Durga approaches the mansion

No guts, no glory. That was the philosophy of his life! Durga grinned, raised his sword, and strode towards the gates. Guards in rusted chain mail hurried forward, raised crossbows, and loosed bolts at him. Durga grunted as one slammed into his leg. The tight muscles blocked the barbed head from penetrating deep, and he tore it free with a hand, ignoring the pain.

“SEFTAAAAAANNNN!” He bellowed his warcry, charging froward. Gripping the gates in a berserk rage, he pulled, ignoring the spears that jabbed out at him. Hinges squealed, and with a last tortured squeak the gates ripped free, and he flung it aside and charged in.

The men who faced him were by their ragged appearance little more than street scum, bought for a few silver pieces and clearly unwilling to face an eight foot tall berserker. One loosed a quarrel at him, the shot whistling past his ear. Durga bellowed and swung down, shearing the man in two and spraying the others next to him in his blood and gore. Shouting in terror that dropped their weapons and ran.

Durga grinned and continued forward. A few feet in he stopped and stared at the horrid scene before him. Several staked, black with dried blood, had been embedded in the stone courtyard before him. On each one was impaled the body of a ****. One of them was little more than a child, the blood on its body still fresh. He looked on this grimly, and vowed that there would be justice.

He strode towards the main building, where a pair of oaken double doors lay locked. A hard kick from his boot knocked them open. Ducking his head under the lintel he stepped in. Beyond was an opulent hall, the walls gilded, a solid silver chandelier hanging overhead. And lying on the floor were two dead bodies, their hands behind their backs, their bodies carved with cuts. Obviously they had been tortured.

He knelt down by one, and saw there was still a little life left in the man. The fellow opened his eyes, clearly only moments from ****. “She...she hurt us....” he whispered. “She likes to hurt us.....” Then he coughed and the life fled from his body.

Durga stood, his face grim. This was the best place to plunder after all, by the looks of it. Whoever lived here clearly needed to be taken down a peg....

“COME BACK HERE, YOU SCUM!!!!!” A high pitched voice sounded from beyond, and he took a moment to realize it was a woman. There was another shriek, and blubbering cried for mercy. He turned and walked towards it, headed to a door on the side that lay partially open. Thrusting it aside, he stepped in, sword at the ready, his head scraping the ceiling.

A dead man, one of the guards lay on the floor, and a ragged woman lay on her knees, her face white with fear. Standing before her was the owner of the house, a knife at the throat of a child held firmly in bejeweled hands.

The one holding the knife was a woman. Obviously a woman, it would have been hard to call her anything but a woman. She was tall, with dark brown hair artfully arranged in curls that tumbled down her back, silver chains woven into them. Her face was heart shaped, her eyes big and blue, her lips full and luscious. Her body was lush and voluptuous, with large, firm breasts, a narrow waist, and long legs. She wore a silken dress shot through with gold thread that clung to her body, leaving little to the imagination.

She was obviously beautiful, but that beauty was marred by the cruelty he could see in her eyes and face. This was the one who had ordered the slaves impaled, one who enjoyed tormenting those beneath her. Power and privilege had made her untouchable up until now. Even as she turned towards Durga, surprise plain to see, her grip tightened on the whimpering child, and slight trickle of blood began to run down its throat.

Durga leveled the sword. “Drop the knife.”