Promises

WARNING!: Rape (later), minor, sex (later), blood, pain, graphic, and generally sick things (yes, later((ish)).)

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A man, cloaked by the darkness and a tattered manteau, entered through the front of the bar. He sat down on a chair on a raised platform, seating himself, but not taking off his cloak, he didn’t want them to know who he was.

“Hey, look! A tale! Let’s gather, let’s gather!” A drunk called, sitting on a barstool and ignoring all the clatters as men and few women raced to get a good seat.

“What tale this time, sir? Are you here for another free drink for it? It had better be good.” The bartender called, wiping a glass.

“It is a tale, of a young girl and a man, and their long tale. Get comfortable, it’s a long one.” He said, leaning forward.

“Long ago…”

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In the black of night, the moon hiding itself within the cloak of cloud…a dark warehouse on the edge of a dock, abandoned decades ago, was once again alive with voices and people…however; they were not normal people…they were criminals.

“Please! No more!!” A young girl cried out, her voice full of fear, and heavily laced with
pain, “Please, I can’t take it anymore! Please!”

“Katrina,” An old, weathered man whispered in her ear, “let us touch you longer…it’s so fun!” He giggled, biting her earlobe hard.

“Come on, Hank, she’s had enough…this is the third week in a row!” A scrawny, greasy middle-aged man sighed.

“Oh, fine…” The older man replied, throwing her into a dark, dirty corner. “Hey guys, should we give her a break tomorrow?”

“No!” Rang out a rather large throng of voices.

“Of course not! Now, for tonight we’ll let her sleep.” The greasy man replied.

Laughter and clanks of mugs rang through the warehouse, unheeded by the young girl, crying herself to sleep in her corner.

On the floor next to her, was a tattered and dirty female archer’s uniform, which she hadn’t worn in…how long..? As long as her distressed mind could remember.

How did she get caught up in a mess like this? That question, will take some time. But; seeing as she was laying on the damp ground by the wall, speaking quietly to a few seabirds, I can explain.

You see, Katrina was, in fact, not a slave. Well, she wasn’t. She was born in a proud family of archers and hunters, but, secretly, they were a million zenny in debt. The only thing they had, however, they were willing to part with, was their twelve year old daughter. So; they sold her to the rich Romano family of Alberta as a slave girl. However bad they treated her, it was never sexually…

Until she ran away. That was three weeks ago, at that moment. She ran into an escaped convict from the Royal Pronteran Prison, who took her with him, and raped her. Then, he took her to his friends, and then, the rest, is pure rape and drinking.

I apologize for my rambling, I see the seabirds left after she gave them her scraps of food.

Crying pitifully, and hiccupping lightly, Katrina slowly fell into the realm of unconsciousness, from exhaustion, starvation; and pain.

But before that…she knew, that no one would ever help her. Why? Because she was a runaway slave, and they are worth nothing.

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However, she was wrong. For one of the seabirds…was not what it seemed to be.

Flying at impossible speeds, the bird hurled itself across the top of the water, dangerously close to the surface.

After about an hour, the bird was surrounding by ocean. Immediately it slammed into the water, and kept going, flapping as if in air. Suddenly it changed to the guise of a Phoenix, the air glistening with gold.

Swooping in, it stopped and landing on the outstretched arm of a stone statue, the features weathered, but barely recognizable of a lord knight. It clicked it’s beak against the statues ear, and changed into a shark, swimming away.

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“Hey, slut!” A voice called, waking her from the realm of calm.

“SLUT!” She felt a boot hit her side, and screamed against a hand.

The old man walked away, grinning that he woke her. He was very sadistic.

She quietly sat up, and leaned against the damp wall…however; she fell over, not from exhaustion or anything else, but the dock was….rocking?

She wildly looked around, only to find herself in a dank, and dirty cellar. A porthole behind her told her they were on a boat, traveling to who knows where.

She lay against the side, staring off into space.

‘Why me?’ She thought, fresh tears leaving streaks in the dirt, ‘why did I have to run away?’

Leaving her to her thoughts, I would like to tell you, that this tale is not one of pure sex, it is to tell you of how one girl, changed the lives of millions…however, it is also laced with sex, along the way, to entertain you gentlemen.

She must have dozed off.

The boat was violently being thrown about, in one of the largest storms ever, rivaling that of the battle between the Gods.

Woken by the first thunderclap, the girl screamed as she was thrown across the room.

A man ran down and grabbed her by the arm. He pulled her up the stairs and into the rain, dragging her across the deck.

Everything froze for a split second.

‘Wait…did the moon just….crack?’ She was torn from her thoughts by a yank.

“This isn’t the greatest time, Hank!” The greasy man called, steering the defiant boat.

“I want to have sex, NOW!” He yelled back, quickly grabbing her throat, and clutching the collar of her uniform, which they had to put on her, to get onto the ship.

Just then, he stopped. Or rather, froze, and slumped on top of her.

“Hank? You okay?” The man said, before signaling to one of the men to check on him.

“Hey, you o--“ He stopped dead, as he looked into the eyes of a monster. Glowing red eyes, and darkness underneath the helm.

Cut in two vertically, the separate sides of him flopped to the deck. Immediately, the convict crew grabbed their weapons, prepared to fight off this thing.

However, in the blink of an eye, they were all collapsing to the floor, breathless.

Why, you might ask?? Because this creature, was the statue at the bottom of the ocean…who, was the lost First King, Tristan the First, and known as the first lord knight. He had been cursed by jealous gods, his powers created the kingdom of Rune Midgard. ((AN: Or however you spell it))

Turning slowly, looking over his shoulder, he stared directly at the girl, cowering against the rails of the deck.

Illuminated suddenly by a cracked blood red moon, the light striking directly at him, and a green gold aura flowing in whisps off of him, she saw him.

Heavily worn and cracked armor, yet still recognizable as a lord knight’s. In his hand, he held a long and thick sword, a Zweilhander…one of the three swords created and given by the world’s most powerful leaders…In the far west, Jonathan…or, known as the Doppelganger in myths, In the north, Wilson, or known as the Dark Lord today, and Tristan, the man standing before her.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he walked to her, his boots making a dull thud, as the storm died.

A foot away from her, with his free hand, he took off his helm.

Long brown hair flowed to mid-chest, his bangs covering his eyes.

“My lady, are you alright?” A deep, melodic voice soothed her soul, as she stopped crying and looked at him. Feral green eyes, instead of red, lightly glowed in the pale light of the now normal full moon, and his skin was ever so lightly tanned.

“My lady, how old are you?”

“F-fifteen, my Lord.” She stuttered, awed by his aura.

Frightened horridly by his sudden look of outrage, she cowered again.

“It’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you…please, come with me, to my kingdom under the sea. It is my home, for my people have forgotten me.” He extended a hand, smiling warmly.

She looked up at him, as the sun finally rose from it’s slumber, at his warm smile.

She trusted him with her life.