The Adventures of Kyrie: Warrior, Outlaw, Nympho

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The red glow of the God Sun painted the sky an ethereal purple, giving the clouds an umber hue. Thunder Hoof, my trusty steed and companion, navigated the blossoming fields with ease. Gratuitous rain had fallen, prophesying a bountiful harvest in the God-sun autumn. Rebellion had finally begun, my constant attacks inspiring the populace to emulate my actions. Finally healed, missing Sheera, I had meandered through Longvale for weeks, finally tracking a large platoon of imperial soldiers guarding a wagon of newly-minted coin, cast in the northern city of Mountside, and a few maltreated prisoners. They were headed to the city of Valencia. If I could harry them, a small fortune would never make it to the treasury.The new coins bore a bust of my nemesis, Empress Cintra. I had already relieved many a tax collector of their cumbersome burdens. I burned her image in my mind. Her blond hair and ample cleavage were also emulated in every brothel in the land, second only to whorish copies of myself, Kyrie the Red. My bounty had grown to five-hundred gold talons; the whores only charged a few silvers for their bounties.The signs of the soldiers’ passage were everywhere – wagon tracks, the litter that soldiers always leave in their wake. With a bag of grain and apples hanging on the right side of my ill-fitting saddle, Splinter, my sword, glistening in the sunlight, hung on the left, my mind wandered to memories a few Great Turns ago. The saddle reminded of the day I discovered that I was an Untamed.Almost eight turns old in the early God-sun summer, most of the girls my age had already married themselves to suitors, some of them now mothers. I had just received my sword from Fyonair the Fire-dancer. Though not yet edged, as I hadn’t earned that right, he had forged it to fit my hands, balanced it to my preferences. It shone and glistened, the Sky-steel veins seeming to pulse and undulate with the movements of my body as I swung it.Sky-steel is not, as most city-dwellers believe, a steel unto its own. Millennia ago, great star rocks showered the lands of Soul Dancers, falling from the sky in fiery balls, with tails of dust, metal, and fire trailing them. It was soon discovered, by accident, that many of the rocks, sized from pebbles to huge mountains of ore-wielding rock, contained a rare, unknown metal that melded well with common steel. The Soul Dancers worked the strange metal, a gift from the gods, into their smithing. Sky-steel was the result, a secret held by the tribes and clans of the Soul Dancers.Shaped into tools and weapons of beauty by the Fire-dancers, Sky-steel became legendary, rivaling our repute as lusty dancers and ferocious warriors. Lighter, stronger, and more flexible than standard steel, a decently forged sky-steel blade can shear through the mightiest of Valencian swords, penetrate the strongest armor. The veins of the alloy are beautiful, artistic, always giving each piece its own character.Relating the dance of Fire that went into its creation, Fyonair instructed me in its care and maintenance. Keetara then tasked me with learning the dance of “Many Trees,” a dance that emulates fighting multiple foes while on horseback.All Soul Dancers learn their disciplines through ritualized dance. Duel-dancing, the art of combat, is one of the lowest disciplines one can learn. While anyone can fight, Duel-dancing came naturally to me. Despite my affinity towards violence, some lessons, such as the dance of Many Trees, eluded me. I desired to be both a Fire-dancer and a Flesh-dancer, the two most highly regarded disciplines. Regretfully, I had no talent kaçak iddaa at the forge. Still loving Sky-steel, I pursued combat, excelling in certain aspects.In the past two Great Turns, as the world wove through both suns, I had mastered the dance of Many Trees. On that fateful day, during my eighth turning, I clumsily sat upon another ill-fitting saddle trying to maintain balance, as my dull blade attempted to fell several imaginary foes, nothing more than posts set into the ground.Soul Dancer saddles, lovingly and ornately created by the Hyde-dancers, have a sturdy, looped handle on the front. This allows for easy maneuvering when riding and fighting, as well as a place to hang items at the ready. Over a large trunk, the saddle between my legs, I went through the motions of the dance of Many Trees, spending the entire day trying to perfect every move.The saddle, very much like the one on Thunder Hoof, didn’t fit me well. To stay upright, to keep from falling, which had already happened several times, I had to scoot up until the handle was clenched firmly between my thighs. With all the determination I could muster, I gripped the saddle with my legs, the hard leather handle grinding between them, my sword flailing about, learning the dance of Many Trees.Swinging, thrusting, counter-thrusting, and guarding with the blade caused my body to shift, twist, and undulate on the handle. My own stubbornness refused to let me stop and rest until I had perfected the dance. To my amazement, my pink slit became moist, then wet, finally soaking my thighs and the saddle. The wetter I got, the harder I practiced. Soon I was moaning with abandon, realizing that an orgasm was drawing near.Still refusing to cease practicing, I swung and swung, lost in pleasure, not even thinking about the sword. An orgasm ripped through my body, my arms fluidly following the rhythm of my passion, perfectly executing the dance of Many Trees. As my lusty masturbation subsided, I could see the marks on the poles, exactly where they needed to be.Keetara, my trainer, was ecstatic that I had completed the dance so perfectly. With shame, I confessed to her that I hadn’t truly mastered the dance, only managed to get it correct, because I was swept up in the throes of passion.“You’re an Untamed,” she exclaimed. “Tapping into your carnal emotions through dance. That potentially makes you one of the most powerful Duel-dancers ever. Show me.”I did. With the help of her fingers on my soaked pussy, her tongue on my breasts, she proceeded to help me tap into my lust, my passion, my desire, and funnel them into my dances. She also gave my young-adult body several orgasms that spawned a love affair between us.As I rode, I unsheathed Splinter and practiced the dance of Many Trees. My cuts and thrusts against several imaginary foes were much cleaner, faster, more precise than they had been, then. Splinter “whooshed” through the air, slicing it, disemboweling, and rending with the perfection only a Duel-dancer can achieve.My hips humped against the horn of the imperial saddle, muscle memory kicking in, my dripping desire pulsing through me. Thunder Hoof chose that moment to break into a gleeful gallop, causing me to buck up and down, my engorged clit sliding against the horn, hitting it with delightful force. Sheathing my sword, both hands grabbing the saddle horn, I humped and bucked up and down on the saddle, my wetness soaking it, my pussy throbbing against the expertly placed protrusion.The orgasm wracked me, sending jolts of pleasure into my body, moans escaping my lips. My thighs, clamped around my horse’s kaçak bahis bulging sides as he ran down the road, were the only thing that kept me from falling. Despite the strength of my legs, I had to hold on for dear life, blubbering and moaning, until the rapture of my lust subsided.Keetara had been correct. Since that day I had allowed my inner lust and passion to consume me during my dancing. My Duel-dancing, despite my lack of training, became astounding; my Flesh-dancing became the centerpiece of our settlement. Whenever visiting dignitaries or Soul Dancers from other clans would arrive, I would be called to entertain.I ran through the dance of Many Trees once more, for one more orgasm in Keetara’s honor. Hoping she had made it to our homeland, unscathed, and was now whoring or fighting with glee, I fingered myself slowly in her honor, to my pleasure. I was now primed for battle.Spying the wagon in the distance, I steered Thunder Hoof away from the main road, choosing the concealment of the scrub. Plodding lightly, I should catch up to them within the hour. Riding, sneaking, hiding, no concrete plan came to mind. Knowing they’d to stop for the night and post guards, I assumed that I could ambush the perimeter watchmen, maybe sneak into camp to cause some havoc, and slip away in the confusion.Fate, however, had other plans. Dusk was nearing, the yellow Mortal sun having shrunk to a pebble in the sky, the God sun dipping beneath the horizon. As they ground to a halt due to some odd obstruction in the road, me searching for a good vantage point to strike, chaos erupted.There were half a dozen soldiers on horseback, a score or so on foot, another four road atop the wagon. I didn’t see any of the blood-red baldrics designating Reavers. They looked like regular imperial troops, conscripts. The chaos came from the ambush, taking the soldiers by surprise.Dressed in rag-tag bits of armor, they charged from the treeline. Whooping and hollering, they ambushed the left flank of the caravan, wielding long pikes cut from trees, swords, even rocks. More emerged from the right, similarly berserk, several of them carrying lit torches that they hurled to the ground in front of the soldiers. Black, inky smoke rose into the sky as flames erupted, cutting off any escape. As more battle-garbed peasants emerged from the underbrush, turning their attention to the rearguard, I decided to spring into action.“Let’s dance, Thunder Hoof.” My equestrian companion charged towards the caravan before I had even drawn my sword. The soldiers’ attention diverted, I had danced through three of them before they realized that I was a mounted, more potent threat.The soldiers shouted, “It’s Kyrie the Red! Danger, Kyrie’s attacking!” Those not engaged turned their attentions towards me.Although they outnumbered the soldiers, the attackers weren’t faring well. Cutting and slashing through the armored ranks, my horse a partner in my Duel-dance, I accounted for at least a third of the Valencian troops, myself. Teaming up, three-to-one, five-to-one against the footmen, the ambushers, obviously untrained rebels, slowly gained the advantage.Jumping from Thunder Hoof, landing deftly while skewering a surprised sergeant, I was right behind the wagon. The wagon was a barred prisoner transport, holding two prisoners inside with a third tied to the back. A long rope ran from the back of the wagon to his wrists. A foppish dandy, dressed in overly-colorful, silken finery, watched in amused amazement, his hands clenching the bars of prisoner-wagon tightly. A buxom blond woman, dressed in a full-bodice illegal bahis dress, sat in the center of the wagon. She seemed vaguely familiar, but I had no time for pleasantries.Running over to the third prisoner, the man bound by the wrists and made to walk behind the wagon, I noted that he also looked familiar. His clothes were in tatters, his body bruised and bloody. Through his long dark brown hair, matted and covering his face in stringy strands, I could see that one eye was swollen shut and blackened. Still, he carried himself with pride and dignity, looking up to me, smiling as I approached.“Hold out your hands,” I said over the din of combat. Doing as requested, he held his hands forward. My Sky-steel sword cut through the rough ropes easily, freeing him.“Thank you, mighty Lady Kyrie.“ He added a dramatic bow and flourish to his words of gratitude. Recognition struck me.“You are most welcome, Calvin.”Bending to pick up the fallen sword of my most recent foe, he shook out his hair, laughing. He twirled the sword around him expertly, getting the feel of the balance. His mangled eye didn’t seem to cripple his jovial demeanor. “That’s Captain Calvin Finalsum, formerly of the Valencian palace guard.”Before I could respond, he charged towards the nearest soldier, laying into him with a vengeance. The ebb and flow of my Duel-dance carried us apart. The battle still raged.I was pressed to the far side of the wagon, my back against it. Three desperate, fearful soldiers made their final stand against me, but the dance of Many Trees served me well once more. The cheers erupting from the peasant-soldiers alerted me that the battle had been won. I was exhausted, breathing heavily, with a few superficial wounds on my flesh. The lusty passion of my Untamed Duel-dancing consumed me more than any battle-rage or euphoria from the victory.The large metal padlock sealing the wagon’s door was no match for Splinter; my blade sheered through the common steel as if it were butter. I helped the gorgeous woman and her silken-clad fellow prisoner out of their mobile cell.“Well met, Trinica. Let’s not make rescuing you a full-time occupation.” She smiled sheepishly at me and curtsied. While I have no qualms rescuing the occasional damsel in distress, I didn’t feel compelled to rescue her on a day-to-day basis.Spying Calvin, she ran to him; they embraced in the manner that only true lovers hold each other. Had he not been covered in bruises and blood, it would have almost been romantic.Leaning against the prisoner wagon, I watched as the rebels picked the fallen soldiers’ corpses clean, replacing their cast-off weapons and makeshift spears with higher quality weaponry and armor. The multitude of locked chests were pulled from the wagon, broken open with axes and rocks to reveal thousands of newly-minted coins, each one bearing a bust of Empress Cintra on the face and a dour-looking man on the obverse.Trinica sat atop one of the now-emptied chests, a folded cloak for a cushion, Calvin standing tall and proud on her right side. Her large breasts rose and fell slowly, her blond tresses gently swaying in the light breeze. To me, she looked almost regal. Thunder Hoof, my stalwart four-legged friend, trotted up beside me, nuzzled me affectionately, and went to snack on some clover nearby.”I thank you for saving my life,” one of the rebels, an attractive raven-haired woman, said to me. Her homespun dress was now covered with a mail shirt.Picking up a random coin, glinting in the dusk, I studied it as I watched the woman who had thanked me traverse the few yards toward Trinica. She knelt before her, on one knee. They conversed for a few moments, the words not traveling to my ears, culminating with Trinica placing one hand on the woman’s shoulder and smiling with gratitude and affection.

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