Your part in the battle had been mercifully brief. One moment you were struggling to retrieve a hastily thrust sword from a bellowing marauder’s chest cavity, the next you were knocked unconscious as you slipped backwards and hit your head on the side of a caravan wheel. Though ‘battle’ may be too generous a word to describe the one sided slaughter that took place between the Norscan marauders and the troupe of traders you formerly belonged to.

Whether you were a hired guard or a member of the merchants seeking to ply their wares northwards, you soon realise as you awake with a start that your party is, save yourself, all but dead.

A thumping headache confirms that you are alive at least. That, and a sense of imminent peril pricking at the back of your mind as you come to. You resist the urge to rise to your feet immediately, instead opening one eye slowly to survey what lies before you.

The body of the aforementioned marauder lying face down on the icy ground is a welcome sight. Not so much what lies beyond but thank the Gods, the ambushers seem to have moved on.

You exhale, fighting to control your breathing. Mindless fear would not serve you now. Ever so slowly you reach out for the pommel of your sword beside the marauder’s corpse where you must have dropped it. If you could just quietly slip away before you were spotted…

“I felt there was a soul yet alive.”

A terrible voice cuts across the snow. Transfixed, it is all you can do to look up as a shadow falls across your face.

Her shadow. Her.

The beat of fell wings ring in your ears as a nightmare in crimson clad descends. Valkia the Bloody glares down at you and in that instant, you know you are as good as dead.

She is the champion of Khorne. His murderous Consort. Her heart is colder than the blood coagulating on the snow beneath her feet. She alone, is war; her very presence is a promise of calamitous conflict yet to come.

You will yourself to action, scrambling to your feet. With sword in trembling hand you adopt a fighter’s stance as best you can manage, shivering with terror and adrenaline all the while. In your heart you know it is a useless gesture. A prayer is on your lips before in a flash of hopeless, futile rage you spit your defiance at the dæmon.

And yet, even as your spit falls impotently to the frosty ground, Valkia stands unmoving. Her fiery eyes rake over you, into every part of you. Seeing, testing, appraising. Approving? Her gaze dips to your bloody sword, at which she chuckles mirthlessly.

“You have killed. That is good. I have need of a messenger.”

Her voice could kindle the dead coals of war, husky from the ceaseless commanding of legions and a million barked challenges. Warily you listen, tension writ throughout your shivering body.

“Listen and obey. You will take a message for me. To the cities, to the weakling Southerners who reject my Master’s call. But first, I would enjoy the spoils of war.”

Almost negligently, the Hetwoman tosses her head-mounted shield face down on the snow behind her. You flinch as you hear it curse muffled, angry words in dark tongues at its bearer. With considerably more care she drives the infamous spear, Slaupnir, into the ground before pacing towards you.

Lethal grace given form approaches. Confidence and empyrean power lies in every deliberate movement, utterly uncaring of any other’s notice save her God’s. She comes to a stop only as your wavering sword point collides with a tiny clink against the front of her blood-dyed armour. Even without the unfurled size of her currently folded bat-like wings, she towers several heads over you.

The corners of her lips twist upwards into a vicious grin as she takes hold of the weapon blade-first. It shatters in her taloned hand not unlike how a child might squeeze apart an icicle.

You watch in disbelief as the shards fall from her unharmed palm, after which you yourself are made to crumple to the floor with a stomach shot harder than any you’ve taken from man or monster in your entire life. Gasping for breath as you struggle to right yourself into a sitting position against the side of the caravan, you also know that she surely could have torn straight through you if she wished it. Why she had not done so yet save for need of a messenger, you were beginning to understand with renewed alarm.

Crouching, she sinks to your level, sharp features mere inches away from your taught, pained expression. With a feral sniff she breaths in your mortal scent.

“I will take my spoils now, and then you will bear my message. You may leave only when I am pleased.” As she spoke her armour disappeared from mortal space into flames that puttered out in the cold air.

Her skin is light as an ice wolf’s fur, marked with pink scar tissue from a thousand glorious wounds. Every aspect of her physique is toned beyond compare, muscles corded with strength honed from centuries of fighting. As she settles herself on your lap, powerful thighs clamped around either side of you, you could not help but notice two things as your mind struggles to comprehend how best to navigate this life or death situation.

The first is the overwhelming warmth emanating from her body. And indeed, you are faintly aware of the snow melting around you as she carefully straddles your far weaker frame, a certain heat of your own stirring between your legs as your vision is filled by the second: a pale pair of heavy breasts.

She finds your hair and hauls your mouth close enough to jam a nipple against it. Smart one. Even though you feel close to a panic attack, you’re aware enough to open your mouth. Suction. Heat. Slick circular motion. The Sword-Maiden groans gutturally.

“Please me well and the rewards will be great.” She purrs like a lion. Her sharp grip turns into a gentler stroking motion, petting your head. Your eyelids flutter as you suckle on a hard nipple. Caught between fear and arousal, you squirm.

With a growl no less threatening because of how breathlessly it escapes her lips, the Valkyrie pulls back to deliver a warning. Her hold tightens about your bunched hair.

“Hark. Struggle, strike at me and I may reward your mettle. But do not think to shy away. Do not cower like a slave, lest it is a quick death you crave instead.”

She smiles harshly, wings fluttering as her pussy twitches. “You may beg if you wish. Though I promise you, I shall give no quarter.”

Your subsequent frantic nodding apparently satisfies the Gorequeen, who releases you to settle her arms on her haunches. With a look of unmistakable hunger, she gives the first of many commands.

“Show me you understand. Earn your right to live.”

Hello there! Wish to join me in exploring this unholy cuddle with a struggle? Then read on!

What I’m looking for:

For someone to play a man or woman (no preference!) against my Valkia the Bloody. The setting is based in Warhammer Fantasy but honestly, that’s mainly just window dressing. All you need to know is that she’s the mortal champion of the god of bloodshed who behaves as you might expect. Your character had the unfortunate honour of being caught in the middle of one of her jaunts down to the mortal realm but has been promised to have their life spared if they do but one thing– sate the Valkyrie’s post-battle lust!

This is not going to be a tender affair. Expect to be well fucked, mercilessly so. Orgasms will be plentiful and taken like trophies as befitting the domination of the conquered. The fuck finishes when Valkia is finished, not when your wimpy mortal stamina runs out.

I’m envisaging this to be a ‘short’ term RP, though I’m hoping you’re in no rush to pace through the scene which could take anything from a few days of light back and forth to a week or two to fully play out. If we really hit it off I’d be open to write more together.

What I am categorically not looking for is a bad ending. Yes this Valkyrie is a psychotic, pitiless killer but she does strike me as the type to possess a sense of twisted honour. Play the game by her rules and your character is free to go, no strings attached! That, and I’ve no interest in writing an RP involving snuff or torture. Happy endings and ‘good’ resolutions are an unofficial kink of mine and so I’m keen to see how they part ways.

What I want from you:

First and foremost, for you to take your time when responding! I would always rather receive a well-written pitch a while after the prompt is initially posted than a hastily scrawled message. As long as this post is up, consider your response welcome. I promise to at the very least tell you upfront if your idea isn’t what I’m looking for.

In your opening message, please dive in to the action straight away. I don’t require a twenty page biography though I’ll also need your thoughts on the dynamic and level of roughness involved as well.

The prompt is written as if Valkia possesses a pussy but if you’d prefer her to have a cock instead, just let me know! Below I’ve included a list of favoured kinks and limits; the former is not an exhaustive list of must-haves but rather, what I think could be fun to include. Don’t be put off if my kinks include your limits or don’t mention your favourite acts; simply say and we can refine accordingly!

Last but not least, cheers for reading! I hope that you enjoyed some of what you read above even if you don’t fancy penning a response. Have a relaxful end to your Thursday!

This pleases Valkia: Rough sex, femdom, dubcon, passion, domming the weakness out of you, the mating press, the amazon position, light anal play, rimming (giving and receiving), corruption, cunnilingus and handholding.

This does not please Valkia: Snuff, gore in a sexual context, vore, outright noncon, scat, lack of hygiene and weaklings.