Sian's Story part 52 - You're in the Army Now
Entry posted by jfraser in Sian's Story
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I like Rikke. She is no-nonsense, completely fair, and absolutely up front about any and all topics. To whit:
“Now, as you may or may not know, the imperial army is not like the Stormcloaks. We do not ‘recruit’ women to do our cooking and cleaning – everything is done by our soldiers,” she said as she led the way through the stone corridors of the castle.
“Didn’t you offer to let me be a cook?”
“I was trying to stop you from what I thought was suicide. We do not force women into being camp whores, either. From time to time we’ll hire professional whores to visit camps, but for the most part our camps and barracks are civilian free.”
“I…that’s good.”
“Yes. We are not barbarians. Instead, those tasks are the duties of our female soldiers.”
It took a long three or so seconds for her meaning to sink in. Then, “No.”
“Yes. Whenever you do not have an active assignment, you will expected to be here or at one of the camps doing the cooking and cleaning. Also, you will be required to service as many soldiers a day as required, with the number divided evenly among the female staff. You don’t have to fuck them or even use your mouth – hand jobs will do. Oil of Miind Flower will be provided for lubrication.”
“Oh my god.”
“If it helps, this is the duty of all female soldiers, including myself. I have a shift in the kitchen this afternoon and will be in the barracks later tonight. I recommend becoming proficient with both hands at once to get it over with sooner.” She ignored the wheezing sound I was beginning to emit. “Of course, with your special designation, it would be easy for you to avoid these tasks by claiming to be on assignment, so you will be provided a supervisor who will accompany you. Obviously, he is included in your daily duty.”
“Obviously.”
“You are also required to report to headquarters here in Solitude at least once a month.” A pause as she tilted her head. “I admit, I am surprised that you seem to dislike the idea of this duty – I assumed from the way you are dressed that you would enjoy that part.”
“I don’t dress this way because I want to. I was cursed by a Daedra.”
“I…see. Well, you can wear what you like in the field but you are required to be in uniform in the city.”
“Understood.” I did not bother to protest – she would find out soon enough.
“On that note, here.”
We had entered what I assumed to be a war room – a giant 3D relief map of Skyrim with what seemed like hundreds of colored flags stuck in it dominated the middle of the room. All around it were desks, chairs, and other office-y kinds of things. Rikke pulled open a drawer in one of the desks, pulled out two pieces of thick parchment, signed them, and handed them to me.
“These are licenses for armor and weapons. They will be valid in any Imperial-held towns and cities and should be okay in neutral cities as well. Not that there are many of those left.” Another drawer, and she pulled out a metal disk. “This is a token for a set of armor from Beirand, who you will find just outside the gate to the courtyard. You get one set of armor on the Legion – if it is destroyed or lost, you will have to purchase replacements. You are also responsible for repairs. Any questions?”
“No ma’am,” I said as I took the token.
“You can keep that sword, if you want – it looks well made. Go get your armor, get dressed, and come back here. Your timing is excellent – a job for a Keṣ Tshaâki came in this morning, but the others are out on assignment.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Also we don’t say ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’ here. You address people by their rank, so call me Legate.”
“Ah…yes, Legate. What am I, then?”
“The Keṣ Tshaâki have their own special designation - Commander. It is equivalent to a Prefect in the hierarchy, which is the first level of officer. You will report directly to me or General Tullius when we are present, but out in the field, you will report to the Tribunes who run the Companies.”
“Understood, thank you. Legate.”
“Dismissed, Commander.”
She gave me the Imperial salute which, fortunately, was a simple fist over the heart. I returned it then left, trying not to think about what I had just learned. After all I had been through, in this Skyrim and the last, I shouldn’t have been surprised by the revelation of how women were treated in the military, yet here I was, once again on my heels.
I found the blacksmith, who dismissed me with a glance until I held up the token, at which point his attitude changed only enough that he actually spoke in my direction.
“Light, medium, or heavy?”
I think he thought I would not know what he meant – he just kind of had that patronizing vibe at first glance – but, for once, I caught on immediately.
“Heavy, please.”
He huffed as he looked over my small frame, then shrugged. “I doubt you’ll be able to move in heavy plate, but yer choice. Come back in an hour.”
“You can make a full set of armor in an hour?”
He snorted. “Of course not. I already have plenty of pieces made – I just need to adjust some things so it will fit.”
“Oh. Of course, sorry.” I cleared my throat. “That’s not necessary. Just give me what you have.”
“What I have is two sizes too large for you, at least.”
“That’s okay.” He glared at me but I just waited until he shrugged and turned away.
“Don’t blame me when you can’t move in it.”
“Don’t worry, I know exactly who to blame for all of this. I will hold you innocent.”
So, a couple things while we wait for Beirand to assemble my new armor: the bikinification of my outfits had its advantages. I’ve mentioned how the heels felt as stable as running in a nice pair of tennis shoes (or sneakers or trainers or whatever your local lingo calls them), how the clothes and armor were super flexible, so I was never hampered in my movement, and how I was somehow not affected by extremes in weather. Heat never got too hot, cold never got too cold, rain felt like a comfortable shower, and snow was actually super fun to be out in without the bitter chill that normally accompanies it.
What is probably evident but I haven’t explicitly mentioned yet is that, no matter how big or bulky the armor was, it formed itself perfectly to my body. A bit too skin-tight perfectly, one might say, but I could put on a giant’s clothes and they would magically fit. So I could wear a medieval knight’s full plate and be no more hindered than if I was wearing…well, a bikini. Except one that magically kept my breasts from bouncing everywhere. I swear, embarrassing as they were to wear, they were the most comfortable outfits I have ever worn, with magic that beats any bra ever made. Hell, even the stupid thongs didn’t chafe.
Also, it made my pussy looked waxed clean no matter how bushy it actually got. Which was nice because who wants to see pubes in a bikini but, on the other hand, I've never liked being bare down there - I'm not a fucking child anymore.
Anyway, back to Beirand, who handed me a neatly stacked set of steel armor that I could barely lift. I thanked him and staggered away with it while he watched with a mystified/bemused/scornful expression you would have had to see to understand. He doesn’t talk much, but his expressions say a lot. I’ve always liked the guy.
Don't feed the bastards. Jesus Christ.
Edited by jfraser
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