During her months of captivity Alassiel had come to think of Lahk as the worst possible tormentor. The sociopathic madman had hurt her daily, and had never shown the slightest concern for her wellbeing or even continued survival over the course of most of a year of rape and torture. He had shattered the elf’s sense of identity, her pride, and her dignity. He could reduce the strong druid to tears and begging faster than anyone, and during the time he had possessed her, he had taken the heroic elf to pieces and put her back together as… something else, someone else – Athuum. He had viewed the elf as a collection of tight holes, as a living fuckdoll if he had, in fact, ever seen her as living at all.
But over the last months with Cerec, Alassiel had come to realize that she was wrong.
Lahk was only a mortal, and his power over her was constrained by the reality within the Veil. He could reduce her to pathetic whimpers and screams of agony and terror, but once she was helpless any savage could accomplish the task. Lahk could do it far faster, and with less effort, but the level of anguish and humiliation she would experience would hardly differ. Lahk could assault her mind and destroy the person she had been, but he couldn’t do it perfectly. In the end, Alassiel had been able to keep her mind at least partially her own, able to choose to throw herself to her death over the falls rather than remain in Lahk’s possession. Her mind, while attackable, was still a fortress that Lahk could never completely penetrate.
Cerec was different. Within Blackwand, she belonged to the avatar completely — her mind and soul were an open door to him that he could walk through at will before pissing on the floor. If the demonic creature wished it, he could twist and reshape her into an obedient little fucktoy whenever he chose, and he could make Alassiel thank him for it, sincerely and completely.
He would never do this of course. Her suffering, her despair, her hatred were what empowered the dark blade — if his toys became willing the sword would grow no stronger, its flames no more powerful. If he broke Alassiel completely, if he completely obliterated the remains of her personality, then the fire haired elf would be worthless to him.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t use his access to her mind to torment her.
Cerec couldn’t personally attend to the druid every day. He had many souls to abuse here, after all… but even when he was absent, he found ways to leave her in agony.
Right now, Alassiel hung by her wrists in a dark bricked room, completely alone save for the agony of the metal cuffs biting into her wrists and the pounding in her head. She remembered this room. It didn’t exist within the prison of Blackwand, and it was nowhere in the untamed lands at all. This room existed only in two places — the city of Daggerport, and in her own worst memories.
It was in this room she had woken up the day after she had fought Lahk in Daggerport. It was in this room she had learned of her new lot in life.
Even if it would take her weeks to realize it… it was in this room that Lissa had died.
25 years ago, 6 months after Sirae’s disappearance
The Battle of Accida Ridge
Lissa entered the battle like a storm, winds whipping about the fierce elf like a leashed hurricane as she fought. Her scarlet hair was blown around her face like a veil, the stiff breeze turning the locks into whips. The druid cut down enemies by the score as the small force under Elide’s command breached the fortress walls. She used her captive tempest like a bludgeon to strip defenses of a soldier before she or other of the others closed for the kill.
The fiery druid shuddered. They were not so much fighting the humans as butchering them. There was nothing remotely equitable about the pitched battle, and given how badly the elves were outnumbered they couldn’t afford for them to be. The warriors following Elide put themselves in no risk. They waited for soldiers to stumble out of a ready posture, driven from their feet by Lissa’s magic or the continuing barrage of the Archmage… and they slaughtered them.
A splash of blood from a human’s throat hit her, staining her face and hands as she pressed on.
She was weeping.
She knew she would have nightmares about this battle, perhaps for centuries to come.
First day of captivity, Daggerport Brothel
Lissa was in shock. She had never imagined that anything could possibly hurt as badly as this. The agony was excruciating, but there was more to it than just the physical pain. It was like… it was like how she’d felt when the goddess had died. Or how it must be when a parent watches a child die. She could hear a scream of agony in her ears, and even as she made the sound the druid knew it wasn’t entirely her own.
When Lahk had approached her with madness in his eyes, she had expected to die.
“This is your own stupid fault, bitch,” Lahk sneered as he tossed the pale plant roots to the floor like trash. “You could have stayed away, but no. You decided to fuck with me.” Lissa hung strappado in the center of the room, standing upon a ceramic plate, blood dripping from the cut in her arm where her tattoo had been slashed.
Her tattoo. Eyrn eregdos.
Lahk laughed as he ground the pale fiber into the stone beneath his booted foot, crushing the sacred plant into paste. “You are going to repay me every cent you cost me by freeing those dumb whores.” He smiled. “And we can’t have you escaping.”
He looked up and down her body at the many, swirling lines of the druidic tattoo. “And soon, you’re going to regret having so many fucking tattoos you druid cunt!”
Lissa started screaming the instant she felt the cold blade kiss her skin higher up on her arm. The sharp knife sliced a shallow cut across another strand of the knotted vine tattoo, a few inches away from the previous incision. The cut hurt, but it was a small thing, really. The druid had been given far worse injuries in her time. What would hurt, she knew, came next.
Lahk dug his fingers into the open wound and grabbed a strand of the plant that lay beneath the surface of her skin. The agony began as he started pulling, and her screaming took on a fevered pitch. The seasoned warrior shrank pitifully beneath the torment, her ability to cope completely overwhelmed by the symbiotic screaming in her head… and then the scream cut off, as suddenly as a man who’s throat had been slit, and Lahk showed her another stand of the plant before tossing it away like trash, then returning to open a new cut in her arm.
For a half an hour the high priest repeated this over and over. Lissa’s throat was raw from the constant screaming as he tore out piece after piece of that sacred plant that had been her constant companion for half a century. Its scream in her head were even worse than her own, and her brain throbbed with agony that Lahk could not even comprehend he was causing the fiery druid as he ripped the sentient, symbiotic being from her body.
Lissa returned to the hell she had just left with the strong smell of salts in her nostrils, realizing she must have passed out… and realized to her horror that she couldn’t feel her arm.
No, wait, yes she could. It just seemed like she couldn’t.
Eyrn eregdos, or Sacred Tree, was the key to druidic magic. It connected the druid to the natural world in a symbiosis made sacred by the goddess Sirae, and it grew within the practitioner until it was interwoven so thoroughly with her nervous system that it was literally a part of her. Through that link, she could perceive the world around her in a far more accurate way that mere sight could not come close to approaching. She didn’t need to see Lahk behind her, licking the blade of the knife, to know that he was there. She could feel him there. It was that intense connection to the world around her that made her magic possible — it enabled her to draw power from the earth wherever the plant came into contact with it, to allow her to weave complex spells that could even directly alter a living being, so precise was their sense of another’s life. It was like having an extra sense, a feeling of never being alone that Lissa could have never imagined before gaining her partner, but now she could never imagine being without. It wasn’t the tattoos that made her a druid, but rather the plant beneath them, the sacred part of her whose course through her body they marked.
The plant was being killed.
It wasn’t that she could not feel her arm anymore, but rather that the extra sense she was so used to had fled from the limb. She could not sense the air flowing around the limb anymore, or the blood rushing beneath the surface. She could feel agony in the limb, and feel blood weeping slowly down her arm from dozens of tiny wounds. But on a deeper level beneath that surface pain, the limb felt… numb. Dead.
“Please…” she whimpered, the strong elf horrified, completely out of her mind. “Please, stop it… Just… I’m sorry… Just stop…”
The goddess herself had planted the seed in her that had become her dearest friend. It had grown for nearly ten years before reaching maturity, stretching from the skin beneath her face to the soles of her feet where it connected to the earth and drew on its power. It had been her constant companion of more than half of a century. Lissa began to weep, crying not only for herself but for her friend.
Laughing, Lahk slowly dragged the blade through her other arm, where the tattoo entered onto the limb. The wound in her flesh was again widened as the priest stuck his filthy fingers through the opening and grabbed eyrn eregdos, tearing another piece of her identity out of her body while Lissa’s terrified screams surged through the stone room, and echoed through the entire brothel. He waited until her cries subsided, then stabbed another wound higher up her arms, pushing the encrusted blade aside and drawing fresh blood and fresh howls of unbridled torment from his victim. Lissa desperately sought to put herself on the stone, to get off the plate of dead ceramic glass the prevented her from drawing on the earth’s power and help her friend… but she could not. She was a helpless witness to the slow murder of a loved one, and the tears all but blinded her blue eyes, golden flecks shimmering in the torchlight.
The small blade visited many other wounds upon the elf, each one the source of a new fountain of agony on her tormented body, each which oozed tiny streams of fresh blood until the tiny cuts clotted… but the real damage would not be so easily healed. Once her arm was finished, Lahk started on her back, and then her chest and breasts, tracing with relish the contours of her soft curves and ripping the plant from her supple flesh. Whenever she passed out from the pain, he awoke her and continued. Each wound further numbed the druid from the world around her, blinding and deafening her to the pulse of the earth. Each cut robbed her of another piece of who Lissa was, murdered another bit of the druid who had once been a hero of her people, an apprentice of a goddess; a friend and a lover and a warrior…
Worse, though, than any feeling of pain, of any screams of agony in her head and her throat, was the time Lahk cut into a tendril of her dark tattoo on her right thigh, and Lissa braced herself for a scream… which did not come. No agony tore through her as Lahk ripped the pale roots from beneath her skin, and no scream echoed within her mind. She felt nothing on the next cut either, or the one that followed that… and that is when the elf knew her friend was dead.
The elf was too exhausted to cry any longer, her throat too raw to scream, and her heart too overwhelmed to mourn. The elf just hung in her bonds, motionless, as Lahk finished butchering the corpse of eyrn eregdos.
25 years ago, 6 months after Sirae’s disappearance
The Battle of Accida Ridge
Fire burned in Elide’s eyes as she laid eyes on her goddess’s naked form, stretched on a rack with her body bruised and her belly swollen. So enraged was she upon the sight of her queen, her goddess so abused, that the Sirae’s cry of warning almost did not come in time.
“Ware!” she shouted an instant before flame filled the room. Elide threw herself forward, her well trained body turning the fall into a roll the instant she touched the ground. A spray of fire cut through the air she had occupied mere seconds earlier, and while the heat of its passage seared her skin, she did not cook. The warrior transformed the roll into a leap, sending her flying clear of the wave of fire as it changed course to pursue her.
Lissa saved her. The druid entered the room already in the middle of weaving magic, drawing water from the bucket near Sirae’s head and casting it headlong at the form in the corner of the room, invisible in the darkness if not for the arching stream of fire. That blaze exploded into a cloud of steam as Lissa sent the water directly at its source, killing the stream at the head and stifling the inferno.
The scalding mist cleared to reveal a humanoid form in the darkness, hulking and covered with ashen scales, eyes burning like heated coals. It roared, a terrible sound that shook the stoned from beneath her feet and almost lost the warrior her footing as it charged across the room, blindingly fast, its talon’s stretched out to eviscerate her.
Elide was not ready, but that was why she had trained so hard for so many years. Her body reacted without needing to consult her brain, feet whirling to steady her weight on her rear heel and brace her sword against the charge. The impact nearly blew the blade from her hand, but she could feel it slide between a gap in the steel hard scales, sliding into the dragon’s flesh. His weight hit the woman an instant later, driving her to the ground. Immediately Elide struggled to her feet, ready to continue the fight… but she need not have bothered. The force of his own charge had impaled the center of his mass on her sword, and he would not be getting back up. He snorted out a breath, boiling blood leaking from his muzzle to the stone floor.
“Free the goddess,” Elide said weakly, the air still gone from her lungs in the wake of the dragon’s charge.
Lissa ran over to her mentor, starting to free her from the shackles that bound the goddesses form to the torturous rack. Instead of running to help, Elide stood over the fallen dragon, watching as more blood pooled beneath his, spilling over the impaled hilt of her sword.
“What is your name,” the warrior whispered, her voice cold.
“Ther’ta’traxx,” he said quietly, in a deep rumble that she heard more than she felt, like a vibration in the air.
“Do you want to live, Ther’ta’traxx?” the dragon glared up at the elf woman, his answer obvious. “Then enter. You serve me now.”
Ther’ta’traxx narrowed his glowing eyes. He knew what she was asking. The creation of any magical weapon required the sacrifice of an eternal life, and that soul would then live on in the blade from then on… but never again walk the earth. Still, she watched as his eyes went hollow and dead, the glow fading from the black orbs. He had little enough of a choice.
Suddenly another elf burst into the room. “General!” he yelled, saluting roughly. “The royal army is in trouble. Part of Sanguinar’s army has returned, and they’re trapped between it and the fortress.”
“Leave them,” Elide said coldly. “We have what we came for.”
The dark skinned elf felt Lissa glare on her before the druid turned to run from the room, out of the fortress and back to the battle. “Lissa!” she roared, stopping the younger elf in her track, red hair swaying at the abrupt halt. “I told you to see to our queen!”
Lissa turned to look at Sirae, and her eyes met Sirae’s golden orbs. The goddess nodded fractionally. Lissa spun and ran from the room, already drawing power from the earth as she ran, and this time the druid did not look back.
Elide had the soldier join her as she continued to set Sirae free until her eyes locked on her queen’s swelling belly.
Sirae shrugged. “Goddess of Fertility,” she said helplessly.
First day of captivity, Daggerport Brothel
The broken elf couldn’t even bring herself to care when Lahk came back into the room, completely naked. “That took forever, whore!” he laughed, slapping her ass. The scabbed flesh burned, but all of the tiny cuts had already stopped bleeding. “Took all day, and I’ve been hard as a rock that entire time with you screaming in my ear!”
He pressed his lips to her ear. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since the first time I saw you in the rain. I hope you enjoyed the foreplay, slut, because now it’s time for you to work.” Lahk taunted the red haired elf, hoping his comments would sink as deeply into her head as his cock was about to sink into her pussy.
Positioning himself between her legs, Lahk started to rub his completely hard cock head up and down over the elf’s dry pussy lips. She raised her head a little and shook her head beggingly, silently pleading for him to reconsider raping her, but the protest only aroused the high priest even further. Making sure that the entire head of his cock had been covered in spit, he wedged it forward until it pushed her tiny lips inward, lodging itself inside the opening of her young, tight cunt mouth.
Lahk groaned as he savored the feel of her resisting cunt sucking and clenching around his cock, heating it up and making it even harder and more rigid. This elf was almost unbelievably tight, at least as tight as any virgin he had ever forced, and Lahk congratulated himself again on his new acquisition. This whore was destined to become his favorite rape-toy, he felt completely sure.
Bracing himself for the brutality to come, Lahk reached down to tenderly stroke the elf girl’s red hair while she nervously chewed her lower lip. The high priest lets his hands side down over the cuts on her back and sides, moving his hands to grab gentle hold of the elf girl’s nipples, hard with terror.
“It’s time, slut…” Lahk chuckled as he felt the desperate elf’s cunt start to tense up around his shift in a mad attempt to stop the inevitable.
Lahk was so hard, his member so firm, that her dryness wasn’t even a barrier to him. With a huge slam forward, Lahk was able to bury his cock completely into the silently weeping redhead, his entire length driven into her in under a second. Lahk yelled triumphantly as he looked down at the beautiful elf below him, her body covered in the artwork of wounds he had given her. Her eyes widened as large as saucers and the assault managed to drag a single, choked scream from the broken girl, her entire body tensing and shaking at the violent sudden intrusion of Lahk’s large cock into her most delicate, secretive place. No one had touched her there, not for over two decades.
Not moving an inch, Lahk savored every little move and feel of the abused elf’s shocked pussy spasming and clenching around his cock, heating it up with the tight tension of its elastic velvety walls squeezing him on all sides in a desperate struggle to resist his presence. Just to increase the sensation, Lahk began to cruelly squeeze the woman’s nipples in his fingers, alternating back and forth from left nipple to right nipple. With each rough squeeze, Lahk was rewarded with further tightenings and ministrations from the elf’s helpless pussy rippling uncontrollably around his cock… leading to Lahk growing more aroused and squeezing her harder until she was thrashing in her bonds, finding new energy in her agony. Her blue eyes were closed tightly, and her scarlet red hair, so rare a color, thrashing all around her face.
“Oh yeah slut, you are going to make me back every fucking penny. I can’t believe you showed your face here. What the fuck were you thinking?” laughed Lahk as he began to withdraw his cock slowly, only to rapidly slam it back home again, sheathing his steel hard cock into her cunt once again. “You are one fucking stupid air-headed slut.”
Lahk started fucking her with an increased pace now, enjoying the sensations of her dry pussy being savaged by his attack, ripping into her in all directions as he raped his way through her body. He pulled on her hair, pulling her head up while her mouth opened in a silent scream as he continued to violently rape her poor pussy for minutes.
Lahk had been worked up from torturing the bitch all day, however. Unable to last a single second longer, Lahk slammed home as deeply as possible while he let go with a torrent of white cream right up against her cervix. Mashing it into a frothy lather, Lahk jerked and rutted his cock around in big circles, completely hammering his cum as deeply as he could get it.
Lahk loved the defeated, humiliated look on the elf’s face as he finally pulled his cock out with a loud plopping sound.
25 years ago, 6 months after Sirae’s disappearance
The Battle of Accida Ridge
For the first time in its existence, the royal army was fully committed to a fight. As a matter of policy the ruling family of Silas remained neutral in virtually every conflict, so their army was most built of well-trained but unseasoned soldiers and mercenaries. Given that, Liam could not help but be proud of how well they were holding up in the nightmarish action, pressed between two enemy forces with arcane torrents of power exploding around them. Shevarn was fully occupied by a duel with a wizard from the opposing army, and the backwash of spells that that they brushed aside killed soldiers like water through a sieve.
Liam could barely notice the battle raging around him, however… for in their midst now, looming like a mountain of doom, had landed the largest creature the prince had ever seen. A fully grown dragon, within the Veil, stood majest in the center of the battle, the tiny gaps between its ashen scales glowing from the beast’s inner heat. It was huge, even curled as it was in landing, its size alone mocking the army and making every single soldier want to fall to his knees and pay homage to it rather than fight.
That was one of the traps in dealing with dragons — that awe-inspiring aura of sheer power, that emanation of helplessness to all who would look upon their horrible splendor. It could defeat armies and kill men without the creature needing to do more than appear. Liam, however, was not awed. While the dragon had certainly captured the royal heir’s attention, nothing that lived — not a dragon, not a demon, not Kardas herself — could take the heart from the priest of Caer.
Quickly the army spread away from the massive black monster, until Liam alone stood before it, his spear and shield held in white knuckles. The wyrm’s eyes focused on the priest, seeming more like that of a cat than a lizard, with a green iris and a slitted pupil. The beast’s great wings beat the air, lifting the huge dragon’s front half high above the stones of the ridge. Its hind legs clawed at the floor, digging deep gullies in the stone as it roared at him, its eyes narrowing at the foolish human who refused to flee before his might.
Air rushed past Liam, and he realized the dragon was breathing in, sucking in all the oxygen nearby in a single, deep breath. He charged, weapons gripped firmly. The priest had severe doubts that even Caer’s Grace would shield him from the dragon’s fire if he was caught in the fierce breath. The dragon’s head shot forward, its maw gaping as light welled up from its gullet. Liam called upon his god for all the speed he could summon, throwing himself sharply to the right and coming up with his shield between him and the black beast.
Not an instant too soon. Liam’s entire world suddenly became an inferno, the rush of air surrounding him as the blaze burned the air from the world. What little there was left for Liam was too hot to breathe, the oxygen scalding in his lungs as he kept moving, running further out of the path of the flame while his shield began to turn red and molten on his arm.
When at last the roar of the flame faded Liam desperately flung the burning shield from his limb, the heat rapidly moving into his armor. The dragon roared again, but now, the prince was right in front of it. Liam rushed forward, rising to a ready crouch before the wyrm. The beast wasted not a second in snapping its great maw down at him and he scrambled aside, coming up from his roll in a crouch again, driving his spear forward with all the strength Caer could give him. The steel tip broke through the scales, piercing briefly before Liam tore it out, moving again before its thrashing could remove the spear from his hands.
He was no longer alone, he suddenly realized. Another had entered the fight on the dragon’s other side, the red haired elf who had been by the general’s side. He tossed a tiny salute to the elven woman as he threw himself backwards, barely avoiding a crushing stomp from the dragon’s massive front claws before stabbing his spear into the attacking limb, provoking another roar of rage and hatred from the enormous creature.
Liam was playing a dangerous game, the prince knew. Both he and the dragon were locked into a guessing game, each needing to anticipate what the other would do… but if the dragon guessed wrong, it would merely be stung by Liam. If the prince ever guessed wrong, the sheer mass and power of the ancient wyrm would obliterate him. The dragon’s enormous maw lunged at him and Liam back away from the snapping jaws… only to realize to his horror that the beast had no intention of biting.
The dragon unleashed its fiery breath one again, the flame driving down at him. With reflexes honed to absolute perfection and Caer’s speed, Liam avoided the blaze by launching into a roll to the side, and the fire slid by so closely that even through his Grace his skin was marked bright red on the left side of his face. He had dropped his spear in the roll, he realized, and threw himself again into a dodge as the dragon whirled, his tail slashing at the man. No magic would aid him now he knew, and nor would Caer’s protection. Only the thousands and thousands of hours of difficult training he had performed could save him… those many years he had spent perfecting his style of fighting and, more importantly, of not being hit.
Liam no longer had a plan. Now unarmed, he had no intention of attacking the great wyrm, of striking out against a beast he doubted he could even hurt, let alone slay. All his abilities, all his energy and concentration, was solely focused on staying alive now, on avoiding the dragon’s next attack. The beast’s fang-filled jaws snapped down at him with a rumble of what felt like thunder, but he consumed only empty air as the priest dove to the side, altering the momentum of his roll to go straight back into a sudden retreat. A claw followed, a swipe that surely would have cut the armored prince into pieces, except that he had stopped the roll almost before it had begun, coming to his feet far ahead of the smashing claw. Then came the breath, another burst of fire that seemed to go on and on forever, striking the stone ridge and spraying up in an inverted fan of fires. Liam ran flat out, leaping even as the spinning monster swept its great tail around to squash him.
He could not keep this up much longer.
Lissa noted the prince’s desperate fight with grim determination, calling up the earth for more and more strength as she wove the single most complex spell she had ever constructed, binding the natural energy into shattering, disruptive patterns. Her fiery hair tossed about the tempest of winds the dragon’s breath summoned as her spell took shape. In the middle of the badly imperiled army, fighting an enemy that had likely been ancient before Silas was born, Lissa begged the earth for all the power it could grant, binding the land beneath her feet to her own hands.
And when the earth answered the elf druid separated her hands with a violent tug, taking them in opposite directions and pulling the land with it.
The earthquake struck instantly, the ridge groaning beneath her feet as it jumped. The stones beneath the battling armies suffered a violent shudder and rumbling, like waves on a pond — lifting and rolling the unstable stones of the ridge…
The dragon fell away as the earth collapsed beneath him. It happened quickly, with no time for the great beast to react. One moment it was on firm ground, and the next the earth had ripped its footing from it, tossing it violently down through a crack in the earth. The ancient wyrm opened its wings and buffeted the air, but then a piece of the collapsing ridge struck it and drove the wing back to its side, and it was cast down into the earth screaming its defiance, ground down beneath thousands of tons of rock as the ridge collapsed.
Lissa was a talented druid, and her ability to craft the instructions for the earth to follow were second to none save the goddess herself. With shrieking groans of shattering stone, the earth beneath the attacking army fell away leaving the ridge beneath the royals intact and steady. Ten thousand of Sanguinar’s followers plunged to their death in an instant, killed by the power Lissa had unleashed upon them.
When the shaking of the earth had stopped and the dust cleared, what was left of Sanguinar’s shattered army had lain down its arms. The battle was over.
The ridge shook again with the cheers of men and elves, rejoicing in their shared triumph and calling praises to the druid Lissa. The word “archdruid” was muttered several times, in reverent tones.
Lissa kept her head down so no one could see the tears.
First day of captivity, Daggerport Brothel
“This ought to bring you out of shock, cunt.”
Lahk has his finger deep in the elf’s tightly scrunched asshole, which looked so cute and innocent just above the swollen mess that her pussy was after he had finished with it. After pushing his finger two knuckles deep inside her tight little asshole, Lahk curled it up so he could push upon the thin wall that separated her pussy from her ass, and enjoyed watching the skin being pushed up just inside her hurt vagina.
“Hey slut! I can see my finger in your ass through your cunt. Don’t you think that’s nice?’ The sullen elf didn’t respond in any way. Lahk pushed two fingers way up into each hole, and began to attempt to feel his fingers on the other side of the thin dividing wall of muscle, clearly making out his other fingers. He hated how quiet the elf was being now, as if she had resigned herself to her fate of being nothing but a sex toy for him to play with already. ‘What is the bitch so upset about anyway?’ Lahk thought to himself. It’s not like he would have let her use her magic ever again, anyway.
“Time to fuck that ass that I’ve been dreaming about,” mocked the high priest as he yanked his fingers out of her holes and pressed his cock against the tight entrance to her asshole. He started pressing, the moisture of his rod barely sufficient, but he made up for it in force as he jammed his cock inside of her ass. Lahk roared in pleasure. He loved how much drier and hotter her asshole was compared to her pussy. Lahk began to alternate in between the red haired elf’s pussy and her asshole, with about a dozen strokes in one before moving to the other. Aside from her silent weeping, the elf girl still didn’t react.
After a while, grabbed his favorite whip and started to use the handle to fuck the girl, shoving his cock into one hole for a few minutes while raping her other hole with the knotted grip. He loved how he could feel the large leather phallus pressing against his cock through her tender skin regardless which hole he chose. Finally the intrusion of the rough leather into the elf’s sore, gaping asshole seemed to bring the elf slightly back to reality, drawing another broken scream from her raw throat.
He could barely fit in the elf woman with the handle also fucking her. She was so tight that the high priest’s cock felt as though it was getting strangled by the double penetration. Lahk had never had an elf before, so rare were they in the mainland of Silas, and he resolved to find as many of the fantastic, whorish creatures for his brothels as he could. As difficult as it was with the incredible tightness, Lahk began to saw his cock in and out of her asshole, feeling the rough ridges of the hard leather whip through the tender skin of her pussy, the added friction quickly bringing his cock to another release. He flooded the inside of her ass with his sperm, feeling the incredible tightness coaxing it quickly out through his cock.
When he pulled out his quickly deflating cock, he had the pleasure of watching the elf’s slim ass very slowly return to its normal size, the same shade of red as her air and swollen, dripping his sperm.
“I hope you’ve woken the fuck up by tomorrow,” Lahk sneered at her as the memory began to twist and fade
25 years ago, 6 months after Sirae’s disappearance
Lissa rested on the edge of the ridge, dangling her feet over the long fall that the enemies of her people had taken so recently. She had left the encamped armies, fleeing from the joyous celebration the force deserved after the reclaiming of the elven god queen and the defeat of nearly half of Sanguinar’s entire army, as well as the razing of the vile church atop the ridge. This far away, the only sound she could hear in the darkness were the calls of crows as they feasted on the fallen soldiers, picking them out whenever they were exposed between crushing rocks, where the druid had sent them to their doom.
Lissa felt sick.
She felt someone approach her, his life energy registering to eyrn eregdos as burning like a fire behind the druid. She didn’t turn or acknowledge the man, whomever he was. Neither of them said anything as the man sat down beside her, soundlessly dropping his own feet off the edge. Lissa bit her lip in annoyance. She only wanted to be alone, couldn’t this stupid human see that? He smelled so strongly in the crisp night, a spicy scent of cinnamon and incense.
The two of them stared silently into the night, but Lissa’s eyes saw nothing in the blackness, so blocked were they by her own silent tears. The druid was sure she was chewing her lip bloody, but she didn’t care. Her annoyance at the unwelcome intruder was growing with every second, and yet… he was just sitting there, in silence. He wasn’t bothering her, he wasn’t even looking at her. She felt so stupid, but his presence was driving her mad for no reason, and Lissa had to fight to keep herself from screaming at him.
When finally she could contain herself no longer, she at least managed to keep her voice from sounding too annoyed. “Shouldn’t you be with your army, Prince Liam?”
Several long seconds passed before the priest answered, and when he spoke his voice was not the arrogant, aggrandizing tone he had used when last they had spoken, publicly in the general’s tent. His voice was quiet, solemn, and maybe a little musical in its low rumble. “So should you. You are the one they are celebrating.” He paused, and Lissa could feel his gaze on her. She was grateful that her vibrant hair veiled her tears. “There would not be an empty glass for you tonight, nor a lonely bed should you wish it. They all worship you.”
Lissa laugh was bitter, colder than the night around them. “I don’t want their damned praise.”
“I know you don’t.”
“The fuck you do!” the druid screamed, her hair whipping as she turned to face the prince, who steadily gazed back into her crying eyes without flinching. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”
“I do,” Liam said, still meeting her eyes. Lissa felt like she was withering beneath that steady, calm gaze, even though the look carried no intensity, no judgment. “You think you don’t deserve recognition for murder… and you feel guilty.”
Lissa snorted, turning back to gaze out over the empty horizon. “I have nothing to feel guilty for.”
But feel guilty she did, Lissa realized. That was what was burning in her heart, urging her to be alone. Guilt forced the hot tears from her eyes… guilt and a deep, abiding sorrow that ate at her and hollowed her out on the inside for minute after minute until the silence hurt the elf like an arrow through the chest.
“I murdered them,” she whispered, the voice scarcely reaching the nearby prince. “Ten thousand men. More of Sanguinar’s followers than the entire elven army has slain in the last three years. And I just snuffed them out like a candle.”
Lissa felt a hand come to rest on her thigh, and the elf took irrational pleasure in the tangible proof that she was not alone. “Any person of morals would think the way you do,” he said, gripping her leg. “They would be just as wrong as you are to do so, but they would think it anyway.” His voice was quiet as he continued, the low tone of his voice strangely soothing. “You saved my life, Lissa. You saved the life of your goddess, and you saved my men. Killing the opposing army wasn’t the best way to save lives, but it was the only way.” He smiled lightly, the expression sad. “That does make you a hero.”
“I don’t feel like a hero.”
“And you never will.” He said with another soft squeeze of her leg. “Your people will call you a hero for what you did. You will rage inside and want to make them swallow their foolish praise, but you won’t.”
Lissa chuckled, but while the sound was faint it was nowhere near as bitter as before. “Oh? And why is that?”
“Because when you feel that way, you’ll remember this conversation, and you’ll remember,” he said, and Lissa thought there might be tears in his brown eyes as well, “that you fought and killed to keep them from ever having to understand that war is only glorious to those who don’t see its cost.”
Lissa didn’t realize what she was doing until it was done. She leaned over the short distance between the two of them and pressed her lips again his. He was warm, and he tasted much like he smelled, spicy and strong. She stayed like that for long minutes, breathing through her nose as the prince’s soft hands brushed away her tears, pulling back scarlet hair from her face.
When she finally pulled back neither of them said anything. Lissa rested her head against his arm as she looked out again into the empty darkness. Goddess knew how long she sat there, breathing him in as she allowed her mind to finally, mercifully, begin to go blank.
“When does it stop hurting?” She whispered.
She could feel the motion through his shoulder as Liam shook his head. “I don’t think it ever does. Maybe when Caer sings you to the next world.” She chuckled into him, a small smile gracing her face again.
“Sirae wanted to see you as soon as possible,” he said.
“What?!” she shrieked, practically jumping to her feet so quickly did she pull herself away from the edge of the ridge and stand. “Why didn’t you tell me that first?”
“Because,” Liam said, as he stood up himself, “I told her I’d bring you when I thought you were ready.
The golden flecks in her blue eyes glittered with annoyance, but she smiled despite herself. “Asshole.”
Alassiel awoke from her dreams to the sensation of soft hands on her skin. Sometime after the torture of her memories had ended the dreams had begun, and the elf was having difficulty remembering which was which. It was hard to remember times when she had been happier, when life had been more than traveling between one agony and the next.
She shuddered even at Liriel’s tender touch to her skin. Her flesh was still covered in ghostly cuts inflicted by Cerec’s phantom memory, wounds that would fade soon but burn savagely until they did. “Archdruid,” she whispered directly in her ear, continuing to rub her limbs. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Incredible pain hit Alassiel then as Liriel did something to the cut nearest her heart, pressing something tiny into the open wound. The red haired elf opened her mouth to cry out but her former apprentice put her hand over Alassiel’s mouth, gagging the screams of the crippled druid.
Eventually the torment subsided and Liriel walked away from her mentor, carefully and deliberately placing something on the ground where the confused Alassiel could see it. She then mouthed “tomorrow,” and walked over to sleep, curling up tightly on the cold ground.
Alassiel crawled painfully towards Liriel, and stopped in shock when she saw the item on the ground where the pale haired elf had left it. A perfect little seed, no doubt a twin of the one Liriel had placed into Alassiel’s own chest. She looked down and noted the ghostly wound already starting to close — within minutes, there would be no sign.
Within Blackwand, Alassiel belonged to the avatar completely — her mind and soul were an open door to him that he could walk through at will. If the demonic creature wished it, he could twist and reshape her into an obedient little fucktoy whenever he chose, and he could make Alassiel thank him for it, sincerely and completely… but he would never do that. Her suffering, her despair, her hatred were what empowered the dark blade — if his toys became willing the sword would grow no stronger, its flames no more powerful. If he broke Alassiel completely, if he completely obliterated the remains of her personality, then the fire haired elf would be worthless to him.
Here, Cerec was nearly omnipotent but he was not omniscient. He couldn’t personally attend to the druid every day. He had many souls to abuse here, after all…
Alassiel looked at her apprentice and smiled, the expression predatory. She would indeed implant the tiny seed in Liriel tomorrow, and the two of them would begin their labors, slowly using their own life energy to transform the nascent seeds into new eyrn eregdos. It was at least the process of a decade to grow the plant, but here, they had nothing but time.
Cerec was not omniscient. He could make mistakes.
And Alassiel swore to herself that keeping her alive was one of them.