe hit a tree, and splintered it into two. "He's strong." thought Damien, as he flew to meet his adversary. Sword met axe in a shower of sparks, and Damien was slowly driven back. "This is ridiculous." thought Damien, and threw his body in the attack. The jewel on Valinor's hilt glowed blood red as the sword met the hilt of the axe, slicing it through cleanly, and going on to lop off the head of the man. Damien dropped back into leopard crouches, as the forest erupted in a screaming multitude of barbarians. "My Lord" the voice of the woman next to him caused Damien to look to her, and it was only with a small jolt of surprise that he saw she was naked, her bountiful breasts thrusting up at him. "You have bested the champion of our tribe, and my mate. By the laws of the tribe, you are now are our leader and the shaman's mate." "The shaman's mate, huh?" Damien thought furiously for a few seconds, and asked the question that was foremost on his mind. "So you know where the treasure is hidden? Lead me to it, woman." The woman got up and led Damien into led him deep into the forest, followed by the silent tribe. Stopping in front of a wall, she uttered a few syllables in her own language. Damien watched as the wall slid open to reveal a cavern. "Enter, my lord, that you may discover the treasure for yourself." Shaking off the feeling that he was walking in a trap, Damien walked in the cavern. The pitch dark suddenly changed to black light, and Damien saw at the end of the cavern, a fountain that spouted molten gold, which hit the floor and disappeared. "Nothing to carry it in..." Damien thought, and took off his helmet. He drew a helmful of gold, and realised that it had turned to water. Possessed by an inexplicable desire, he drank it, and immediately felt the power coursing through his veins. Turning back, he saw the fountain had disappeared. The pitch dark cavern was no longer so to him, for he could see every nook and cranny as if in broad daylight. He moved to the entrance, realising that his feet carried him faster than the fastest steed. He stopped in front of the wall. Confident of his new powers, he hit the wall, and it shattered with a thunderous sound. The tribe outside cheered as Damien stepped out, and in a mood of revelry, picked up the shaman, and kissed her. She responded to the kiss with a fiery passion, thrusting her tongue deep into his mouth, and clinging to her. No longer caring who watched him, Damien stripped off his armour and unsheathed his tool, thrusting it up into her. The potency of his thrust transported the shaman into transports of ecstasy, as it seemed to penetrate the very depths of her soul. Blessed with inhuman speed and strength, Damien thrust in and out of her faster than the eye could see, so it seemed that their bodies were joined together at the hip. Soon, too soon it seemed to the shaman, it was over, and Damien shot up gallons of sticky seed into her womb. He disengaged from her, and watched as she bent to lick up the cum that was dribbling from his cock. "Journey on, my lord." She said. "Your path lies to glory in strange lands." Damien exchanged a fond kiss of farewell with the shaman, and rode on. Damien stopped at the city of Sissiphus and considered his predicament. He had left his steed at the tribe, and run through the pass. The trouble was, he could no longer carry as much provisions as he wished to, and was therefore out of food and coin. He could have attacked and pillaged any number of wagons, but the thought never crossed his mind, for he was a knight and not a common bandit. He looked around him, and spotted an inn that sported the sign of "House of Angels" and walked in. The interior was filled with soldiers and ruffians, for this was the border area, and not much to distinguish between the two. He sat himself at a table, and immediately attracted the attention of the serving wenches, and of a few of the ruffians. One of the wenches came up to him and deposited a mug of ale on the table. "It's on the house" she said. "Looks like you could use it." Damien thanked her with a smile and looked into his cup, trying to figure out his next move. His thought was interrupted by a scream. He looked up and saw that one of the ruffians had grabbed one of the wenches, and pushed up her skirt and was attempting to bend her over the table. "Here we go." Damien thought resignedly, as he got up and approached the man. "I think you have had too much to drink, friend." He said lightly. Interrupted in his advances, the man turned, and blinded by lust, drew his knife and thrust at Damien. There was the snick of steel going through flesh, and Damien calmly held his sword at his side in lion on the mountain as the two halves of the man separated and fell on the floor. "Anyone wants to have a go at the wenches?" he asked mildly, looking around the room. Everyone refused to meet his eye, and he went back to his seat. "That was an impressive display." A sonorous voice said behind him, and Damien turned to see a man dressed in the garb of a mage. "You are from the house of Demokles?" Smiling at Damiens sudden look of consternation, he sat down at the table, and grabbed two mugs of ale off one of the trays. "I know that sword." He informed Damien. "I was one of the few who served with your father on the Mandrakon swamps." "Canifor!" exclaimed Damien. "I didn't recognise you." "Neither did I." said Canifor. "So we are even. Where are you headed?" "No idea." Damien took a swig of his ale. "I heard there was a war happening, so I came along to see what I could do for myself." "Well, you're in luck." said Canifor. "I am currently serving with the Lord Ridmor. He is going to ride against the Krugs on the western border in a few days. He'll be glad to have a scion of Demokles in his troop." "Lovely." said Damien. "Let's go join up." The Sword of Demokles Ch. 03 I apologise, dear readers, for the last sexless story. I was truly preoccupied with the affairs that beset and plague me in this wretched world, and interrupted as I was by these affairs, I did not get much chance to do justice to the chronicles of our hero. I am happy to inform you, however, that that sorry state of affairs is now a thing of the past, and we will once more pierce the mysteries of time and look into the past, where our hero continues with our journey... * Riding with Lord Ridmor, Damien was soon bored, life of a soldier consists mostly of routine, and routine was something Damien was not used to. He chafed at the bits, as did Balzer, who he had retrieved from the tribe in the space of a night. His inhuman speed, boosted by his boots, meant that he could cover miles in an hour, and still not be the least tired. His shield could have transported him in the blink of an eye, but Damien wanted to revel in his new found powers. As Damien rode, his thoughts went back to the night he had spent with the tribe, and his reunion with the shaman, who had been glad to see him. His appearance had caused her to disappear in her hut for some time, returning clad in only a dress of fronds that shifted every time she moved, and revealed tantalising glimpses of her bountiful breasts and her abundant pussy. She had insisted on feeding Damien with meat of a lizard that she said boosted sexual appetite. By the middle of the meal, Damien could stand it no more, and picked up the woman and carried her in her hut, with her squealing deliciously on his shoulder. Once inside, he had made short work of her leaves, and divested himself of his clothes, before falling with a ravenous appetite on her breasts. He sucked on them until they were raw and grew taut by the breath Damien blew on them. Then she proceeded to take Damien's ten inch cock in her mouth and wrap her lithe tongue around it. She ran her hand up and down the shaft, and at the same time thrust her tongue into the small opening at the top, causing Damien to groan with pleasure. Then she had spread her legs and offered herself to Damien. Never one to refuse an opportunity thrust his way; Damien had lowered his mouth to her pussy, and lapped it up like nectar from the gardens of Ambrosia, stimulating her clitoris with his finger and thumb, sending her groaning in delight at the pleasurable pain that was coursing through her pussy. Damien had pushed a finger in her ass and found her to be wide and inviting there as well. He had pushed his cock in both holes, and had been rewarded by shrieks that split the night like the screams of a banshee. His back had been clawed mercilessly, and his shoulders bitten, but his new abilities meant that he healed as soon as an injury was done, so he was perfectly fine as he sat the saddle. "...don't you think, Damien?" Lord Ridmor's voice brought him back to the present with a jolt. "Certainly, my lord" Damien said, for Lord Ridmor was little more than a pretentious buffoon who had not the slightest idea of military tactics or arrangement of men. His primary concern seemed to be his appearance, even this morning he was wearing a gold braided cloak with armour that was heavily gilded and inlaid with jewels. Damien looked back at the sprawling column and sighed. If they were attacked, it would be a miracle if more than a quarter of them survived. As soon as the thought entered his mind, he heard the creak of a bowstring, and the snap as it was released. He could hear the swish of the arrow as it flew towards him. Guided by his inhuman instincts, he fluidly twisted and watched as the arrow flew past him to bury itself in the throat of Lord Ridmor. The Lord fell from his horse, choking and coughing, and gurgling blood that choked him even as it flew out of his neck. Damien drew his sword faster than the eye could see, and guided Balzer in a gallop to the thicket where he had seen the arrow coming from. He was aware of the Krulls scrambling around him. Someone threw a spear at him. Damien tossed his shield in the air, caught the spear and launched it back at the man before catching his shield. The spear went through the man's neck and buried itself in the earth. Someone came at him with a sword, without slowing down, Damien slashed at him. Valinor gleamed and flashed, and the man's head flew from the body. He turned around and saw that the column was in dire straits. Although Canifor was doing his best to rally the men, and tossing balls of fire everywhere, it was clear that he would be overwhelmed in minutes. Damien spurred back to the action. He hacked and slashed and bodies piled about him. There was one shaman who was wreaking havoc among the men with his poison casts. As Damien charged at him, he let loose a ball of fire at Damien. The shield deflected the attack, causing a tree to burst apart in smithereens, but the force of it threw Damien out of his saddle. He landed like a cat, on his feet, and charged in the nearest group of Krulls. Lion feeds became sparrow on the mountain became stream of blood became penetrate the pussy became caress the nipples as blood flew around him. The last man of the bunch came at Damien, and suddenly he was tired of killing. He hit the man a blow with his shield that knocked him out. He lifted his sword in lion roars on the plains. The jewel on Valinor's hilt glowed blood red. The fight was over. Less than half of the men had survived. Canifor rode over to where Damien stood. "Nice bit of action, eh?" he smirked. "I was worried when you charged off into the woods like that. Good on you to come back." "Yeah." Damien was noncommittal. Canifor had neglected his duty by not putting a magical shield around Lord Ridmor. It would bear looking after. He whistled for Balzer. The barbarian at his foot stirred and groaned. "One more for the crows." growled one of the men, who was finishing off the wounded nearby, raising his sword. "Leave this one for questioning." Damien ordered, and the man replied only after a second's hesitation. "Yes, my lord." When they made camp in the evening, Damien ordered the prisoner brought to him. He was a fine specimen of manhood, and Damien regretted what had to be done. "Is there anyone who speaks Krull?" he asked. "I do, Sir." said one of the men, stepping forward in the light of the fire. "Ask him where his camp is." said Damien. The soldier grunted something to the captive. The answer was in obvious negative, as the soldier reared, and in a flash of steel, cut off the man's left ear. His scream rose even more when another soldier took a hot brand from the fire and cauterized the wound. "Ask him again." grated Damien. "He says it is three days to the west, over the river and past the marshes." "It is unlikely that there is a camp." Canifor put in. "Krulls are known to lie - even under torture. Maybe he's leading us into a trap." "Three days..." Damien thought. "Beyond the forest is Krull territory, over the river in uncharted land, and the marshes are perilous. It is likely that there is a camp of Krull. Punitive raids would be a general norm, and would be so expected of the officer commanding. The problem is whether I can risk the lives of so many men with me." "Kill the prisoner." He said aloud, and watched as one of the soldiers gave the mercy stroke to the prisoner -- a thrust through the heart. "Keep a guard." Damien ordered. "We'll move in the morning." A blast violently jolted Damien from his sleep. He had gone to sleep with his armour still on -- and it had deflected most of the magical energy. He slammed on his helmet and jumped out of his bed of rushes. He bellowed "On me" -- but the order died on his lips as he saw the carnage. Canifor had killed every one in the camp, and was standing in the middle of the camp, laughing his head off. "Have you gone mad?" he shouted. "No one will have the treasure -- or the woman. I shall have her myself, and to me alone." Canifor gibbered, before letting fly balls of fire at Damien. Sadly, because, he was his father's friend, Damien leapt in the air, deflecting the balls of fire with shield. As he sailed over Canifor, he swung his sword. He landed beyond and waited for the sound as Canifor fell in halves. The horses had bolted, and finding them in the dark would be next to impossible. They would be far away by now. Damien sheathed Valinor, packed up as much provisions he could carry and headed off west, moving in an easy lope that equalled the pace of any trotting horse. He crossed the forest in the night, walking deep in Krull territory. His enhanced senses warned him of Krulls in the forest by their smell and their guttural language, and he avoided them with ease. The morning next day he came to the river that marked the joint border between Utopia, Eritronia, and Harlotria. The winter lad shrunk the river to a trickle, and it flowed quietly, giving no indication of the raging torrent it would become come the winter rains. From bank to bank was a good sixty feet. Damien leapt in the air, and flew seventy feet through the air, landing on the opposite bank. The marshes could be seen from afar by the mist that covered them. Here and there flames flared, putrid gas suddenly burning. A bad place; a dank place; a place that smelled of corruption and death. Damien sighed and set off on his way, keeping far from the marshes. After three days of marching Damien was sad, tired and bored. Although he could go on nearly infinitely before feeling hunger, thirst or cold, boredom was his one enemy that ate away at him incessantly. Tramping around in the jungle was not high in his list of preferred occupations -- and neither did he care for the mosquitoes and creatures that hovered in a cloud around his head. On the fourth day Damien emerged onto the grasslands of Harlotria. Boredom had set in again, and he had decided not to kill a lot of Krulls just because he signed up with Lord Ridmor -- he was dead, and there was no reason why anyone would want to bother with him. Harlotria was a strange land, where the women ruled the roost. Men stayed in the house, and did the chores, while women went out to work, commerce, and even fought. The sight of Harlotria's army charging was a rather disconcerting sight -- compounded by the fact that their war tunics were topless, so their ample breasts jiggled and bounced as they ran. It was hard to focus on military discipline while being so distracted. Sexual fidelity was not high in the list of norms of Harlotrian women, and Damien was looking forward to visiting the country.