Introduction

The locations, major events and certain characters in these stories are taken from Theah, the setting for the 7th Sea role-playing game. These particular stories are based on logs from my own role-playing adventures in this exciting world (http://www.btinternet.com/~s.mci/7thsea/7thindex.html).

Theah is (sort of, but not quite) a fantasy version of 17th century Europe. It is filled with daring swordsmen, dashing pirates and dread villains. These stories are set in Montaigne (sort of, but not quite, France) and Eisen (sort of, but not quite, Germany). A bloody peasant revolution is about to overthrow the royalty and aristocracy of Montaigne.

This story has kindly been hosted as a Friend of Jeb’s Adventure Bound (http://www.homestead.com/jebsadventurebound/files/New.html).



“Wake up! Annette, wake up!” A firm hand on her shoulder and the urgent tone of the voice roused the young lady-in-waiting from her pleasant slumber. The loose sleeve of her nightgown slipped down her arm when she twisted round, pushing long strands of soft black hair from her face. She squinted in annoyance at the candle held before her, waking awareness gradually returning.

“Monsieur Fevre!” Annette scrambled backwards in shock, pulling the bed sheets tight around her chest, “Whatever are you doing in my chamber at his hour? Does the Comtesse require me?”

The elderly butler stepped back when it was clear that the girl was awake, “Annette, you must get up quickly. Find something to wear and come downstairs at once. Her ladyship’s manor is being attacked.”

“I don’t understand. What do you mean?” her senses were still dull from sleep, but slowly she began to notice the crashes and shouts from downstairs. In the corridor beyond the butler’s candle other members of the household were rushing frantically to and fro in various degrees of hurried dress. “What is going on, Monsieur?”

A wrinkled hand gripped her arm firmly. Monsieur Fevre drew closer, sighing in impatient exasperation and fixing Annette with a stern glare, “There isn’t time for this, Annette. The revolution has reached us. The villagers have risen against the Comtesse. We have to leave the estate now.”

“But, I …”

“Now, Annette!” shouted the butler. He moved to the open doorway of her room, “The outer gates have already been breached. You must hurry!”

This didn’t make sense. Annette left her bed in a state of confusion. Of course, in her position as a courtier she had heard rumours that the nation’s lower classes were taking action against l’Empereur’s aristocracy. But any trouble was confined to the capital, Charouse lay many miles away. Surely the people of Surlign had no reason to hate their Comtesse. Annette pulled on her warm night robe, drawing the belt sash tightly across her slender waist. She slipped a pair of soft slippers onto her feet and moved out of the bedroom. Monsieur Fevre must be exaggerating, she decided. Maybe one of the local farmers was protesting his opinions too loudly, but an attack on the estate? It was unthinkable.

Evidence as she moved through the manor house indicated that it was Annette who was greatly mistaken. Screams of fright and the sounds of fighting echoed from just outside the building. Pieces of rich clothing and household ornaments were strewn about the rooms - apparently discarded as people grabbed what possessions they could before fleeing. The fine glass windows of the downstairs hallway had been smashed, shards of the glass spread across the dark oak floors. Annette carefully picked her way through the debris in a daze. She stepped out onto the porch, dully noting that the great front door had been for--d from its hinges, and stared at the chaotic scene before her.

Flames and dark smoke billowed into the night air from one of the outhouses at the edge of the estate. A large mass of angry commoners were stampeding across the Comtesse’s carefully manicured lawns. Here and there, small knots of people were fighting. The younger footmen and estate workers trying futilely to keep the rioters back. Some of the combatants wielded gleaming rapiers or sharp daggers, but most carried only improvised weapons. Ornate candlesticks were being used to parry blows from well-worn picks and shovels. Annette felt tears on her cheeks and turned away from the horrid sight. How had it come to this? She knew her position in the Comtesse’s household allowed a life more privileged than most, but had the lower classes really been driven so far?

“Well, what have we here?” The crude mocking voice made Annette look up. The ugly little man before her was dressed in filthy, threadbare clothing. He leered at her and gestured with a rusty knife, “Welcome to the revolution, my pretty.”

Annette backed away shaking her head, her heart rapidly beating with fear. She gave a scream of fright when she bumped into the broad chest of a second, bulkier man. Grimy hands seized her arms above the elbows and painfully pulled them back in a grip of iron. Annette could smell the mixed stench of sweat and alcohol as a bearded face bent close to her ear, “Now don’t run away. We only want to be nice!”

“Please,” she whispered, “Don’t kill me.”

The two men laughed, “Kill you? We don’t want to kill you, dear. This night’s all about looting - redistributing the wealth, as it were. No, we don’t want to kill you, we want to take you as a possession. Now, let’s examine the goods more closely, shall we?”

The first loathsome figure tucked his knife away and took a step closer. He grabbed the edge of her woollen robe and yanked it open, pulling the garment down from her shoulders. Annette struggled feebly and gave a low moan of protest, but she was helpless to resist. The ruffian behind her gave a long whistle of approval, his vantage point provided an ample view of the soft white curves of the girl’s cleavage. The thin material of her nightgown did little for Annette’s modesty. The lustful look from the lead assailant indicated that he also liked what he saw, “Very nice, my dear. I think we’ll keep you.”

“No, don’t …” Annette pleaded, but it was no use. The thug pulled the long silk sash from her robe and handed it to his mate. Her wrists were drawn together behind her back and the band of material used to securely bind them. The first simple loop and quick knot would have been sufficient to restrain her, but her captor evidently took pleasure in his work. He continued to wrap the silk in a further three horizontal loops, tied another simple knot, then finished with a final vertical loop that was pulled even more tightly. It was now painful for Annette to even twist against the bonds.

Fresh tears filled her eyes. Her voice trembled with fear as she begged again for release, “Please, let me go. I’ve never done anything to harm you. I’m not even noble born - I just work for the Comtesse.”

“That’s enough out of you.” The shorter man removed a grubby scarf from around his neck. He knotted it at the centre and shoved the dirty cloth into the struggling girl’s mouth. Her head was pushed down, long black tresses tumbling forwards, and the loose ends of the cloth tied at the base of her neck. Annette choked and almost retched. The gag filled her mouth with a foul taste and the cloth bit harshly at the corners of her mouth. Words were now impossible - not that they had made a difference anyway.

“Let’s get her somewhere more private.” A rough shove between her shoulders for--d the helpless captive to follow her lead captor, his stronger partner ensuring that she went only where they directed. Around them other looters continued their rampaging assault. Small fires were now burning in the manor house itself. Some of the upper class servants had managed to escape the assault and were fleeing across the fields to the nearby woods. There was no sign of the Comtesse or her family. Annette found it hard to care about their fates as she stumbled through the night.

At one point a ’guiding’ shove threw her off balance. She toppled forwards with a muffled shriek, landing in trampled mud and losing her slippers in the process. With no apparent concern for her well-being, the bearded thug grabbed a handful of Annette’s long hair and used it to haul her upright. The abused girl was certain that she would only collapse again. Before she could test this theory, she found herself tossed over the man’s shoulder. Her bare feet now dangled at his stomach while her head bounced near his backside, a rough hand on her own small bottom kept her in place.

They moved across the courtyard and entered the stables, one of the few buildings not yet touched by flame. The Comtesse’s horses were gone - set loose by the rioters or used by those who had time to escape? Annette had no way of knowing. She was dumped unceremoniously on a pile of hay in one dark corner, wincing and moaning in pain at the unkind treatment. The two brutes stood and leered at their prisoner, enjoying her pitiful cries and smiling when she twisted into a ball, pushing herself deeper into the hay as if it would offer protection from their lecherous eyes.

“What now?” asked the larger man, obviously not the brains of the partnership.

His shorter companion stared at Annette’s struggles for a few more moments before turning to answer, “Find some ropes to make her more secure. I want to make certain that she doesn’t escape if we leave. There’ll be plenty of time to enjoy her pleasures later, but we need to get into the house soon or lose out on more practical riches.”

A quick search easily discovered some long lengths of rope. The brutes knelt beside their captive and went to work. The bearded one took her ankles and swiftly bound them together. The rope was much harsher than the silk at her wrists. Several tight coils welded her legs together and were efficiently tied off.

The other captor took more time about his task. A long length of rope was wound around Annette’s upper body, pinning her arms tightly to her torso. Loops were passed across her chest. The man let his hands wander across his victim’s breasts, crudely fondling the soft flesh. A hand moved to her hair and yanked Annette’s head up to place a foul, slobbering kiss on her forehead. She whimpered and squeezed her eyes shut, sickened by the touch.

“What’s the matter? Am I not good enough for you? I’m sure you never complained when some rich lord laid his hands on you.”

Annette flushed in shame and turned her face away. In truth, no man had ever touched her in this manner. She had promised that the first man to share her body would do so on their wedding night. She gave a deep sob. That promise may soon be broken against her will.

The villain laughed and gave her breast a final vulgar pinch. He finished pulling the chest ropes tight and tied a firm knot at her back. A short strand was left loose. Her bound wrists were taken and the rope passed around them, reinforcing the existing bonds and hauling her hands further up her back towards her shoulder blades. The effect was agony.

“That ought to keep her in place. Let’s go. I’ve heard the cellars of this place contain enough booze to float a Castillian galleon.”

Annette lay on the ground and watched her captors leave. They pulled the large stable doors closed and she could hear the heavy wooden locking bar scraping into place. Low sobs escaped past her gag, tears now flowing freely down her face. She felt utterly wretched. Her scant night time clothing was completely dishevelled, wet with mud from her fall and stained with dirt and hay from the stable floor. The outer robe had fallen completely from her shoulders when the last ropes were applied, and was bunched above her bound wrists. Her tormentor’s groping hands had torn the bodice of her flimsy nightdress, leaving her pale bosom partially exposed to the chill air.

The savage bondage in which she was placed left the damsel helpless and terrified. The tight ropes around her chest and the disgusting, mouth-filling gag made every breath difficult. The quick, short gasps which she could manage between sobs, were leaving her weak and light-headed. It was the strictness of the bonds on her wrists and arms which caused most distress. Her hands felt numb and cold. The rope pulling them up her back had been unnecessarily cruel. Annette knew that she should be trying to escape, but the slightest movement wracked her arms, wrists and shoulders with waves of pain. It was easier just to lie still and try to endure her misery.

She wondered what further mistreatment lay in store for her. The possibilities were too terrible for the innocent girl to contemplate. She prayed her ordeal would be swift and painless. But what then? If the protests in Charouse had really sparked a nationwide revolution, then what future could there be for an upper-class servant of the aristocracy? Did it really matter? Bound as she was, she had little say in what would become of her.

Annette had no idea how long she lay in the darkness, wallowing helplessly in her distress. The sound of scraping wood alerted her to the return of her captors. The shorter one entered. He now carried a sack, bulging with pilfered treasures.

“Did you miss me, my dear?” he taunted, “Not to worry. You’ll soon have my full attention.”

A thud and tinkling crash sounded from the stable door. The villain turned, “Paul? Get in here and give me a hand.” The second man staggered into the stables. Annette twisted to look up. His face was pale above his dark beard and his eyes had an unusual expression of surprise.

“Paul? What’s wrong?” The bearded man took a few more swaying steps. They could now see that his hands were clasped over a deep, bloody gash to his belly. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then gasped his last breath and collapsed to the ground.

Another figure strode confidently into the building. From her bound position , Annette could not see his face, but it was easy to recognise the short tabard and wide-brimmed feathered hat. A Musketeer! An alarm must have reached the village barracks. Desperate hope replaced the terror that had engulfed her heart. The Musketeer advanced, his rapier extended towards the remaining brute, “Put down that sack, monsieur, and step into the open.”

With a snarl of rage the miscreant drew his knife and sprang towards his prisoner, no doubt planning to use her as a hostage. The Musketeer saw the intent and moved much faster. With two long strides he closed the gap and lunged with his sword, a single thrust piercing his opponent’s heart. The body fell close to Annette, who gave a startled yelp. The dead man’s head turned towards her and stared with the vacant gaze of death.

A surge of relief swept through Annette. She had been rescued, surely her ordeal was over. Her head began to swim deliriously. She was only dimly aware of her rescuer kneeling to work her gag loose. The man was saying something, but the words sounded incoherent. When the rag scarf was removed from her mouth, the abused damsel licked her dry lips and faintly managed to speak, “You … you saved me.” Whatever reply he made was lost to her. As the swordsman’s strong arms gently lifted her from the ground, Annette swooned into peaceful unconsciousness - her last sight, that of a Musketeer’s tabard.