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Message-ID: <63521asstr$1441710603@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: RavensDrkGothic@aol.com
Full-name: RavensDrkGothic
Subject: {ASSM} Fantasy Nightmare 2
Lines: 228
Date: Tue, 08 Sep 2015 07:10:03 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Fantasy NIghtmare  (2)
 
    The morning came so quickly,  feeling the hand touching my bare toes, 
looking up at the sentry.   Unabashedly naked as is Alana, hearing that it is 
time to rise and set off for  the pass.  Reaching my hand between Alana's 
legs and massaging her lips.  Feeling her pushing my hand away.  "No more.  I 
will be sore all day  as it is."  Thinking on the times I was the driver 
and stood most of the  day in the chariot, after a hard long night of sex with 
a cock.  Feeling  sorry for her, for a moment, then enjoying that she will 
be tormented and sore  all day.  Not my first lover or second or third since 
I joined the warrior  ranks.  But Alana was my special lover.  Having 
developed a fondness  for her through five or is it six years of being paired 
together.
    The orderly ranks of chariots,  sped down the road, following the 
troops of elves.  Then following at a  much more leisurely pace the heavy knights 
(why would anyone send heavy knights  as part of a harassing force) and the 
lighter calvary.  How many times have  I shook my head already in disgust 
at the noise and smell and lack of discipline  of the human males.  Almost as 
if they are playing a game.  A game  that is for keeps if you should lose.
    A quick pace down the Queen's  Road, eating up mile after mile of 
ground.  The Queen's vassals a cloud in  the distance, till a messenger pulls up 
and instructs us to wait on the General  in Charge of this Vanguard.  Taking 
the time to rest the horses and  chariots as the distance cloud of dust 
draws closer and closer.  Finally a  disorderly column of men move down the 
road to take the lead position.   Elves being sent back with the Amazons to 
bring up the rear of this lackluster  army.  The rest of the afternoon and 
evening a party for the many unblooded  vassals and there troops.  The heavy 
knights, drinking and partying late  into the night.
    Walking to the elves camp and  conversing with the leader of them, a 
woman called Silvana.  Sharing a cup  of green tea, as we talk over the 
upcoming campaign.  The elves somewhat  familiar with the terrain being open plane 
and swamp on  either side of the  narrow pass.  The only place to contain 
and slow the Horde was there.   The land much too open to use hit and run 
tactics, and chariots really not of a  lot of value with so many foes.  
Returning to my encampment and talking to  the other Amazon Mistress of the 
Chariot, the one in charge of the two  troops.  Looking up and to the camp of the 
revelers.  The shrieks of  laughter, attesting to women amongst the men.  
Walking a short distance and  seeing two wayns that must have transported them 
to the camp.  Camp women  they definitely are, whores making money from the 
lust of the men, and then  picking over the valuables of the dead in the 
field.  This whole scenario  wrong.  The men not taking this seriously.  
Walking back to my tent  and settling in for the night.  Alana already asleep, the 
smell of a strong  astringent attesting to the face that she is sore.  
Pulling the blanket  over my naked body and turning to sleep cheek to cheek with 
 Alana.
    The morning a slow as we stand  ready, waiting the General and the 
knights to rise and lead us into the  garrison castle.  The light forest ending 
soon after we started and  opening into a vast plain, the distance walls of 
the mountains, showing a small  narrow pass with massive fortifications 
sitting across the road, linking with  mountains on either side.  Ahead pennants 
and banners flying wildly in the  light mild breeze.  A riot of color 
marking the main force of our  illustrious vanguard.  Outriders to the sides, the 
elves behind us,  their horses lean and sleek, like their riders.  Not like 
the heavy  warhorse of the knights.  The wagons of the whores left behind 
to catch up  at the garrison.  Splotches of red wine and puke along the  
roadway defining the fitness of our compatriots.   
    Allowing myself the enjoyment of  driving the chariot as Alana sits on 
the small seat.  My troop riding two  by two down the road, the other troop 
strung out ahead of us with a small break  between.  The dust from the road 
a minor nuisance as the dew of the morning  still keeping the dust down.  
The road now sloping down to the vast plain,  as the walls grow closer.  A 
swamp to the right of the road and a lush  field of wildflowers to the left.  A 
small stream cutting the length  of the plain with a large lake dammed on 
the left side.  Amazed at how the  dam could turn this plain and setting 
water into a hazard quickly.  As the  General in Charge and his Knights begin a 
gentle upward climb, the  main gates being winched open.  The flags of the 
Queen whipping wildly  above the massive gate house.  The loud blare of horns 
calling the approach  and answering.  An almost tourney atmosphere. 
    As we move down the slope,  watching the party in front group together 
and then cross over the small bridge  across the road, a glisten of water in 
the sunlight, the stream seeming to widen  noticeably.  Then widen again.  
The flume gates of the dam being  lifted high.  A welcoming force flowing 
out of the main gate, spreading to  the side in a continuous exodus.  Halting 
my chariots, knowing this is  wrong, totally wrong.  Having a signal blown 
to alert those below.   Getting the attention of the troop in front of me.  
The elves filing around  to the sides.  The army filing out of the garrison 
as diverse as the colors  of the Knights pennants.  Quickly the stream almost 
to the width of the  bridge, then widening.  The plain flooding with water. 
 The movement  of huge forms now Rock Trolls standing on the dam.
    Even with my old eyes, I could  see the fantasy army forming up.  Vast 
beyond belief. The General stopped  now, the horses milling in disarray, as 
they realize their mistake.  At the  sound of a horn, and the somber drum 
beat, the horde begins to move  forward.  Fanning out and spreading across the 
plain.  There is no way  to confront this Horde.  It is too vast, to  
unstoppable.      
    From canyons along side the  curving walls, come fleet waves of Dire 
Wolves and Centaurs.  A swarm  of goblins and orcs.  Encircling the small 
Vanguard, cutting off the  Knights and their retainers from the bridge and every 
growing stream.  The  flags of the Queens quickly pulled from the walls and 
replaced with the  Barbarian and their allies flags. 
    The milling knights, heading  back to the bridge and stream, as the 
fortress catapults, pelt the riders with  the roundish projectiles of the heads 
of the garrison troops.  The morale  quickly declining, as the slimey heads 
ricochet off of the armor of the  warriors.  A controlled charge of the 
swarm, filling the plain in front of  the walls.  The pincher forces of 
centaurs and goblins all converging  towards the bridge and now swollen stream.
    Raven directing her fifty  chariots to face the quickly closing goblins 
and orcs in a double row.  The  second row staggered to fill the gaps 
between the first row.  The other  troop of chariots still heading back up the 
rise to form in a double line.   The regiment of elves, using their long bows 
to feather the still distant  centaurs.  The short bows of the amazons, now 
sending arrows into the  packed ranks of goblins and orcs.  Then with a 
simple hand signal, Raven  and her troop start down the rise, picking up speed 
rapidly.  The first  line with glittering scythe churning on each axle hub.  
The goblins  not even using their crossbows as they are running in a frenzy 
of the  mob.  Drivers arms straining as they control the war horses, the 
armour on  the steeds protecting them from the quarrels and spears thrusts.  
The line  of 25 chariots cutting through the goblins and orcs, the horde 
parting to escape  the dangerous blades on the wheels, but in doing so, they push 
their breathen  into the chariot alongside.  Blood and gore, flying into 
the air as the  speed of the blades, quickly dissect the goblins and orcs. The 
first line  moving to the back of the packed formation, then curling a left 
turn and cutting  the side of the formation.  The second line catching the 
goblins who moved  to escape the first wave.  The grassy plain perfect for 
the chariots.   Smooth, almost free of bumps and impediments.
    Finally the next formation of  goblins, firing their crossbows, the 
quarrels taking women from behind as they  are lightly protected from the rear. 
 The turn causing the chariots to lose  impedious.  Now spears and jagged 
swords are being thrust at the women and  horses.  The brave amongst the the 
horde, giving up their lives to be  trampled as they aim at the legs of the 
horses.  Raven spear in hand  jabbing at the  orcs as she passes by them.  A 
shield on right arm, as  Raven works her spear with her left, fighting off 
the enemy trying to climb into  the chariot and protecting her driver as 
best she can.  The crash of  chariots, attesting to the fact that women will be 
lost in this skirmish; but  the brunt of the oncoming charge has been 
turned for the moment.  The  second troop of chariots, now moving to clean up the 
first busted formation as  the goblins have stopped and are sending a swarm 
of quarrels into the air,  hoping to take the women in some unprotected 
part.
    Grunting in pain as a quarrel  buzzes past, slicing the soft flesh of 
her neck, cutting locks of hair and  leaving a line of red, slowly welling 
into blood that slides down to her left  shoulder.  So close that shot.  The 
"thunk" of another quarrel in the  center of her back, bouncing off the 
silver and leather armour.  Another  the tip, digging into the armour and 
dimpling the skin in on her left side  again.  Reaching down and breaking off the 
haft, the head still attached to  her armour.  Shielding Alana's back with my 
body as we whirl around and I  direct her to head up the rise again, 
reforming in two lines, the lines shorter  now.  The elves have taken a toll from 
the ranks of the closing centaurs,  but now the centaurs bows are finding 
marks in the elves ranks.  Distaining  armour, the elves are easy pickings to 
an archer able to set and take aim.  
    A quick survey and the second  troop of chariots are holding the 
goblins back.  The centaurs are closing  rapidly on the bridge and escape for the 
Knights and their retainers.  The  massed force from the garrison, a long 
wave of men and Minotaurs holding the  center.  Archers taking down men and 
horse as the General and his dwindling  army flee to the bridge.  Quickly 
forming the chariots to attack the  centaurs and try to give time to the 
remaining men to cross the swollen  stream.  The water on both sides of the bridge 
ramps. The plain and swamp,  turning into a soft morass.
    Finally with a hand signal the  lines of chariots again charge down the 
slope.  Closing quickly as centaurs  turn to meet the lines.  A combination 
of the horse centaurs and pony  centaurs facing forward.  Standing firmly 
to meet the cutting edges of the  chariots.  Others moving to the sides to 
envelop the shrinking lines.   Chariots from the second line peeling to the 
sides to attempt to counter this  move.  No back up troop to handle this 
problem.  The centaurs much  better archers then the goblins.  The arrows 
thudding into chariot and  horse and woman.  Hearing one chariot slamming into 
another on my  right. 
    An arrow arcing biting into the  tender flesh of my right inner thigh 
and then thudding into the floor.   Staggering in the chariot as the pain and 
surprise weaken my leg for a  moment.  Breaking the arrow shaft and freeing 
my leg.  Feeling the  flow of blood from the flesh wound.  The chariot now 
too close to take  arrow fire, as the centaurs part from the onrushing 
horses.  Some trying to  time the jump over the flashing blades, others pulling 
to the side, hoping to  find the gap between the two wheeled wagons.  Spears 
being thrust forward  as the chariots pass by.  The honed spear heads 
digging at the toughened  leather.  Small cuts and slices in the skin and flesh.  
Minor wounds,  sapping strength and energy from each woman.  The centaur 
that escaped past  the chariots, now turning and chasing the vehicles.  
Shooting at the women  from behind as they passed.  Again and again, the centaurs 
with their heavy  spears, thrusting at the backs of the women.  Fighting them 
off; but slowly  one after another slain, injured, knocked from the safety 
of the chariot.   The small troop now surrounded, by the centaurs.  Raven 
lifting her bugle  and blowing a quick signal for the remaining chariots to 
break off and head for  safety.  Looking around.  Tears in her eyes as she 
sees broken  chariots strewn over the field.  So few remaining, often with just 
one  woman.  
    The welcoming sound of the other  troop now driving into the centaurs, 
giving Raven and her women a chance to  escape.  Breaking through the 
centaurs, the ring thin now, and feeling  blows to her body from the spears and 
arrows.  Then a flash of red and  feeling herself falling.  The dull pain as 
her head was banged to the side  with the haft of a spear.  Leg already 
weakened and not able to  brace.  Slipping to the floor of the chariot.  Seeing 
the grimy legs  of Alana, whipping her team of horses.  Then feeling my eyes 
close.   My mind registering each wound and bruise on my weary body.  
Listlessly  feeling myself falling as I pass into unconsciousness.
--------------------------------------------
    The battle over now, as the  remaining elves and chariots flee back up 
the road to the Queen's castle.   A small band of Knight's and retainers 
joining them.  The Vanguard  crushed.  The calvary of the Barbarian Horde, not 
present this day.  A  godsend for the few survivors.  The centaurs, not able 
to continue the  chase, as their numbers were heavily destroyed.  The force 
of over 5000,  limping back.  A total of 26 chariots and 41 women returning 
 out of 200.  Of the 310 elven men and women, 146 remain to return.   And 
of the 4400 Knights and retainers, fewer then 200 in the small  surviving 
force.  Many of the survivors badly wounded.   A few of the Dire Wolves keeping 
pace with the small group.   Waiting for someone to fall behind, a horse to 
stagger.
    The men racing stupidly on their  horses.  Winding them, killing them 
with the pace of their  retreat.  Many throwing away their armour and 
anything to lighten the load  of the horses.  No real leader in their ranks.  The 
Mistress of  Chariots of the Amazons taking charge.  Elves as outriders, 
keeping the  Wolves at Bay.  A small band working as a rear guard, to keep track 
of any  pursuit.  And a party of three elves riding ahead with spare horses 
to  bring news to the Queen. Some order returning to the small force. 
Picking up the  front running stragglers and pulling them back into the band.  
Wounded  riding the chariots.  A driver and a combination of elves and amazons 
and  men, laying on the floors.  Alana, guiding her chariot and 
occasionally  looking down on the woman on the floor.  Checking to see if she is still  
breathing, trying to miss the ruts, to ease the suffering.  And elven  
healer working his way from chariot to chariot, administering to the  wounded.  
How many will survive this ride only the gods know.   Hopefully none 
survived that were left on the field.
 
   
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