By: Madelyne Posted on: December 28, 2007
THE RAPE OF BELLADONA
By Madelyne Ech'lir
(WARNING: MAY CONTAIN GRAPHIC MATERIAL)
[Author's Note: The mortal Countess Belladona dreamed of gaining the knowledge
of Necromantic Power. However, her ambitious dream turned into a real-life
nightmare when she visited the crypt of Zsarachnor. The following is how I
imagine the account might have happened from the point of view of Belladona as
she existed at the time of the encounter.]
My name is Countess Belladona, and this is the story of my rape by the evil
Lord Zsarachnor.
I descended the damaged stairs, my eyes slowly growing accustomed to the single
flickering torch that struggled to light the damp and gloomy corridor. The
directions to the crypt committed to memory, I ducked through the junction of
corridors and slipped unnoticed past the rusted gate into the underground
graveyard.
The thick mist covering the floor enveloped the lower part of my form as I made
my way through the obstacle course of crudely cut slabs that served as
gravestones. Nearly avoiding slipping into an open grave, I found myself before
a large tomb. More elaborate than all the other headstones combined, the
sculptures crafted to decorate the crypt were beautiful despite their demonic
theme. Considering my reason for visiting this dire edifice, perhaps I found
the sculptures more beautiful due to their deadly nature.
Finding the stone used to seal the entrance moved aside and the guardians
missing, I hastily entered and stealthily made my way down the stairs until I
was standing just outside the burial chamber of the great Zsarachnor himself.
The lord of all vampires, once a servant under Lord Slith in the War of
Humanity, stood tall and proud. His overwhelming power radiated through the
large area. Feeling someone staring at me, I looked until my eyes met the
lifeless ones of a pale vampiress. Bloodshot, her green-eyed gaze never left me
as I ventured into Zsarachnor's lair.
"Why are you here?" His deep, commanding voice attempted to seduce me further
into the crypt.
My desire for knowledge about the necromantic arts overpowered my hatred for
the male before me. "You know why I am here, Zsarachnor."
He laughed, deep and bellowing, "I want to hear you say it, bitch." As he
spoke, he idly stroked the dusty, raven-like wings of the pale vampiress at his
side.
I hated him. I hated him for his pathetic attempt to humiliate me. But, I could
play his petty game. "I dream of sharing your power. Teach me the death magic."
Zsarachnor's dark eyes sparkled with cold amusement. He nodded, indicating that
I should continue and paying no mind to the vampiress who was sensually rubbing
against him.
"The priests of Shallam continue to raise shrines -- even in your home here in
Azdun. Teach me the death magic so that I may help stop the spread of influence
the Church is imposing upon the mortals of this world." I kept my voice even and
calm as I answered the undead man before me.
The pallid vampiress, her dusty auburn hair elegantly swept up away from her
ageless, porcelain face, remained expressionless although her observant,
bloodshot eyes studied my mouth as I spoke. Zsarachnor murmured something to
his loyal companion and reluctantly she left his side, moving to stand ear a
heavy wooden chest in the corner of the room. Once she had moved away he
approached me.
As the tall vampire lord circled me, I straightened my posture and proudly
stood without fear. "What is stopping me from making a meal of you, Countess?"
Haughtily, I spat out, "Would I not be more use to you in your quest to stop
the Church from spreading its influence across the land?"
"Oh, I plan to use you," he laughed, a deep and booming sound that echoed
against every available surface, including my body. There was a icy chill to
his voice that would have frozen wintry Sarapin winds. I resisted the urge to
shudder. Zsarachnor sensed my momentary distraction and took advantage of the
situation. All too late I realised this particular quest in my dream for
necromantic knowledge was futile.
His large body forced mine back against the damp, mildew-covered wall of the
cavern. As his rough, calloused hand closed around my throat I knew there was
no escape. His knee raised sharply and brutally forced my legs apart while his
free hand savagely ripped the front of my gown.
His sharp teeth dragged painfully, scratching the taut skin covering my neck.
The damp air of the crypt settled into the freshly broken skin and caused a
sharp, stinging sensation. I brought up a hand to fight him off and he knocked
it away as if it were a twig. I tried my best to scratch and kick him away from
me, my shrill screams filling the air. Unfortunately, my fellow Ashanti were
much too far to hear my cries for assistance.
Zsarachnor forced himself into my most sacred place, planting his demon seed
within my fertile womb. When the act was finished, he released me. I fell like
a rag doll to the floor of the crypt, exhausted from my failed attempts to
fight him off. I drifted into a blissful, dreamless state of unconsciousness
there on the damp, cool surface.
Much later, I awoke in Ashtan. My companions had arrived too late to save me
from being brutally raped by the vampire lord, but were able to retrieve my
body before he fed from the warm, salty blood that still ran through my veins.
As I lay nestled within the plush blankets upon my ornate bed, my hand
instinctively went to my stomach. The dream Zsarachnor tried to kill sparked to
life. Even without confirmation from a doctor, I was aware of the fertile egg
that grew inside me. Ignoring the pain of my recent wounds, I sat up and
mentally planned my next step on the path to gain Necromantic power.