Had she misread his instructions? Mercedes, Leader of the Enlistment Corps, had been requested by The Arisen to meet alone at a secluded location and discuss 'shocking revelations that concern conspiracy against the Duke', in his words. To her knowledge he would be bringing an informant who knew of these foul schemes; collusion against the leader of Gran Soren was the highest crime. The meeting spot was a small outcropping that lied just on the outskirts of a road leading into the capital. Tall trees and large boulders shielded it from sight and under the Arisen's suggestion she'd been told to meet here for the the secret rendezvous.
Night had fallen and the athletic bombshell found herself quite worried for The Arisen’s safety; although the young woman found his request quite odd given the distance from civilization. Mercedes had no doubt that her charge would be true to his word. The young wizard, her silent Arisen, had proven to be valiant, caring, and noble; perhaps she felt something for him? No. She was a knight, and nothing came before duty and service to the kingdom.
Plus, Mercedes was a noblewoman, how would an affair between them keep appearances? Regardless, she wished he’d hurry, hugging her armored chest tightly to stave off the night cold. 'Any minute', she thought to herself; thick muscular thighs trembled in the cool darkness.
She had left her sword and shield behind a boulder nearby, told that the informant was a noblewoman of esteem and would uncomfortable with such tools of war. Unfortunately for Mercedes, the truth was far from what she understood it to be.
The Arisen had been corrupted by the endless cycle of reincarnation, and he had no plans of meeting the feeble, female knight; all her blathering had endlessly annoyed him for the countless times lifetimes he'd known her. However, The Arisen wasn’t a poor host, and had arranged for “men of esteem” to go in his place; the snooty she-goat would indeed have company soon enough.
The welcoming party stealthily darted through the surrounding forest, approaching their prey from all angles; some snickered as they quietly hobbled closer. Beady red eyes stripped the shivering woman with depraved desire and the ambush party could barely contain their grotesque and throbbing erections as they skulked closer. Mercedes heard several branches snap to her north, “Is that you ser Arisen?”
The moonlight was her only source of visibility, as a lantern may have called unwanted attention; The Arisen reminded her of that. From the shadows a sickly-looking hobgoblin emerged, wielding a rusty cutlass with a crooked iron crown adorning the top of his head; it smiled with rotten teeth. Flustered, the brown skinned beauty trembled in her tight leather chaps, brow twisted in an expression of disgust, frustration, and most importantly dread. She looked to the boulder where her weapons were only to see another ugly goblin emerge from the shadows. This one was different, much smaller, matching its leader in depravity; a cackling little lackey. Her voice trembled meekly as the entire raiding band surrounded her, “F-Foul creatures! I am Mercedes M-Marten of-.” She heard a shrill screech before everything went black; The Corrupted Arisen’s new friends weren’t fans of conversation it seemed.
When Mercedes awoke she frantically looked about, determining that she had been moved to some musty cave or dungeon. The true nightmare was about to begin. The humbled she-goat had been shacked to the stone floor with rusted iron chains, locked into place on all fours, and a tight red collar wrapped firmly around her neck; her toned bare body quivered in the chilly hovel. She was a well-shaped woman without that cumbersome armor, light brown skin covered in light freckles.
The Arisen had lusted after and bred her many lifetimes but had grown dull of even her shapely figure; this time he would take pleasure in others using her. The woman’s short black bob shifted as she desperately looked about and even with her sandy skin she was obviously blushing; she’d never felt so degraded. “What is the meaning of this—madness!”, she called out aimlessly into the darkness, her only aid for sight a dying torch. The mucus-colored hobgoblin shambled forward again, now wearing nothing besides its pathetic makeshift crown. It merrily licked its lips as it approached her flushed face with a thick warty cock; from the darkness nearly a dozen onlookers could barely muster their patience.