I walk slowly through the ravaged town square, a simple collection of miserable looking huts and houses, huddled together in semblance of communal need, surveying the scene. Thatched roofs set ablaze, thick plumes of smoke trail high into the sky from our latest raid. The stench of fire, blood and death permeates the surroundings, a low, vile miasma co-mingling with the cacophonous confusion of a battle turned abruptly to slaughter. Prayers uttered. Shrieks echoing. Cries for help. For death.

I observe the aftermath as I walk, grinning openly as my clansmen revel in the chaos and battle-lust that strengthens their fighting spirit, making them ever-hungrier for blood and glory. Though I grin, my heart feels as leaden stone. There was no challenge here, no conquest. No glory to be had or wealth to be gained. Just a half-dozen soldiers and a score of townspeople. Just a slaughter.

I encounter my cousin Erik as I walk. “No silver, no livestock.” He says, eyes glinting darkly as he shakes his head with frustration. “Nothing of value to be had in this shit hovel.” He adds, punctuating his last word with a swift kick to a nearby dying townsman.

“Calm yourself, cousin. There may be something yet.” I say, taking him by the shoulder as we walk towards a small hut with two of my men posted outside as guards. “Check the chapel.” I gesture to some of my men towards a shabby-looking stone building. “Saxons usually leave their wealth in their places of worship.”

We enter the hut. Huddled together fearfully inside are all of the surviving townspeople. A few elderly people. A smattering of children. A lame farm-hand. A handful of suitable women. My eyes pass over the wretches when they fix on you.

“Stand up.” I say, taking a closer look at you. Frightened, face smudged with ash and soot, torn dress clinging to your little figure, you aren't much to look at. Your eyes, though. They burn angrily with hidden fire, an unspoken defiance that speaks directly to the conqueror embedded within my being. I grab you by your chin, feeling your soft skin, prying your lips apart to ensure that none of your teeth are missing. I grin. I have to make this one mine. I think.

“I am known as Sten Halvorson.” I say by way of introduction. “Your old life is over, little one. You are property now.” I say in rumbling baritone, your chin still in my hand. I smile warmly, though the warmth doesn't spread to my icy-blue eyes. “I would give you a choice, though.” I add.

“You can become cattle like all around you will be...” I say, gesturing to your peers and townspeople. “...Or you can become one of my personal whores and take a privileged place at my feet.” I say, grinning magnanimously. “There is a catch though...” I add, as my cold blue eyes hungrily soak in all the heat and intensity of your baleful glare.

“To be my whore, you must kill one of my whores to take her place.” I say simply. “I wonder... Are you a warrior or are you a slave?” I add, after a long, chilly silence.

“My men and I will feast and plan our next raid. I will be back at sundown and I would have an answer then.” I say, taking my cousin and leading him out. I can see the naked hunger gleaming in Erik's dark eyes as he looks at you. Eyes narrowing, I make a mental note to watch Erik, should he become problematic to my design.

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Hey! My prompts typically focus more on romantic stuff, seduction and the like. I'd like to do something darker this time though, more visceral. I'd like to do something involving a young, ambitious warlord who musters his forces to pillage and raid the fragmented kingdoms of western Europe, seeking fortune, glory and a place in Valhalla. Knights and vikings. Saxons and Danes. Very “The Last Kingdom,” if you've read the book or watched the show.

I'll be playing the Jarl Sten Halvorson. One of Sten's quirks is that he takes three women into his bedchamber, no more, no less. When a whore outlives her usefulness or no longer amuses him, he simply finds another to replace her. He's currently frustrated with his whore Asha, an exotic woman taken from a small tribe on an island during an early raid. Asha is very old by whore standards, unable to bear an heir for Sten, so the act of finding a younger, riper girl to replace her seems to him an act of divine providence. Asha is bigger than you, although dim-witted. How will you use your courage and cunning to triumph over an older, stronger opponent?

Although young, Sten is cunning, charismatic and forged in battle. Quiet murmurs still linger regarding the violent way in which Sten dispatched his drunken, carousing predecessor and took command of his clansmen, but his prowess in planning, fighting and killing have gone a long way in securing the loyalty of his blood and countrymen. Though his command is not absolute, Sten knows his people well, and knows how to play on their desires for blood and glory, eager to make his mark on the scribe's written books of history.

He will need powerful, trustworthy allies to ensure his plans come to fruition, though. Will you fight to be the one to help continue his bloodline, securing his family name and his foothold in the halls of Valhalla?

Normally I'd list kinks here, but this is different for me. Just DM me and tell me who you are, and what you like.