‘Today is a great day!’ The woman’s voice echoed through the large throne room chamber, bouncing across the polished stone and cutting across the sobs of terrified maidens and breathless panting of what few battle-weary guards still held onto their lives. Outside of the royal court, the sounds of wanton destruction still raged, although the clash of swords and roar of battle orders were becoming more sparse. It was clear to all that the siege of Mir Terath would soon be nearing its conclusion, the capital was all but sacked. The king, the queen, the princess, the castle servants who had been rounded up, and what remained of the Kingsguard, were all held motionless with swords at their throats as they listened to the ravings of this fanatical harbinger.

‘Do not give yourselves over to misery, my friends.’ The woman continued, pacing up and down the court, her black heels clicking and her hips swaying as her husky voice trembled with genuine rapture. Her features were immaculate, a pale face pulled straight from an artist’s rendering of ‘beauty’. She was clad in a silk dress of midnight black, so dark it absorbed any light that dare touch it, and it clung to her upper form like a second skin, save for a natural flare caused by two long slits that ran along either side of her legs. Her slender torso was accentuated by a subtle curve to her hips and bust, and her legs were so long they defied anatomical reason. Pale green eyes flicked from person to person, seeming to dance with a kind of all-knowing mirth. Her hair hung in a long sheet down to her lower back, so dark it would be fair to think it were black, were it not for when the light hit it and revealed it was actually the darkest shade of orange imaginable, the colour of dying embers.

‘You think us conquerors? Do not!’ She continued, staring at every person in kind, not directing her practiced speech only to the royal family held at knife-point in their thrones by the faceless soldiers clad in black and bloodied armour. ‘You think us tyrants!? You could not be further from the truth.’ She held her silk-clad arms wide in revelation. ‘We are… liberators!

‘You’re mad!’ King Arcaedes roared, feeling the dagger at his throat press sharply against the skin below his grey and black beard.

The woman in black shot him a look so cold that the King’s daughter let out a squeak like a frightened mouse. It lasted only an instant though, as the orator’s face softened once more and she continued to speak as if never interrupted.

‘What your people see as destruction, is in fact… rebirth!’ She smiled and closed her eyes, as if recounting a happy children’s tale. ‘Yes, your kingdom will burn. But from its ashes will rise an entire nation befitting glorious purpose. Many of your men will be slaughtered, but those who survive will have been hardened like steel, reborn in a gauntlet of fire and blood! Your women will be claimed! But from their wombs will be ripped a new dawn for this darkening world! What greater purpose could there be!?’

‘Our people would gladly die before they aid you and your Warlord in your psychotic death march!’ The King spat, before the soldier slammed the old man’s head against the back of his throne and pressed his dagger’s edge to the once great King’s throat. The soldier stared at the woman in black behind a shielded iron face mask, waiting for the order. Instead, the woman gently held up one delicate hand, staying the soldier’s blade, and began to stride towards the King.

‘King Arcaedes.’ She said, with a tone that bordered between reproach and disappointment. ‘Breaker of chains. The diplomat. Under his rule his people have thrived in an age of unprecedented peace and prosperity.’ The woman reached the King’s throne and looked down at him for a moment. The King had been handsome once, now he looked old and frail. Features weathered by an impending war he had been powerless to curtail. He had aged more in these last few lunar cycles than he had in the last 10 trips around the sun combined.

With a casual flick of the wrist, the woman waved away the soldier holding the king at knife-point, and whether a good idea or not, the man knew better than to argue. The knight sheathed his dagger and stepped back, then watched as the woman in black sat herself comfortably onto the lap of the King. Her long legs straddled either side of Arcaedes’ thighs, and as much as the King wanted to push her off, he felt a wave of paralysis flow like ice water in his veins, as if emanating from where the woman’s body pressed against his own.

‘Do you know what your precious peace is, Your Majesty?’ The woman said, softly, her fingers trailing upwards across the front of the King’s garb and eventually finding their way to the side of his neck, where she ran her nails gently across his wrinkled skin. ‘Peace is a bandage over an infected wound. It is the slop fed to pigs in order to fatten them for the slaughter.’

‘What… is… this… witchcraft…’ the King choked out with such pained exertion that his entire face turned red with the effort of the task.

‘Don’t try to speak, Your Majesty. Just listen. This is important for you to hear.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper, yet the throne room was so deathly silent that her words were audible to everyone present. ‘Your kingdom is sick. You see that now, don’t you? Like an apple fallen from the tree and left for the worms, this land has begun to rot from the inside out.’

The king’s eyes were growing bloodshot as he strained against whatever spell this vile sorceress had placed on him. He let out a gurgled protest which brought with it a small droplet of blood that leaked from his nostril, causing his wife and daughter to cry in fear until they were silenced once more by the knives at their throats.

‘You… and your kingdom, are sick, Arcaedes.’ The woman repeated, bringing her face within an inch of the King’s. ‘And we… are the cure.’

She pressed her lips into the old man’s, who immediately screamed a choked off sob into her mouth. Icy heat seemed to spread from her lips like no pain he had ever experienced before, as he felt her tongue gently slide into his mouth and begin to stir rhythmically. Her hips shifted forward and back ever so gently atop the king’s thighs, and the peaks of her modest breasts erupted as her nipples hardened and pressed like pink jewels against the thin black silk of her dress.

What the Queen saw then was enough to cause her to faint, but for their daughter, all the young lady could do was stare in horror as a breathless scream involuntary escaped her mouth. Her father’s face was becoming gaunt and ashy, the colour of a burnt log. His wrinkles seemed to deepen the longer this demonic woman kissed him, and after a few more seconds the once great King began to convulse as his very essence seemed to leave his body through the bond formed by he and the woman’s lips. The lady in black moaned with pleasure, eyes rolling back into her head as the kiss of death reached its crescendo, until she finally pulled away laughing in orgasmic glee, while the rest of the audience in the throne room either gasped or screamed. The king was dead, but not just dead, he had been hollowed out. Dried like preserved beef, and then burnt like coal. He looked like a brittle statue, formed from barely held together dust, ready to collapse under the weight of his own hair and clothes.

‘You see!?’ The woman in black shouted proudly, stepping aside to show her handiwork. ‘Through faith, through devotion, all things are possible!’ With one delicate finger, she reached out and gently touched the King’s corpse, and watched satisfied as it crumbled into cremated ash on his throne.

The princess’s silence was broken then, as she screamed in blood-curdling, abject horror. Tears streamed freely down her face as the soldier guarding her released his grip on her arm and watched as she ran to what remained of her father and picked up handfuls of ash which fell like sand through her shaky grip.

‘We offer you a world free from Kings and Queens.’ The woman spoke loudly, drowning out the princess’s hitched sobs, and the terrified moans of her captured audience. Her voice trembled under the weight of the belief as she continued. ‘There is no rich, no poor. No servant and master. We offer you true meritocracy. The strong will prevail and the weak will perish. Power beyond your wildest imaginings lays before you, available for all who are simply strong, brave enough, to reach out and claim it! I was once like all of you. Blind to my own weak-willed ignorance. But I was offered a choice by a man. A great man! He does not sit idly on a throne. Even now, he paints your lands in blood, he lays waste to your walls which have shielded you, and blinded you, and hid you away from the cruel realities of the world which you have helped to create. He fights alongside our men because he is us, and we are him.’

‘We do not follow a crown, we do not pledge our lives to causes we don’t believe in. We suffer willingly. We triumph willingly. And there is no space for non-believers.’

She stopped and took a breath. With only a glance she could see the range of emotions etched in her audience’s eyes. Some were fearful, some were horrified… but some had that same spark that her leader had recognised in her.

‘Now, who will join us? And who will join their King?’

‘Wait a second, Bort,’ I hear you say. ‘This was tagged as M4F, what gives? Where’s the dong, bro!?’ Patience, dear reader. Hopefully someone out there is on the same wavelength as me, and kinda dug what I was going for with this prompt, but if not, I’ll try to elaborate. Cause what is OOC for if not explaining your vague and rambling writing?

You know how in the MCU they built up Thanos without ever really even showing you Thanos? The dude was terrifying before he’d ever even said more than a few words. Well that was the general inspiration I went into this prompt with (kinda stole the vibe of Ebony Maw’s speech as well, whoops). I wanted to set a scene with some genuinely evil and terrifying fanatics, and then allude to a figure who commands the respect and loyalty of said fanatics. Who are the people you’re afraid of, afraid of, y’know?

It’s already a long prompt, so rather than introduce the Warlord leader in a scene of his own, I figured that can be one of the things we discuss if you decide to respond, along with what kind of character you see yourself playing, and how she would fit into the story. I have ideas in mind for the main male character, but different people find different things intimidating, and I would love for you to provide insight into what you find makes a compelling villain. Is it some hulking barbarian brute, who takes everything by force? Or maybe a more reserved and stoic strategist, who can command a room with a glance and a whisper? Is he charming, or callous? Patient, or untethered? As for your character, are you a high born lady brought low, or a low born lady who sees a chance to give herself over to something more grand? How willing a participant will you be in your own corruption? Maybe you’re even underestimated by the villains, and you work from within to try and take them down? Whatever the case, I see this as a long term tale of corruption and cruelty that is truly collaborative, so an emphasis on plot is going to be pretty essential. But don’t worry, the smut will be there in abundance.

You’ll also notice that I added in sorcery and magical elements. This can either play a big part or a small part, but if we explore that route then my idea was that it is tied to some sort of zealous fanaticism. How exactly that works, I don’t know, but if you want to give your character some witchy powers then I’m totally down for it, so let’s discuss it and see what ideas we come up with. I’m comfortable writing in either 1st or 3rd person, and if the prompt didn’t give it away, I am quite a long-winded writer, and find that I vibe more with people who don’t shy away from long replies in the 5 paragraph range.

Kinks for this prompt include, but are not limited to: Creative cruelty, slow burn corruption, power dynamics, non-con turned dub-con turned willing participation, violent/rough sex. I also have more general kinks I enjoy in most every roleplay, things like tearing clothes, large cocks, spanking/choking, excessive cumplay, size differences, breeding, and plenty more. If it’s not a limit, just ask and I will probably be receptive.

Speaking of limits, they are as follows: underage characters, vomit, scat, vore, feet, unappealing smells/musk, heavy bdsm.

So yeah, I know this has a lot going on, but if I’ve held your interest this long I hope that means you enjoyed what you read, and that I may see some of you in my inbox soon.