What makes you think these are the things tormenting him?
-
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The Devil's Due: The Mongolian Horde
- Thread starter Major_Blackhart
- Start date
Warriors live by the day, for the day, though it is often in anothers name. We cross that bridge when we come to it.
The Brazilian Slaughter
Arcane
Send back the body, let's see them think the body is fictional.
This will be an... interesting update.
****
Sukhbataar looked at the women and girls lined up before him. They stared at the ground, some only momentarily glancing upwards fearfully as he walked by. Each one had the look of either fear or sadness in her eyes. None of them had been given the chance to mourn their dead loved ones, they were forbidden from it. Part of their punishment for loyally following their men in rebellion.
Still, as a part of him desired a woman, another part desired knowledge, answers, something, something that could explain what the fuck he had seen down below in the mountain caves. As he slowly walked down the line, looking for a piece of flesh that would suitably entertain him, his mind wandered back down into those depths, that pulsating flesh thing made of corpses. And that altar. He'd never seen it before, but knew immediately that it was anathema to him. A part of him wondered if it were some terrible ancient religion that had never really been documented before, perhaps older than Buddhism even. He wondered if there were even more tunnels, with more of those... abominations. He sighed heavily at this, not afraid, but tired, and he wondered if such things really were made of sacrifices, if it was in fact a weapon of war.
Perhaps it wasn't a weapon at all. Perhaps it was worshipped.
He shuddered at the thought, the idea of a god's avatar being something so... grotesque. And so easily killed.
And then he stopped walking and stood still. He did not look at the line of women, but someone immediately stepped forward.
He could hear a few whistles from the men, and some of them cursed silently as he walked back to his tent. He did not even know what this woman looked like, but her footsteps were confident, and they did not falter. Nor did the sound like that constant pitter patter of many Han women with bound feet.
Upon entering his tent, he finally turned back to look at the whore he would have. She was ethnic Tibetan, tall, with tanned skin, dark hair kept long and straight, and green eyes. For a moment, he stared at those eyes. Like perfectly cut emeralds, they seemed to shimmer, call out to him. A sea of green, and Sukhbataar drowning in the middle of it.
Suddenly, the chittering began, loudly, waking him from his stupor. Something about it, urgent, frenzied. And then a voice spoke, raspy and wet, phlegm covered. And the insect like chittering stopped.
No good can come of this.
The woman stopped smiling, and stepped back away from him, uncertainty in her eyes. Had she heard that? Did that voice reach out from my mind and speak to her? Did I say it?
"What is wrong woman," Sukhbataar asked quickly. His hand tightened around his axe, ready for something, anything. He did not know what to expect, but something about her made him wary. But then, so was she.
"Nothing and everything," she replied, backing away. Sukhbataar stepped towards her, and she backed away again into a corner.
"Tell me, woman," he sneered, "What did you hear?"
"I-I," she faltered for a moment, before regaining strength, "I heard nothing! Nothing!"
"Lies! Devilish bitch!" Sukhbataar dropped his axe and grabbed her. The woman struggled, but she was nothing when he wrapped his cannon like arms around her. He squeezed tightly and felt the air leave her in a single gasp. "You know," he continued, whispering in her ear softly, "you look Tibetan, but you don't sound it. I wonder how you feel on the inside, eh? Perhaps I should find out."
"Get off of me, you goddamn Mongol horse fucker," she writhed angrily in his arms, kicking. She swung her head wildly, attempting to crack his face with the back of her own skull. Sukhbataar held her tightly and kept own face out of the way, laughing at her attempts at injuring him.
"You speak Mongol well enough, despite your lying tongue. Is it the tongue of a whore as well I wonder?" The Zuut laughed, forcing her down onto the ground, with his bulk on top of her. She clawed at the grass, attempting to get out from under him, her clothes made from a combination of leathers made from goat hides and surprisingly well made robes.
"You will not take me!" She got on her hands and knees, forcing his body up with a strength that surprised Sukhbataar, making him smile all the more.
"Not like this, woman," he said as he threw her onto her side, and then pinned her to her back. "I like to look at the face when I'm inside, and despite the fact that Mongols ride horses, we don't rut like them. No, Mongols prefer our fucking to be like our battles, well fought, violent encounters that leave both sides exhausted."
"Fuck you!" she screamed angrily, spitting at him, trying to claw at him with her hands, hitting him in the face. He grabbed her wrists with one large hand and pinned them down above her head and pressed his crotch into her own. Her eyes widened.
"Do you feel that? You feel how hard I am? This will happen whether you want it or not, and I've not had a woman in so long that I don't care how hard you fight or kick or scream. I'll have you and make you mine!"
With a free hand, he tore open her shirt, revealing a pair of full breasts, dark like the rest of her. He bent his head down and licked her from the middle of her chest to her neck and up to her ear, and she turned her head away, still struggling, trying to back away. He undid his belt next and opened his great coat, sitting on top of her hips so she could not squirm away as he removed it. He laughed loudly as she tried to cover herself up, as if it would dignify her. Even then, he thought that way she carried herself was as if she were above him in some way, an upper class woman. Something about her nature, her eyes as they glared at him angrily, her full lips, she seemed regal. And he sought to defile it.
The chittering came back now, almost rhythmic, as if it were urging him on. She heard it too! He was sure of it! She stopped struggling as the noise continued, and he stood and removed first his heavy sweater and wool shirt, and then his boots and pants. He stood before her a moment only, in all his naked glory, his large uncircumcised member fully erect, pulsing with blood. He had been bathed the night before, but he stank of arousal and desire.
Kneeling down, his member stood before him, dark and engorged with blood, and she stared at it openly, fearfully. He tore the remainder of her shirt off her and tossed it to the far side of the tent. Carefully, he pulled her boots from her feet, and then her pants, sliding them down her legs. Her crotch came to full view and his mouth watered, her thighs full and delectable, muscular from mountain life. He ran his tongue from one knee up the inside of her thighs to her center, where his own member would be in a moment. She was covered with a dark but fine hair, and he inhaled her musk as if it were a perfume, dashing his tongue across her crevice. Her hips jumped at the touch as he spread her lips and saw that she was no virgin. He smiled, but somehow knew that her husband wasn't among those dead.
Still, he rapidly positioned himself between her legs, his eager member at her waiting entrance, and for a moment stared into her eyes. Both she and Sukhbataar were breathing rapidly, nervous and eager. Without warning, he thrust in, pushing himself as far as he could, all in one stroke. Her face contorted, mouth agape as if screaming, but all that left her was a gasp, a long single gasp. Sukhbataar could feel her wetness, and the chittering continued.
With each powerful thrust, the chittering continued loudly, in and out, in and out, rhythmic. Soon, his movements matched the sounds, and her hips moved up to meet his. The sound of their flesh drowned out that noise, all except the voice.
Inside, inside, inside, inside it repeated, over and over again. And soon, both of them were repeating it as well. With each thrust, they both moaned it out in almost perfect unison with that voice. And then Sukhbataar could feel it, that pressure welling up inside of him, and she wrapped her legs around the small of his back, her arms locked around his neck as he made one final thrust. They kissed powerfully, and he moaned into her mouth. She sucked in his breath, and their tongues danced as his member pulsed angrily inside her.
And then it was done. Both were covered in sweat, panting, moaning in content as their slick flesh undulated. Sukhbataar licked her neck and sucked on the lobe of her ear and she moaned in contentment. Neither said anything, and the sound Sukhbataar had gotten so used to was no longer there. All that could be heard in the tent was the panting and the groaning gasps they shared.
****
They lay together as dusk approached, cradled in each others' arms, content, despite the fact it began as rape. The woman snuggled into Sukhbataar's neck as he pulled the animal skins that served as covers tighter around them, their legs intertwined. She dozed gently while he lay still, letting her sleep, as if he were her considerate lover.
He was not that considerate. The hand he had wrapped around her back drifted lower, down the center of her back to her buttocks. He groped the warm mounds gently at first, squeezing them, then a bit rougher, delving fingers deep into her crack, first toying with her anus and then lower still to her sloshing mound, still a mess with the remnants of his seed. It did not deter him.
"Again?" she moaned as she slowly awoke.
"No," Sukhbataar replied, removing his fingers, bringing them back up to her shoulder. "I just wanted to wake you. What is your name?"
"Sengemo," she smiled out calmly.
"You heard them," Sukhbataar said. It was not a question, but a statement of fact. He said it with a sternness to his voice that was resolute like granite.
"Yes," she nodded solemnly.
"For how long?"
"Before I came here, long enough to be used to the noise. And you?"
"The same. What did I see beneath the mountain?"
"I don't know," she said truthfully, sitting up. "I was never allowed down there. That shaman priest made sure of it."
"Was he among the dead?"
"I did not see him for some days before your forces arrived. He'd ordered me to be taken captive before he went down into the caves, said that when he returned, he would cleanse them all. He did not come back up from the cave before you arrived."
"How long have you been here for, then?"
"Some two months, around when the spies came and stirred up the town against the empire. Other villages joined up. Everyone thought they could outlast you, beat you. I knew better."
"Where are you from then?" Sukhbataar stood slowly, stretching his back. His joints cracked.
"It doesn't matter," she sighed, "I'm not going back either way. I'm Tibetan, you're Mongol, and I am yours. That's all that matters."
"And we both hear the same things that apparently nobody else can," he added. "Get dressed then, and join me in a little exploration."
****
Sukhbataar and Sengemo entered down into the deepest cave with little difficulty. It was hardly as horrific as before for the Zuut, though Sengemo was deeply disturbed by what she witnessed. The light that had somehow illuminated the room was gone now, and so lanterns they used would suit their needs. Sukhbataar noticed how Sengemo stayed near him the hole time, her arms wrapped on his.
"This is how I finally slew the fucking thing," Sukhbataar said, kicking the dead mound of black flesh. "It was beating like a heart, but it doesn't look like any heart I've ever seen."
"Nor I," Sengemo said, kneeling down to look at the thing further, shining the bright lantern on the thing. Then, she gasped and quickly backed away as she peered into the gaping wound. "It's him! It's that shaman they followed! His face is in the heart!"
Sukhbataar grabbed her and steadied her, helping Sengemo to her feet. She latched onto him tightly, afraid to let go.
"Are you certain? He's in the heart?"
"Yes, yes! I wouldn't forget his face! I couldn't! That bastard had only one eye, nothing else, no scar, no empty socket, just a single eye on his face and a blank space next to it where there should have been something else."
"It makes sense," Sukhbataar said, "This thing is made up of corpses, so it makes sense that it would have the priest in the heart. Do you recognize any of the others?"
"I can't tell," she said nervously, turning her head this way and that, seeing the dead everywhere. "They're too far gone, too rotten and decayed. This is awful."
"This is nothing," Sukhbataar said, "When that thing was alive, that fucking abomination, the walls were moving like a man's chest when he breathes, they looked pink, and the place was alight somehow, bright, with no torches or lights anywhere."
"Foul magics, that what this is!"
"Had the shaman always been here with this village?"
"I don't know," Sengemo said, looking up to the Zuut. "He was here when I arrived. The other villagers would certainly know."
"What about this altar here," Sukhbataar said, pulling her gently towards that magnificent stone thing he'd desecrated days ago.
"He wore a pendant," she said excitedly, pointing at the gaping maw statue on its side, the same one Sukhbataar had split with his axe. "One like that. He wore it every day except the day he went down and never came back up."
"Perhaps it is in the ruins above us, or perhaps he gave it to an apprentice of his."
"Oh, he had many admirers among the women," she smirked as they walked back up the rocky path, "So many husbands and fathers believed so deeply in his words, they all but forced their wives and daughters onto his prick."
"Oh?"
"Don't worry, I wasn't among them. We found each other somewhat... repulsive. For obvious reasons."
"The same obvious reasons I found you?"
She said nothing further, and Sukhbataar dropped the subject. He now knew for certain that it was not madness that infected his mind, his soul. It was real. And now, he had someone who could feel it too. Perhaps it was true, the old saying, that misery loves company.
****
The rapid but exhaustive search of the ruins had found nothing by way of trinkets resembling the necklace described by the woman. The other Zuuts were zealous in their devotion to Sukhbataar now, seeing what he had fought and slain. Both Ganbaatar and Batbayar listened, rapt, as Sukhbataar related what he learned from his woman, and even on the face of that shaman in the dead heart. Incensed and terrified at the same time, they ordered their surviving men to leave no stone unturned, in their search for that pendant. Men came back empty handed, again and again.
It was decided that if it was not simply laying about, it was being carried upon the person of one of the living. First, the women were forcefully stripped, their clothes searched, their orifices poked and prodded, one after another, by the Mongols as Sukhbataar, GanBaatar, Batbayar, and Sengemo watched with a keen interest. As legs were spread apart, Sengemo casually placed her hand on Sukhbataar's thigh, sliding it up and down, cupping his growing organ gently. Sukhbataar and the others knew that, from Sengemo's descriptions, there was no possible way that necklace could be hidden in such a hole. They were simply receiving a show, something to stimulate their senses.
Finally, the last of the women were humiliated, and then came the girls. Many had already been raped, so they were bruised, sniffling little messes, especially between their legs. Still, inspections continued. And as the night wore on, Sukhbataar was beginning to wonder if perhaps Sengemo was the one that carried the pendant. A part of him, which he hid from her and the others, separate from everything else, already decided her fate if this was the case. Luckily for her, it was not to be.
The girl was found the moment she was stripped, the pendant wrapped around her waist along a length of leather. She screamed and hissed nastily as the men held her by the arms. Sukhbataar stepped forward and took the pendant in his hand. It seemed to be a simple thing, lifeless as that statue and altar. But then, perhaps that altar had helped to birth the monstrosity. He tore it from her waist with a simple jerk of the arm. It was then she said something.
"Hunger," she hissed out nastily.
"I'm sure you are," Sukhbataar said dismissively, "Allow me to satiate your base needs." He pulled out from his hip holster one of his custom M1911's and fired two quick shots, one through each eye. The large caliber bullets ripped vicious, nasty holes into her face and the exit wounds were horrific, leaving the back of her head fully exposed. Sukhbataar turned to his men. "Dismember the corpse and throw it onto the pyre."
His men nodded and went to work diligently with their long knives and swords, hacking the girl up to pieces. He and the others watched as the body parts were carried out of the tent and thrown deep into the fire. He watched for a few minutes more before following his men out to join them. Quickly, he hurled that cursed artifact, that foul medallion into the fire, and joined his men in a chant of victory as they moved around the great pyre.
Still, there were many things that must be done. Should we:
A). Return to the citadel, with our slaves and treasures intact. We will report to the Tumen everything we have seen, as unbelievable and horrific as it is.
B.) Head south, across the border, and deal with the raiders, with all our slaves in tow. Doing this will certainly be cumbersome. And, we will be without many resources, so we will have to use the various outposts and villages to resupply and restock our goods. This will slow us down even further, and the journey may take weeks. In addition, the enemy will certainly see us coming.
C.) Send half the men home with the slaves and treasures while the other half goes south to deal with the raiders. We will be able to speedily arrive there, perhaps only after traveling for one week. However, we know nothing about the strength or numbers of the raiders. We will use the villages and outposts to resupply. Hopefully, none of the raiders have sympathetic ears amongst the villagers.
****
Sukhbataar looked at the women and girls lined up before him. They stared at the ground, some only momentarily glancing upwards fearfully as he walked by. Each one had the look of either fear or sadness in her eyes. None of them had been given the chance to mourn their dead loved ones, they were forbidden from it. Part of their punishment for loyally following their men in rebellion.
Still, as a part of him desired a woman, another part desired knowledge, answers, something, something that could explain what the fuck he had seen down below in the mountain caves. As he slowly walked down the line, looking for a piece of flesh that would suitably entertain him, his mind wandered back down into those depths, that pulsating flesh thing made of corpses. And that altar. He'd never seen it before, but knew immediately that it was anathema to him. A part of him wondered if it were some terrible ancient religion that had never really been documented before, perhaps older than Buddhism even. He wondered if there were even more tunnels, with more of those... abominations. He sighed heavily at this, not afraid, but tired, and he wondered if such things really were made of sacrifices, if it was in fact a weapon of war.
Perhaps it wasn't a weapon at all. Perhaps it was worshipped.
He shuddered at the thought, the idea of a god's avatar being something so... grotesque. And so easily killed.
And then he stopped walking and stood still. He did not look at the line of women, but someone immediately stepped forward.
He could hear a few whistles from the men, and some of them cursed silently as he walked back to his tent. He did not even know what this woman looked like, but her footsteps were confident, and they did not falter. Nor did the sound like that constant pitter patter of many Han women with bound feet.
Upon entering his tent, he finally turned back to look at the whore he would have. She was ethnic Tibetan, tall, with tanned skin, dark hair kept long and straight, and green eyes. For a moment, he stared at those eyes. Like perfectly cut emeralds, they seemed to shimmer, call out to him. A sea of green, and Sukhbataar drowning in the middle of it.
Suddenly, the chittering began, loudly, waking him from his stupor. Something about it, urgent, frenzied. And then a voice spoke, raspy and wet, phlegm covered. And the insect like chittering stopped.
No good can come of this.
The woman stopped smiling, and stepped back away from him, uncertainty in her eyes. Had she heard that? Did that voice reach out from my mind and speak to her? Did I say it?
"What is wrong woman," Sukhbataar asked quickly. His hand tightened around his axe, ready for something, anything. He did not know what to expect, but something about her made him wary. But then, so was she.
"Nothing and everything," she replied, backing away. Sukhbataar stepped towards her, and she backed away again into a corner.
"Tell me, woman," he sneered, "What did you hear?"
"I-I," she faltered for a moment, before regaining strength, "I heard nothing! Nothing!"
"Lies! Devilish bitch!" Sukhbataar dropped his axe and grabbed her. The woman struggled, but she was nothing when he wrapped his cannon like arms around her. He squeezed tightly and felt the air leave her in a single gasp. "You know," he continued, whispering in her ear softly, "you look Tibetan, but you don't sound it. I wonder how you feel on the inside, eh? Perhaps I should find out."
"Get off of me, you goddamn Mongol horse fucker," she writhed angrily in his arms, kicking. She swung her head wildly, attempting to crack his face with the back of her own skull. Sukhbataar held her tightly and kept own face out of the way, laughing at her attempts at injuring him.
"You speak Mongol well enough, despite your lying tongue. Is it the tongue of a whore as well I wonder?" The Zuut laughed, forcing her down onto the ground, with his bulk on top of her. She clawed at the grass, attempting to get out from under him, her clothes made from a combination of leathers made from goat hides and surprisingly well made robes.
"You will not take me!" She got on her hands and knees, forcing his body up with a strength that surprised Sukhbataar, making him smile all the more.
"Not like this, woman," he said as he threw her onto her side, and then pinned her to her back. "I like to look at the face when I'm inside, and despite the fact that Mongols ride horses, we don't rut like them. No, Mongols prefer our fucking to be like our battles, well fought, violent encounters that leave both sides exhausted."
"Fuck you!" she screamed angrily, spitting at him, trying to claw at him with her hands, hitting him in the face. He grabbed her wrists with one large hand and pinned them down above her head and pressed his crotch into her own. Her eyes widened.
"Do you feel that? You feel how hard I am? This will happen whether you want it or not, and I've not had a woman in so long that I don't care how hard you fight or kick or scream. I'll have you and make you mine!"
With a free hand, he tore open her shirt, revealing a pair of full breasts, dark like the rest of her. He bent his head down and licked her from the middle of her chest to her neck and up to her ear, and she turned her head away, still struggling, trying to back away. He undid his belt next and opened his great coat, sitting on top of her hips so she could not squirm away as he removed it. He laughed loudly as she tried to cover herself up, as if it would dignify her. Even then, he thought that way she carried herself was as if she were above him in some way, an upper class woman. Something about her nature, her eyes as they glared at him angrily, her full lips, she seemed regal. And he sought to defile it.
The chittering came back now, almost rhythmic, as if it were urging him on. She heard it too! He was sure of it! She stopped struggling as the noise continued, and he stood and removed first his heavy sweater and wool shirt, and then his boots and pants. He stood before her a moment only, in all his naked glory, his large uncircumcised member fully erect, pulsing with blood. He had been bathed the night before, but he stank of arousal and desire.
Kneeling down, his member stood before him, dark and engorged with blood, and she stared at it openly, fearfully. He tore the remainder of her shirt off her and tossed it to the far side of the tent. Carefully, he pulled her boots from her feet, and then her pants, sliding them down her legs. Her crotch came to full view and his mouth watered, her thighs full and delectable, muscular from mountain life. He ran his tongue from one knee up the inside of her thighs to her center, where his own member would be in a moment. She was covered with a dark but fine hair, and he inhaled her musk as if it were a perfume, dashing his tongue across her crevice. Her hips jumped at the touch as he spread her lips and saw that she was no virgin. He smiled, but somehow knew that her husband wasn't among those dead.
Still, he rapidly positioned himself between her legs, his eager member at her waiting entrance, and for a moment stared into her eyes. Both she and Sukhbataar were breathing rapidly, nervous and eager. Without warning, he thrust in, pushing himself as far as he could, all in one stroke. Her face contorted, mouth agape as if screaming, but all that left her was a gasp, a long single gasp. Sukhbataar could feel her wetness, and the chittering continued.
With each powerful thrust, the chittering continued loudly, in and out, in and out, rhythmic. Soon, his movements matched the sounds, and her hips moved up to meet his. The sound of their flesh drowned out that noise, all except the voice.
Inside, inside, inside, inside it repeated, over and over again. And soon, both of them were repeating it as well. With each thrust, they both moaned it out in almost perfect unison with that voice. And then Sukhbataar could feel it, that pressure welling up inside of him, and she wrapped her legs around the small of his back, her arms locked around his neck as he made one final thrust. They kissed powerfully, and he moaned into her mouth. She sucked in his breath, and their tongues danced as his member pulsed angrily inside her.
And then it was done. Both were covered in sweat, panting, moaning in content as their slick flesh undulated. Sukhbataar licked her neck and sucked on the lobe of her ear and she moaned in contentment. Neither said anything, and the sound Sukhbataar had gotten so used to was no longer there. All that could be heard in the tent was the panting and the groaning gasps they shared.
****
They lay together as dusk approached, cradled in each others' arms, content, despite the fact it began as rape. The woman snuggled into Sukhbataar's neck as he pulled the animal skins that served as covers tighter around them, their legs intertwined. She dozed gently while he lay still, letting her sleep, as if he were her considerate lover.
He was not that considerate. The hand he had wrapped around her back drifted lower, down the center of her back to her buttocks. He groped the warm mounds gently at first, squeezing them, then a bit rougher, delving fingers deep into her crack, first toying with her anus and then lower still to her sloshing mound, still a mess with the remnants of his seed. It did not deter him.
"Again?" she moaned as she slowly awoke.
"No," Sukhbataar replied, removing his fingers, bringing them back up to her shoulder. "I just wanted to wake you. What is your name?"
"Sengemo," she smiled out calmly.
"You heard them," Sukhbataar said. It was not a question, but a statement of fact. He said it with a sternness to his voice that was resolute like granite.
"Yes," she nodded solemnly.
"For how long?"
"Before I came here, long enough to be used to the noise. And you?"
"The same. What did I see beneath the mountain?"
"I don't know," she said truthfully, sitting up. "I was never allowed down there. That shaman priest made sure of it."
"Was he among the dead?"
"I did not see him for some days before your forces arrived. He'd ordered me to be taken captive before he went down into the caves, said that when he returned, he would cleanse them all. He did not come back up from the cave before you arrived."
"How long have you been here for, then?"
"Some two months, around when the spies came and stirred up the town against the empire. Other villages joined up. Everyone thought they could outlast you, beat you. I knew better."
"Where are you from then?" Sukhbataar stood slowly, stretching his back. His joints cracked.
"It doesn't matter," she sighed, "I'm not going back either way. I'm Tibetan, you're Mongol, and I am yours. That's all that matters."
"And we both hear the same things that apparently nobody else can," he added. "Get dressed then, and join me in a little exploration."
****
Sukhbataar and Sengemo entered down into the deepest cave with little difficulty. It was hardly as horrific as before for the Zuut, though Sengemo was deeply disturbed by what she witnessed. The light that had somehow illuminated the room was gone now, and so lanterns they used would suit their needs. Sukhbataar noticed how Sengemo stayed near him the hole time, her arms wrapped on his.
"This is how I finally slew the fucking thing," Sukhbataar said, kicking the dead mound of black flesh. "It was beating like a heart, but it doesn't look like any heart I've ever seen."
"Nor I," Sengemo said, kneeling down to look at the thing further, shining the bright lantern on the thing. Then, she gasped and quickly backed away as she peered into the gaping wound. "It's him! It's that shaman they followed! His face is in the heart!"
Sukhbataar grabbed her and steadied her, helping Sengemo to her feet. She latched onto him tightly, afraid to let go.
"Are you certain? He's in the heart?"
"Yes, yes! I wouldn't forget his face! I couldn't! That bastard had only one eye, nothing else, no scar, no empty socket, just a single eye on his face and a blank space next to it where there should have been something else."
"It makes sense," Sukhbataar said, "This thing is made up of corpses, so it makes sense that it would have the priest in the heart. Do you recognize any of the others?"
"I can't tell," she said nervously, turning her head this way and that, seeing the dead everywhere. "They're too far gone, too rotten and decayed. This is awful."
"This is nothing," Sukhbataar said, "When that thing was alive, that fucking abomination, the walls were moving like a man's chest when he breathes, they looked pink, and the place was alight somehow, bright, with no torches or lights anywhere."
"Foul magics, that what this is!"
"Had the shaman always been here with this village?"
"I don't know," Sengemo said, looking up to the Zuut. "He was here when I arrived. The other villagers would certainly know."
"What about this altar here," Sukhbataar said, pulling her gently towards that magnificent stone thing he'd desecrated days ago.
"He wore a pendant," she said excitedly, pointing at the gaping maw statue on its side, the same one Sukhbataar had split with his axe. "One like that. He wore it every day except the day he went down and never came back up."
"Perhaps it is in the ruins above us, or perhaps he gave it to an apprentice of his."
"Oh, he had many admirers among the women," she smirked as they walked back up the rocky path, "So many husbands and fathers believed so deeply in his words, they all but forced their wives and daughters onto his prick."
"Oh?"
"Don't worry, I wasn't among them. We found each other somewhat... repulsive. For obvious reasons."
"The same obvious reasons I found you?"
She said nothing further, and Sukhbataar dropped the subject. He now knew for certain that it was not madness that infected his mind, his soul. It was real. And now, he had someone who could feel it too. Perhaps it was true, the old saying, that misery loves company.
****
The rapid but exhaustive search of the ruins had found nothing by way of trinkets resembling the necklace described by the woman. The other Zuuts were zealous in their devotion to Sukhbataar now, seeing what he had fought and slain. Both Ganbaatar and Batbayar listened, rapt, as Sukhbataar related what he learned from his woman, and even on the face of that shaman in the dead heart. Incensed and terrified at the same time, they ordered their surviving men to leave no stone unturned, in their search for that pendant. Men came back empty handed, again and again.
It was decided that if it was not simply laying about, it was being carried upon the person of one of the living. First, the women were forcefully stripped, their clothes searched, their orifices poked and prodded, one after another, by the Mongols as Sukhbataar, GanBaatar, Batbayar, and Sengemo watched with a keen interest. As legs were spread apart, Sengemo casually placed her hand on Sukhbataar's thigh, sliding it up and down, cupping his growing organ gently. Sukhbataar and the others knew that, from Sengemo's descriptions, there was no possible way that necklace could be hidden in such a hole. They were simply receiving a show, something to stimulate their senses.
Finally, the last of the women were humiliated, and then came the girls. Many had already been raped, so they were bruised, sniffling little messes, especially between their legs. Still, inspections continued. And as the night wore on, Sukhbataar was beginning to wonder if perhaps Sengemo was the one that carried the pendant. A part of him, which he hid from her and the others, separate from everything else, already decided her fate if this was the case. Luckily for her, it was not to be.
The girl was found the moment she was stripped, the pendant wrapped around her waist along a length of leather. She screamed and hissed nastily as the men held her by the arms. Sukhbataar stepped forward and took the pendant in his hand. It seemed to be a simple thing, lifeless as that statue and altar. But then, perhaps that altar had helped to birth the monstrosity. He tore it from her waist with a simple jerk of the arm. It was then she said something.
"Hunger," she hissed out nastily.
"I'm sure you are," Sukhbataar said dismissively, "Allow me to satiate your base needs." He pulled out from his hip holster one of his custom M1911's and fired two quick shots, one through each eye. The large caliber bullets ripped vicious, nasty holes into her face and the exit wounds were horrific, leaving the back of her head fully exposed. Sukhbataar turned to his men. "Dismember the corpse and throw it onto the pyre."
His men nodded and went to work diligently with their long knives and swords, hacking the girl up to pieces. He and the others watched as the body parts were carried out of the tent and thrown deep into the fire. He watched for a few minutes more before following his men out to join them. Quickly, he hurled that cursed artifact, that foul medallion into the fire, and joined his men in a chant of victory as they moved around the great pyre.
Still, there were many things that must be done. Should we:
A). Return to the citadel, with our slaves and treasures intact. We will report to the Tumen everything we have seen, as unbelievable and horrific as it is.
B.) Head south, across the border, and deal with the raiders, with all our slaves in tow. Doing this will certainly be cumbersome. And, we will be without many resources, so we will have to use the various outposts and villages to resupply and restock our goods. This will slow us down even further, and the journey may take weeks. In addition, the enemy will certainly see us coming.
C.) Send half the men home with the slaves and treasures while the other half goes south to deal with the raiders. We will be able to speedily arrive there, perhaps only after traveling for one week. However, we know nothing about the strength or numbers of the raiders. We will use the villages and outposts to resupply. Hopefully, none of the raiders have sympathetic ears amongst the villagers.
You assume the Tumen would be in a position to do something.
Edit: Or that he's still around. He's been around long enough to promote a new Mingghan,.
Edit: Or that he's still around. He's been around long enough to promote a new Mingghan,.
Cassidy
Arcane
B
So tell me, you guys enjoy the tasteful fuck scene?
Cassidy
Arcane
They may be answered, they may not be.
It's all progressing quite slowly at this point.
You ever hear a cricket? They can be annoying as hell, but also damn useful and quite musical too.
Their use is that they stop singing whenever someone is nearby.
That has nothing at all to do with this LP, just a funfact from professor blackhart and his wondrous emporium of useless knowledge and shit.
It's all progressing quite slowly at this point.
You ever hear a cricket? They can be annoying as hell, but also damn useful and quite musical too.
Their use is that they stop singing whenever someone is nearby.
That has nothing at all to do with this LP, just a funfact from professor blackhart and his wondrous emporium of useless knowledge and shit.
Debating between A and C.
Was very tasteful indeed. While I don't know what the Tibetan accent sounds like off the top of my head, the "phlegmatic voice" part made me think she might be a Kwan or some such.
Was very tasteful indeed. While I don't know what the Tibetan accent sounds like off the top of my head, the "phlegmatic voice" part made me think she might be a Kwan or some such.
Gondolin
Arcane
Same here. We're a military unit, not a traveling circus. The women may try to ask for help or turn out to be an intelligence liability in every village. Then again, the Mongols should have a lot of experience with this kind of things.
A
Our principal strength is our mobility as a dragoon/semi-motorised cavalry unit. It'll probably end up being around the same amount of time to dump the loot and return to action than travelling with it. This also maintains the advantage of surprise.
Plus our men's loyalty and spirits are high enough that worst comes to worst we'll be able to slug it out should the political situation be against us.
Our principal strength is our mobility as a dragoon/semi-motorised cavalry unit. It'll probably end up being around the same amount of time to dump the loot and return to action than travelling with it. This also maintains the advantage of surprise.
Plus our men's loyalty and spirits are high enough that worst comes to worst we'll be able to slug it out should the political situation be against us.
What makes you think it was hers?
Very tasteful 
Would be wise to return and capitalize on our total success for once so AAA.
Would be wise to return and capitalize on our total success for once so AAA.
Hey, we had a tie between C and A this whole time, and I didn't want to be tie breaker in this case.
Baltika9 you didn't even vote.
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