Surrender to the Berserkers
From Create Your Own Story
Surrender to the Berserkers 007
Outside Castle Arngard
November 28, 1547 lll Status: armored
You cry out, “I surrender!”
Five 8 foot tall Berserkers stand before you. They wear black furs with chainmail underneath, wielding axes, javelins, and greatswords.
One of them declares in broken Joslundian, “Remove armor! Give us.”
It is customary for Belklun warriors to loot and plunder all equipment and wealth from defeated armies. I remove my armor piece by piece: first the helmet, then my gauntlets and vambraces. Next, I remove my greaves and sabatons. The cold wind bites against my skin, barely kept at bay by my silken under blouse and hose.
The one wielding an axe remarks, “You a arrogant noble? That armor. Rich. Strange to see rich girl in field. Fighting amongst men. No matter. Big ransom.”
I opt not to answer them. I finish by taking off my steel breastplate and haubergeon.
“Your clothes too.”
The north is largely deprived in terms of material wealth, so even the clothing on your back is considered valuable. Their eyes widen at the thought of me nude. I have a moment of hesitation, but I steel my resolve after glancing at their weapons. I pull my silk blouse over my head and toss it toward the gigantic Belklun warrior. They smile in mockery. Last was my hose, which I pull down and off together with my undergarment.
You blush from both the cold and embarrassment. Your perky breasts cannot resist the weather and your nipples point forward craving warmth. Your nubile figure entices the five men, and the one standing furthest to the back adjusts his belt uncomfortably.
What looks to be the leader steps forward. With a long rope he ties the steel breastplate and helmet to his backpack. He shouts something in the Belkin tongue to his subordinates. They grab their spoils and walk off into the distance. The warrior then blinds your arms to your torso with rope and slings you over his shoulder, resting you on the black fur.
