Siege of Stormdale

Your Decisions are important. The wrong decisions can lead to disastrous outcomes for Alicia.

Alicia sits on the banks of the Merwood river. It runs through central Stormdale under a magnificent cobblestone bridge. She scrubs the bed sheets of her master, angry that the stain will not come out. This is the fourth whore he has bedded this week and the fourth time she has had to clean his mess. Alicia catches a glimpse of herself in the rivers reflection. A truly beautiful girl who had her eighteenth name-day only a week ago. Alicia's face was young, her feminine features such as her small nose and soft cheeks amplified her beauty alongside her big, dark brown eyes. Her hair was long and chocolate brown, always tied into a ponytail. For a woman of 18 years, Alicia was small. Only about 5'1" and slim, however her breasts grew beyond an ample size and thanks to her youth they did not sag whatsoever and held place. Her buttocks was even better yet, big, well above average and held the roundness of a bubble.

It was tradition for a to wear a leather dress layered with red cloth to specifically mark her as piece of property so well-born nobles know not mingle with the 'lower class'. Despite this, all the men of Stormdale, noble, peasant and beheld her with a look of lechery. Who could blame them, the leathers hugged her torso like a corset, showing off her hourglass physique. Cleavage was not left to the imagination, the top of her breasts where always exposed and always caught the lustful gaze of men. The tight dress was so low-cut that bending over would expose her bare ass to any onlooker. The dress was a mark of shame, a constant reminder that her life had less value than those around her. The final shame was a tattoo that is branded on the upper arm of all slaves. A red trio of loops. "The Sigil." A permanent form of evidence that shows you where once a , even if one was to escape their leathers.

Finally after a long time the stains lifted from the sheets and flowed down the river. Alicia picked up the sheets and them into a straw basket so they where easy to carry. She begun her journey through the quaint village to her masters home. Arnol Botley owned her. He was young for a lord, only 32 years of age. His father had died several years ago leaving him as the true heir, inheriting all of his lands and titles. Unlike his father, a dutiful man of honour, Arnol drank, gambled and purchased countless amounts of whores. Although he had never touched Alicia, she was a woman now, 18 years of age, and his property. Alicia felt it was only a matter of time until she would be to forsake her virginity and lay with the man. After her trek through the villages wooden huts and cobblestone paths, she reached her destination.

The house was considerably larger than any other in the village. Most of the huts only had one room, some of the wealthier homes had two rooms. Arnol's house however had seven spacious rooms. She opened the door and just as she did two women ran out giggling. Completely naked except a linen towel clutched to them just covering their breasts and vaginas. As they ran Alicia saw their asses jiggling with each stride. They must of both been a similar age to Alicia yet they where both at least a head taller. She opened the door and the smell of whisky hit her first, it peregrinated across the whole building and Alicia knew Arnol must be blind drunk. The second smell to hit her was cum. A new stain on the floor. She sighed. She made her masters bed and then went to the well outside, she heaved up a bucket of fresh water. She then went to the linen closet and retrieved a clot

On her hands and knees she got to work, scrubbing the stains from the sheepskin rug and wooden floorboards.

"Alicia!" Arnol drunkenly shouts through a wall, "is that you?"

"Yes Master" Alicia replies meekly. His response is so slurred that Alicia struggles to comprehend what his saying but manages to make out a few parts. 'more whisky' and 'whore house'. She once again says "yes master". She opens the front door once again. The house stands on the highest hill of Stormdale. Alicia takes in the view for a moment. Storm clouds approach in the distance over the vast meadow hills. The towns garrison usually only has ten men on patrol at anytime, however Alicia noticed the entire Garrison of fifty men wandering through the streets. They where dressed in an armour of chain-mail and boiled leather and each held a steel short sword in one hand and a wooden shield with a rain-cloud embroiled on it (the crest of Stormdale) . They must be doing a training drill Alicia thought to herself.

It was getting dark now, most people had retired to their homes for the night. Alicia felt eyes on her, looks filled with carnal desire. Men licked their lips and took in the sight of her shapely body. when she reached the whorehouse she felt as nervous as she usually did. The whore house was also the towns pub, it was just as easy to purchase a cask of rum as it was to find a hooker to share a bed with. Even from the outside the tavern reeked of . Screams could be heard inside, some of men fighting, some of women being fucked.