Athos Captured

Now alone is this piss hole of a cell, two buckets and a flea infested mattress my only companions I try to answer the very same questions my inquisitors ask me…

Who am I, where is the French front line and what are their numbers?

Yet through the stench of prisoners past I sense a freshness of someone called Ninon, an angel and ray of hope in this dark oppressive chamber , a chamber that callously infests my soul with the unsavoury inhabitants of its deranged enclosure.

The door scrapes open and the raking of rasping iron across the stone floor that keeps me detained, reverberates through my body as two burly Spanish soldiers grab my shackled body dragging me once again to my torturers and a shiny array of inquisitors’ tools spread magnificently across a table resting next to my chair of pain.

“It seems we will have to use advanced methods on you… “a heavily accented voice mocks my memory loss

White knuckled I shout out my denial of knowledge before men who demonstrate no pity for a man with no ties to the world. Ruthless acts are unleashed upon my battle weary, battle scarred body and agony that has no bounds crushes through my broken and crumbling frame. A screaming intake of breath bruises acutely as the light in my mind blinks into swirling mists of darkness yet again.

Back on the floor in hell’s chamber I hold on to the hope that the dark woman of plaguing allure will seek out my rescuers: for I fear I will surely die in my own piss ridden misery without ever finding that angel of light…Ninon.

Written by @Musketeer_Athos in the main with some help from @Exquisite_Wren

Art work by @Karen8755

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Casualty of War ~ Continued

The screams of that insignificant Wench, as she is dragged from the Inn once her pale faced service for the night in a bed upstairs is found in horror by the Inn’s keeper. Clearly…no fault of mine..

His body is poorly boxed and left outside near the pigs yard and hers lead to a gathering of trees in the distance for the local Sheriff’s sentencing. ..We all know she’ll be swinging by her neck within the hour..

Once her screams can no longer be heard, stiff drinks are served as the celebration of her death by all gathered inside of the gloomy Inn is happily accomplished.

She was only a dirty Wench. What will her life matter to another anyway..

And without the respect for her life taken so cruelly, a new Wench replaces her by Twilight with an even larger bosom to please all the Inn’s customers.

A few days pass as his head wound dissipates. His eyes linger from where he lays up and down my curves in wonderment, this I know. My beauty is flawless. And gentle words from a seductresses sweet lips echo right down to where his groin stirs with an ache for a woman’s touch and encasing warmth.

Although, his mind remains lost in this dark, dreary room,  I know he wonders in thought of days lost and where he stems from. Regardless of our time together spent a lifetime ago. Brief words of his true identity endure lost in time. Lost in the ghostly breeze that swirls around the Inn that keeps him my captive.

He tosses and turns abruptly in the night, calling out her name as his brow perspires in a heavy sweat. His angel of light I dread may come to his aide and hear his nightly cries before my plans can be carried out.

His love and affection for her boundless, professing a love for a woman his conscience mind won’t allow him to recall when he wakes. But when morning comes, he knows not of what plagues his mind when his eyes meet mine for his aide and growing need he has for me. Comforting arms surround him as his sweat layers onto my form with words softly spoken.

”You have had another nightmare again..”

Clearly his nightmares are unknown to him as he mutters, raising and then folding an arm above his head and pulling me into his other

“If I did…I don’t remember…”

But does he remember…?

Pretensed comforting embraces, seemingly cure him of his nightly demons as I press full, ripened breasts into him for consolation. Slowly and surely, his hand comes to my breast and kneads as he drifts again in the morning light.

Besides, what more could a man want in his time of need?

The midday sun tries its best to shine through suffocating, gray clouds overhead of the depressing Inn as a glass of wine, served with rare sweat meats, accompanied with a floury dusted bread roll is served to him by my hand while he rests propped up in bed.

“Do you remember anything at all yet….Sir”

Cunning spheres gage his posture as he scans our surroundings for any recollection, pressing closer to him, offering a sweet smile of enticement and never once offering him my true name.

“No. Nothing”

He shakes his head and lays the tray of meats aside upon crinkled sheets as his gaze meets masked, deceptive eyes, mine.

“You have been good to me and soon…..I must leave to try gather any information about my identity. In Paris, perhaps”

His exhale of breath is that of a weary soul, unsure of where to make a start.

“But.. You are not strong enough”

A presentation of soft caressing fingers smooth onto the ruggedness of his, now gently stroking with veiled sincerity. “For now, you must remain resting. I really must insist on this….on perhaps…us” lips part as breasts push together when leaning forward, nearing as I press the tender touch of my lips on the corner of his. Fingers gain way at his groin and his stirring unearths and oh what a stirring..

Pushing me back with a gentleman’s hand, his eyes plead for knowledge, knowledge of who he is.

“I think I would spend a night with you as a man and woman, but first…..I really must find out who I am..”

His features now forlon, but quickly turns into a scowl of his own annoyance

Bringing a hand to his cheek with sugar coated affection

“Take your time. Take…all the time you need”

Nodding with reassurement and whispering under my breath as I turn away

“But…not too long..”

Getting up from what I intend to be our love nest as the sheet catches in my gown that lingers like a  malefic wedding gown, vindictive steps press toward the Inn window, letting out a sigh of veneered longing, while stroking the crest of my bosom. He is watching. I can feel it …when I hear the creek of the bed and the padding of his bare feet.

He’s coming to my sirens call, lips wickedly curve, an enchantresses call..

As his hands rest around my defined waist, I am turned and pulled into him. Eyes transfix with one another as he lines the flesh from delicate shoulders down to the rising of my breasts. His lips inches from mine, oh I have him as he closes his eyes with a genuine, tender kiss to my lips..

This is good. Now all I have to do to lace his next wine and he will again truly be mine..

And in a fleeting moment, his lips pressed to mine draws away.

Another night creeps slowly across the hollow of land this Inn rests upon and yet again I lay him back into bed after a fulfilling bed bath. Touching him in places I know is to his liking, while he sighs unremittingly.

Taking a bath of my own, I slowly wash in his viewing, soaping up slender shoulders and portions of my body I know a man desires most. Rising from my bath, allowing water to trickle down smooth, enticing lines of perfection when I step from warmth that keeps him from concealed destruction, glancing back over my shoulder at him. Facing him now as I round and then cup at my breasts with a towel and then graze down to my pleasure with slow, haunting movements. He adjusts his bulge and tries his very best not to stare, but….how can he not?

Applying aromatic oils to my flesh with a bended knee and my feet pressed into the end of our bed. Smooth, sweet lips displayed as I tip my head back while oiling my sensuous skin.

Stepping toward the window once more with bare feet and the show of a perfectly rounded rear, his eyes I know stay drawn to my body.

“When do you think you will leave”

I swivel slowly and meet the entrancement in his eyes, lower lips of fervent demand gaining his attention.

A breath exhaled deep as he speaks.

“I am not sure”

“Oh?

Stepping toward him, fingers caressing down the softness of lily white, succulent flesh.

“Well then why don’t I join you….in bed before you do go..”

Resting my forearm against a wooden post, now leaning up against it with the curve of my body. His need is abrupt as he pounces up from the bed. Pushing me into the post as I barely manage to stand upright while his lips devour mine in a hungry kiss. The kiss I have been waiting for patiently…like a snake in the grass. Oh touch me there and take what is yours, dear Sir.

Lifting me up and wrapping my legs securely around his manly waist, his need stretches into me like moulded rock. Christ….perhaps I don’t need the concoction!

But as he lowers me gently back onto the sheets, his features transform into an indifference of thought, he shakes off the thought and presses into me hard. Don’t stop….I need this! And then with a another greedy kiss to my lips his eyes squeeze tight.

What on earth is he thinking!?

While tearing at his undergarments in a hungered rage, then with rough hands parting my legs abruptly, he looks deep into my eyes with renewed astonishment…pausing!

“….Ninon?

Gasping, feigning all innocence as my heart beats thunderously in my chest, managing to conceal my knowing.

“..Who….and what did you call me?

Stunning brows form into a frown, when he grabs at his springing manhood with restriction from me..

“Ninon….I remember her name and I think she is my wife! …She has to be…..I can’t get her out of my mind! …Her images keeps flashing in mind…each time I…touch you”

His eyes drill into mine as he tucks away at his hardened need.

So perhaps the bastard has been lying to me…? Or was he?

Pulling back from me as I lay left lying back on the bed with my elbows digging into the mattress,

“My name is not Ninon and now tell me what the hell is going on!

Holding at his head as thoughts flood his mind like an unwanted tidal wave

“I’m really not sure….but I keep thinking about a beautiful woman named Ninon. She came to me in a dream.. Those nightmares I have been having..

And before he can pass on any grievances or genuinely account for who she is or he…..the rush of trampling hooves thunder fast at lightening speed, heading toward the Inn.

Brisk glances by us both toward the window suddenly steal away at our attention, pulling my transparent shawl around my body, I follow him towards those who stand below in the mud in foreign uniforms..

It is the Spanish and instinctively Athos’ eyes grow wide..

Written by @Mlady_de_Winter

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Casualty of War

Found in a stream of blood and amongst bodies that lay limp and cold, their faces smothered in their own deathly essence as a man retrieved with breath in his lungs is pulled onto the back of a horse carriage, on the morning of a battle lost when his regiment was ambushed, then overrun by the enemy.

Miles are crossed as his frame is tossed about upon splintered planks of wood that bear his needed solace. His groans of pain spurring on the driver of his horse driven carriage as he whips at his horses that sprint for dear life through the fog that seems to lose them from sight.

A few desperate hours pass and black smoke from a chimney in the distance lifts into the air indicating food and shelter. Possibly help or a physician!

As the carriage draws closer at great speed, the driver makes out the swinging sign of the Inn.

“At least there will be alcohol here to dress this poor bastards wounds” he mumbles dryly under his breath with disappointment.

Tearing back at the reigns, he brings the carriage to a halt as the horses rare up with a mixture of reprieve and discontentment.

“Whoa…there! We’ve got a wounded man in the back…we don’t want to kill him!

As the driver looks up from his horses and carriage, the outline of naked beauty catches his attention. However, as soon as his attention is caught, the evocative figure melts from view.

Gloomy days that plague the minds of war torn men and their women who wait on their return, stir a hunger for my craving. With the world at my feet, I intend to swoop on some lonely being this day. And as always, my prey shall reap my forthcoming’s by the caress of a Seductresses touch.

Gray clouded skies seemingly accentuate my radiant, bewitching beauty through a shabby parting of a barely, concealing curtain. Standing before a mirror set before a window that overlooks a muddied path that stretches miles away from Paris’ calling.

Spellbound fingers, fix my bodice that firmly rims succulent breasts that deliciously overlaps a perfect,  proportioned frame. Toned if not defined and incredibly enticing to the eye of any seeking, male recipient with an unconscious death wish.

A smoky, transparent shawl adorns slender shoulders as I smile with satisfaction in the reflection of bedazzling enchantment that stairs back into dishonorable spheres, masked with the impression of affection and warmth. Warmth that will overwhelm you, seduce you until your very life depends on the only strength you possess that will dissipate under my spell of an unkind end.

On descending the stairs with a haunting allure, shouting can be heard through the Inn’s open doorway as a carriage stands still with it’s wheels held firm in the mud.

An elderly, battered horse, carriage driver who appears frantic, calls for help as I spy a blood stained body in the back of his carriage. Watching behind the men that gather in the doorway, to witness the man struggle from his cart to unveil what appears to be a dead corpse from where I stand.

“Help” the man calls out in haste “He’s still alive and needs a physician…..quick”

Unrecognizable from where I hover behind alcohol, wreaking men that shield the doorway, he drags the injured man by his boots to the back of the carriage.

“Please, someone help me! He doesn’t have long if we don’t get help”

Sobering men rush out to assist, some almost tripping over their own boots through the debilitating mud as they all grasp an unconscious unknown by his weakened limbs and bring him into the almost suffocating Inn.

The cook has yet again burnt his stew for offering again. But what drunk cares about his food? As long as his belly is full after filling it with alcoholic beverage’s.

Brought through the stews smothering, smoke screen is a man drenched in blood and in a Captains uniform. And through his bloody concealment, lies a familiar face. A face striking enough to be none other than….Athos.

Slicing through the guard of men circled around his unconscious frame, I smooth through their surrounding and lay a hand to his cheek, whispering.

“I am here to take care of your unfortunate soul. Do not be troubled, dear….” Pausing for words briefly as to keep his identity a secret from all that hover.

“..Sir. You shall receive the best care and I shall nurture your wounded body”

Cunning eyes scan his features as he whispers these words that leave my trickery left unsaid

“….Who am I? Where am I?

Lips of crafty deceit curve into satisfaction as I slip my arms around his neck.

He is mine again….finally, thinking to myself as my mind unravels covertly with manipulation and duplicitous intent. Working his body up to a cradled position within my unwarranted arms, holding his head to my bosom as I look up slowly into the eyes of the drivers features of concern.

“Monsieur, this man merely needs the healing touch of a woman’s hands. Not some physician..”

He doesn’t have a cut on his body besides his head wound. This poor soul is merely covered in others blood.

Now leave us..”

The driver stairs down with uncertainty as he mumbles his reply

“I don’t know about this. He bears a Captain’s uniform and should be returned to his camp”

Uncradling my victim and settling him down against the floor once more as to lay him down comfortingly, rising like a silent storm in the face of my game, words cloaked with civility unveil from lips of pretense.

“He is in good hands, I assure you. So leave him with me to do what I do best..”

Talons of destruction skim across his facial unsureness as I lower with intent to take gather this equation of a man that is unknown to those who bear witness to his unfortunate event.

An event I shall take advantage of in so many ways, using my womanly wiles to cause mass destruction on Paris’ favourite son.

With the wave of hand a few gathered assist in moving his fragile state up the stairwell, groaning his displeasure as he is laid down onto stained, dusty Inn sheets. Heels tapping in behind them with a ghostly array as I mask a smile of pleasure, having slowly closed the door behind them as the leave.

Staring down my nose at him, his body is stripped of his clothing unremorsefully, while his unknowing form lay lifeless. His breathing calmer as my deviate aim unleashes with a gentle cloth to his forehead.

“Hush now, sleep and rest ..as you’re going to need it”

Pressing his drenched beard to my breasts once again and rocking his relaxed frame to me, meanwhile, downstairs a resenting carriage driver throws back whiskey after whiskey. Planning on alerting the nearest regiment.

I’ll fix him. He too will be dealt with..

Night whispers it’s deceit as the carriage driver is caught in my web, slipping a deathly demise into his whiskey as I stroke his cheek from a dark booth in a corner of the grotty, Inn.

His arousal is apparent, but withers as the concoction takes its hold. He won’t see morning. So how will I be to blame? Summoning over the Inn Wench as she pleasures his dissipating hardness and blowing him a kiss as I ascend the stairs to a bewildered..Athos.

On returning to his bedridden capture, his groans of his whereabouts unknown continue as he insists on wine. Sitting him up as his bandaged forehead overlaps one of his eyes, so vulnerable within my grasp of eradication.

“Tell me where I am. Someone tell me my name. Surely someone must know..?

His head flopping from side to side. Lifting the cup to his lips with an inner scheming as fingers slip down and rest at his groin

“Drink then rest and all will be well..”

~ To Be Continued ~

Written by @Mlady_de_Winter

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Athos issues orders 

Fragmented dreams fraught with fragile sensibilities the weight of leadership hangs heavy on my military shoulders. Calling Aramis, D’Artagnan and Porthos to a meeting I issue my orders.

 @AddictiveAramis

Stay close to the young king at all times and do not allow him the use of a sword. Any weapon he can use must be fired and from a distance. At all times have six men protecting him; two to the front, two the rear and one at either side. Do not let him know he is taking six men to protect him. Six men that we really need to fight the enemy.

Oh, and Aramis…try to persuade him to return to Paris to show the people he is alive… and not subject to speculation. Suggest the queen, as Regent,  may be making decisions without his knowledge… do whatever it takes…in other words…get him the hell out of here.

 @Dartagnan_RP

Your horseman ship is probably the best, no doubt due to your Gascon heritage. You will act as a courier for the king and Aramis taking despatches to the queen.  Always vary your route. Tell no one of our positions when at the palace and most of all…don’t get killed en route and allow these despatches to fall into the wrong hands.

 @bravemuskie195

Your Moorish good looks are to be used in subterfuge, if you are willing to act in a way that could see you killed instantly, if caught. For Porthos the sounds of the cannon which boom louder than your laugh have to be silenced. They are slaughtering our men.  Take whoever you need and go to these locations in Spain (Hands Porthos a list of place names). Pose as a Moorish trader and seek and destroy the ammunitions depots found there. A simple task but fraught with many dangers.

To all

Addressing you all, I take a lingering at your familiar faces taking in detail perhaps not noticed before.  Without speaking my steely gaze is cast from one to another with these thoughts.

Aramis those dangerously dark eyes that have seduced the highest in the land dim in the shadow of war.  D’Artagnan whose youthful looks we so playfully teased now with lines of earnest wisdom and maturity.  Be guided by those lines and keep you safe. And Porthos, our giant, our heart that beats so loud, like a firework ready for display, please keep your powder dry so we shall see you brighten our skies once more. But should I lose you all. Know this no man has ever known a friendship like ours and I thank you for having given me the pleasure, no the privilege of knowing you.

But of course I cannot voice my thoughts instead with a last nod of mutual understanding I hold my arm outstretched for my brothers to acknowledge perhaps for the last time …. And one by one they place their hand on mine and together we poignantly state…

All for one and one for all!

Athos Reports to Treville

Aching thighs slide off the tired stead. Dried blood and mudded boots jump down on the dusty ground. My exhausted figure commands attention as I steady my weary body before taking the reins, offering them to a recruit to address the needs of my horse and giving the horse a thankful pat on the side as he is led away.

Taking a deep breath and with an exhausted sigh I bound the steps to my office, smartly pushing open the door to find a familiar face sitting in a familiar place with his familiar concern looking over one large unrolled map.

“Ah Athos… “

Former Captain now minister of War Treville starts…

”You made it back then.”

His words are warm but he barely notices the dirt tarnished, exhausted man before him. His focus is on the detail contained within the map. His eyes taking in every piece of information.

“Put your things down over there,” He points somewhat languidly towards a corner, “and cast your eyes over this”

Blindly following instructions I place my cloak and hat as directed before taking my place next to him at what is now my desk. I offer no comment, happy in seeing Treville relaxed in such comfortable surroundings.

“So, what information can you add to this map than Athos?”

He cocks his head to look at me for the first time, still barely noticing the tired state of my apparel. But I notice in him both a sharpness of dress and purpose.

“…let me get my bearings.” I cast weary eyes over the images on the map before placing a hefty finger on an unmarked area. “The Spanish have reached here now and showing little signs of slowing down.”

Then looking more closely, runs finger over another image,

“and if you want an accurate situation report, increase the Spanish cannon by twice as many. They are also able to fire hot shot,” I check Treville is listening “but as of yet been able to hit anything of strategic value”

“And our positions?” he asks hopefully

I look over the map pointing out several positions, grimacing slightly as the information is not well received.

“Athos, we have to do something to stem the speed at which the Spanish are advancing” he seeks answers in my eyes. “Any suggestions, gratefully received”

Running my figures through my unkempt hair, I take a deep breath and ruefully announce,

“We are out gunned by cannon. We can hold back forces with our musket fire very well, but those cannon are tearing our men apart, quite literally limb from limb. We have to stop the supply of cannon or at least the cannon balls.” Glances over to Treville, “Can your spy not find out where they are being made and I can take a small group of men and destroy the supply?”

“That would mean going into Spain and if found you would be treated as spies and executed, you know that…no Athos you are too valuable to lose.” Treville states.

“Well I’ll not send anyone else to do this mission” I insist

“It’s not for you to decide”

I bristle at Treville’s attempt to regain control of my men.

“When you made me captain you made me responsible for these men and so it is for me to decide” I glare at the man who I have the greatest of respect for.

“No, but you may use Porthos, Aramis or Dartagnan if you need someone you can trust.” Treville holds up a hand and continues, knowing I was just about to remonstrate. “I know they are all equally as valuable… but Athos I need your leadership of all the Musketeers and besides you have another problem closer to home to deal with first”

I look up confused.

“It seems your son, Raoul, thinks Ninon is a Spanish spy” I can see Treville hide a bemused look.

“I think you need to go to the farm to sort that out before heading back to the front line”.

Confused, a scowl returns to my face,

“Ninon a spy? That’s his mother he is talking about. How on earth did he reach that conclusion?”

“I think you need to read his reports” Treville’s eyes twinkle with amusement, “They make very interesting reading”.