A veteran of the CessPond (the scarred beauty)

You gaze lands on a pair of long shapely legs embraced by high high leather boots. A gleaming buckle below the knee and around the thigh. Your gaze follows the sturdy leather suspenders up smooth honey coloured skin that disappear mid-thigh up the hem of a nondescript grey woollen tunic, spotted with mud.

With a measure of unwillingness your eyes unglue from the pair of enticing legs and the honeycomb of secrets shrouded by the gloom of the CessPond to look up at the rest of the figure.

You are immediately taken aback by the personage before you, at once repelled an attracted.

Though the woman is leggy her bust is short and her breasts small . The dark course fabric of her tunic is moulded to her torso by an criss crossing of leather holster straps.

Unlike many tunics you'd seen before her arms are bare. Showing off bronze skin and and wiry muscles. Tough her arms are similarly wreathed in elbow high leather gloves. The collar is knitted into a turtle-neck completely obscures her throat, showing only her defined jaw.

Dark hair tied in a high pony-tail bared the icy expression of her well-sculpted face which would have belonged to that of a cold beauty if it weren't for the chilling scar which covered her right eye socket.

There was no dark iris like her left eye. Nor even the milky blue of blindness. Just a matrix of pale scar tissue.

"Rise." She commands haughtily. gesturing with her right hand, which to you further chagrin is another stump wrapped in leather. Only a single finger- the little finger- remaining.

Still lying on your belly in your birthday suit with your dick throbbing against the damp planks you gawk up at her, your eyes now having caught sight of a badge showing a coat of arms.

With a stoney expression the woman raises her left hand which you now see holds a coiled whip.

Which a crack and another welting smack on your buttocks you yelp and scramble clumsily to your feet and turn around lifting your hands in a gesture of none ****.

As her one eye sweeps condescendingly down your front you realise with a blush, too late what a sight you must make. Your front covered in dried mud save for your engorged cock that's still bouncing for affection.

You try to cover yourself, but flinch when the whip cracks once more.

Though it strikes between your feet, the whip licks at the air inches away from you precious wang and jewels. Your breath hitches as she pulls back and coils the whip expertly with a single hand.

"State your intention's thief." She barks briskly.

Your eye fall back to the badge over her left breast. You recognise it, because the the guard who'd let you through the CessPond's wall had been wearing it too.

Benjamin Bunodius, was an eccentric man, few ever saw. A minor Lord, but one all the same. It is on his land the CessPond lies, leaving him with the responsibility of keeping the festering life within its boundaries in check while the city continues to use it as its refuse dump.

Few Soldiers sought to serve Benodius for his standing among the aristocracy was not high and nor was there any glory to be had in guarding the CessPond. Thus Benodius lowered himself to seek Soldiers among the ranks of skilled adventurers who'd been **** to retire from their careers.

Before you now was such an adventurer. Who'd lived the life you'd always wanted and who roamed the CessPond with practiced ease and skill.

A veteran of the CessPond.

You'd entered the CessPond thinking you'd make a name for yourself but now you stood before the real deal, having lost all you owned aside from your breast plate to toothless leeches.

You want to kneel with shame and respect.