Red Sonja: All A Hero Needs Is A Quest (Patreon)

Karne and Vicca’s bodies spoke of hard work and hard reward. Karne was toned and tall, Vicca buxom and tan. None of the softness of cityfolk or the hard-worn deprivation of slaves. They were bred and fitted to work a living from the land and raise a family to inherit whatever their parcel was.

Neither of them had more than twenty winters under their belt. Vicca looked like a May Queen, obviously the prettiest their small village had to offer. With her upturned nose, her shoulder length strawberry hair, and her well-developed hips and bust… almost too developed for her modest height… she could have been a fertility goddess.

While Vicca’s beauty was appreciated by the local townspeople with a sort of civic pride, outsiders were far more vocal in their enthusiasm for it. Every man she met wanted to fuck her and would tell her so; either with unrelenting stares or outright propositions. Sometimes, their advances were physical, though those had been as unsuccessful as the other overtures Vicca had received. When travelers came to call, Vicca’s brothers tended to accompany her around town. When the army rode through, Vicca was hidden out in the woods.

Vicca was a virgin and after her carefree childhood had developed into an adolescence of dodging flirtation and worse, she’d become convinced she didn’t want to lie down and spread her legs, not ever. The only man she even wanted to have look at her was Karne.

He was handsome, in an unprepossessing way. His features clean and well-formed, his smile showcasing a full assortment of straight teeth, his eyes clear, his fuzzy facial hair at least trimmed enough not to be an embarrassment. His nose was a bit prominent and his chin too narrow and his cheeks too drawn for him to really strike Vicca as a looker, but his vest—open over a thin layer of spun cotton that served as jersey—showed cobblestone abs on his admittedly slender trunk. And, through his trousers, his legs were well-formed, with the walking muscle of a man who had to trust his own two feet to deliver him to wherever he sought.

Vicca was in love with Karne. Sometimes, she caught herself staring at him in the way men would look at her. It wasn’t that she was trying to communicate anything, she didn’t think. She just couldn’t take her eyes off his boyish smile and the twinkle in his sharp blue eyes—his finest feature, to her mind.

So when Karne began bringing her little gifts and engaging her in conversation and working with her on her chores, she didn’t think to defend herself—any more than she would treat a squirrel in the grass the same as a ravening wolf. Somehow, he even took over guarding her when untrustworthy males were visiting the town, relieving her brothers who had long since grown weary of protecting her virtue.

The village matchmaker couldn’t help but see what was obvious to everyone else. Uncaring of the bribes offered by well-off widowers and elders who wanted her beauty in their children’s family, he set the engagement, which Vicca and Karne were happy to validate.

With her aged seventeen and him aged sixteen, the wedding raiment began to be tailored, the chapel decorated, and Karne began building a hut for them to move into after the ceremony. He built the bed first, lovingly stuffing it with down and buying the softest of sheets from the city for the consummation of their relationship. As agreeably as he’d abided by their Kamolian customs and Vicca’s own reluctance, he looked forward to the day when she was finally his.

Then the attacks began.