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Gerhardt thought that it would be easy. A small hamlet, away from the town and the safety of its guards. Livestock to be butchered, some helpless farmer's house to loot, feeble folk for him and his men to torment. How wrong he had been.

Cloaked in the darkness of the night, he and his men prowled closer to the flock and unsheathed their blades. As he neared the first of the sleeping sheep, a cry of anger pierced the night. He looked up in time to see a boulder bigger than he was hurtle down the hill beside him, thrown by a powerful silhouette ahead. Seeing them heave another huge rock from the earth, Gerhardt ran in terror to his horse, fleeing into the night. His band of men fled with him.

They raced away for many miles, running their horses ragged. As dawn broke, their mounts ready to collapse, they stumbled across an inn. Shambling inside, they hastily paid for room and collapsed into their beds.

An hour later Gerhardt awoke to a commotion from outside his room. Sitting up, he recognised the shouts of his men as they fought some adversary. He stumbled out of his room to see a familiar silhouette, knocking out the last of his men. Her eyes locked onto him and he immediately drew his shortsword. She stalked across the small foyer, her powerful, sculpted frame bristling with anger. In desperation he began to swing his blade wildly at her. She dodged each swing easily, her face showing her irritation at his clumsy swordplay.

Lunging forward, his free hand grabbed for her neck as the tip of his sword thrust at her midriff. His hand was easily caught, but as the point thudded into her abdominals, it merely jarred the bones in his hand, his sword clattering to the floor. With both of his hands suddenly held in her vice like grip, he was forced to his knees. Looking up at the mighty woman, he almost passed out from shock.

She looked down in pity at the mewling man, knowing how easy it would be to crush him. Yet he and his men had been stopped before they had been able to bring any of her family or flock to harm. They had to be tried. She bound their wrists and dragged them outside, setting back off the many miles to her town. The line of eight men fought her every step, across dales and over hills, their combined strength helpless to stop her unfathomable power. Despite their efforts, she was determined.

They would face justice.

So this is my submission for this month's theme: Peplum Muscle. Hope you like it. Feedback is welcome and appreciated.

All the best,

Dev,

Description
Gerhardt thought that it would be easy. A small hamlet, away from the town and the safety of its guards. Livestock to be butchered, some helpless farmer's house to loot, feeble folk for him and his men to torment. How wrong he had been.

Cloaked in the darkness of the night, he and his men prowled closer to the flock and unsheathed their blades. As he neared the first of the sleeping sheep, a cry of anger pierced the night. He looked up in time to see a boulder bigger than he was hurtle down the hill beside him, thrown by a powerful silhouette ahead. Seeing them heave another huge rock from the earth, Gerhardt ran in terror to his horse, fleeing into the night. His band of men fled with him.

They raced away for many miles, running their horses ragged. As dawn broke, their mounts ready to collapse, they stumbled across an inn. Shambling inside, they hastily paid for room and collapsed into their beds.

An hour later Gerhardt awoke to a commotion from outside his room. Sitting up, he recognised the shouts of his men as they fought some adversary. He stumbled out of his room to see a familiar silhouette, knocking out the last of his men. Her eyes locked onto him and he immediately drew his shortsword. She stalked across the small foyer, her powerful, sculpted frame bristling with anger. In desperation he began to swing his blade wildly at her. She dodged each swing easily, her face showing her irritation at his clumsy swordplay.

Lunging forward, his free hand grabbed for her neck as the tip of his sword thrust at her midriff. His hand was easily caught, but as the point thudded into her abdominals, it merely jarred the bones in his hand, his sword clattering to the floor. With both of his hands suddenly held in her vice like grip, he was forced to his knees. Looking up at the mighty woman, he almost passed out from shock.

She looked down in pity at the mewling man, knowing how easy it would be to crush him. Yet he and his men had been stopped before they had been able to bring any of her family or flock to harm. They had to be tried. She bound their wrists and dragged them outside, setting back off the many miles to her town. The line of eight men fought her every step, across dales and over hills, their combined strength helpless to stop her unfathomable power. Despite their efforts, she was determined.

They would face justice.

So this is my submission for this month's theme: Peplum Muscle. Hope you like it. Feedback is welcome and appreciated.

All the best,

Dev,