Personal Releases of Tension (Closed. Mature.)

(( CLOSED AND HIGHLY MATURE CONTENT. ))

Concordia Forest. Midnight.

By torchlight she walked, by hoof she strode, a fair lady amongst the tall, green trees. Softly her hooves traipsed over moss and leaf, eyes gently weaving to and fro across the landscape. She felt safe, lost in the world of which she knew well. Though far she was from the secret path that led to the cliff of her fortress, Philomel van der Aart was in the forest that she had called home for so very long. It was here, after all, that at the age of fifteen, almost twenty years ago now, that she had met a young fox-formed earth-spirit called Veridian. They had come to share a bond that was stronger than any brother, mother or lover, with a shared appreciation for life and even more likely twin souls. Somewhere, out in this nearby vacinity, was that very ash tree that Philomel regarded as holy, where she had met Veridian and where she had come each time of significance in her life.

Last time was to commemorate the welcoming of her daughter into her life once more. The time before that was the death of her mother. Now, Philomel was walking alone and quiet, a smile on her lips, for two things. One, to thank her goddess, Drys, for awakening the intelligence within the dragon Delath, and the other for the longer overdue dedication of the rabbit prince Mao's soul.

Before her, as a beacon of hope, she held up the lantern. She trod the practised path with firm hooves, knowing that they would not let her down under any circumstances. Her mind was not searching between the trees and ground, but rather she kept her concentration to the words she was certain she was going to say - both to the bodiless spirits she was sure who listened to her prayers and to Drys. Dressed in a short, simple gown of gossamer, she strode as she was, rarely decently covered and with purpose. Only her trusted sword, Nameless, was strapped to her back, for that was all she needed.

So went the theory.

So had the vast majority of other times that she had been here.

Alas. Not today. Instead ancient enemies and the demons that she had awoken before within hearts had arisen. One man, intent on both revenge and harm, had come to the place he had spent nearly a whole month tracking and finding information about. With just a small handful of those who had remained his friends and dedicated servants, he had finally hatched his plan, and had been lying in wait for nearly a full week. Planning. Plotting. With knowledge on their side and enough resources to conquer, they were definitely prepared.

"NOW!" came the cry.

And Philomel had very little time to react. Five men were there, suddenly. Two swung down from trees, having been following her up there silently for more than half a mile now, and two more sprung from brush cover - literally no more than a metre away. One last one slid from behind a tree and ran at her with a massive club.

The Matriarch gasped, instantly dropping her lantern and lifting a hand to grab the hilt of her sword. Her wrist was grabbed by one of the ones from the underbrush - dressed, as she saw, like the others, in dark mottled grey clothing - but she screeched at him and kicked him away with a good hoof to balls. The second underbrush dodged at her with a wicked-looking jagged dagger, but as she was, she was fast. Her blade came down and met his with a clash as she spied the one running up to her from behind, out of the corner of her eye. At the same time the two swinging down from the trees were drawing blades. She hissed and ducked down, aiming to avoid the club. As she did she slammed her hoof once more down on the ground and -

A shudder ran through the world. Rock-shattering earthquake spasmed out through the ground in a ten foot radius, angled from her foot as the cynosure and ompahlos. The two looming at her, and he she had already collapsed to the ground were thrown backwards as jarring tremours ran through their bones. Each one of them cried out in a variety of tones, and a sickening crack spoke of a breaking bone. Jeering, Philomel began to spin, glancing for where she had dropped her lantern, which should be still intact for its well-built quality, however -

She had forgotten the air. The two men flying at her from above had no connection to the ground. As she searched, they came down like great winged birds, and landed with soft "ommphhs!" on her. One was on her back, the other at her legs, and she was forced to start combat again, swirling, trying to reach behind her to where a dagger was pressing into her flesh. Her body started rapidly mutating, her gossamer dress ripping as she began to get hairer. Desperation as it was, she responded to the cries of the deeper instincts within her, even as pricking at her ankle began.

"DEATH!" she screeched.

Wumph!

And there it came. The sixth, previously unseen enemy. As she struggled with the treetop crusaders he appeared from the air itself, a pulsating blue orb in his hand. Barely did she she him, barely did she have time to react, before he stepped forwards and pressed a cold, sickly green stone to her chest. In she breathed, once, and the stone shimmered, before the green essence within disappeared along with her inhale. As if down a plughole it seemed to drain into her flesh, and drain it did.

Eyes wide, she gasped, her semi-goatish form falling away. Her eyes stared in horror at the single man she had never expected to see again, lit up by the ghostly moonlight and the bright firey flicker of her lantern - Hugin, once of Beinost, who had previously captured her once before and had his way with her. He was shaven now, but she still knew who he was. A wicked smile formed across his cheeks and he nodded to her as she felt all of her power, all her glory begin to suddenly drain out of her.

"Hello again," he hissed. "You remember me?"

Philomel gulped air as weakness began to overcome her. The weight of the man on her back was becoming too much somehow and she began to sag. Even the weight of her sword was difficult, and she felt the tip of it drop slowly.

"Marr, get off her," Hugin sighed, waving a hand, "Honestly, she is fine now. She has the poison, she cannot harm any of us."

Poison? Blinking fast, Philomel desperately tried to call for earth, spreading out her fingers. But the energy she was used to did not come - no familiar magic or power. Not one inch of dirt shimmered around her and now she was struggling to stand. Desperately she tried to call upon her dire form again, crunching her teeth together but there was little hope. Weight was relieved by the slipping of the figure off her back, and the pressure at her side, but now she was ... weakening more.

"Fffuuu-"

"I will have this, thank you," Hugin said, stepping forwards easily and plucking Nameless from her hand.

The white blade hung miserably in his hold, and the faun of fauns felt a lump as her insides cried out, 'That is mine!' Truly, they were beginning to twist and contort and she knew that soon she was going to fall if-

"Someone catch her," the once bearded man sighed.

And Marr came back to her, but now swinging her arm over his. Unwanting the contact she tried to squirm from him, but all of her decent energy was gone. Only enough to stay awake, to breathe and be aware was left. Not entirely what suited her. Marr supported her well, for he seemed to know exactly what she was going through. A faint trace of her wondered why, but then she mentally shook herself, recognising the far bigger predicament.

"You bah-bastard ..." she tried to say.

Hugin merely waved a hand and laughed, hefting the miserable Nameless onto his shoulder. He gestured and twisted around to begin heading deeper into the woods. Where it was darker. Struggling to stand she could barely fight against the movements of Marr as the subordinate began to walk after. Hissing harshly she refused to let her hooves move and began to career forwards before Marr grunted in her ear:

"You want me to carry you?"

"Dick-wad," she managed. And stumbled against him.

Another support came to her other side, and she was half beared by them as they took her after Hugin. Once more she attempted to summon earth, and even attempt another earthquake, but it was clear that the green stone had sapped not just her magic but also her internal strength. Once more she seemed to be back in this bastard's clutches, but this time there was no Sir Vitruvion Elssmith to recognise who she was and stop it before anything more terrible happened ...

"Where - Hollow?" she grumbled.

"Vitruvion, the bastard, through me out of there, for a series of reasons," Hugin ground his teeth. "Ones that do not concern you, bitch. It caused me to even lose favour with the business I invest in ... I have been reduced to near nothing. All I have resources, and with them I plan to get the joy that was denied to me before." He took a pause as Philomel tried to stop moving - then her hooves were kicked forwards for her from behind. "Well. First I plan to enjoy the sight of you just for a while. I will break you properly. Then I will keep you as my serving slave for as long as pleases me." He grinned. "You may think you cannot be broken, but I am the son of a horse master, I know what cannot be broken, and you are one of them."

Scowling deeply, Philomel tried to fight again, but instead she just sagged more. Hugin was silent for a moment, taking their time to walk, before he nodded. "You were the start of my downfall, and so you will be the beginning of my rise once more." He took a few steps, highlighted purely by the bright disk of the full moon. "Yes, you will be," he smiled at her broadly before moving - and ducking into a doorway hidden in the darkness.

A quick intake of breath and she was forced after, a groan coming from between her lips. She had to find a way out, and fast. Few knew where she was, but those who did - Veridian, Delath and Vaeron - knew she had taken days before to give her thanks at the ash tree. Therefore, it could be some time before anyone noticed and sent a search party. Blinking as light flooded an avenue she was reluctantly escorted down a shallowly descending, sloping corridor, made of mud bricks and mortar. Beams above held the ceiling high, and various lanterns were being thrown to life as Hugin went first.

Her hooves dragged as much as she could let them. She was taken down a sharp right corridor, past a few open doorways, and past a large iron gate. Her heart thumped as she realised that this was nothing more than an ancient dungeon.

A small essence of strength was beginning to return to her. Nothing magical, but she felt she could breathe easier. Uncertainly she pushed against Marr, and he stumbled for a moment, letting go of her. Weakly smiling her glory she made to go for the next one -

Slap. Across her face.

"Chain her, right now."

She screamed, loudly, at deaf ears. There was no one - no one in these woods nearby. Strong hands - certainly stronger than hers right now, bent down and grabbed onto her legs. As she tried to kick out eyes were rolled and she was literally hoisted into the air and ferried in through a doorway. She caught glimpses of clay walls, wooden supports and a tiled floor, before a rip was heard. She knew her dress was off, and then pop, her small bustier was away.

Naked and severely at a loss for getting away Philomel was heavily dropped to the floor. There was a moment's restbite, and she looked around with wild eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of possible escape before she was grabbed again. Someone siezed her shoulders as another darted forwards with some device. She gasped as cold metal touched her face, and then something harsh was forced over her tongue, between her teeth. Drys above, she had been here before and known what it was. A scold's bridle, made to keep gossiping mouths' closed for punishment. Lashing out she tried to use her horns to butt whoever it was but they were so very prepared. Clicks told her that the pressing metal was being locked in place behind her head, and they even had to pull to make it fit over her thick hair, so the bars pressed against her face.

At the same time cold fetters were place over her wrists and ankles. Savagely she tried to fight like a beast but there was too many hands. The green essence - Hugin had called it a 'poison' - was truly eating at her, and making her suffer. It could have made the strongest suffer. She felt her shame increase as her hope was shattered. A last pair of shackles was fitted around her knees - where a faun's legs go 'backwards' - and a thick metal collar was placed around her neck. Her hands - well they were forced away from each other by a great bar and then shackled to the ground. Her legs were similarly forced, with a bar between her ankles and another, shorter, between her knees. She knew what they were - spreader bars, a common implement for securing ones submissive sex slave, presenting them as ready. She was no stranger to this. She could feel the distance between her legs, parted for all the world to see, if they could see past her natural hairiness ...

Chains could be heard, securing her by the ankles and wrists to the floor. After a moment her stress gave in and she collapsed with her knees to the ground, but the rest of her body was forced to stay as it was. Spread and humilated, Philomel shook before letting out a last, muffled yell.

Hugin's manic voice laughed, he waved a hand and people stepped away. Leaving her there, in that position of controlled submission.

"I won't touch you," Hugin promised, "But I will break you."

And footsteps happened. Six pairs, followed by the creaking of hinges. Looking over, she saw several pairs of eyes gleaming at her through the bars of a cage door. Large smiles, a nod.

"See you later," they said.