The Bounty
Three big humans, one dwarf, two dogs, ten bladed weapons, three bows, four quivers of arrows, some of them poisoned, three tents (one was shared), four packs of supplies, (plus one containing several daggers, some bottles of poison, a book of erotica and a tattoo kit) four horses and one helpless, captured former Antivan Crow. All in all, terrible odds if said Crow desired his freedom, which he certainly did. The dogs alone were formidable enough but one look at the humans' leader, a massive specimen of masculine beauty with bright, scarlet hair that ran just below his well-formed posterior and heavy-lidded blue eyes that were always watching him.
Had they met under more conventional circumstances, Zevran might have been tempted to bed the man but, alas, the big human seemed as immune to his sensual charms as he was to Zevran's attempts at conversation. "So, my large friend, is it common to starve your prisoners where you're from or might I have a few last meals before your employer kills me?" the elf asked from where he sat on the ground, shirtless, unarmed with his hands bound tightly behind his back and a heavy chain binding him to a tree.
The human grunted, reached for the discarded remains of his own meal and threw the bones at Zevran's feet. The former crow sighed and shook his head. "Tsk, tsk, tsk… That is hardly what I would refer to as food and were there anything left to consume, I am still, nonetheless, helplessly bound and unable to feed myself."
Dyllard sighed, walked over to the fire and removed a tender, spitted squirrel from where it roasted above the flames. He then placed one end of the spit between Zevran's knees and squeezed them tightly around it to hold it in place. In a voice that was low, soft and rough, he said, "Eat or starve but you will receive no more courtesy than that."
Zevran watched the man walk back to the stump in front of his tent and resumed sharpening his blade. With another heavy sigh, he leaned over his "meal" and ate the meat off the small bones. Why did the mercenary have to be one of the mean kind, he wondered as he allowed the bones to fall to the ground under his knees, his stomach growling insistently for more. He groaned in agony, curious if by not feeding him they were deliberately keeping him weak. If that was so, it was working.
Eventually, the pain in his belly subsided and he watched Dyllard again, as was his habit since he had so little to occupy himself. "Sooo… Tell me, o' captor of my body, what do you plan to do with me now that you have me?" Zevran asked as he shifted his weight to his other hip. Not that he minded being bound but only under certain circumstances was it enjoyable. The position he was in against the tree was tiring and things were growing numb as his weight pressed into the ground. This time, it was his ass and that is not a pleasant experience, especially when the sensation rushed in like an army of angry needles.
For once, unlike other times when Zevran had ventured to ask, Drevin Dyllard decided to reply in his rough voice. "I plan to turn your ass in and collect my pay for me and my men. Once the exchange is done, we'll be swimming in coin; you're worth a small fortune."
Zevran winced and tried to look suave as he leaned against the tree. "So I hear. Say, what if I were to, oh, strike an alternative deal for you, hmm? I could double what my bounty is. Maybe add some, ahem, pleasure to the deal? Sex with a Crow, even a former Crow, I have heard, has a certain appeal for even the most heartless souls. You are, after all, a mercenary and mercenaries like money… and sex…"
"Even for triple your bounty, I'm not going against the man who hired me. He has connections to the Crows himself and crossing them when they have the backing of the Guild is unwise. And I do not have sex with my captives," growled the otherwise taciturn human.
Zevran was not surprised by the answer though he had had his hopes. Curious, he asked, "But you would have sex with me if I were not your captive?"
"My preference is for women, elf," Dyllard growled.
"I have been known to change that in men…" the elf said slyly. "It would be horrible to die without feeling a man's embrace one last time," Zevran breathed dramatically.
Dyllard shook his head and considered gagging the annoying knife-eared man but decided against it as he continued to sharpen his blade. Eventually, the song of the crickets, frogs and the wind lulled Zevran to an uneasy sleep. While he rested, he dreamed about his freedom, a certain Grey Warden and his blades… How Zevran wished he could have his blades again. They were in the possession of one of the men, a disgusting fellow with a pointed chin and rotting teeth who enjoyed pleasuring himself in front of the elf. Even closing his eyes could not block out the little smacking sounds of the man's hand as it worked his cock directly in front of Zevran.
Dawn arrived and chased away the early morning fog that had settled across the forests that filled the central Free Marches. Like he did every morning for the past several days, Zevran awoke sore, wet and shivering in the early morning gloom. A day ago, they had finally crossed the Minanter River, north and east of Starkhaven and were now better than half-way to their goal. For ten days, they had been traveling and for ten days, Zevran cringed each dawn as the men roughly shoved around their manacled prisoner as they detached him from the tree.
As camp was broken, the elf cleared his throat and looked over at the men's big, broad-shouldered leader. Drevin raised an inquiring eyebrow as Zevran smiled awkwardly at him. "I know the timing of my request is poor, however, nature being the forceful bitch that she is, I find myself in need of relieving myself. Preferably not in my pants, if you don't mind. The smell… For you and I…" Zevran shuddered and watched as the big man stalked over to him and jerked the elf's pants down to his ankles before walking back to his tent and continued dismantling it.
Zevran cleared his throat again. "Ah, I see. So, while my hands are tied behind my back, I shall disgrace us all with the scent of my own piss as it ferments in my boots."
Drevin looked at his men and frowned as they each shook their heads. Someone even muttered that the elf could piss down his leg all he wanted as long as they got paid for him. "Who decided to tie his hands behind his back, eh?" the leader barked to them.
"You did, sir, after 'e grabbed that dagger from Vorshe's pouch while 'e was fuckin' that bit outside Starkhaven. You were drunker'n Vorsh that night but still sharp as steel. That was two days ago," replied a broad-shouldered surface dwarf as he shouldered his pack and walked over to the smallest of the four horses.
The big mercenary turned back to Zevran, his arms crossed menacingly. "So… For two days you've held your piss in?"
Zevran managed a weak smile as he explained, "I have been… creative, sir."
"So, you have now run out of creativity? Or you just want someone to hold your cock?" Dyllard snapped.
The elf smiled and bowed slightly. "My creativity has depended largely on the flexibility of my body, which is now cramped and sore. Were my hands freed and I allowed to stretch out, my naturally acrobatic nature would surely return but, alas, I am to be treated like a pig for slaughter without even the dignity of being allowed to relieve myself properly."
Rolling his eyes, Dyllard walked over to Zevran once again and grabbed his cock in his big hand and waited while Zevran willed himself to pee despite the indignity of his situation. Ah, but when you must, you simply must, thought the elf as he finally released his bladder. The human was impressed to find that, even soft, Zevran's cock was long and thick, with an echo of his facial tattoos running along either side of the big member. It was even pierced just under the head, a horizontal loop of gold near the hole. "You let someone to tattoo your cock, elf? Must've been painful."
Zevran stood up and squared his shoulders proudly. "Most of my body is decorated with markings, my big friend. Should you like to see them sometime, I would be happy to show you." Dyllard grunted though he did not stop looking at Zevran's thick appendage. Smiling, the elf added, "The cock tattoo was especially trying but I had the pleasure of a huge erect penis in my mouth for most of it so time went by swiftly. You may not be aware but a tattoo on your cock requires you to maintain a long period of sexual arousal, a feat I am most skilled at. It is also very attractive to others."
Dyllard made a face and walked away, leaving the elf naked, his pants about his ankles and a sigh upon his lips. "Must you mistreat me so?" Zevran complained.
"Hike his pants up, one of you. I'm done dealing with him. Until he fills my purse, I want nothing to do with him. Damned elf…" Dyllard grumbled as he finished breaking down his tent. Vorsh ambled over, without his dagger in reach, and yanked Zevran's breeches up so hard and fast that they created a deep wedge between his ass cheeks. He yelped and shot the cruel man a dark glare as he did his best to wiggle them back down to a comfortable position on his body.
The small group struck a north-easterly route along the river before eventually heading north. The goal was Rialto and it was there the exchange would take place and Dyllard and his men could retire for a while as wealthy men. There was still a bit of land between them and their goal but every step drew them nearer, much to their captive's dismay.
Zevran, for his part, was becoming fearful for his life. Tied by his neck to the middle horse, he pondered the reality that the Crows might not wait for Dyllard to collect his bounty and might kill Zevran before reaching the city. Antiva was a dangerous place for him these days since leaving the Crows some six years earlier. It was remarkable how personally they seemed to take the death of their Guild Master when what the Crows dealt with was killing despots and the like.
There had been few as despicable as the Crows' former Guild Master and killing him had been a pleasure for Zevran.