[M4F] The Heathen Conqueror

The ramparts were sundered, the carcasses of the defenders strewn across the breach, and smoke, as black and charred as their hopes, belched upwards from the city within.

Anguished cries of the defeated were stifled by the triumphant roar of his soldiers, pouring through the decimated wall like the ocean's deluge. Their grovels for mercy were ceased by blades thrusted into bellies, mauls that concaved pleading faces inwards, or ignored, left to wetly gurgle on their spilt blood, tears, and agony, until death finally relieved them of their mortal yoke. Denizens from the city, screaming, turned and fled, aimlessly searching for salvation that was not there, or intervention from a God that had since grown uncaring, absent, and gone.

The King strode through the breach in the wall. His brutally wrought crown glittered in the sunlight, flashing like jagged spires; the pelt of a bear, its eyes studded with bloody gems, draped heavy upon his broad shoulders, in death a monstrous beast that only revealed the nature of the man who donned it. His muscled chest was bare, littered with innumerable scars of those who sought to vanquish him, but could not, and his sinewy arms graven with symbols and foreign lettering. The barbarian's face was pale and fair, unblemished by war, but only marred by a thin and pale cut that stretched from his jaw to eye-- and perhaps noble, if not for the viscera that splattered his cheek, and crude hides and furs he still wore.

Heathen is what he was decried as, yet it was by his hands which had instrumented the Kingdoms fall. And as his cold eyes, like flecks of ice, surveyed the lavish streets before him, his long mat of blonde hair stirring in the acrid, burning air, it was evident that this once great land had rued its price for deeming him nothing but low and pagan.

And as he held the decapitated head of their King aloft, a great, bone-deep wail, reverberated across the City, shaking the marrow of the world itself.

Yet the King's eyes wandered to the castle atop it's hill, and its prize that awaited him. Carelessly discarding the head, he pushed onwards.

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Hello,

Thank you for deciding to read! I'm looking to RP a scenario where a heathen/'barbarian' conqueror invades and claims your character as their prize. It could entail the Queen, the Princess, Priestess, a beloved knight, or anything you imagine could stem from this broad context. Please feel free to further characterize the culture or any additional details to your character, perhaps even a different race, as I hope the writing is analogous enough to compliment anything.

Literacy and detail is a must. Please do not be offended if I deem that your writing is below that. As the premise suggests, CNC will likely play a facet in this, but could certainly evolve past that; I am not adverse to anything, notwithstanding extreme fetishes.

DM me with a sample or small chat and we can discuss continuing over PMs or discord. Thank you!