Every Rose Has Its Thorns

H

er mind was a volcano erupting within a lupine skull, mouth spewing her fiery anger and curses as she was brought down, down, down into the depths of the earth where it was cold and dark. To make matters worse, the guard who had claimed her was that familiar wretch from the forest who had nearly arrested Rhiannon for praying and asking questions. But Rhiannon did not have the physique to fight back, and so downward she spiraled.


”I prayed for you,” she seethed, speaking between gritting teeth to the army woman as the descent into the abyss seemed endless. ”I prayed for your safety! And now, now I pray that Cerridwen herself will rain curses upon your house! May you and yours be plagued, and -- may all your lovers be impotent!” Yes, she had taken this jail sentence with the grace of a wounded and cornered animal. Both pupils were enormous and her breathing came haggardly.


Her words were tinged with the growl that rumbled in her throat. ”You are no different than a slave. Do you realize...” She laughed, deep in her belly, the sort of laughter reserved normally for those gone mad. ”And you are no better than I.” What right did they have to take away her freedom?



@Nassar @Doll

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

A gray ear twitched as she descended into the depths of Yorkshire's stomach as if the city were a beast whose skeleton they had unearthed. The stone beneath her paws was slick and from the snow falling in from the decrepit stairwell above. Its icy chill threatened to send a shiver down her spine as she guided her charge into imprisonment. Soon there'd be a short-lived trial—various nobles would testify against her for destruction of property or disturbance of the peace, etc. A light sentance would be dolled out and the woman would be released to seethe and hiss again. Perhaps she'd be quieter, her voice a bit more raw, by then.

Nassar's expression was deadpan as she led the prisoner down to the sixth level. Other soldiers assisted, providing a quiet wall of force should Rhiannon try to flee.

It was easier to ignore the words of the imprisoned for there was always a note of desperation to them. And, to Nassar, she felt more satisfaction in her position in the world. To her, Rhiannon was a counter example to a life well lived, a glimpse into an alternate future. She was assurance that Nassar had chosen well. Or at least, those were words to describe the sense of confidence and relative calm that possessed her whilst she walked the woman to internment.

"...now, now I pray that Cerridwen herself will rain curses upon your house! May you and yours be plagued, and -- may all your lovers be impotent!” Dramatic. Nassar soldiered ahead silently.

They neared the cell now.
"You are no different than a slave. Do you realize...” Rhiannon seethed and Nassar narrowed her eyes slightly. "And you are no better than I!".

"We are all slaves." Nassar motioned with her muzzle and two of the prison guards moved to open the cell. "To food, to water, to family. Only fools believe they are free." And why should they be wholly free? Free to... do what? Contribute to nothing? Never participate, never put in work? Freedom in its unadulterated form was selfishness personified.

"Get in."

template by bean

@Rhiannon

”W

e are all slaves. To food, to water, to family. Only fools believe they are free." The banshee, savagery in her eyes, controlled an urge to laugh in her wild state as the other spoke, and her voice was unbridled in its passion and fury: ”And this is why I felt pity for you,” she spat. ”What a sad life, indeed, you must lead, if its greatest pleasures are your enslavement.” The taste of a freshly killed hare, a sip of cool water on one’s tongue when they thirst, time spent with the family of one’s choosing… Was this not what made life so enjoyable?

No, evidently this sentiment was not felt by all of her species, and Rhiannon bitterly imagined the joy a guard must feel when they take away the liberty of someone they deem less deserving with a lingering growl. This time, she did not feel sorry for the brutish female. She was, clearly, leading the miserable life of her own choosing.

Now, as she was led by forces to the cell that would be her new dwelling, Rhiannon knew what was more valuable in the eyes of the king and his blind, ignorant followers: flowers over the freedom of wolves not so different from themselves. And her rage was consuming; she would curse the guard who brought her here, and that guard’s children, and their children’s children, for all it was worth.


It was a fate worse than hell for the fae, for in this dungeon, there was no hint of the world beyond the gloom and despair. There was no semblance of azure sky, no caress of wind to be felt on her pewter cheek, only the stale dampness of a prison belonging to a king who was, very clearly, just and kind to his so-called subjects.

These were the convictions still roiling within her brain as she was deposited into a cell, and the latch that locked behind her was unaffected by her threats of accursed offspring and impotent lovers. Still snarling, she glared out through the ancient bars that were now her cage, too furious to notice that there were others serving a similar sentence down in the king’s pit… Until the stench of them all hit her like an avalanche.

Tucked away where they would be unseen and unheard, there were already prisoners there. Rhiannon did not see Nimue among them as she pressed her muzzle through the cold bars. The rest of her face would not fit at all.



@Nassar @Doll

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

Doll lurked in a semi-state of blissful euphoria. The pain that ranckled her from shredded flesh and torn muscle transformed into a sensation of catatonic delightedness. Pain was familiar and the dark reaper ever lurking on the horizon reminded her that his attentiveness was always trained on her calloused hide just waiting for the day when she wouldn’t recover. Doll wished she could see him, wished she could flirt with him for all the times he’d hoovered in her vulnerability. She closed her eyes, a sly smile on her lips. Not a single guard had come to interrogate her, why? Were they afraid? Knights of honor, valor, glory and dignity… had come at her three on one because she’d incapacitated their beloved leader. Quite certain they were parading victory she had to smile, surely they were no better than common criminality, they just lived in a fancier abode.

The shouts and hisses, snarls and snaps of someone else being dragged down into the cells drew Doll from her silent musings and her golden eyes flickered open, her tail twitching from it’s place between her thighs as her cell door was opened and another female was unceremoniously dumped in… granted it wasn’t without protest but the guards of the false king were nothing more than a hive mind so no matter her intellect or seething rage, she couldn’t change the dedication of a sheep that had been branded and maimed to serve a singular purpose, though there was something to be said for her anger. Doll shifted, blunt claws scraping against the stone as she shifted her damaged body from her prone position on her side to lying on her belly. She didn’t bother to get up, there was hardly any sense in both of them banging their skulls on the bars.

“Wasted breath on the ears of a whore.” Doll rumbled, her voice a rumbling baritone that was both soothing and pleasing. “Or perhaps that's offering too large an insult to the working wolves. They at least know they sell pieces of their soul for a profit… he merely bleats and follows the hoard without earning a single cent.” Her tone wasn’t harsh or condescending, she was just stating facts. “You don’t smell like blood and meat, I presume your altercation didn’t end in blood.” If Doll was sorry for what she’d done, not a stitch of regret gleamed in her amber hued orbs and you’d be hard pressed to find repentance. “They covered the weak points, I’ve already tried. Get comfortable, don’t give them the satisfaction of your misery.” Doll might not be the most traditional or soft wolf but she had one hell of a spine and this wasn’t her first rodeo being a captive.

”W

asted breath on the ears of a whore.” The low, sultry vocal tones of a feminine stranger caught Rhiannon’s attention, and her ears flicked backward as her form turned sharply to see its source… which, she now discovered, just happened to be residing in her own prison cell. Rhiannon was not the first to be cast down into the abyss, and she was not a face familiar from the ill-fated Voxi protest. The pewter-tinted wolfess had not noticed that she would be granted the luxury of sharing a small, confined space with an utter stranger, even though she had spied an empty cage across the dreadful hall.


Amethyst eyes found a creature laying upon the cold floor that was indeed female, dressed in hues like autumn, resting upon her belly as she addressed Rhiannon again. The wolf before her seemed calm, despite their surroundings. For a lingering moment, Rhiannon remained silent as she took in the sight of the stranger. Her visage was pretty, even in the muted light provided by their captors. But Rhiannon’s sights soon found something that caused her to feel the same rage again: injuries that were fresh, trying to heal, despite the brutality of the attack that had inflicted such violence upon the stranger.


“You don’t smell like blood and meat, I presume your altercation didn’t end in blood.” At this observation, a silver brow arched curiously. Evidently, the stranger could not say the same. ”No,” Rhiannon grumbled in response, a growl rumbling in her throat as she spoke, ”Though I rather wish that it had. But, in the end, there are too many fools out there to fight each one. Evidently, our words were not persuasive.”


The stranger then assured Rhiannon of something she had assumed to be true: there was no way out unless one of the guards decided they should leave the dark prison. The silver-hued femme nodded her understanding, violet sights straying to the injuries decorating the other as they narrowed in disgust -- not of the wounds themselves, for Rhiannon had seen worse and, as a healer, she was not squeamish -- but that the stranger had been left in their cage in this state. But what was a healer without their remedies? Deep down in the earth, nothing was meant to thrive, and Rhiannon had no access to her usual herbs. Here, she could do nothing but glare at those hideous marks. ”What did they do to you?”




@Doll

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

Perhaps it was a sad life to a wolf that could not comprehend the value of sacrifice. To a wolf that Nassar could only assume did not have children and could never understand the raw, unconditional love. The love, however, was a double edged sword. Nassar's heart could now soften more than it ever had before, and simultaneously, her willingness to cut down those that threatened her children was all the more primal. Those that wished to destroy their peace—their tenuous, fragile peace—were her own personal enemies. They might think that all they harrassed was Adamh and the parliament, but their desire to dismantle thrust them all into chaos that none could control.

At least when one knew the rules, they could play the game and win. In a lawless land, there was no hope for the weak. Every vicitm, every impoverished soul, every innocent wolf, would be forced to play their own guard. Their own soldier. Their own rescuer from the elements.

How free would they feel then? With their entrails on the ground, their blood seeping into the soil, and bandits happily helping themselves to what little they could scrounge?

"Do not dare smile," Nassar cautioned. "For there are still the starving in the streets, the sick and the poor that surely you speak for. Do not dare smile for your joy will surely mock them." Was that not what this woman had preached before being pulled away? If she would ask the same of Adamh, then she had best follow the same creed.

And Nassar left, amber eyes peering through the gloom at the earthen figure at the back of the tenth cell. She heard the words, and she would remember the face.

But these women were not worth her responses.

- exit nassar -

template by bean

@Rhiannon @Doll

Despite the obvious injuries that mottled her frame, Doll’s amber-hued eyes never left Rhiannon even as she twisted to meet Doll’s gaze. She didn’t openly challenge the vixen nor did she submissively tremble just because she was wounded. Doll didn’t really have much in terms of self preservation, death didn’t frighten her but on the same token, she possessed no desire to rule or conquer. She was a chameleon, a wretch of a thousand faces and if she possessed any sort of base personality at all it was steeped in sarcasm and brutal honesty. Her tail flickered, a lengthy thing that idly twitched against her flank and even that movement sent a dull throb of pain through her damaged musculature… but she loved it. It made her feel alive.

A low, humorless chuckle. “Words rarely are. The world turns on the backbone of bloodlust and violence. Those blinded by false Gods and Kings hear naught but what their puppeteer whispers against their iron strings.” Doll rumbled in response, quietly surveying the silver-hued vixen a bit more now that she could see her better. She was well built and both sleek and slender. Clearly she was quite opinionated but didn’t seem to harbor the gnarled flesh of saccharine scars that Doll hosted but then again not many wolves did. Most wolves weren’t raised to endure torture and pain until any base emotion or feeling bled out and coagulated on the rich soil beneath them. “That’s not to say we aren’t whores… we just sell different parts of ourselves.” In the end no one made it out unscathed or unchanged. Doll wasn’t here to judge.

Rhinnaon’s attention wandered to the wounds that decorated her hide and Spice let out a low breath, a soft rumble pulling up from her chest as she slowly settled her chin over her right forelimb. “Nothing that hasn’t been done to me before.” This actually wasn’t that bad in comparison to some of the other agonies she’d endured over the years. “I incapacitated their Captain, so naturally two honorable and steadfast knights attacked me together in a brilliant display of cowardice.” Doll’s eyes flashed, her tail flicking with a bit more animation now. “Think I’ll wear these scars with pride.”

A

single ear flicked as their captor uttered a final retort, departing to the jail of her own device in the outside world, but Rhiannon did not bother to look over or waste her breath. After all, the witch’s dreams were the place her real curses occurred. Her attention was instead focused upon the fae, a mere stranger but now someone close -- literally. The chocolate-hued femme spoke of the pointlessness of words, their futility when faced with brutality and savagery.


She could feel the stranger’s yellow eyes upon her, and Rhiannon wondered, briefly, if the other was pleased by her new, forced companion. ”I am a whore to none,” she stated with defiance in her low octaves. ”Pleasure is to be taken where it is find, no matter the cost. Their sort does not, could never comprehend this. Stuck in their tedious ways, controlled…” Words tapered off into silence.


She regarded the other with an impressed expression as she slid closer to Doll with overt interest as she shared, in tones dripping with sarcasm, about her victory in taking down an Imperial Captain. At the femme’s final comment, Rhiannon smiled, making no attempt to hide the pleasure she felt at hearing those defiant words. ”As well as you should, dear heart. You have earned them.”


”I am Rhiannon. What are you called?” There was no room for shyness here in their shared quarters, tight and barred with iron, and Rhiannon came to stand before the nameless fighter, amethyst eyes inquisitive. The earthen-hued woman was attractive, and the scars and fresh injuries stood out in contrast from her beauty.



@Doll

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

The tip of Doll’s tail flickered and her yellow eyes crackled with quiet mirth but she made no effort to correct or deny the silvery woman’s words. If she wanted to believe she was innocent and blessed then far be it from Doll to deny her. The earthen hued viper just simply didn’t have that kind of positivity and hope. She found it dreadfully inconvenient when the world came at her with its pants down. “I do not mean it in the barest definition.” Doll rumbled. “Is the mercenary who sells violence for personal gain not a whore? Is the false king who trades riches for the contentment of his peasants not prostrating himself for his kingdom? Not everything that is traded is for sex but it can all be traced back to the same definition because at the end of the day, you’re selling a part of yourself.” Doll was no exception to that rule… the dame had little purpose now that her brother was gone but she was too stubborn to lay down and die.

“Chained by tradition and societal expectation they are simply bound by other measures than you or I… chains we don’t agree with perhaps, but to believe we are devoid of shackles would also be foolish. A bastard mesh of cultural interpretation, upbringing and morality bind us all.” Doll’s tone remained calm and flat, while she believed every syllable that dripped from her tongue, she wasn’t brought to passion by them… then again, Doll wasn’t brought to passion by much. She was far to bent and broken over the spoke of this life to put much stock in emotion. “True freedom is the greatest lie anyone can ever tell themselves.” Doll slowly set her skull back down upon her forelimb, a small smile curling the edge of her mouth. “Though normally we’re a bit closer to it than a literal cage.”

The silver dame prowled closer and while Doll watched and observed her with calm collectiveness, internally she prepared herself for an assault. It wasn’t anything against her unwilling cellmate but more age old habit. Trust was a courtesy Doll had never been able to afford and she doubted that would change anytime soon… though her counterpart seemed delighted by the prospect of her taking down a Captain so she supposed that was a point in her favor. “They’ll blend and fade with the rest over time. Good thing I do not put much stock into traditional norms of beauty.” Doll cared about as much for appearance as she did the ants that occasionally tread beneath her paws which was to say… not much.

“Rhiannon.” Doll repeated it, quietly committing it to memory. “A grandeur title, I fear my own hardly competes. I am called Doll, no last name.” While Doll neither hated nor enjoyed her name, she knew why she’d been given it. Her mother had never wanted her to be an individual and it was just another way of emphasizing that she was a conglomeration of faces and ideals devoid of a base personality. “How did you find yourself saddled to me? It’s certainly not my birthday and a Queen shouldn’t be reduced to the squalor of common riff raff.” Was she flirting? Most assuredly but there was very little else to find joy in, in such an abysmal place.