[corncobby]

Chapter 1: The Ordeal of Princess Alina

Once upon a time, Princess Alina had been the great hope of the human race. A once-a-millennium miracle of magical birth, she was blessed with speed, strength, agility, and an innate ability to heal wounds, both her own and those of her fellow warriors. At 22 years of age, she was already the leader of the thousand-strong amazon army of Ayimir, who had spent centuries fighting back against the incursions of dark elves, or draks, into the lands of women.

But then came the Battle of Ection when the great dark elf army of Myronir the Great had destroyed the army of Ayimr and completed their domination of the western lands. Almost all the amazons had been killed in the battle, while Alina herself, having sustained wounds that would have killed a normal woman ten times over, had been captured. She been dragged in chains, along with the other prisoners, to the drak kingdom of Mantius, where she had been tortured and enslaved ever since. She was now into her ninth year of captivity, which had been filled with the most brutal abuse and torture ever perpetrated in the Eight Kingdoms. The draks used the girl’s natural healing ability to keep her alive, and the demon stones they employed to aid this healing yet further kept her perpetually young. Myronir and his subjects aimed to torture the young woman forever, feeding off her agony like leeches until the end of time.

For Alina herself, every day was a constant hell of torture, abuse and humiliation. For eight years she had had to watch as the people she had been born to save were enslaved village by village by the dark elf armies. Her home kingdom of Ayimir, deep in the cold north of the western lands, had been almost entirely overrun by the draks, its inhabitants either taken south to the elf kingdom of Mantius or enslaved in the freezing metal mines of the Sarten Mountains. In Thilros across the sea, female feya elves fought off endless attacks by draks from the sea and marauding dwarves, ogres and trolls from Wolestland. Alina would see elves captured by the drak raids led in chains into Mantius, their naked bodies already marked by countless tortures endured along the way. The drak galleys were oared by slavegirls who were whipped and abused constantly. They arrived at the drak kingdom exhausted and broken after weeks or even months at sea, only to find that their ordeals had only just begun. They could not be tortured to the same extreme extent that Princess Alina could, but the demon stones could still heal most wounds and keep the females alive for years and years of slavery and abuse.

It is hard to exaggerate the contempt the dark elves held for the female races and the sheer pleasure they got out of their suffering. But their hatred of Princess Alina went beyond all boundaries. The amazon girl was the living embodiment of all they hated and despised, a girl who had represented and led their greatest enemies throughout the Eight Kingdoms.. If there was one thing that united every dark elf in Mantius, it was her unremitting torture and abuse carried out through every hour of night and day.

“Get moving, whore. Face your people and let them see you for the worthless cunt that you are.”

Beluar shoved the 22-year-old girl from behind and pulled her head back so that she could see the crowds of half-naked slaves as they carried rocks in the dry dust of the morning sun. A team of thick-muscled draks whipped the girls as they forced their exhausted body forwards, sometimes jabbing a pain stick or energy rod into their bare breasts or armpits to give the further encouragement. Alina did not try to turn her face away from the terrible scene. After more than eight long years, she was well used to seeing her people being tortured and abused and she knew that nothing she said or did could ever stop it.

“You see that, bitch? Aren’t those the whores you were supposed to be protecting? Isn’t that what you were born to do?”

Alina didn’t reply, so Beluar pressed a pain stick into her back and gave her a long blast of agony that ripped through every nerve in the young woman’s body. When the princess refused to cry out, Beluar’s co-guard Lathrak thumped a club into her flat stomach, smashing the air from her lungs. As she fell to her knees, he smashed a body fist into her face and broke her nose. Then he added his pain stick to Beluar’s, pushing the thick instrument into the girl’s pussy and twisting it hard into her uterus. The two rods glowed with a fierce green light, far brighter than those the slavegirls below were being tortured with. Powered by dark magic, the sticks calibrated the pain they inflicted with the capacity of the victim to take it without fainting. For Alina, with her enchanted ability to heal, this meant an agony far surpassing that suffered by the other captives of the draks, a pain that was almost unlimited in its intensity. Still, the 22-year-old was determined not to cry out in front of her subjects, who sneaked furtive glances towards her as they trudged through the hot dust of the camp. Lathrak punched her again in the guts and shoved the pain stick so hard it punctured the girl’s womb. Fresh blood ran down the side of the rod as it glowed inside her which the drak stroked with his finger and then smeared down the girl’s bruised face.

“I think this bitch needs a good whipping before she starts her day’s work,” opined Beluar, as he pressed his pain stick harder into Alina’s breasts. “Perhaps that will help her to learn her place.”

Alina was expecting some kind of punishment before the draks sent her into the slave camp and she resisted the urge to cry as she was roughly pressed against a wooden whipping post. She had been tortured in the Mantius dungeons all night, as she had been every single night for the past eight years. They had beaten her, whipped her, racked her, burned her, impaled her, roasted her, poisoned her, and fried her without mercy, reveling in the screams they wrenched from her lips and the pain energy she flooded into their bodies. Alina needed very little sleep and the dark elves gave her none, torturing her incessantly throughout each day and night and healing her only when her injuries made it impossible to torture her further.

Beluar smashed the girl’s face into the rough wooden post and pulled her arms up high. If Alina had had her usual strength, she would have killed the vicious elf easily. But she was weak from torture and thirst, for the draks gave her little water as they abused her through the broiling days and nights of the Mantius plains. Ayimir women were used to the cold of the northern realms, so the desert heat was murder on their pale skin. The salt gags the draks routinely used to punish them made their lives a further hell, as did the complete lack of shade they labored in through each blazing day. Alina had not been given any water for two days, and her throat had been burned with fire and hot oil during the night. If she had been a normal woman, she would have been dead from thirst and exhaustion, but as it was she was simply unnaturally weak. The dark elf pulled her arms up until the young woman was stretched on to her tiptoes. Then he took out a pair of thick iron nails and hammered them through the backs of her hands, transfixing them to each side of the post. Lathrak did the same to her feet, pressing her ankles into the post and hammering the nail through flesh and bone until it was thick inside the post. Bleeding and helpless, the young princess again resisted the urge to cry, even as the creatures wiped her hair away from her shoulders and prepared to lay the first stripe across her bare back.

The draks had picked out a rhino whip for the flogging, the instrument used most commonly on the slavegirls as they labored in the mines and camps. It was a brutal weapon consisting of a long length of rhino hide, flexible enough to flay and cut into the skin and heavy enough to bruise the flesh beneath. It was only possible to utilize a whip of such cruelty because of the demon stones that allowed the women to be healed when necessary. But while an ordinary human might be able to take forty or fifty strokes before passing out and needing to be healed, Alina could take a hundred, two hundred or even more. Her body could be flayed and lacerated to the bone and she would not lose consciousness, and she could have her wounds cauterized with hot irons or boiling oil so that the whipping could continue almost indefinitely. This was the young woman’s curse, and it was one that had tormented her every day for the past eight years.

“Right, bitch, let’s see how you enjoy this.”

Lathrak took the whip first, letting it drop to the floor before raising it up and cracking it viciously across the girl’s bare shoulders. It struck her like an explosion of gunpowder, a reverberating crack that echoed above the other noises of pain and torture throughout the camp. Alina bit her tongue to prevent herself crying out, but she knew that the pain was at its very beginning. Again and again the dark elf cracked the heavy whip against her soft flesh, lashing her with three times the force that any human would have been able to do. After a dozen strokes, the vicious rhino hide was biting through the girl’s skin. After thirty strokes, there were bloody lacerations from her shoulders down to her thighs. After fifty strokes, her entire back was an open wound, her tattered flesh hanging from her in strips. Alina was crying now, quietly so that the other women could not hear, but with each added lash, her agony grew more unbearable. As one of the draks whipped her, the other pressed pain sticks into her face, her breasts and her private parts, laughing at her tear-stained cheeks and mocking her pathetic attempts to bear the pain.

“Such a weak little whore,” Lathrak sneered as the seventieth stroke cracked against the girl’s lacerated flesh. “Your punishment has barely started and already you’re crying like a little girl. Call yourself a warrior? You’re nothing but a mewling little bitch.”

Alina looked into the scornful eyes of the elf and summoned up all her courage to spit into his face.

“Fuck you.”

Lathrak’s reaction was as vicious as it was inevitable. He drew back his mailed fist and smashed it into the girl’s face once, twice, three times in succession. Alina’s nose and jaw crumpled under the impact, blood pouring down onto her bare breasts. The drak took his pain stick and rammed into her mouth, breaking her two front teeth and choking her as it slammed into the back of her throat. From a smoking brazier, which were positioned at regular intervals for the casual tortures of the slaves, he took out a pair of red-hot tongs and fastened them around the girl’s tongue, crushing it between the two sets of searing teeth. Alina let out a choked scream of agony before the elf drove his hard fist into the side of her ribs and smashed the air from her lungs.

“You are going to pay for that all fucking day, you insolent whore,” he snarled. “And I don’t need to tell you what we’ll do to you in the dungeons tonight.”

As Lathrak was tormenting her, Beluar was continuing to lash the rhino whip against her bare body, 100 strokes, 110, 120, 130. Alina’s back was just a mass of lacerated flesh and tattered tissue. In some places the whip had cut so deep that white bone was visible beneath the blood. The 22-year-old should have been half-dead by now, drooping unconscious from the whipping post. But instead she was fully alert, her agony increasing with each savage blow that splattered blood over the wooden platform all around her.

“Let’s burn these cuts so we can give the bitch the kind of whipping she truly deserves,” said Lathrak, as he continued to pound the pain stick against the girl’s throat. “Hot salt to start.”

Metal vats of salt were always kept heated over fires around the camp ready to be rubbed into the livid wounds of the slavegirls as an extra punishment for disobedience or laziness. For Alina, the elves sometimes liked to lacerate or flay her entire body and then literally roast her inside the salt vats above the flames. They could burn her like that for hours, the agony indescribable, and when they finally brought her out, the girl would still be alive, ready to be tortured further. Lathrak ordered a pair of slavegirls to take the nearest vat off the fire and bring it to them. The metal vats were red-hot to the touch, but the young women had no choice but to burn their hands to the bone as they lifted the heavy container off the fire and carried it, weeping with agony, to the raised platform where Alina was being tortured. Dropping the vat or spilling the salt would have meant a terrible whipping at best or, more likely, a week or so in the dungeons suffering torture of every description. Consequently, the two girls swallowed their agony and obeyed the order perfectly, laying the red-hot container down at the dark elves’ feet.

Beluar stamped on the girls’ smoldering hands as they placed the vat down and then casually kicked them off the platform into the dust below, where pain sticks and rhino whips immediately fell on their flesh from the other guards. No longer interested in the two anonymous slaves, Beluar and Lathrak took a ladleful of boiling salt and poured it down Alina’s lacerated back. The touch of the burning crystals was agony in itself, but it was nothing compared to what came next as the draks rubbed the salt into her wounds with thick sheets of sandpaper. They pushed the salt deep into each wound while the girl was helpless to stop herself screaming out in torment. When every laceration on her back and buttocks had been flayed by the salt, the elves took up blazing torches and brushed them up and down the girl’s flesh, burning her lightly from head to toe. Then Beluar took up the rhino whip and launched into the flogging once more.


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