Gondolin
Arcane
You could've requested more AAAAA votes.
-
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The Devil's Due: The Mongolian Horde
- Thread starter Major_Blackhart
- Start date
Baltika9
Arcane
- Joined
- Jun 27, 2012
- Messages
- 9,611
Ahem.
Flopping to A, though. MOAR!
Alright, A it is. I'll write it up this weekend and post it when I go thru with it all.
Gondolin
Arcane
Update? Pliiiiiiiiiiiiiz?
It's a shitty update, but it is necessary for the path to be plotted properly. Too damn short, but the choices here are too important for me to simply make them.
A was chosen.
This section is written in diary form of Sukhbataar, something he has decided he will keep for a small time at least, to tell the tale of what he has seen.
****
We set forth a few days later. In my wisdom, I decided to allow our men some time for debauchery. It was a wild thing, to see grown men quickly grab their women or girl and head for their tents. None would emerge for those few days save for food or drink. I believe in that time I ingratiated myself to my men all the more. Even the other Zuut's thought of me, despite my madness and frailty of mind, as a grand commander. Like my men, I spent much of my time in my tent. However, not all of that time was spent in sexual congress, only most of it. I took Sengemo again and again, in her mouth, in that warm crease between her legs, what all men considered heaven on earth, and even in her arse, though not without the aid of oils and animal fats. Sengemo was fortunate I suppose in that she enjoyed it all, as if every part of her body could feel pleasure from the simple touch of my organ.
But it was after our sexual liaisons that Sengemo and I would communicate. Sometimes, it was silent, only staring at each other's eyes, and by the Gods I could get lost in hers. I felt the need to kiss her passionately, to lick her neck, suckle her breasts, and force myself into her again and again if I stared too long. But I digress.
****
Sukhbataar put down the manuscript he had taken to writing in, and turned to the woman he could barely keep his hands off of. She was glowing in the firelight, in that almost magical way that all satisfied women did. If she were a feline of some sort, no doubt she would be purring appreciation. Instead, Sengemo lay back and smiled at the Zuut contentedly.
"I have fears, you know," Sukhbataar said after some minutes of silence. Sengemo looked at him, sitting up in her blankets, her breasts displayed prominently. She said nothing, urging him with her eyes to continue on. "What I felt down there, in those pits, it wasn't fear I think. It was more madness of a sort, possession mayhap. I don't feel fear in that normal way I've seen other people fear it. It's hard to explain really, but despite that, I still have fears. Do you understand?"
"Of course I do," Sengemo said matter-of-factly, as if she were a bit insulted at such a childish quesiton. "Tell me of them."
"We are to return to the citadel on the border, victorious. But I fear that the Tumen, in his infinite wisdom, will seek to punish me further for actions I committed and was punished for already. I do not have many things to my name. All I have is my honor and my service, and chastisement and brutality brought upon it by my lords has already stained it. I am returning, but to what I have no idea. Can you understand that fear?"
"Yes, Sukhbataar," Sengemo sighed knowingly, "yes I can."
"However," he continued, "there is nothing I can do to stave off the inevitable, is there? No, I don't think so. I will have to answer to the Tumen, and perhaps the Ordu, once more."
"There are always other ways."
"No, not yet for that I think," Sukhbataar said thoughtfully. "I've not the support of the men for an action against the Tumen. My own Zuut is all but shattered, and the other two here have been brought down in numbers significantly. I don't have the strength to challenge the Tumen, and if I did, I don't believe I would have the wisdom yet to command."
"So you'll play your part then?"
"I'll play the part I intend, not the part he does."
****
The days passed quickly, but the Mongolian is a man who is done little good by being sedentary. The small army, now burdened with women and girls, continued back east towards the citadel, the horde gathered at the border. Sukhbataar knew that men were ready to fight and slaughter in the name of the Khagan, for the Empire, but he also knew that the men would not disobey their orders, only creatively interpret them when given the opportunity.
Sengemo sat atop Sukhbataar's horse, in front of him, a favored position of rank. It set her out from the others, someone as more than just a whore or a slave. As they rode back slowly, the other Zuuts took to speaking with Sukhbataar in her presence, and even conversing with her. For her part, she enjoyed the status, but did not revel in it as some would have. They stopped at many villages along the way, gathering what they could by way of food, and rearmed at the outposts. The trip took three weeks back, but it was not an unpleasant three weeks for the men, nor for Sukhbataar, as he discovered Sengemo was as talented with her mouth as he was with her thighs.
****
When they returned finally, it was not a triumphant return to be hailed as conquerors. Sukhbataar watched in slowly growing dread as they approached the remains of the ruined citadel. The smell of burning flesh still hung in the air and smoke from wayward fires wafted upwards. Entire walls of the fortress were collapsed, and corpses lay in piles mostly, or what should have been corpses. Many of the dead were in pieces. And Sukhbataar could only look on in horror.
"How did this happen? What is all this?" Sukhbataar dismounted his horse, speaking aloud to no one in particular.
"I can tell you," a man said, Mongolian, dressed in robes covered in blood. He pushed a wheelbarrow filled with body parts into one of the piles, dumping them carelessly. He stopped his grisly work for a moment and spoke with the three Zuuts that stood before hiim, and Sengemo. "Three days back, they came in the night, overhead. Someone said they were planes, but I've seen planes before, and these things were roaring, screaming, loud as all damnation. Too damn fast to be planes. They dropped bombs and explosives left and right, enough to cover a battlefield twice over. This," he said motioning to the ruins of the fortress and the mounds of corpses, "is all that remains."
"Where is the Tumen then? Has war been declared?"
"The Tumen," the man spat, "for all the good he's done us since he's been here, is bedridden. Wounded horribly, lost a leg. He's with fever but still all there in the mind from what the others tell me. And no, war hasn't been declared formally."
"Others? There are survivors?! Where man, tell us now!"
"To the north is a valley, ten miles away perhaps. The survivors are more than the enemy anticipated, we still number perhaps six hundred strong."
We have a choice now, what should we do?
A.) Head to the valley and seek the Tumen. If he is able bodied, inform him of everything that you have seen. Await his commands.
B.) Head to the valley and seek the other Zuuts present. Discuss with all of them the horrors you have been witness to. Rally them to your banner and confront the Tumen, wounded and now outnumbered.
C.) Forsake the ruins of your former fortress and the incompetence of the Tumen. Instead, head to Chengdu with your brothers in arms and your Zuuts. The Ordu may deign to speak with you should they feel that you have sufficiently proven yourself. If they do not, there are certainly many others that would enjoy speaking with a man who commands hundreds of heavily armed soldiers, veterans of horrific campaigns.
A was chosen.
This section is written in diary form of Sukhbataar, something he has decided he will keep for a small time at least, to tell the tale of what he has seen.
****
We set forth a few days later. In my wisdom, I decided to allow our men some time for debauchery. It was a wild thing, to see grown men quickly grab their women or girl and head for their tents. None would emerge for those few days save for food or drink. I believe in that time I ingratiated myself to my men all the more. Even the other Zuut's thought of me, despite my madness and frailty of mind, as a grand commander. Like my men, I spent much of my time in my tent. However, not all of that time was spent in sexual congress, only most of it. I took Sengemo again and again, in her mouth, in that warm crease between her legs, what all men considered heaven on earth, and even in her arse, though not without the aid of oils and animal fats. Sengemo was fortunate I suppose in that she enjoyed it all, as if every part of her body could feel pleasure from the simple touch of my organ.
But it was after our sexual liaisons that Sengemo and I would communicate. Sometimes, it was silent, only staring at each other's eyes, and by the Gods I could get lost in hers. I felt the need to kiss her passionately, to lick her neck, suckle her breasts, and force myself into her again and again if I stared too long. But I digress.
****
Sukhbataar put down the manuscript he had taken to writing in, and turned to the woman he could barely keep his hands off of. She was glowing in the firelight, in that almost magical way that all satisfied women did. If she were a feline of some sort, no doubt she would be purring appreciation. Instead, Sengemo lay back and smiled at the Zuut contentedly.
"I have fears, you know," Sukhbataar said after some minutes of silence. Sengemo looked at him, sitting up in her blankets, her breasts displayed prominently. She said nothing, urging him with her eyes to continue on. "What I felt down there, in those pits, it wasn't fear I think. It was more madness of a sort, possession mayhap. I don't feel fear in that normal way I've seen other people fear it. It's hard to explain really, but despite that, I still have fears. Do you understand?"
"Of course I do," Sengemo said matter-of-factly, as if she were a bit insulted at such a childish quesiton. "Tell me of them."
"We are to return to the citadel on the border, victorious. But I fear that the Tumen, in his infinite wisdom, will seek to punish me further for actions I committed and was punished for already. I do not have many things to my name. All I have is my honor and my service, and chastisement and brutality brought upon it by my lords has already stained it. I am returning, but to what I have no idea. Can you understand that fear?"
"Yes, Sukhbataar," Sengemo sighed knowingly, "yes I can."
"However," he continued, "there is nothing I can do to stave off the inevitable, is there? No, I don't think so. I will have to answer to the Tumen, and perhaps the Ordu, once more."
"There are always other ways."
"No, not yet for that I think," Sukhbataar said thoughtfully. "I've not the support of the men for an action against the Tumen. My own Zuut is all but shattered, and the other two here have been brought down in numbers significantly. I don't have the strength to challenge the Tumen, and if I did, I don't believe I would have the wisdom yet to command."
"So you'll play your part then?"
"I'll play the part I intend, not the part he does."
****
The days passed quickly, but the Mongolian is a man who is done little good by being sedentary. The small army, now burdened with women and girls, continued back east towards the citadel, the horde gathered at the border. Sukhbataar knew that men were ready to fight and slaughter in the name of the Khagan, for the Empire, but he also knew that the men would not disobey their orders, only creatively interpret them when given the opportunity.
Sengemo sat atop Sukhbataar's horse, in front of him, a favored position of rank. It set her out from the others, someone as more than just a whore or a slave. As they rode back slowly, the other Zuuts took to speaking with Sukhbataar in her presence, and even conversing with her. For her part, she enjoyed the status, but did not revel in it as some would have. They stopped at many villages along the way, gathering what they could by way of food, and rearmed at the outposts. The trip took three weeks back, but it was not an unpleasant three weeks for the men, nor for Sukhbataar, as he discovered Sengemo was as talented with her mouth as he was with her thighs.
****
When they returned finally, it was not a triumphant return to be hailed as conquerors. Sukhbataar watched in slowly growing dread as they approached the remains of the ruined citadel. The smell of burning flesh still hung in the air and smoke from wayward fires wafted upwards. Entire walls of the fortress were collapsed, and corpses lay in piles mostly, or what should have been corpses. Many of the dead were in pieces. And Sukhbataar could only look on in horror.
"How did this happen? What is all this?" Sukhbataar dismounted his horse, speaking aloud to no one in particular.
"I can tell you," a man said, Mongolian, dressed in robes covered in blood. He pushed a wheelbarrow filled with body parts into one of the piles, dumping them carelessly. He stopped his grisly work for a moment and spoke with the three Zuuts that stood before hiim, and Sengemo. "Three days back, they came in the night, overhead. Someone said they were planes, but I've seen planes before, and these things were roaring, screaming, loud as all damnation. Too damn fast to be planes. They dropped bombs and explosives left and right, enough to cover a battlefield twice over. This," he said motioning to the ruins of the fortress and the mounds of corpses, "is all that remains."
"Where is the Tumen then? Has war been declared?"
"The Tumen," the man spat, "for all the good he's done us since he's been here, is bedridden. Wounded horribly, lost a leg. He's with fever but still all there in the mind from what the others tell me. And no, war hasn't been declared formally."
"Others? There are survivors?! Where man, tell us now!"
"To the north is a valley, ten miles away perhaps. The survivors are more than the enemy anticipated, we still number perhaps six hundred strong."
We have a choice now, what should we do?
A.) Head to the valley and seek the Tumen. If he is able bodied, inform him of everything that you have seen. Await his commands.
B.) Head to the valley and seek the other Zuuts present. Discuss with all of them the horrors you have been witness to. Rally them to your banner and confront the Tumen, wounded and now outnumbered.
C.) Forsake the ruins of your former fortress and the incompetence of the Tumen. Instead, head to Chengdu with your brothers in arms and your Zuuts. The Ordu may deign to speak with you should they feel that you have sufficiently proven yourself. If they do not, there are certainly many others that would enjoy speaking with a man who commands hundreds of heavily armed soldiers, veterans of horrific campaigns.
Gondolin
Arcane
B. The Tumen is in no position to give orders anymore.
Cassidy
Arcane
B
I am torn between B and C; what would Ungern Khan do? OK B for now 800 sabers are lot better than 200.
Yeah, sorry about this shit update guys.
Truth be told, I wanted to make it longer, but it was a bit difficult to do so without making some major choices for you all, and I wouldn't want that.
Truth be told, I wanted to make it longer, but it was a bit difficult to do so without making some major choices for you all, and I wouldn't want that.
B
Will update later tomorrow.
Sorry about this.
Had a lot of crap going on and I also had to write a best man's speech for my brother's wedding.
And my speech ended up going on for apparently over thirteen minutes.
Sorry about this.
Had a lot of crap going on and I also had to write a best man's speech for my brother's wedding.
And my speech ended up going on for apparently over thirteen minutes.
This section is written in diary form of Sukhbataar, something he has decided he will keep for a small time at least, to tell the tale of what he has seen.
****
My ride to that damn encampment was somber and not without difficulty. It took us a full day to actually find it, so well it was hidden, and so far apart our forces were scattered. Scattered. Even now as I write those fateful words to paper, my blood boils. Fucking scattered, Mongols, of all the peoples. But we were, there can be no denying it. To be honest, I am not enraged like a proper Mongol should be, like I should be, nor am I surprised. I am only saddened. Is this the fate of my horde? Perhaps it is for the best, that they taste defeat, that I sup as well from the foul sap of those bitter roots. May the Gods, in all their infinite wisdom, teach our people that the sedentary lifestyles, where the horse is corralled, is for the soft men. Give me the steppes any day over this, the wind in my face, the horse between my thighs, and my woman at my back, grasping me tightly. That and battle are my heavens, I do declare so. And may the Gods give me the strength to endure the bickering of the other Zuuts.
I would have thought that my arrival would have heralded some sort of reaction from the others, a positive one. But such was not the case. Instead, I was greeted with faces, uncaring, and envious stares. The way the others leered at our women was not something I was happy about, and a part of me sought to put a bullet in each of their fucking useless heads.
Useless, that's right. Fucking useless. None of them greeted us, we were not heralded heroes. Was our victory not great? They simply did not care, demoralized from their own losses. It was sad, pathetic even, and at that point I realized that the Zuuts I rode with were the only true Mongols among them. Still, I will make them accept me as their Mingghan, no matter the cost to their dignity. They will follow me. I realize now that I must mold these bastards into Mongols, true Mongols, to live up to the image of Roman Khan, and our Khagan, Tomor Khan. They are Mongol in name only, and instead act as the petty raiders our Noyan has sought to crush time and again. Perhaps this is the reason for their failure. Perhaps this is the reason I was brought from Afghanistan.
Anyway, when I gathered the other Zuuts before me, to say they were unsupportive of my efforts to become Mingghan would be putting it mildly. One of them even dared to declare me unfit for command of my Zuut. I disciplined him with my 1911, pistol whipping him brutally until his face was a pulp with a dozen deep cuts along it. I declared to them all then and there that if they were not my allies, then they were as worthless as the Chinamen we sought to conquer. My words stirred unity, but only in uniting the bastards against me. So be it. I have my allies, they have theirs, but mine and our eyes are open.
That night, I slept, and the voices came for both me and Sengemo, voices this time, barely a whisper amongst the chittering and chirping and madness, but I heard them. What they said, I do not know, but my madness has now deigned to address me in more than gibberish and I am glad for that at least. I know it is not madness, or at least I think it is not. Sengemo does not speak of it, what she sees, what she hears, and I am beginning to doubt if she feels the same as I do. But how can I be sure of anything when I do not even know how I feel, or even how I experience what I do? Let the madness come for me. If it can help me destroy fleshcraftings such as what I fought in the caves, then I will gladly take it into me.
****
Sukhbataar pumped wildly into Sengemo. The dark haired Tibetan woman moaned loudly, gratefully as she wrapped her strong legs around his waist, forcing more of his girth into her. He grabbed her roughly by the hair and bit her neck, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to bruise, and felt her crotch convulse around his member. Sukhbataar felt energized by his woman's orgasm, and clutched her shoulder, pumping harder now. Both were covered in the mutual juices of their lovemaking, if it could be called that. It was more passionate than that, more animalistic, containing a combination of youthful enthusiasm and rape. As he felt her inner walls ripple around his pulsating manhood, he seized up, forcing himself in deeply, as deep as he could possibly go, and moaned, emptying his potent seed into her. She dug her fingers into his back, clawing at him wildly, grunting, moaning, screaming, his orgasm sending her into another fitful release.
And as they came down from their mutual high, he rolled off her and gently kissed her. His first act of real intimacy with her since they'd arrived in camp. Before then, he would simply sleep, his mind to worrisome for his own arousal to take control. Finally, tonight it became simply too strong and he took her, throwing her to the ground. She gladly accepted what he had to give her, willingly spreading the petals of her flower wide for him to see.
She stroked his shaved head gently, lovingly even, bringing her head onto his chest. Both of them breathed deeply and Sukhbataar began to doze lightly. She nudged him gently, waking him. He shook his head slowly, glancing down at her. Sengemo smiled at him, her face painted in dancing lights and shadow from the coals of the fire pit in the center of their tent.
"Why did you cut your ears?"
"Many reasons I think: anger, shame, defiance, madness maybe."
"Defiance?"
"I was stripped naked and whipped bloody, and then my head and moustache were shorn from me. I took their act of attempting to shame me, to humiliate me, and made it my own."
"You remade yourself."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I had to. Have you ever burned with such humiliating shame? For the first time in my life, I wished I was in my mother's arms at that moment. I hated that feeling, that weakness, impotence. In that instant, they took my manhood from me, all that I had built up through commanding my men, my respect, honor, status, and crumpled it."
"To regain it you had to reinvent yourself."
"Not just to regain it, but to surpass it. Tomorrow, I go to the Tumen and make my claim to become the Mingghan."
"What then?"
"I will lead the Mingghan, all of the Mongols, to the south and we will set the countryside on fire. I will burn down everything our enemies love, everything they hate, I will burn down their lives and everything within."
"We?"
"Yes, we," Sukhbataar smiled at her knowingly, "The time we have been together, I have learned enough of you to know that you are no Mongol, but you are not like them either. Always moving, by foot or by horse or by cart. Vagabond, nomad, whatever insult hurled at you, and still you continue on, moving always. We are the same like that. This sedentary lifestyle kills us." He took his hand gently in hers and smiled.
"You will be so much more than Mingghan, Sukhbataar," Sengemo said, kissing her lover on the lips passionately.
*****
The Tumen lay back quietly in his bed. The air in his tent was heavy with the stench of death, hot and stale, ungainly even, if air could be so. The old warlord was covered in burns, the eye patch he wore gone, instead a gruesome wound in its place, scarred over, where the eye had been clawed out years ago. The stump where his leg once had been was surprisingly clean, and despite his burns and the stench of the tent, he was in good spirits. As Sukhbataar and Sengemo walked into the tent side by side, the Tumen sat up and smiled at the Zuut.
"Ah," he began, grinning, "the prodigal son returns does he?"
"Prodigal son?" Sukhbataar questioned, glancing at Sengemo momentarily.
"A parable of some import, knowledge gleaned from ancient faiths of my enemies. Even our enemies can teach us much about ourselves Sukhbataar, though I am sure you know that already. So tell me, is the enemy of the Khagan destroyed?"
"It is," Sukhbataar began.
"And the altar?" The old man lay back, his eyes closed now, a gentle grin on his face.
"You knew?"
"Of course we knew," he snapped, sitting up rapidly. The Tumen winced gently as pain shot through his body, but he continued, getting out of bed with surprising ease, standing on one leg. He used his sword as a cane, aiding him in walking, though only for the few hops he took towards Sukhbataar. "I discovered them, long ago, and we've known about their ilk for at least that long, if not longer. We thought them legends, the flesh crafters, but I saw that altar, that cave, and I knew it true. But I did not have the strength to stay and see the job done. Did you see the Great Maw? That vile abomination of a statue upon that altar?"
"I sundered it with my axe."
"Good," he said, "that... thing. They worship it. I do not know much more than that except it hungers, constantly."
"What is all of this? I saw something so horrific down in those caves, a monstrosity made of corpses dead but still living, pulsing with vile ichor. It slew many of my men before we brought it down."
"You'll learn more as time goes on. But this I can assure you: you've seen the faces of our enemy now. Be it the yellow fiends to the south or that demon they worship. You've seen the works of their spiritual worship. But that wasn't the only reason you came here, was it? Don't answer, I know all about your attempts to rally the other Zuuts. Are you so surprised that they would not stand behind you? Perhaps they never will, but it matters not. The word of the Ordu is law, it is the will of the Khagan. And that will be enough."
"What is all of this? I am so confounded by everything that has happened, my Tumen, you cannot understand."
"I can and I do. When I first saw such things I was worse, because I did not have another to aid me through it all," the Tumen motioned towards Sengemo before continuing. "When rebellion broke out amongst those hill people, we had to move quickly. If the Maw was not influencing them, it soon would. And we were right. Their fleshcrafters had awoken and built a totem. Had you not brought them asunder, more and more would be forged, and consume all in their path."
"How do you know what would happen either way?" Sukhbataar looked to the stunned silent Sengemo and then back to the old warlord. The Tumen smiled, his burns splitting and bleeding, and he tapped his empty eye socket.
"Do you accept the position of Mingghan, or shall I place another unworthy man upon it's seat." It was more of a statement than a question, and the Tumen was clear to Sukhbataar that even with all he knew, if he refused command the old Tumen would not harp over the loss.
What should Sukhbataar do?
A.) One way or another, someone will be chosen. It is better to be Sukhbataar.
B.) Sukhbataar will reject the offer, and instead find his own way. He must understand more about this and he cannot learn if he is saddled with command.
****
My ride to that damn encampment was somber and not without difficulty. It took us a full day to actually find it, so well it was hidden, and so far apart our forces were scattered. Scattered. Even now as I write those fateful words to paper, my blood boils. Fucking scattered, Mongols, of all the peoples. But we were, there can be no denying it. To be honest, I am not enraged like a proper Mongol should be, like I should be, nor am I surprised. I am only saddened. Is this the fate of my horde? Perhaps it is for the best, that they taste defeat, that I sup as well from the foul sap of those bitter roots. May the Gods, in all their infinite wisdom, teach our people that the sedentary lifestyles, where the horse is corralled, is for the soft men. Give me the steppes any day over this, the wind in my face, the horse between my thighs, and my woman at my back, grasping me tightly. That and battle are my heavens, I do declare so. And may the Gods give me the strength to endure the bickering of the other Zuuts.
I would have thought that my arrival would have heralded some sort of reaction from the others, a positive one. But such was not the case. Instead, I was greeted with faces, uncaring, and envious stares. The way the others leered at our women was not something I was happy about, and a part of me sought to put a bullet in each of their fucking useless heads.
Useless, that's right. Fucking useless. None of them greeted us, we were not heralded heroes. Was our victory not great? They simply did not care, demoralized from their own losses. It was sad, pathetic even, and at that point I realized that the Zuuts I rode with were the only true Mongols among them. Still, I will make them accept me as their Mingghan, no matter the cost to their dignity. They will follow me. I realize now that I must mold these bastards into Mongols, true Mongols, to live up to the image of Roman Khan, and our Khagan, Tomor Khan. They are Mongol in name only, and instead act as the petty raiders our Noyan has sought to crush time and again. Perhaps this is the reason for their failure. Perhaps this is the reason I was brought from Afghanistan.
Anyway, when I gathered the other Zuuts before me, to say they were unsupportive of my efforts to become Mingghan would be putting it mildly. One of them even dared to declare me unfit for command of my Zuut. I disciplined him with my 1911, pistol whipping him brutally until his face was a pulp with a dozen deep cuts along it. I declared to them all then and there that if they were not my allies, then they were as worthless as the Chinamen we sought to conquer. My words stirred unity, but only in uniting the bastards against me. So be it. I have my allies, they have theirs, but mine and our eyes are open.
That night, I slept, and the voices came for both me and Sengemo, voices this time, barely a whisper amongst the chittering and chirping and madness, but I heard them. What they said, I do not know, but my madness has now deigned to address me in more than gibberish and I am glad for that at least. I know it is not madness, or at least I think it is not. Sengemo does not speak of it, what she sees, what she hears, and I am beginning to doubt if she feels the same as I do. But how can I be sure of anything when I do not even know how I feel, or even how I experience what I do? Let the madness come for me. If it can help me destroy fleshcraftings such as what I fought in the caves, then I will gladly take it into me.
****
Sukhbataar pumped wildly into Sengemo. The dark haired Tibetan woman moaned loudly, gratefully as she wrapped her strong legs around his waist, forcing more of his girth into her. He grabbed her roughly by the hair and bit her neck, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to bruise, and felt her crotch convulse around his member. Sukhbataar felt energized by his woman's orgasm, and clutched her shoulder, pumping harder now. Both were covered in the mutual juices of their lovemaking, if it could be called that. It was more passionate than that, more animalistic, containing a combination of youthful enthusiasm and rape. As he felt her inner walls ripple around his pulsating manhood, he seized up, forcing himself in deeply, as deep as he could possibly go, and moaned, emptying his potent seed into her. She dug her fingers into his back, clawing at him wildly, grunting, moaning, screaming, his orgasm sending her into another fitful release.
And as they came down from their mutual high, he rolled off her and gently kissed her. His first act of real intimacy with her since they'd arrived in camp. Before then, he would simply sleep, his mind to worrisome for his own arousal to take control. Finally, tonight it became simply too strong and he took her, throwing her to the ground. She gladly accepted what he had to give her, willingly spreading the petals of her flower wide for him to see.
She stroked his shaved head gently, lovingly even, bringing her head onto his chest. Both of them breathed deeply and Sukhbataar began to doze lightly. She nudged him gently, waking him. He shook his head slowly, glancing down at her. Sengemo smiled at him, her face painted in dancing lights and shadow from the coals of the fire pit in the center of their tent.
"Why did you cut your ears?"
"Many reasons I think: anger, shame, defiance, madness maybe."
"Defiance?"
"I was stripped naked and whipped bloody, and then my head and moustache were shorn from me. I took their act of attempting to shame me, to humiliate me, and made it my own."
"You remade yourself."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I had to. Have you ever burned with such humiliating shame? For the first time in my life, I wished I was in my mother's arms at that moment. I hated that feeling, that weakness, impotence. In that instant, they took my manhood from me, all that I had built up through commanding my men, my respect, honor, status, and crumpled it."
"To regain it you had to reinvent yourself."
"Not just to regain it, but to surpass it. Tomorrow, I go to the Tumen and make my claim to become the Mingghan."
"What then?"
"I will lead the Mingghan, all of the Mongols, to the south and we will set the countryside on fire. I will burn down everything our enemies love, everything they hate, I will burn down their lives and everything within."
"We?"
"Yes, we," Sukhbataar smiled at her knowingly, "The time we have been together, I have learned enough of you to know that you are no Mongol, but you are not like them either. Always moving, by foot or by horse or by cart. Vagabond, nomad, whatever insult hurled at you, and still you continue on, moving always. We are the same like that. This sedentary lifestyle kills us." He took his hand gently in hers and smiled.
"You will be so much more than Mingghan, Sukhbataar," Sengemo said, kissing her lover on the lips passionately.
*****
The Tumen lay back quietly in his bed. The air in his tent was heavy with the stench of death, hot and stale, ungainly even, if air could be so. The old warlord was covered in burns, the eye patch he wore gone, instead a gruesome wound in its place, scarred over, where the eye had been clawed out years ago. The stump where his leg once had been was surprisingly clean, and despite his burns and the stench of the tent, he was in good spirits. As Sukhbataar and Sengemo walked into the tent side by side, the Tumen sat up and smiled at the Zuut.
"Ah," he began, grinning, "the prodigal son returns does he?"
"Prodigal son?" Sukhbataar questioned, glancing at Sengemo momentarily.
"A parable of some import, knowledge gleaned from ancient faiths of my enemies. Even our enemies can teach us much about ourselves Sukhbataar, though I am sure you know that already. So tell me, is the enemy of the Khagan destroyed?"
"It is," Sukhbataar began.
"And the altar?" The old man lay back, his eyes closed now, a gentle grin on his face.
"You knew?"
"Of course we knew," he snapped, sitting up rapidly. The Tumen winced gently as pain shot through his body, but he continued, getting out of bed with surprising ease, standing on one leg. He used his sword as a cane, aiding him in walking, though only for the few hops he took towards Sukhbataar. "I discovered them, long ago, and we've known about their ilk for at least that long, if not longer. We thought them legends, the flesh crafters, but I saw that altar, that cave, and I knew it true. But I did not have the strength to stay and see the job done. Did you see the Great Maw? That vile abomination of a statue upon that altar?"
"I sundered it with my axe."
"Good," he said, "that... thing. They worship it. I do not know much more than that except it hungers, constantly."
"What is all of this? I saw something so horrific down in those caves, a monstrosity made of corpses dead but still living, pulsing with vile ichor. It slew many of my men before we brought it down."
"You'll learn more as time goes on. But this I can assure you: you've seen the faces of our enemy now. Be it the yellow fiends to the south or that demon they worship. You've seen the works of their spiritual worship. But that wasn't the only reason you came here, was it? Don't answer, I know all about your attempts to rally the other Zuuts. Are you so surprised that they would not stand behind you? Perhaps they never will, but it matters not. The word of the Ordu is law, it is the will of the Khagan. And that will be enough."
"What is all of this? I am so confounded by everything that has happened, my Tumen, you cannot understand."
"I can and I do. When I first saw such things I was worse, because I did not have another to aid me through it all," the Tumen motioned towards Sengemo before continuing. "When rebellion broke out amongst those hill people, we had to move quickly. If the Maw was not influencing them, it soon would. And we were right. Their fleshcrafters had awoken and built a totem. Had you not brought them asunder, more and more would be forged, and consume all in their path."
"How do you know what would happen either way?" Sukhbataar looked to the stunned silent Sengemo and then back to the old warlord. The Tumen smiled, his burns splitting and bleeding, and he tapped his empty eye socket.
"Do you accept the position of Mingghan, or shall I place another unworthy man upon it's seat." It was more of a statement than a question, and the Tumen was clear to Sukhbataar that even with all he knew, if he refused command the old Tumen would not harp over the loss.
What should Sukhbataar do?
A.) One way or another, someone will be chosen. It is better to be Sukhbataar.
B.) Sukhbataar will reject the offer, and instead find his own way. He must understand more about this and he cannot learn if he is saddled with command.
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Gondolin
Arcane
A.
What makes you think that?
Baltika9
Arcane
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That whole exchange between them, Sukhbataar is getting the hots for this Tibetan strumpet. Hell,
I could hear Bob Marley singing in the background, "Is this love I'm feelin'..." Not saying that it's good or bad -yet- but just saying, never thought I'd see that happen.
He even referred to her as his woman. The kiss of affection just verified it.
I could hear Bob Marley singing in the background, "Is this love I'm feelin'..." Not saying that it's good or bad -yet- but just saying, never thought I'd see that happen.
Well, she is technically his, is she not?
He fucking owns her pretty much last I checked.
He fucking owns her pretty much last I checked.
How is a slave, who was taken for sexual pleasure mind you, supposed to be treated?
He fucks her almost every chance he gets and then has some pillow talk with her afterwards.
Everyone does that.
He fucks her almost every chance he gets and then has some pillow talk with her afterwards.
Everyone does that.
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