Gnorrid the Warrioress - Episode 1 and Prelude

In the seventh century after the fall of the great Regency the world was still floundering in chaos and violence. Kingdoms were fighting kingdoms, defeated armies became marauders, and bandits and robbers scourged the land. On the periphery of the known world, tiny kingdoms and simple tribes tapered off into the great unknown. Strange beasts and even stranger races of men were said to dwell within the dark forests and distant mountains.

Along the frontier of the civilized world a few knightly orders erected castles and became the only semblance of stability and justice in these wild lands. In the far northwest, beyond the great forest and in the edge of the high mountains there existed a different kind of order, the Sisters of the Ring of Capricorn. They occupied a high gorge where the river cascaded from the mountains.

The Sisters of the Ring were the remnant of an ancient order from a time when the world was a happier, brighter place. It is said that the Sisters fled and escaped to this remote place when the priests of Dhradumus persecuted, and all but eliminated the matriarchal goddess cults. In some remote locales, however, a few survived. Self-sufficient and independent, the Sisters of the Ring defended themselves with an elite guard of fierce female warriors. Generally avoiding contact with the world of men, their existence was believed by many to be nothing more than a myth.

It is in this world that we drop in on the adventures of the beautiful warrioress, Gnorrid, and her young eunuch page, Fent.

Episode 1

A Shortcut Through the Forest

It was still mid-afternoon when Gnorrid told Fent to begin making camp. The snow was falling faster now, a thick wet snow of early spring, driven by the icy mountain winds colliding with the moist breezes from the sea.

"Are you sure, Warrioress?" Fent asked. "We are less than a half-day’s ride from Eldonbren. We should be able to make it by nightfall."

"In fair weather, yes," said Gnorrid. "Varna asked us to come as soon as possible, but it will serve no purpose to lose our way in a snowstorm after dark. We are not in such a great hurry that we can’t spend one more night in the wood. I’m sure we shall find Varna and Petkin waiting for us at the inn." Gnorrid chuckled and smiled at Fent.

Without answering Fent dismounted and led his horse, Pib, a motley blue gelding, over to the rock outcropping where they planned to make camp. They were traveling lighter than usual - without a packhorse. Fent quickly removed their meager provisions and Pib’s saddle, placing them in the small cliff overhang where they would bed down for the night.

"Look, Mistress Gnorrid, there is an evergreen thicket near the overhang. I can prepare a place for the horses there. It will protect them from the snow."

"Very well, Fent. I’m going to take a look around while you finish preparing our camp." Riding her lanky black mare, Ember, she bolted back into the thickening curtain of snow.

Fent began trimming evergreen boughs with his axe. They would serve the dual function of making room for the horses in the thicket and making a bed for himself and Gnorrid in the shallow cave. Fent, who had just passed his twentieth winter, had been the page of the warrioress, Gnorrid, for almost three years now. He was ten years the junior of his mistress.

As he finished lighting the campfire, Fent heard the soft clomp-clomp of hooves in the thickening blanket of snow. Putting away his flint and steel, he looked up to see the looming black form of Ember emerge with Gnorrid on her back. Fent smiled, happy to see his mistress return.

"See anything?"

Gnorrid hopped down from Ember and handed Fent her saddle bags and fur sleeping roll.

"There were tracks," she said, "too large for lowland deer. Looked like five of them. Horses I think, but snow was filling in the tracks too quickly. I could not be sure the hooves were not cloven. The tracks couldn’t have been more than two hours old though."

"Which way were they headed?" Fent asked, as he removed Ember’s saddle and placed it under the overhang.

"South, toward the river. Probably just some travelers, like us, headed for Eldonbren."

"Nobody goes to Eldonbren, through the forest, especially this time of year. They would surely stick to the main road. It could be bandits - or worse!"

Gnorrid laughed. "You worry too much, my young friend. Those tracks, after all, could have been made by red deer, driven down from the mountains by the snow - nothing more than that."

Carrying feedbags with a ration of oats, Gnorrid led Ember over to the evergreen thicket and into the little shelter Fent had prepared for the horses. She watched the horses munch their ration while Fent busied himself with the camp.

Fent didn’t know what was going on, but he knew something strange was afoot. Varna had sent a message, by pigeon, requesting Gnorrid meet her in Eldonbren. She had said it was urgent. Varna didn’t say why she had sent for Gnorrid, only that she and Fent should come as soon as possible. That is why they were taking the shortcut through the forest. Gnorrid had also mentioned that fewer people would be aware of their journey this way.

The fire popped with an inviting crackle as Gnorrid returned. "What’s for dinner?" she asked.

"I’m afraid we have nothing but jerked venison and mush," Fent replied apologetically. "It will have to do until we get to Eldonbren tomorrow."

Gnorrid laughed. "Now I see why you were so interested in riding on to Eldonbren today. Thinking of your stomach, of course." She continued chuckling.

Fent blushed and gave Gnorrid a sheepish look.

"I don’t blame you," she continued. "I could go for a good meal at Rabnodd’s Inn myself. Right now Varna and Petkin are probably sitting near the big fireplace exchanging tales with other travelers; eating pot roast, boiled lentils, fresh baked bread, and drinking dark ale."

Fent looked up at Gnorrid wistfully. "Yes, or perhaps roast pig, smoked and cured only as Rabnodd can do it!"

Laughing and making small talk, they proceeded to finish off their jerked venison and bran mush, washing it down with tea made from dried herbs. Snow continued to fall as night darkened the landscape. Occasional gusts of wind blew the snow in swirls and drifts scattering bits of it into the mouth of the overhang. Gnorrid and Fent were grateful for the warm fire.

Suddenly, from somewhere in the distant darkness, a howl pierced the stillness of the evening. It was followed by another howl further in the distance. The horses nickered uneasily.

"Wolves!" Fent exclaimed excitedly.

"Yes," Gnorrid replied, drawing her sword. "I don’t expect them to come too near, but we must be prepared in case they go after the horses."

Fent followed suit, drawing his own sword, then after a pause he retrieved a small flask of oil and a hone from his saddle bag. He began methodically sharpening the blade of his sword. His sword was smaller and less ornate than Gnorrid’s, but quite adequate. Sharpening and caring for their swords was a daily ritual for members of the order - both for warrioresses and their pages.

Knowing they must be up before the sun in the morning, they soon decided to bed down and call it a night. On cold nights Gnorrid and Fent always combined their bedding so they could snuggle together for warmth. Removing their boots and deerskin pants, they crawled into the soft fur bedding and allowed their bare legs to entwine. At first the fur felt cool to their naked skin, but it quickly trapped their body heat and became quite comfortable.

Far in the distance the wolves howled again. "They are getting further away," Fent mumbled, with relief.

"Yes, they’re probably going after those bandits," Gnorrid chuckled. They both snuggled together tightly as a gust of wind scattered snow inside the overhang.

Although he enjoyed the good food and warmth he found at the inns and the compound at Ravenskeep, Fent liked these trips into the wilderness with Gnorrid still more. He liked being alone with Gnorrid in the deep wilderness, many leagues from the nearest village. Sometimes he would imagine that they were the only people in the world and that they would live forever just like they were. That was a very lonely feeling, but Fent called it a warm loneliness.

Fent had made his commitment to become a page for the Sisters of the Ring of Capricorn in the summer of his sixteenth year. Gnorrid had taken a liking to him and it was agreed that if he were accepted he would become the page of the beautiful warrioress. The Sisters of the Ring took him to their compound at Ravenskeep and trained him - tested him - for thirteen moons. He passed and was accepted.

During his training Fent had seen little of his future mistress. She was busy adventuring with her mentrix, Varna. But Gnorrid had been there for his transition ceremony. On that fateful and beautiful night both Gnorrid and Seeress Margilina had asked him if he still wanted to go through with it - if he still wanted to become a page for the warrioress and commit his life to the Sisters of the Ring of Capricorn. Fent reaffirmed his pledge and there was no turning back. There under a full moon with Gnorrid and the other warrioresses attending, Seeress Margilina had transformed him. It was the most beautiful moment of his life.

Fent lay with his head against Gnorrid’s breast listening to her beating heart. Their legs were still entwined and he felt the soft warmth of her naked thighs against his own. His mind dwelt on Gnorrid’s beauty, her power, and her wisdom. He felt his body become limp with the sheer awe of her presence. He felt a tingle in his legs and in the emptiness that once contained his burgeoning manhood.

Fent’s mind harked back; back to the first day he saw Gnorrid. Fent was only an orphaned peasant boy of sixteen. Gnorrid and the other warrioresses of the order rode into their village, routing the bandits who were pillaging it. It was mid-summer and the warrioresses were wearing little more than soft deerskin thongs between their legs. Their powerful feminine muscles rippled beneath oiled, bronze skin.

Fent remembered talking to Petkin, page of the warrioress, Varna. He inquired as to how to become a page. Petkin informed Fent that the young warrioress, Gnorrid had just completed her final training and was ready for a personal page of her own. Petkin explained the requirements. Fent remembered going to his uncle’s pig pen and vomiting. Vomiting and crying. His destiny had found him and he was incapable of resisting. Before the band of warrioresses left the village he petitioned - begged - to be accepted into training as a page.

Gnorrid, Varna, and the leader of the band, a warrioress named Rhonna, talked with him at length. Finally, they agreed to take him back with them to their compound at Ravenskeep. Rhonna and her partner, Lietha, took him to train. Their training was harsh and strict - at times even brutal - but he did not break. After the thirteenth moon he was ready for his final transition.

Gnorrid twitched her legs in her sleep, pressing her powerful thigh firmly into Fent’s empty groin. To Fent, the feeling was reassuring and satisfying. The Sisters of the Ring had explained the changes they would cause in him and he accepted it. Men’s cherished private parts caused them to become selfish, independent, lustful, and unfaithful. They always wanted to strike out on their own and become little kings in their own kingdoms. It is simply the way of a man.

Fent remembered the feelings of his youth and had to admit he was well on his way to developing all those aforementioned vices until he had surrendered himself to the Sisters of the Ring. On that wonderful night of his transition Seeress Margilina had taken her knife and carved for him a new destiny. He had never regretted his decision.

On these special nights alone with Gnorrid - those nights when he felt that warm loneliness - he felt an attraction and a tingle deep within. Just as the blazing orb of the sun must set to reveal the stars in their subtle mystifying beauty, the eclipsing of his manhood by the Sisters of the Ring allowed Fent to feel this special warmth and attraction toward his mistress. Something deep inside him felt so right - so wonderful!

Wolves cried again in the distance, still farther away this time. A gust of wind once more scattered snow into the overhang. Snuggling tightly, Fent pressed his empty groin against the soft velvet warmth of Gnorrid’s muscular thigh. With a gentle contented sigh he joined his mistress in sleep.

END Episode 1

Farrell Squire