• Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.

The Forgotten Queen

Go to CruxDreams.com

mp5stab

Hair and Nails
Despair was in the air. After failing to defeat the evil armies that have invaded the land the remaining force as well all of the peasants they could find had to flee into his citadel that was then besieged by the hordes. Standing on the ramparts, the young and fair queen grew troubled. A great host approached perhaps a thousand or more men, ready to surge over her beautiful kingdom once this city was toppled. She was trapped. The beautiful queen saw crosses being built instead of catapults or ballistas and that troubled her greatly. What cruelty, what horrific sadism could spawn such things? She had seen an execution on one of them before. She took her leave before she showed how much it made her ill. It terrified her, and yet.. She still found a trembling in her loins, perhaps just fear. But better not to think about that now.

She then watched in horror as one of the field girls who did not make it behind the walls was nailed, screaming, to one of those crosses as she tried to slip past the forces that surrounded the city.

The queen was moved by her compassion for the suffering of the girl that she immediately set out to grant her mercy, through rescue, or failing that, some other way. The queen’s handmaiden loudly insisted that this would be reckless and that it would be suicide, and that the king had ordered everyone to stay within the walls. The queen relents, agreeing that such an act would be foolish, but in the corner of her eye she is still transfixed in the agony of the poor girl.

In the cover of night, a hooded figure made its descent down a culvert in the inner sanctum of the citadel and into a sewer tunnel that flowed beneath the walls and out to a river behind enemy lines. Long ago abandoned, in times since forgotten, due to a cholera outbreak, the tunnel was not known to anyone save for a few key people.

The hooded figure was, of course the queen, and she slipped through the enemy camp as they slumbered or stood idle watch in a drunken stupor. She stealthily slipped to the frontlines where she reached the field girl, who began to weep upon seeing her queen. The girl begged the queen to leave, to let her die so that the city could be safe, so that her sacrifice would not be for naught. But the queen could not, she had came to rescue this broken wretch, and she had it set in her mind to do it. She tried to pry the nails out of the girls wrists, but they were firmly lodged and the girl’s involuntary scream doomed them both. As the guards were roused from their sleep they saw this cloaked figure and know that the trap has been well and fully sprung. The girl begged the queen to kill her, to end her suffering, and then to kill herself.

But she could not.

In a moment of weakness, she froze, as the fear seized her heart before the men even had laid hands on her. She was set upon by the merciless horde who beat her down and stripped her clothing. The field girl wailed a great lamentation, not from pain, but from an abject hopelessness as she watched helplessly as her queen was beset by thugs.

The queen was brought before the warlord of the besieging army as a trophy. The soldiers eagerly waited for his order to put the queen on the cross, but the warlord was far too canny for that. “How did you arrive here, woman?” he asks the kneeling figure before him, “hmmm? The city walls are watched from every angle, the great gate is shut and barred. Tell me how you arrived here and I will spare your life and present you for ransom.”

The queen does not respond.

“Very well,” the warlord showed no emotion. “You will have plenty of time to regret your rudeness. Torture her till dawn.”

Her gown was violently torn off, then her bodice, and undergarments, and even stockings. They set about to her complete nudity with vigor and gusto. The pins were removed from her hair, and it cascaded down her back to her tailbone like a thick indigo waterfall. Her earrings, her rings, and necklace were spirited away as treasures.

The queen was subjected to all manner of torture, beating, and rape. She was flogged, hung strappado, beaten with switches, locked in stocks and sodomized, and finally sat on a wooden horse. But she confessed nothing. As the sun rose, the warlord unfolded the flap of his tent to greet the naked queen, and to ask her again how she had arrived at his camp. Yet again she did not respond.

“Very well,” the warlord said again with no emotion, “perhaps she can tell me what you will not?” He pulled a naked woman out of his tent by her hair. She is covered in bruises, no doubt from his treatment. It was the queen's handmaiden. “She followed you here. Like a little puppy. Brave girl, but she failed, didn’t she? She didn’t protect you. We don’t tolerate such failure here. Bring a cross.”

The queen begins to sob. “Now,” The warlord continued, “perhaps you will tell me how you arrived unseen at my camp, and I will spare your friend.”

The soldiers quickly roped the defeated handmaiden to the beams and distributed nails. “On my mark.” The warlord raised his hand.

“Three… two…”

“WAIT!” The queen thrashed on her torture-horse. Her face bore an expression of great distress. She could not bear to see a woman tortured.

“You have five more seconds.” The warlord opened out his palm to stay the nailing. He then folded his thumb back into his palm. “Four.”

The queen gritted her teeth. She had totally failed.“There is a sewer… that runs underneath the wall. There is a hidden entrance from the river. Please, spare her life.”

“Very well,” the warlord said finally, without emotion. “Trade their places, and put this traitorous queen on the cross instead.” He gently kissed the forehead of the handmaiden. “She will make a lovely slave.”

The broken bodies of the two women were swapped with much effort on the part of the guards. They had both failed. The handmaiden had failed to protect her queen, and the queen had failed to protect her keep and country. The women did not resist, either from fatigue or dissociation. The soldiers did not hesitate to secure the queen to her new throne, and pounded cruel wrought-iron square nails through her wrists and feet with great speed and violence. The queen arched her back in agony and twisted fruitlessly on her death tree. Her cross was roped behind a mule and she was dragged back to the frontlines where the field girl still suffered.

As the guards on the walls saw their queen being raised on one of the crosses they began a great roaring cry of defeat. The king was called to the walls, and upon seeing the cruelly crucified body of his wife, naked and in agony, his heart could not take the shock and burst asunder, and he fell over, dead. The queen could only watch helplessly, fixed to the wood as he fell limp. The forces in the citadel were thrown into disarray upon his death, and before a second in command could be established, enemy soldiers began pouring out of the inside of the sanctum.

The battle was short, brutal and decisive. Overwhelming the beleaguered and starving city guards with an offensive from within the walls, the whole city was thrown into chaos. The great city gate was opened during the melee and an even greater mob of soldiers charged in, trapping the scattered and routed forces of the toppled king between the outer and inner walls, where they were slaughtered to the last man.

The women and girls of the city were paraded out naked and in chains. Those that did not submit during the parade were tied to cross beams along with their whole family. The defeated and humiliated queen could not bear to see such a complete defeat of her people and wept hysterically. Her cries were soon joined in chorus by other women who had either remained loyal or simply not submitted to slavery. Hundreds of slave women were paraded past the queen, and her court of crucified women, they spit on her, blamed her for this crushing defeat, and called her a witch-queen. In seeking to end one female pesant’s pain she had caused the torture and submission of her people, guaranteeing decades of female pain.

The queen died in agony after three days and two nights of suffering on the cross. By then the camps of the warlord had moved on to another city-state and the smoldering ruin of her castle had begun to crumble, destined to be forgotten by history.
 
Despair was in the air. After failing to defeat the evil armies that have invaded the land the remaining force as well all of the peasants they could find had to flee into his citadel that was then besieged by the hordes. Standing on the ramparts, the young and fair queen grew troubled. A great host approached perhaps a thousand or more men, ready to surge over her beautiful kingdom once this city was toppled. She was trapped. The beautiful queen saw crosses being built instead of catapults or ballistas and that troubled her greatly. What cruelty, what horrific sadism could spawn such things? She had seen an execution on one of them before. She took her leave before she showed how much it made her ill. It terrified her, and yet.. She still found a trembling in her loins, perhaps just fear. But better not to think about that now.

She then watched in horror as one of the field girls who did not make it behind the walls was nailed, screaming, to one of those crosses as she tried to slip past the forces that surrounded the city.

The queen was moved by her compassion for the suffering of the girl that she immediately set out to grant her mercy, through rescue, or failing that, some other way. The queen’s handmaiden loudly insisted that this would be reckless and that it would be suicide, and that the king had ordered everyone to stay within the walls. The queen relents, agreeing that such an act would be foolish, but in the corner of her eye she is still transfixed in the agony of the poor girl.

In the cover of night, a hooded figure made its descent down a culvert in the inner sanctum of the citadel and into a sewer tunnel that flowed beneath the walls and out to a river behind enemy lines. Long ago abandoned, in times since forgotten, due to a cholera outbreak, the tunnel was not known to anyone save for a few key people.

The hooded figure was, of course the queen, and she slipped through the enemy camp as they slumbered or stood idle watch in a drunken stupor. She stealthily slipped to the frontlines where she reached the field girl, who began to weep upon seeing her queen. The girl begged the queen to leave, to let her die so that the city could be safe, so that her sacrifice would not be for naught. But the queen could not, she had came to rescue this broken wretch, and she had it set in her mind to do it. She tried to pry the nails out of the girls wrists, but they were firmly lodged and the girl’s involuntary scream doomed them both. As the guards were roused from their sleep they saw this cloaked figure and know that the trap has been well and fully sprung. The girl begged the queen to kill her, to end her suffering, and then to kill herself.

But she could not.

In a moment of weakness, she froze, as the fear seized her heart before the men even had laid hands on her. She was set upon by the merciless horde who beat her down and stripped her clothing. The field girl wailed a great lamentation, not from pain, but from an abject hopelessness as she watched helplessly as her queen was beset by thugs.

The queen was brought before the warlord of the besieging army as a trophy. The soldiers eagerly waited for his order to put the queen on the cross, but the warlord was far too canny for that. “How did you arrive here, woman?” he asks the kneeling figure before him, “hmmm? The city walls are watched from every angle, the great gate is shut and barred. Tell me how you arrived here and I will spare your life and present you for ransom.”

The queen does not respond.

“Very well,” the warlord showed no emotion. “You will have plenty of time to regret your rudeness. Torture her till dawn.”

Her gown was violently torn off, then her bodice, and undergarments, and even stockings. They set about to her complete nudity with vigor and gusto. The pins were removed from her hair, and it cascaded down her back to her tailbone like a thick indigo waterfall. Her earrings, her rings, and necklace were spirited away as treasures.

The queen was subjected to all manner of torture, beating, and rape. She was flogged, hung strappado, beaten with switches, locked in stocks and sodomized, and finally sat on a wooden horse. But she confessed nothing. As the sun rose, the warlord unfolded the flap of his tent to greet the naked queen, and to ask her again how she had arrived at his camp. Yet again she did not respond.

“Very well,” the warlord said again with no emotion, “perhaps she can tell me what you will not?” He pulled a naked woman out of his tent by her hair. She is covered in bruises, no doubt from his treatment. It was the queen's handmaiden. “She followed you here. Like a little puppy. Brave girl, but she failed, didn’t she? She didn’t protect you. We don’t tolerate such failure here. Bring a cross.”

The queen begins to sob. “Now,” The warlord continued, “perhaps you will tell me how you arrived unseen at my camp, and I will spare your friend.”

The soldiers quickly roped the defeated handmaiden to the beams and distributed nails. “On my mark.” The warlord raised his hand.

“Three… two…”

“WAIT!” The queen thrashed on her torture-horse. Her face bore an expression of great distress. She could not bear to see a woman tortured.

“You have five more seconds.” The warlord opened out his palm to stay the nailing. He then folded his thumb back into his palm. “Four.”

The queen gritted her teeth. She had totally failed.“There is a sewer… that runs underneath the wall. There is a hidden entrance from the river. Please, spare her life.”

“Very well,” the warlord said finally, without emotion. “Trade their places, and put this traitorous queen on the cross instead.” He gently kissed the forehead of the handmaiden. “She will make a lovely slave.”

The broken bodies of the two women were swapped with much effort on the part of the guards. They had both failed. The handmaiden had failed to protect her queen, and the queen had failed to protect her keep and country. The women did not resist, either from fatigue or dissociation. The soldiers did not hesitate to secure the queen to her new throne, and pounded cruel wrought-iron square nails through her wrists and feet with great speed and violence. The queen arched her back in agony and twisted fruitlessly on her death tree. Her cross was roped behind a mule and she was dragged back to the frontlines where the field girl still suffered.

As the guards on the walls saw their queen being raised on one of the crosses they began a great roaring cry of defeat. The king was called to the walls, and upon seeing the cruelly crucified body of his wife, naked and in agony, his heart could not take the shock and burst asunder, and he fell over, dead. The queen could only watch helplessly, fixed to the wood as he fell limp. The forces in the citadel were thrown into disarray upon his death, and before a second in command could be established, enemy soldiers began pouring out of the inside of the sanctum.

The battle was short, brutal and decisive. Overwhelming the beleaguered and starving city guards with an offensive from within the walls, the whole city was thrown into chaos. The great city gate was opened during the melee and an even greater mob of soldiers charged in, trapping the scattered and routed forces of the toppled king between the outer and inner walls, where they were slaughtered to the last man.

The women and girls of the city were paraded out naked and in chains. Those that did not submit during the parade were tied to cross beams along with their whole family. The defeated and humiliated queen could not bear to see such a complete defeat of her people and wept hysterically. Her cries were soon joined in chorus by other women who had either remained loyal or simply not submitted to slavery. Hundreds of slave women were paraded past the queen, and her court of crucified women, they spit on her, blamed her for this crushing defeat, and called her a witch-queen. In seeking to end one female pesant’s pain she had caused the torture and submission of her people, guaranteeing decades of female pain.

The queen died in agony after three days and two nights of suffering on the cross. By then the camps of the warlord had moved on to another city-state and the smoldering ruin of her castle had begun to crumble, destined to be forgotten by history.
I loved this story Em, it really swept me away. Loved the utter uncompromising cruelty and the appalling suffering and humiliation (could have used a little more detail about the torture if I’m honest but ..I can supply that myself ) ..awesome Epic stuff!! :clapping:
 
The pins were removed from her hair, and it cascaded down her back to her tailbone like a thick indigo waterfall.

I knew a line like that one was coming sooner or later. ;)

Great story. Vivid scenes and riveting action. Love, honor and emotions. :goodjob:


Well done! :)
 
Despair was in the air. After failing to defeat the evil armies that have invaded the land the remaining force as well all of the peasants they could find had to flee into his citadel that was then besieged by the hordes. Standing on the ramparts, the young and fair queen grew troubled. A great host approached perhaps a thousand or more men, ready to surge over her beautiful kingdom once this city was toppled. She was trapped. The beautiful queen saw crosses being built instead of catapults or ballistas and that troubled her greatly. What cruelty, what horrific sadism could spawn such things? She had seen an execution on one of them before. She took her leave before she showed how much it made her ill. It terrified her, and yet.. She still found a trembling in her loins, perhaps just fear. But better not to think about that now.

She then watched in horror as one of the field girls who did not make it behind the walls was nailed, screaming, to one of those crosses as she tried to slip past the forces that surrounded the city.

The queen was moved by her compassion for the suffering of the girl that she immediately set out to grant her mercy, through rescue, or failing that, some other way. The queen’s handmaiden loudly insisted that this would be reckless and that it would be suicide, and that the king had ordered everyone to stay within the walls. The queen relents, agreeing that such an act would be foolish, but in the corner of her eye she is still transfixed in the agony of the poor girl.

In the cover of night, a hooded figure made its descent down a culvert in the inner sanctum of the citadel and into a sewer tunnel that flowed beneath the walls and out to a river behind enemy lines. Long ago abandoned, in times since forgotten, due to a cholera outbreak, the tunnel was not known to anyone save for a few key people.

The hooded figure was, of course the queen, and she slipped through the enemy camp as they slumbered or stood idle watch in a drunken stupor. She stealthily slipped to the frontlines where she reached the field girl, who began to weep upon seeing her queen. The girl begged the queen to leave, to let her die so that the city could be safe, so that her sacrifice would not be for naught. But the queen could not, she had came to rescue this broken wretch, and she had it set in her mind to do it. She tried to pry the nails out of the girls wrists, but they were firmly lodged and the girl’s involuntary scream doomed them both. As the guards were roused from their sleep they saw this cloaked figure and know that the trap has been well and fully sprung. The girl begged the queen to kill her, to end her suffering, and then to kill herself.

But she could not.

In a moment of weakness, she froze, as the fear seized her heart before the men even had laid hands on her. She was set upon by the merciless horde who beat her down and stripped her clothing. The field girl wailed a great lamentation, not from pain, but from an abject hopelessness as she watched helplessly as her queen was beset by thugs.

The queen was brought before the warlord of the besieging army as a trophy. The soldiers eagerly waited for his order to put the queen on the cross, but the warlord was far too canny for that. “How did you arrive here, woman?” he asks the kneeling figure before him, “hmmm? The city walls are watched from every angle, the great gate is shut and barred. Tell me how you arrived here and I will spare your life and present you for ransom.”

The queen does not respond.

“Very well,” the warlord showed no emotion. “You will have plenty of time to regret your rudeness. Torture her till dawn.”

Her gown was violently torn off, then her bodice, and undergarments, and even stockings. They set about to her complete nudity with vigor and gusto. The pins were removed from her hair, and it cascaded down her back to her tailbone like a thick indigo waterfall. Her earrings, her rings, and necklace were spirited away as treasures.

The queen was subjected to all manner of torture, beating, and rape. She was flogged, hung strappado, beaten with switches, locked in stocks and sodomized, and finally sat on a wooden horse. But she confessed nothing. As the sun rose, the warlord unfolded the flap of his tent to greet the naked queen, and to ask her again how she had arrived at his camp. Yet again she did not respond.

“Very well,” the warlord said again with no emotion, “perhaps she can tell me what you will not?” He pulled a naked woman out of his tent by her hair. She is covered in bruises, no doubt from his treatment. It was the queen's handmaiden. “She followed you here. Like a little puppy. Brave girl, but she failed, didn’t she? She didn’t protect you. We don’t tolerate such failure here. Bring a cross.”

The queen begins to sob. “Now,” The warlord continued, “perhaps you will tell me how you arrived unseen at my camp, and I will spare your friend.”

The soldiers quickly roped the defeated handmaiden to the beams and distributed nails. “On my mark.” The warlord raised his hand.

“Three… two…”

“WAIT!” The queen thrashed on her torture-horse. Her face bore an expression of great distress. She could not bear to see a woman tortured.

“You have five more seconds.” The warlord opened out his palm to stay the nailing. He then folded his thumb back into his palm. “Four.”

The queen gritted her teeth. She had totally failed.“There is a sewer… that runs underneath the wall. There is a hidden entrance from the river. Please, spare her life.”

“Very well,” the warlord said finally, without emotion. “Trade their places, and put this traitorous queen on the cross instead.” He gently kissed the forehead of the handmaiden. “She will make a lovely slave.”

The broken bodies of the two women were swapped with much effort on the part of the guards. They had both failed. The handmaiden had failed to protect her queen, and the queen had failed to protect her keep and country. The women did not resist, either from fatigue or dissociation. The soldiers did not hesitate to secure the queen to her new throne, and pounded cruel wrought-iron square nails through her wrists and feet with great speed and violence. The queen arched her back in agony and twisted fruitlessly on her death tree. Her cross was roped behind a mule and she was dragged back to the frontlines where the field girl still suffered.

As the guards on the walls saw their queen being raised on one of the crosses they began a great roaring cry of defeat. The king was called to the walls, and upon seeing the cruelly crucified body of his wife, naked and in agony, his heart could not take the shock and burst asunder, and he fell over, dead. The queen could only watch helplessly, fixed to the wood as he fell limp. The forces in the citadel were thrown into disarray upon his death, and before a second in command could be established, enemy soldiers began pouring out of the inside of the sanctum.

The battle was short, brutal and decisive. Overwhelming the beleaguered and starving city guards with an offensive from within the walls, the whole city was thrown into chaos. The great city gate was opened during the melee and an even greater mob of soldiers charged in, trapping the scattered and routed forces of the toppled king between the outer and inner walls, where they were slaughtered to the last man.

The women and girls of the city were paraded out naked and in chains. Those that did not submit during the parade were tied to cross beams along with their whole family. The defeated and humiliated queen could not bear to see such a complete defeat of her people and wept hysterically. Her cries were soon joined in chorus by other women who had either remained loyal or simply not submitted to slavery. Hundreds of slave women were paraded past the queen, and her court of crucified women, they spit on her, blamed her for this crushing defeat, and called her a witch-queen. In seeking to end one female pesant’s pain she had caused the torture and submission of her people, guaranteeing decades of female pain.

The queen died in agony after three days and two nights of suffering on the cross. By then the camps of the warlord had moved on to another city-state and the smoldering ruin of her castle had begun to crumble, destined to be forgotten by history.
That is a wonderful tale, and wonderfully told, too!

Great Manip by Madi!

I did do a manip of a siege crucifixion, myself

Siege Crucifixion.jpg
 
In seeking to end one female pesant’s pain she had caused the torture and submission of her people, guaranteeing decades of female pain.
Sometimes the best intentions just don't work out right. A heart-breaking tale, powerfully told.
Like Barb, I love the description of 'pins... removed from her hair, and it cascaded down her back to her tailbone like a thick indigo waterfall.' - Nice work, Em! :)
Peak Mp5stab would be a ponytail, let's be real.
Well yes, that too! :D
 
Excellent short story, I'm sure I have a suitable manip, but 1) Madi and Wragg have already illustrated the story; and 2) I can't seem to find it.

The Queen is a superb tragic heroine. The warlord is suitably (and realistically) cruel and wasteful. Doesn't want the kingdom - he just wants to destroy. The king was pathetic. Where was the valiant and gratuitously futile charge? No, he falls over dead.

Splendid!
 
Despair was in the air. After failing to defeat the evil armies that have invaded the land the remaining force as well all of the peasants they could find had to flee into his citadel that was then besieged by the hordes. Standing on the ramparts, the young and fair queen grew troubled. A great host approached perhaps a thousand or more men, ready to surge over her beautiful kingdom once this city was toppled. She was trapped. The beautiful queen saw crosses being built instead of catapults or ballistas and that troubled her greatly. What cruelty, what horrific sadism could spawn such things? She had seen an execution on one of them before. She took her leave before she showed how much it made her ill. It terrified her, and yet.. She still found a trembling in her loins, perhaps just fear. But better not to think about that now.

She then watched in horror as one of the field girls who did not make it behind the walls was nailed, screaming, to one of those crosses as she tried to slip past the forces that surrounded the city.

The queen was moved by her compassion for the suffering of the girl that she immediately set out to grant her mercy, through rescue, or failing that, some other way. The queen’s handmaiden loudly insisted that this would be reckless and that it would be suicide, and that the king had ordered everyone to stay within the walls. The queen relents, agreeing that such an act would be foolish, but in the corner of her eye she is still transfixed in the agony of the poor girl.

In the cover of night, a hooded figure made its descent down a culvert in the inner sanctum of the citadel and into a sewer tunnel that flowed beneath the walls and out to a river behind enemy lines. Long ago abandoned, in times since forgotten, due to a cholera outbreak, the tunnel was not known to anyone save for a few key people.

The hooded figure was, of course the queen, and she slipped through the enemy camp as they slumbered or stood idle watch in a drunken stupor. She stealthily slipped to the frontlines where she reached the field girl, who began to weep upon seeing her queen. The girl begged the queen to leave, to let her die so that the city could be safe, so that her sacrifice would not be for naught. But the queen could not, she had came to rescue this broken wretch, and she had it set in her mind to do it. She tried to pry the nails out of the girls wrists, but they were firmly lodged and the girl’s involuntary scream doomed them both. As the guards were roused from their sleep they saw this cloaked figure and know that the trap has been well and fully sprung. The girl begged the queen to kill her, to end her suffering, and then to kill herself.

But she could not.

In a moment of weakness, she froze, as the fear seized her heart before the men even had laid hands on her. She was set upon by the merciless horde who beat her down and stripped her clothing. The field girl wailed a great lamentation, not from pain, but from an abject hopelessness as she watched helplessly as her queen was beset by thugs.

The queen was brought before the warlord of the besieging army as a trophy. The soldiers eagerly waited for his order to put the queen on the cross, but the warlord was far too canny for that. “How did you arrive here, woman?” he asks the kneeling figure before him, “hmmm? The city walls are watched from every angle, the great gate is shut and barred. Tell me how you arrived here and I will spare your life and present you for ransom.”

The queen does not respond.

“Very well,” the warlord showed no emotion. “You will have plenty of time to regret your rudeness. Torture her till dawn.”

Her gown was violently torn off, then her bodice, and undergarments, and even stockings. They set about to her complete nudity with vigor and gusto. The pins were removed from her hair, and it cascaded down her back to her tailbone like a thick indigo waterfall. Her earrings, her rings, and necklace were spirited away as treasures.

The queen was subjected to all manner of torture, beating, and rape. She was flogged, hung strappado, beaten with switches, locked in stocks and sodomized, and finally sat on a wooden horse. But she confessed nothing. As the sun rose, the warlord unfolded the flap of his tent to greet the naked queen, and to ask her again how she had arrived at his camp. Yet again she did not respond.

“Very well,” the warlord said again with no emotion, “perhaps she can tell me what you will not?” He pulled a naked woman out of his tent by her hair. She is covered in bruises, no doubt from his treatment. It was the queen's handmaiden. “She followed you here. Like a little puppy. Brave girl, but she failed, didn’t she? She didn’t protect you. We don’t tolerate such failure here. Bring a cross.”

The queen begins to sob. “Now,” The warlord continued, “perhaps you will tell me how you arrived unseen at my camp, and I will spare your friend.”

The soldiers quickly roped the defeated handmaiden to the beams and distributed nails. “On my mark.” The warlord raised his hand.

“Three… two…”

“WAIT!” The queen thrashed on her torture-horse. Her face bore an expression of great distress. She could not bear to see a woman tortured.

“You have five more seconds.” The warlord opened out his palm to stay the nailing. He then folded his thumb back into his palm. “Four.”

The queen gritted her teeth. She had totally failed.“There is a sewer… that runs underneath the wall. There is a hidden entrance from the river. Please, spare her life.”

“Very well,” the warlord said finally, without emotion. “Trade their places, and put this traitorous queen on the cross instead.” He gently kissed the forehead of the handmaiden. “She will make a lovely slave.”

The broken bodies of the two women were swapped with much effort on the part of the guards. They had both failed. The handmaiden had failed to protect her queen, and the queen had failed to protect her keep and country. The women did not resist, either from fatigue or dissociation. The soldiers did not hesitate to secure the queen to her new throne, and pounded cruel wrought-iron square nails through her wrists and feet with great speed and violence. The queen arched her back in agony and twisted fruitlessly on her death tree. Her cross was roped behind a mule and she was dragged back to the frontlines where the field girl still suffered.

As the guards on the walls saw their queen being raised on one of the crosses they began a great roaring cry of defeat. The king was called to the walls, and upon seeing the cruelly crucified body of his wife, naked and in agony, his heart could not take the shock and burst asunder, and he fell over, dead. The queen could only watch helplessly, fixed to the wood as he fell limp. The forces in the citadel were thrown into disarray upon his death, and before a second in command could be established, enemy soldiers began pouring out of the inside of the sanctum.

The battle was short, brutal and decisive. Overwhelming the beleaguered and starving city guards with an offensive from within the walls, the whole city was thrown into chaos. The great city gate was opened during the melee and an even greater mob of soldiers charged in, trapping the scattered and routed forces of the toppled king between the outer and inner walls, where they were slaughtered to the last man.

The women and girls of the city were paraded out naked and in chains. Those that did not submit during the parade were tied to cross beams along with their whole family. The defeated and humiliated queen could not bear to see such a complete defeat of her people and wept hysterically. Her cries were soon joined in chorus by other women who had either remained loyal or simply not submitted to slavery. Hundreds of slave women were paraded past the queen, and her court of crucified women, they spit on her, blamed her for this crushing defeat, and called her a witch-queen. In seeking to end one female pesant’s pain she had caused the torture and submission of her people, guaranteeing decades of female pain.

The queen died in agony after three days and two nights of suffering on the cross. By then the camps of the warlord had moved on to another city-state and the smoldering ruin of her castle had begun to crumble, destined to be forgotten by history.
Great story Emily, really classic one :clapping: :clapping: :clapping::clapping::clapping:
 
The queen died in agony after three days and two nights of suffering on the cross. By then the camps of the warlord had moved on to another city-state and the smoldering ruin of her castle had begun to crumble, destined to be forgotten by history.
View attachment 913784

based by:

RUINS, Jonás López Moreno

That is a wonderful tale, and wonderfully told, too!

Great Manip by Madi!

I did do a manip of a siege crucifixion, myself

View attachment 913901
Both powerful Manips :) Moon and Sun ;)
 
Back
Top Bottom