Gone.


Completely.


Utterly and stupendously just ... gone.


Her magic. The thing that made her special, that counted her out from all other faunkind. That which was gifted by Drys, the goddess, herself, that made her feel alive and enabled all sorts of wonders to be made. Miracles. Rescues. Victories. Magnificent slayings ... That all just seemed the past. A useless and distant dream.


A nightmare.


And now, here she was without it. Without any power, at all.


She had been in similar situations before. A long time ago, two years now, she had been captured by the mighty pirate Tanglebeard, and he, along with two mages, had placed Philomel into a cage. It had been a cage constructed of a warding material and spell, that kept all magic of her kind in, and allowed no one without to be damaged. It had been a prison that she had eventually escaped from, along with those two mages, and then conquered along with the ship and part of the crew ...


But that was another time. Another place. Simply then her magic had been constrained to an area, to a point. To a part of existence. She could still perform it, just it had severe negative effects for her in the fact it could not go far. This time .... this time was different. This time it was completely ... gone.


She swallowed, slowly, now feeling more helpless than she ever had done. All her building up over the months of a steady increase of abilities and spells seemed all for naught. Her body shook, feeling the cold, feeling that horrible lack of connection to the earth because of this material, this place, this cave, this ... horror ... She felt empty. She felt meaningless. She felt far worse than that time when she had been attacked and threatened by her father.


Noises. And they weren't the haunting thrums of the chains that held her in place. They were footsteps, thudding into the room, opening a door set to the right and behind her, and heading straight for her. Heavy boots, probably hob-nailed, coming to stare at her and watch the meaningless wretch hanging there, feeling nothing but terror and fear - but not because of him. Because she didn't know why or what this meant now ...


A hand grabbed her by the chin and forced her head up. Green eyes. A messy beard. Scraggly scars and a woolen scarf. Lips curved up in a grin. She refused to look at him. Even though he may have reduced her to this in a matter of a single night, her heart still was true. She was still Philomel, even though she might not be the Matriarch anymore, and that meant her strength of heart was as tough as any cavalier, warrior or barbarian warlord.


Things went simple. His smile widened as he saw the ferocity behind her eyes, still there. He pulled her back a little, and all the bonds still held. Tight and abrasive they would not let her go. They gave no budge, not even an inch and caused painful stretching where she was forced to extend her legs just that bit further at the base and proved to her that there was no escape. Not at least for now. Even if she tried ... and she had tried already ... there was no hope. Not without a weapon or her magic, and here she was without either.


The ugly brute of a man dropped her and did the obvious thing. He began to shrug down his trousers. She saw his bulge before she felt it, saw it through the cloth of his trousers and then felt the flesh forcefully pressed against her cheek. She screwed her lips tight and refused to do anything. If he wanted pleasure he would have to get it himself, she was not going to amuse him ... not yet. Not just now. Not here.


Not here.


He pressed it against her lips, trying to slide it between them and into her mouth. But she reacted fast. Letting out a sharp hiss she opened her cavity up only to dart back with her teeth, meeting the attack with an attack. She caught the edge of meat, the smooth top of his member - to which the man howled.


He slapped her, hard, across the face, and took something from his pocket. As she dangled there, reeling, a fine red burn on her cheek and daze along with shock running through her, he revealed his hand. Eyes watched, half-aware as they spied a old cloth wrapped around something round, which was then shoved right into her mouth. Between her teeth, hard and strong. Far too large for not having been planned.


Only just gaining out of the stupor and now issuing a splutter of choking reflex against the gag Philomel tried to spit out the thing, but it was pressed in harder. The belt that was on the floor, thick and leather, was roughly picked up and flicked in a formation around her head.


Naturally, she tried to move, but she could not get far, and still she could not spit out the gag. The man was quick, he was hungry for lechery and he just grinned wider with his crooked teeth as he buckled the belt around the back of her head, across her cheeks and over her mouth. Keeping the gag in, compelling it to stay there. The buckle was pulled, hard, before he dropped his hands and began working on himself again, laughing now, jeering at her. Behind the muzzle she breathed hard, through her nose and just stared in utter hatred at him, trying to beg herself not to be turned on. Not to get pleasure from that simple act, not to be -