Deadalus Saga

Just before sunrise, inside his tent, Deadalus finishes putting on his black leather armor, bearing on one shoulder the effigy of a raven, forged in Ugrutina­—the black metal used by the orcs. The same effigy adorned every banner and shield of the Company of the Ravens of Austeria. Outside, the first rays of sunlight kissed the lands of Kazhelm, the last city and capital of the Kazhistira region. Standing at the entrance of the tent, the young captain—fair-skinned to the point of appearing pale in contrast to his dark hair and armor—watched his soldiers dismantling the camp.

“Almost everything is ready, sir. The troops await us further ahead,” said Cara, a Kinnara, first commander and close friend of the captain. The young woman wore armor similar to Deadalus’s, though less ornate. Her short, nearly silver-blonde hair was combed back, giving a neat appearance to the green-eyed commander. “Do you think we’ll face any real trouble? I mean… so far, not a single town in this wretched region has put up the slightest resistance. I’m starting to think that if we sent them a letter demanding surrender, they’d comply. Ugh… I can’t even remember if I’ve drawn my sword since we left Austeria!”

“Cara... I assure you I’m as bored as you are, but it’s not for us to suppose or question anything. We’re soldiers—we do only as our King commands. Look on the bright side: without conflict, this campaign won’t even last half as long as we thought… we’ll be back home with enough rations for another minor campaign, if you can believe it!” Deadalus places a hand on the kinnara’s shoulder, reassuring her. “Come on. They must be eagerly awaiting our presence!”

A few hours later, with the sun still high in the sky, Deadalus’s company arrives in Kazhelm. The capital is considerably larger than the other towns in the region, and though its buildings are wide and bright, mostly single-storied, it still feels like a quiet village. There are no walls, only a few watchtowers so short they serve more as landmarks than fortifications. The company begins setting up a half-hearted siege as Deadalus, accompanied by Cara and a few dozen soldiers and knights, enters the city. The rare sight of their procession halts the townsfolk—horses and riders bearing the standards of the grand kingdom of Austeria and the famed Company of the Ravens. Children run alongside the troops, dogs bark, the market quiets. Gradually, the main street of Kazhelm fills with people.

Eventually, Deadalus watches as several armed men approach, escorting a figure in dark noble garments embroidered with delicate floral brocade. This is Pallia, governor of Kazhelm—which is not precisely a kingdom, but a free territory composed of a few towns and scattered settlements. The region survives almost entirely on fishing. Its seas are violent, and its lands infertile, making it unattractive to any major kingdom—until now. Additionally, Kazhelm lies close to the elven continent and has long maintained ties with its people, serving as a port between Réimse en Fás and the elven continent and kingdom.

“Captain! It is with sorrow that I receive your visit to our lands! I hope I finally deserve to know the reason for this madness! For my—”

“Did I hear you right? Did you say madness?” Deadalus interrupts her. “Even if there were no reason, comparing the orders of King Aedan of Austeria to madness would already be reason enough to burn these lands to ash!”

Pallia lowers her head and kneels heavily, her large, sweating body trembling.

“Forgive me, Captain! In my eagerness to protect my people, I acted rashly and failed to hold my tongue. Forgive me, forgive me… please, carry out your task. I and the people of Kazhelm are, as we have always been, at your service.” Pallia speaks solemnly, submissively, her eyes fixed on the smooth stone pavement. “Why does the King punish us this way?” she asks, still with her head bowed.

“I am only following orders, Governor. I accept your unconditional surrender and will spare your life,” Deadalus replies. Immediately, two soldiers lift the woman off the ground and take her to Kazhelm’s government house. “In the meantime, prepare the surrender documents and hand them to Cara.”

“Let’s move. Our destination is that cursed monastery! Cara, take your men and make sure there are no rebels in the city!” Deadalus, still mounted, charges toward the monastery, followed by Lieutenant Kendrik and a dozen more soldiers.

The monastery lies somewhere in the Khastam Mountains. The ascent is calm and wide, and at this hour, the shadow of the peaks cools the soldiers as they gaze upon the colorless lands growing smaller with every step. Some time later, after rounding a bend that skirted a large rock, Deadalus finally sees, wedged between enormous boulders standing out on the mountain’s gentle slope, the Stirenas priestesses’ monastery. The place is silent, as a monastery should be, and its tall walls—built from the very stones of the mountain—bear numerous slender, smooth columns as decoration. A wide staircase with low steps leads to a small door that seems tiny compared to the towering height around it. The men dismount and wait for their captain. Deadalus follows and looks around. Only the wind stirs, lifting sand and dust that whistles between the columns.

“Let’s move, men. This is where we’ll find what Aedan sent us for!” Deadalus draws his sword, followed by his soldiers in the gesture. The troop climbs the stairs with their captain in the center. As they ascend, the men notice the steps seem new or barely worn, as if no one had come here despite the monastery’s centuries-old existence. At the entrance, where the columns are spaced wider apart, they see empty baskets and crates with weathered gray wood. Deadalus stops at the door, which appears even smaller—proof that no carriages or horses ever entered here, and that nobility would have to tear down the surrounding walls to pass. The captain’s hand touches the wooden door and notices it is neither locked nor fitted with any latch or lock.

“That’s how I heard it. The Stirenas withdraw by their own will, and their monasteries have no locks,” comments Kendrik, the young lieutenant, in a whisper.

“No lock in the world could keep this imitation of a door from falling apart with the slightest kick!” Deadalus pushes the light wooden leaf and finds himself in a narrow, dark corridor.

“Well, well…” he mutters before letting his soldiers lead the way. Corridors like this are perfect for ambushes. Deadalus follows Kendrik for a moment, and upon descending a flight of stairs, they reach a small courtyard illuminated by an opening several meters above the floor. There, huddled and frozen almost like statues and grimy like rats, stand dozens of women of various ages and races. They seem nervous and clutch various tools, clubs, ropes—and here and there, knives, razors, or scissors.

“Throw those junk on the ground and surrender, women! Who’s your leader? We didn’t come here to kill innocents!” Deadalus steps forward, and the nuns assume fighting positions.

“Don’t do this, sisters…” One woman, a large, broad Orc armed with a cleaver, lunges at Deadalus, who pierces her with his blade and throws her to the ground, bleeding but still breathing.

“Soldiers… try not to kill them!” The men obey, advancing on the terrified women, disarming and restraining nearly all the women and children in the courtyard. Some more agitated nuns are dragged by their hair and thrown into a corner where they are tied and gagged—some barely wounded, others missing fingers and an unlucky one missing a hand—watching in despair as the large Orc agonizes alongside two other sisters who no longer breathe.

Deadalus then moves through the narrow corridors branching from the courtyard, disarming and capturing more women hiding in the cloisters and small rooms of that dark, barren labyrinth. The Stirenas’ resistance piques the captain’s curiosity. He looks around, trying to understand why these women, above all the inhabitants of the three cities, were the ones who fought hardest to defend their home? The warrior has little time to dwell on this and continues through the dimly lit, narrow corridors of the monastery, which smell faintly of urine and blood. Ascending stairs, breaking doors in search of something he does not even know, but finds nothing there except women. His soldiers spread throughout the other corners of the place following his orders, but some women seem more determined not to surrender than others. Kendrik is wounded in the arm by one of them and reflexively cuts her throat, causing blood to spill and quickly stain her gray clothes. The children she was protecting scream, and only then does the lieutenant realize they presence. He gasps and leaves the room somewhat trembling as the soldiers bind the women. Deadalus continues his blind search until he reaches a large room just like the others, windowless and without any decoration besides poor furniture: a crooked shelf and a chest of drawers on top of which a dozen candles burn. Standing in the center is a woman. Her attire don’t sets her apart from the other nuns, but Deadalus senses she is the High Priestess.

“What are you doing here alone, woman?” Deadalus asks sternly, but the priestess does not answer, apparently lost in prayer.

“Why do you not answer, creature? Do you know how dangerous this attitude is?” Deadalus growls.

“If only that were the greatest danger…” the woman says almost inaudibly.

Deadalus advances impatiently and grabs the nun by the chin, staring into her short-lashed black eyes, which water at the touch of his strong hand. He looks at her for a moment and senses in her a guilt far deeper than fear. She was there to accept her fate, and that makes the captain release her. Looking around and finding nothing unusual in the room, he orders the soldiers to capture her and place her with the other women. After that, Deadalus leaves the place accompanied by Kendrik. His men would guard the monastery until further orders. The way back is already lit by the sun. Shadows have been pushed to the other side of the mountain, and below the two can see the soldiers waiting for their return. They ride in silence all the way. Kendrik notices something is bothering Deadalus but does not dare speak as the captain’s expression seems like a dark wall. When they approach the rest of the company, the silence is finally broken by Cara, who cannot hide her excitement and curiosity:

“How was the raid on the monastery, milord? Scared nuns running in their petticoats or naked through the halls?” The kinnara laughs, imagining the scene.

“Quite the opposite, my friend! Of all this campaign, the nuns were the only ones who tried to stop us by force! Old Kendrik even got stabbed in the arm!” Kendrik, who followed closely, grumbles.

“Well! How could I have guessed that of all the cowards in these lands, the most valiant would be the reclusive nuns?”

Cara slows her horse to ride alongside Kendrik:

“A soldier must always be ready, boy! I hope that scar reminds you of that! But I confess I envy you! In this campaign, you saw more blood and combat than most of my soldiers!” Cara lightly punches the lieutenant’s wounded arm, who grunts while she laughs and rides on beside Deadalus, who seems troubled.

“My captain… something’s bothering you, I can see it clearly. Any problems with the campaign? What did you find?”

“That’s the problem… apparently there was nothing in the monastery besides the priestesses… Nothing about this mission makes sense! We couldn’t even interrogate them… the orders were just to seize and imprison the women, and if any artifact or treasure was found, bring it to the kingdom… but…” Deadalus pauses.

“But what, milord?” Cara cuts in.

“But those poor women had nothing! They already lived like prisoners… no jewels, statues, idols… nothing but their habits, rosaries, and books!” Cara looks toward the horizon, which begins to shift to a lilac hue before nightfall.

“We’re just soldiers, my captain… Whatever motivated King Aedan to send us on this mission is for him to understand… maybe it was just a test… maybe the king was bored… Let’s leave these thoughts aside—I can already see the camp’s torches, let’s dismount and celebrate! We have enough wine and food for a feast!” Cara smiles and spurs her horse toward the company’s camp.

At nightfall, the soldiers eat and drink without restraint. Rations are plentiful, and back at the castle, they would have little use beyond feeding the pigs. Sitting on a bench with Cara and Kendrik beside him, Deadalus watches the men dancing and drinking around the large bonfire set in the camp’s center. Rabbits, ducks, and a wild boar roast alongside a big pot of giblet stew. Beer, wine, and brandy are served to the men, women, and the kinnara of the company. Some prostitutes, already naked, dance and drink to the beat of drums and tambourines, brought from the city of Kazhelm to entertain the soldiers tonight.

Cara, half-drunk, gazes at the sweaty bodies of the prostitutes weaving among the excited soldiers.

“You’re drooling, kinnara!” Deadalus jokes, poking Cara’s shoulder.

“I can’t resist a good dancer, sir!” Cara straightens up and tries to hide the erection in her pants. Kendrik sees this and blushes. The young man, with long brown hair, was a promising lieutenant in Deadalus’ company. Slim and agile, he made no secret of his preference for the male organ.

“Why don’t you dance with them then, kinnara?” Kendrik suggests.

“Because I don’t dance, and because I prefer to watch!” Saying that, Cara leans back, resting her hands on the bench’s rear, which makes her erection more pronounced in her pants.

“Cara… drink some water! The booze has clearly taken over the head on your shoulders — and apparently the one below is now in charge!” Deadalus pushes a bottle of water against his subordinate’s chest. Cara downs half the bottle in one go and mumbles an apology.

“I know tonight we celebrate, but let’s not go overboard! Tomorrow we ride back home! I don’t want to have to scrape you out of the mud again, kinnara!” Deadalus says in a mocking tone. Kendrik laughs.

“The best way to prevent that is by taking me to your tent, captain!” Cara chuckles mischievously.

“Don’t be insolent, Cara! The drink has truly scrambled your heads! You forget you’re speaking to your superior!” Kendrik says, slightly flustered.

“Boy… your captain and I go way back. We’ve known each other since childhood — we’re close friends, intimate even! I’ve earned the right to speak to him as such. But I understand your jealousy. Deadalus is as valiant as he is virile.” Cara says this while staring at Deadalus. Kendrik gives a shy smile and blushes as he looks at the captain.

At that moment, the group of four prostitutes and a few drunken soldiers at various stages of nakedness, who had been circling the fire pit draw near the three friends.

Deadalus watches as the four sweaty, naked women twirl barefoot, tambourines clapping against their wide hips. They smile at him as they dance. Also numbed by the liquor, he struggles to choose which of them he would take to his tent — until the golden eyes of one meet his. She approaches, and Deadalus notices her dark skin and long red braids, tangled in the style of the people of Obike, adorned with golden rings that fall like stalactites to her waist. He stands and extends his hand to her.

“What is my goddess’s name?” the hero asks as she takes his hand, smiling almost shyly.

“Ndonsa, my captain… but I shall answer to any name you choose to call me. Tonight, I am yours.” The woman, her eyes languid, leans in toward Deadalus, who smiles and turns to his men.

“Soldiers! Tonight we celebrate another successful campaign! Not that this one was hard, but even the boredom we endured over these weeks has made us stronger and wiser! Enjoy yourselves, but don’t forget — we set off at first light! Whoever needs to be hauled in the wagons will spend recovery time at the pillory! Have fun!” With that, the hero heads to his tent, followed by Ndonsa and the covetous gaze of Kendrik.

Inside, under steadier light, Deadalus finally admires the woman’s glistening body. Her large breasts, with dark areolas, bear golden arc-shaped piercings. Her hips are broad, and from her navel dangles a chain decorated with shimmering stones that loops around her waist. Her strong legs are adorned at the ankles with golden chains bearing small bells that chime softly as she moves. Deadalus approaches and kisses her with hunger. His tongue invades her perfumed mouth, and his hands slide over her sweaty, slippery skin until they rest on her heavy breasts, which he gropes and fondles while she moans into his mouth.

“On your knees, Ndonsa! I have something else for that mouth of yours to savor!” Deadalus begins to unbutton his trousers as Ndonsa kneels with a grin. His throbbing member springs forth before the languid gaze of the prostitute, who smiles and licks her full, red lips before taking him into her mouth. Deadalus lets out a sharp moan as he feels the heat of her experienced mouth. She licks and sucks on his tip with intensity, drawing grunts from the captain. For a moment, she stops and asks:

“Shall I make you come in my mouth, my lord?” And without waiting for a reply, she resumes her task, her golden eyes gleaming with mischief.

“I want your whole body, Obike! Once, twice, ten times if need be! Don’t expect mercy from me! I want to feel you, every place I can enter!” Deadalus growls, staring into her eyes as he strokes her ear. He undresses, and she smiles while swallowing his length. “I’m close…” the captain whispers.

“Give it all to me, milord. Don’t hold back! Drown me in your seed!” Ndonsa begs, and in a haze of lust, Deadalus complies. He grips her head with both hands, pressing her face into his groin as he erupts, forcefully emptying himself into her experienced throat. Finally released, she coughs and drools, tears rolling from her eyes as she smiles wickedly.

“Did you like it?” she asks, voice broken as she swallows. Deadalus smiles. “Look at it now. What do you think?” Ndonsa sees his manhood, still erect and coated in a thick sheen of saliva, standing like a marble obelisk. “What do you suggest?” Deadalus slowly strokes his now red and swollen member, as if needing even more stimulation.

Ndonsa rises and kisses Deadalus again, caressing his pale, tombstone-white face. Then, slipping away, she walks to the bed. Lying on her back, she raises and folds her legs, revealing her full intimacy. She smiles as the captain watches her lick and suck two fingers, which she then slides into her shamelessly pulsing purple flower. Deadalus moves in and rubs his cock against her entrance, and she giggles softly as he begins to enter her. She moans, locking eyes with him. The motion of their bodies makes the bells jingle rhythmically, playing a song as wild as the one outside.

After several minutes, Deadalus floods Ndonsa’s depths with his pleasure and, exhausted, collapses gently atop her. She laughs and kisses his forehead, running her fingers through his damp hair. Deadalus falls asleep, drunk and lulled against the breast of the Obike woman, who, with a mother’s care not to wake her child, slowly slips away and leaves the tent.