Elves (viol nc snuff) by Hoop

This is an awesome, but violent story. I’m not fond of elves in general, they are too perfect, but I love stories when they are in bondage and submission. Of course, the occasional snuff story doesn’t hurt.

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Esme reclined at the water’s edge, trailing a toe in the pool’s cool waters as the other elves frolicked in the shallows, splashing each other and laughing as they played. The druid elder had finished the day’s lessons early, and the girls had taken the opportunity to visit the small lake in the warmth of the early afternoon. The young men of the grove had been consigned to a hunting trip, and so the female remainder could shed their clothes and bathe nude, without the concern of lecherous eyes upon their bodies.

Her sister, Rhea, lay on her front alongside her. There was a look of total concentration on her face as she carefully split the stalks of picked flowers with her fingernails, threading them together to make a necklace.

“Here, Esme,” she said. Rhea moved over to kneel in front of her, the delicate chain of little blue flowers in her hands. “It’s very pretty, Rhea.”

Her sister made one of those cute little smiles of hers. The expression remained on her face, something subtly wrong about it now, as Esme heard a scream from the other side of the natural pool. She felt something wet drip onto her thigh, and looked down. A wooden spike, tipped with metal, was protruding through an ugly gash in her sister’s belly, with the skin pushed up around it. Rhea was looking down at the spike, an uncomprehending expression on her face. A second later another spike burst through the girl’s skin, just above her breast. She drew a gurgling breath, and blood frothed around the wound. More of it trickled from her lips.

Esme finally screamed as her sister slumped forward onto her, revealing the feathered tails of the long crossbow bolts protruding from her back. Her chest was rising weakly as she struggled to breathe. Esme tried to invoke a spell of healing, and managed to speak the first few words of the incantation before a final crossbow bolt, expertly aimed, thumped into her sister’s skull, just behind her ear. The impact jolted her head forward. Blood was already starting to mat her blonde curls as it seeped from around the wooden shaft.

There were confused cries from the other side of the pool. Esme looked over her sister’s drooping head to see Talia, the youngest member of the circle, sprawled out on the smooth rocks in a pool of her own blood. A woman stood over her, red-stained sword held in her hand. Her dark hair was drawn into a long ponytail which hung down the back of her mail shirt. She stepped forward to press down on Talia’s thigh with an armoured boot. The girl was pleading with her in a hysterical, high-pitched voice as she bent down and grasped her around the neck with a gauntleted fist, pulling her to her feet.

Off to the side, two more of the girls were attempting to flee. They reached the trees as a figure stepped out from behind them. It was too far to make out any detail, but Esme could see how girls’ blood contrasted with their white skin as the figure lunged forward with its hands spread out, tracing arcs across their bodies with its fingertips. Both of the girls dropped to the ground as they let out shrill cries.

Arlea, the studious, dark-haired daughter of Ilthesne the wizard, was running towards the last remaining path that lead away from the pool’s clearing. She was completely unathletic, and her limbs flailed clumsily as she fled, driven by animal terror. The archer who had shot Rhea was finally revealed as she emerged from amongst some low bushes, six feet in front of Arlea. The crossbow looked oversized in the hands of its wielder, a short human girl in drab leather armour whose face was smeared with crude camouflage paint. Arlea was two feet away from her when she discharged the weapon, firing from the hip and driving a thick wooden bolt straight through poor Arlea’s crotch. Having lost no momentum during its brief flight, the projectile tore its way through her pelvis, and the bloodied tip emerged somewhere around her left buttock. She fell to the ground wailing, one leg kicking uselessly. The other seemed to have gone limp.

The archer grabbed Arlea by her wrist, and started dragging her over to the woman who was still holding young Talia by her neck. Talia’s feet were just brushing the ground. She clawed uselessly at the armoured fingers clamped around her neck. From the other side, the third attacker approached, also dragging a body with her. Esme was able to make her features out more clearly now: the girl had pallid skin, criss-crossed with livid scars. Her hair, coppery in colour, hung down to her shoulders. The lower part of her face seemed to be covered with some kind of mask. The rest of her body was clad in a patchwork of chains, bandages and metal strips. She was dragging Liera by her ankle. The girl’s hands were clutched around her throat as blood seeped between her fingers.

“You! Forest child! Get over here with the rest of them.”

The armoured woman was pointing at Esme with her sword, holding Talia at arm’s length with casual ease. Esme hesitated. The weight of her sister’s corpse pressed down on her, blood spreading in the patches where their skin was pressed together.

Talia made a strangled choking sound as the woman tightened her grip. “Now!” she shouted, “Unless you want to hasten this girl’s untimely demise!”

Esme’s movements were sluggish, almost dreamlike, as she hefted her sister’s corpse and allowed it to roll to one side. The crossbow bolts stopped the body from rolling completely, and she lay half-turned, with her face mashed against the stony ground. Esme walked around the perimeter of the pool on leaden legs. The pit of her stomach was cold. She rubbed at the patches of blood on her belly and chest, trying to wipe it away and only succeeding in smearing it out further.

The cries of the other girls had subsided from the frightened screams of the first assault. Liera was mewling in pain from a dozen wounds across her chest and forearms, and blood was still flowing slowly from her neck. Esme could see how the wounds had been inflicted now: the pallid girl’s fingertips were terminated with bladelike claws, stained red with the elves’ blood. Arlea’s face was contorted, jaw set as she ground her teeth and let out desperate moans. The triangle of hair where the crossbow bolt had entered was slick with blood.

“Now, forest child,” said the woman, “it seems you’re the only one left who’s undamaged. Perhaps you’ll be more likely to speak.”

She tightened her grip around Talia’s neck once more. The girl’s tongue was hanging from her mouth as she strained for breath, her legs kicking out of reflex. Blood was trickling down her thighs, the result of a wide slash that had neatly bisected one of her still-developing breasts.

“A girl will have come through this way recently,” said the armoured woman. “A half-breed, human with elvish blood. About this high,” she said, gesturing with her sword, “and probably carrying a very magical-looking spear, that certainly does not belong to her. What I wish to know, is which direction she went in. And you, being forest-children, will have seen her, I am sure.”

Talia was looking at Esme with a pleading expression on her face. Down on the ground, the other girls moaned in their respective agonies. The archer had slung her crossbow over her back, and was now squatting on the floor, rummaging through her haversack.

“I… I don’t know who that is,” said Esme. “We haven’t seen anybody.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “Really?” Her expression didn’t change one bit while her gauntlet creaked. A wet crunching sound escaped from Talia’s mouth. “Because I’d be angry with you, forest-child, if it turned out you were lying to me. And I tend to do things like this when I’m angry.” Her fist contracted further, and Talia’s mouth opened wide in a soundless scream as there were more cracking sounds. Her hands fumbled desperately at the armoured hand, and then dropped to her sides. Her legs ceased kicking. Something changed in her eyes as her head sagged backwards.

The woman released her grip. The girl’s body crumpled to the ground, and her head came to rest at an odd angle. The skin of her neck was dark red where the gauntlet had gripped her. Esme covered her hands with her mouth.

“How about you tell me where she went,” said the woman, “and perhaps I shall let the rest of you live. A little healing magic, and it will be as if all this had never happened.”

Her sword was hanging casually by her side. She pressed the tip against Arlea’s shoulder and leaned on the hilt, forcing the blade into the joint. The girl yelped, raising her hand and unthinkingly gripping the blade as if trying to pull it out. More blood trickled from her palm as she cut herself on the sword’s edges. Her other hand still clutched at the bolt protruding between her legs.

“Now, tell me,” she said, fixing Esme with a hard glare, “where she went.”

Esme’s throat was aching now. The enormity of the situation was starting to overwhelm her, and her words came out in sobs as the tears started to fall from her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said, “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I don’t!” she cried. “We didn’t see her!”

The blade made a liquid sound as it was withdrawn, and the woman stepped on Arlea’s bicep with her heavy, armoured boot. The girl’s hand twitched as her arm was crushed, and she let out an even louder scream as the tip of the sword stabbed down at her palm’s edge, severing a finger. The woman twisted the blade, flicking the detached finger away, and shifted the blade fractionally to prise off another of the girl’s slender digits. Arlea was trying to form words with her screams, but they were incomprehensible. Esme watched with a numb feeling in her brain, completely powerless.

The girl with the crossbow looked up. “What if they didn’t actually…” she began. “Shut up!” the woman snapped. “All these elves do is spend their days cavorting around their blasted forests! Of course they saw her!” As if to emphasise her last remarks, she accompanied every syllable with a downward stab of her sword into Arlea’s chest. The blade wandered around haphazardly, and the last stab caught the girl on the cheek, just below her eye. Bright blood welled up from the multiple punctures in her chest. “Maybe there’s someone else we can ask?” “Maybe so,” the woman said. “But I haven’t quite finished with these girls. Not yet.”

“What will it take to squeeze this little morsel of information out of you, I wonder? Why are you so determined to protect her? Did she pay you? I thought you forest-dwellers didn’t care for hard currency.” “I’ve told you, we didn’t see her!” “You’re only going to make your friends here suffer more,” she said. The woman reached down to the crossbow bolt jutting from Arlea’s crotch and grasped it, wiggling it around in slow motions that brought forth fresh oozes of blood and had the girl screaming in agony, although her cries were short and breathless - she was finding it difficult to get enough air due to the bloody perforations in her chest. Finally, she yanked the projectile free, and Arlea’s back arched as she let out an anguished wail. A great deal of blood had pooled between her legs now, and the messy removal of the barbed bolt had reduced the flesh of her crotch to so much mangled meat. She coughed, baring teeth that were stained red.

“Sure you don’t know?” Esme’s breath was coming in fast, shallow gasps now, beyond her control. She felt dizzy. The sight of the girl’s body twitching on the ground before her was somehow unreal - the same girl who, only yesterday, had sat with her in the sunset and woven flowers into her hair while they giggled and talked. “…not even if I do this?”

Arlea started shaking her head weakly, eyes screwed shut. Through the many agonies inflicted on her body, she was still able to feel the tip of the woman’s sword resting against her bare genitals. The woman allowed her to consider her fate for a few moments before grasping the hilt of her sword with both hands, and driving the blade in deep. Arlea’s fists pattered softly against the ground as she writhed, heaving out weak little screams with the last of her strength. A thin trickle of piss flowed out of her and mingled with the blood. It was impossible to tell whether it was due to her own loss of control, or the blade severing something within her as it entered. She gave a last, pathetic cry before expiring. She had been looking into Esme’s eyes at the moment her life was taken from her.

“Why are you doing this?!” cried Esme, “We don’t know anything about this half-elf of yours! Please! Stop!”. She brought her hands to her face, trying to wipe away her tears. The rest of her plea came as a whisper. “Please…” “Huh,” said the woman. “I wonder… maybe you didn’t actually see her.” “That’s what I’ve been saying!”

She brought her sword up and levelled it at Esme’s face. The tip rested on her lower lip as she stood, not daring to move for fear of what the woman might do. She could taste Arlea’s blood on the blade. “You definitely don’t know anything, forest child?” Esme closed her eyes, and more tears ran down her cheeks. She shook her head.

“Well then,” said the woman. “In that case, you’re no use to me anyway.”

She twitched the blade backwards and brought it down in a swift, vertical slash that scored a bright red line from between Esme’s collarbones down to her navel. Blood beaded up along the straight edges of the cut as she stumbled backwards.

“Can’t have you telling anyone else that I’m here, though,” she said. “You elves. One druid finds out about this, and the godsdamned trees will uproot themselves to try and kill me.” She swung the blade again, this time in an upwards arc. The tip caught Esme under the breast, and a messy gash was torn by the blade’s passage. She kicked Esme in the stomach with her boot and she thudded down on her buttocks, clutching her belly. The woman held her sword-tip below Esme’s chin.

“Deal with the other one,” she said. Behind her, the archer unslung her crossbow from her back. Lying supine, Esme was not able to get a good view of what was happening - not that she would have wanted to. There were creaking sounds as the crossbow was wound, the metal ratchet clicking as the mechanism tensed. Another click as she pressed the bolt into place. She walked over to stand above Liera, and there was the characteristic ‘thunk’ of the crossbow’s discharge. Liera made a brief, gurgling scream, and then she was silent.

The woman was looking at Esme disdainfully. Her nostrils flared as she scowled. She gestured off to one side with her sword.

“Hey,” she said, “this pool. Is it magical?” Esme shook her head weakly. “Why were you here, then?” “We bathe here,” said Esme. Her chest was starting to feel tight now. She wheezed, the cuts on her torso stinging with pain as her chest’s rise and fall caused them to part. “You like this place?” Esme nodded. It was true. The grove visited the pool from the earliest days of spring, when the water was just warm enough, right through till almost early winter, when they bathed beneath the stars.

The woman threw her sword aside. It clattered against the rocks, and she dropped to her knees above Esme, drawing a dagger from her belt. “Good,” she said, “you’ll enjoy the chance for one last swim, then.”

Horrible pains shot along Esme’s arm as the woman sank her dagger into her bicep, grasping firm and scribing the blade in a circle all the way around the limb. Esme was sure she could feel the blade scraping against bone. Parts of her arm sagged in a sudden slackness as tendons were severed, and soon her arm was completely immobile, the flesh cut through entirely. It was no less agonising for the other limb. Pools of blood spread beneath her armpits as the woman shuffled backwards on her knees. Esme could hear herself screaming, but wasn’t aware of having to make the effort to do so. It seemed to be happening automatically, like the straining of her legs against the woman who was now gripping them in her hands.

Her screams somehow became louder still as the dagger sank into the back of her knee. The blade cut through tendons and cartilage, rendering that limb useless as well. She was thrashing out of reflex as the woman moved over to her other leg, the limb below her knee flopping limply. Her other knee was likewise severed, and the woman stood, after wiping off the worst of the blood from her blade on Esme’s thigh. She was completely helpless now, with all her limbs slashed and paralysed. Her screams seemed to be abating, becoming gasping sobs as the woman picked her up by her wrists, bringing forth fresh bursts of pain from her ruined arms. Her heels scraped against the ground as she was hauled to the water’s edge.

“Well, it looks like I’m going to have to question somebody else now,” the woman said. “Somebody more useful. It’s been fun, though.”

She thrust her knee into Esme’s abdomen, causing her to double over, winded. Then she pushed her by her shoulders, and her broken legs were completely unable to support her. Esme fell backwards, the water breaking against her back with a splash as she hit the pool’s surface.

The water clouded red around her. She began to sink beneath it, feeling it creep up around her face. Her body was thrashing out of reflex, but the only parts of her that could still move were her torso and thighs. Her hair spread out and tangled around her face as she became completely submerged. A few bubbles escaped her lips - the last of the precious little air she had breathed in after the blow to her stomach. For a moment she could just make out the woman’s face through the pool’s rippling, silvery surface above her.

The water entered her lungs, stinging her throat. Her chest felt like it was burning. She felt herself exhaling water, and her vision started to dim. She was just able to feel her body settling softly against the rocks at the pool’s bottom.

The surface seemed so high up. So far away.