DISCLAIMER: I should point out that under no circumstances do I condone or approve of any activities described in this, or any of my other stories. Under no circumstances should you engage in the kinds of activities I write about. This writing is fiction.
DISCLAIMER: I should point out that under no circumstances do I condone or approve of any activities described in this, or any of my other stories. Under no circumstances should you engage in the kinds of activities I write about. This writing is fiction.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
A Meeting in the Mountains
The mountains of Tyrrick rise stark against the deep blue sky on the western edge of the continent. In those mountains is a cave, known to the superstitious locals as the Cave of Spirits. They say an ageless necromancer resides there, scion of a vanished people, and that any who enter the Cave of Spirits will never come out again, for he will drain them of life, and add theirs to his own.
Deep in the Cave of Spirits, a pair of small lamps burned, lighting the place where the natural rough rock changed into perfectly smooth stone, perfectly polished without a single join to be seen. More lamps lit the stone within, highlighting a long corridor, and then a main room, perfectly round with a flat stone floor and domed roof, with two hallways leading off. Brilliant light flashed out of the left, a short hallway linked to a small bedchamber.
The bedchamber held a single bed, certainly large enough for five or six people to sleep on. At the foot of it knelt a man before a heavy oaken box, pale-skinned and bare-chested, his head shaved except for a long flowing scalp-lock, silvered with age. He wore a pair of tight leather trousers that highlighted his well muscled legs and a sizable bulge at his crotch. His arms, as well defined as his legs, were held over the box, each hand holding an empty glass beaker. After a moment, the light subsided and he stood, no sign of age despite his silver hair.
He turned and walked to a nearby dresser, where a heavy book bound in leather sat. His dark brown eyes perused the page it was on as he set the beakers down beside several others. After a moment, he stepped back to the box, and pulled the lid down, then latched it. Timing for the next step was crucial. He stepped out into the hallway and turned slightly sideways, as though dodging somebody. He continued on as a dim form appeared behind him, female and nude, her breasts hanging down with the memory of gravity, her arms vanishing near the elbows and her body vanishing at the flare of her hips.
“Arakel,” the ghost said in a rich, sultry voice, “why do you always ignore me?”
Arakel continued to walk down the hall to the main room. “Why is it that when I begin my alchemical workings you vanish, Lim,” he countered.
Lim pouted, her generous lips drawing down. “Because if I stick around while you play with your potions, you might try and stick me in a bottle or something.”
Arakel sighed. Though she was a ghost, Lim held every bit of superstition as those who lived in the villages and towns beyond the mountains, believing that a necromancer like himself could simply steal a soul and force it into a material vessel. While he could tear a soul from a body if he wished, it was both difficult and impractical, since he didn’t know the spells needed to create a vessel to hold it. All he would accomplish would be to create more like Lim, annoying spirits who trailed after him and annoyed him.
“What are you doing back there in the bedroom Arakel,” Lim asked, pushing her breasts together with hands that were connected to nothing.
“If you would stay like I ask you too, you would likely know by now. As it is, you’ll need to wait until I work on it again,” he replied, walking through the main room and down a second hall until he came to a set of stairs. Wooden hooks protruded from the wall here, and Arakel peeled off his leather pants, revealing that the rest of his body was as hairless as his head. He put the pants on a peg, and then walked nude down the stairs into a room with a large sunken pool. Without hesitation Arakel dove in, swimming to the far end as Lim floated above him, idly kicking shins and feet that, like her hands, were not connected to the rest of her ghostly body. After a bit, bored of watching Arakel swim to and fro in the pool, Lim floated away, passing through the walls to travel straight through the rock and emerge into the dim evening light.
It was raining outside, a cold rain that could shock the dead awake, though the rain passed through Lim without her even feeling it. She often explored the mountains around the Cave of Spirits, usually when Arakel was working his alchemy. Despite what he said, she was certain he was going to stick her in a box, or jar, or something. She had never trusted mages when she was alive, and trusted them less now that she was dead.
She floated down along a nearby path, usually unused unless Arakel was going out and about, or some daring villagers came up to test their nerves in the cave. Since she had met up with him, almost five hundred years ago, nobody had gone more than a few steps into the cave. She thought it was rather boring, and often tried to lead some girls up the path, certain that Arakel could use some solid, but soft, company. However, most of them ran away, and one had even thrown herself off a cliff in an attempt to escape.
It was a change in the all too familiar sounds around her that brought her out of her reverie. She flitted across the path, down through the stone and out to a lower spot, where she saw a man climbing the hill. He was about six feet tall, with shaggy black hair that fell to his shoulders and piercing green eyes. His shirt and trousers were shredded, and he held one hand to his side, where blood slowly flowed over his fingers and dripped down to the path.
Lim flitted across the path to him. “Why are you bleeding?” she asked.
The man flinched back with a startled curse. He stared at the nude, partially formed ghost. “So,” he growled, his voice a deep baritone, “these mountains are haunted.”
Lim’s face took on a hurt expression. “I’m not haunting anything,” she protested. “I’m keeping a friend company. Why are you here in these mountains, and why are you bleeding?”
The man snarled at her and walked through her, ignoring her protest and question. Lim followed him up the path, floating just over his shoulder. “So you won’t answer me because I’m a ghost?”
“I won’t answer you because the dead need no answers,” the man growled, rounding a bend and passing the stunted tree that marked where the girl had thrown herself over.
“The dead need answers as much as the living,” Lim said, floating through the tree, “it’s not like we learn everything you know.”
The man waved his hand through her, as though trying to fan away a wisp of smoke. “Begone spirit. Leave me to suffer in peace.”
“And why are you here, in these mountains, leaving a trail that any fool could follow up these mountains to my home, Lycan,” Arakel’s voice asked. Lim scooted backwards, all but her head vanishing in surprise as she stared at him. He was still bare-chested, but wore a surcoat of steel links,, his leather trousers and heavy boots.
The Lycan stopped at peered through the rain at Arakel. “Another spirit, or something more solid?”
Arakel blinked once, slowly. “Answer my question, or begone from this place.”
The Lycan bared his teeth, and then his shoulders sagged slightly. “I was guarding a caravan when we were attacked. The rest of the guards were slaughtered and I injured, though I escaped. They had silver weapons, so my regenerative powers are… less than helpful,” he admitted ruefully.
Arakel’s eyes flicked to Lim, and she vanished without a sound. He looked back at the Lycan. “Follow me,” he said grudgingly. The necromancer led the lycanthrope further along the path, then into the rough entrance of the cave. He gestured for the wounded man to sit on a nearby rock. “Sit still, and do not move,” he told the wounded man, stretching his hand out over a pile of rocks. His eyes went momentarily distant, and then the pile of rocks began to shake slightly. From beneath the pile of rocks came a skeleton, somewhat dog-like that stood on four legs, its skull turned to Arakel, the empty eye sockets staring at him. “Clean the path. Alert me if we have any more visitors,” Arakel commanded, and the skeleton bounded off, pausing often to touch it’s nose to the bloodstains.
Through it all, the man simply sat on the rock and watched. “So along with ghosts, there truly is a Necromancer living in these mountains.”
“Yes, I do truly exist, despite what people tell themselves to feel safer,” he said, then walked toward him. “Move your hand, let me see the wound.”
The lycanthrope moved his blood-slick hand clear, and Arakel inspected the wound. “The cut is shallow. It should heal in a day or two. Come into the Cave, and I can give you what you need to tend it. For now you may call me Arakel.”
The lycan nodded and pressed his hand to his side again as he stood. “I am Treck. I will try not to intrude to much.”
Arakel nodded without looking back, his scalp-lock bobbing. “Good. Always remember that necromancy is stronger with fresh blood.”
Virgins and Alchemy
Since the arrival of Treck, Arakel had been disturbed. He was not used to the living, and far preferred the company of the dead if the truth were known. Now, two weeks after Treck’s arrival, Arakel lay in his bed, his eyes open but his was mind lost in that place where dreams become memories.
As a child, he stood in a wide circular room, the walls and floor made of solid marble, the domed roof held in place by great vaults. A great well, easily four hundred feet across, sat in the center of the room with no railing to guard it, and from that well came low, sensual moans and cries. Oil lamps hung from the vaults at varying levels, casting a golden glow across the room.
Scattered around the room were women clad in light robes open at the front, not one of them covering their body, standing in small group, sitting on lushly cushioned benches or relaxing in small sunken pools of hot, steaming water. All of them were in some stage of pregnancy, from only a slight bump to large distended bellies. Some men were present as well, clad only in loincloths and open, sleeveless robes, displaying their toned bodies, utterly hairless save for their flowing scalp locks.
Dressed like the other men, he stepped closer to the great well, and gazed down over the edge. The well dropped down nearly fifteen feet, and at the bottom rested four large creatures. Their true form was difficult to discern, because each was a mass of roiling tentacles, thick and thin, each tentacle flexible and immensely strong. His eyes were drawn to the creatures, beloved of his people and known as Nek-Tem, tracing their tentacles with his eyes and trying to see their true forms as he ignored the wo men in the well who were creating the moans and cries.
Because there were women down there, at least eight of them, suspended in mid-air by the Nek-Tem as their tentacles probed and plundered the women. Two of the women, each being enjoyed by a different Nek-Tem, had been pushed together and they kissed each other, their hands sliding over the others body in sensual bliss.
A hand came down on his shoulder, and he turned…
and woke in his own bed, his eyes blinking a few times. He sat up, and looked about. From the main room he could hear the muted murmur of conversation, something he wasn’t used to. He swung his legs off the bed, stood up, and pulled on a pair of leather pants that he had draped over a chair the night before. Then he stepped into his boots and walked out to the main room. Lim and Treck paid him no mind, as they hadn’t for a week now, by his own request. He grabbed his sleeveless coat as he walked down the long tunnel that lead out to the rough entrance of the Cave of Spirits.
Outside, it was raining again, which he took as a good sign. He walked higher into the mountains, taking his time and keeping his eyes open for a rare weed. While he looked with his eyes, he opened his mind and sent it back to the Cave so he could listen to Lim and Treck.
“I asked you before why you follow Arakel, Lim,” Treck was asking, “and you never did tell me.”
“Arakel and I have somewhat similar goals,” Lim admitted. “In life I was a whore, fun and easy work that I thoroughly enjoyed. Unfortunately, there were some in my homeland who were against having whores and brothels, a clan called the Ryu-Sincar.”
“I’ve heard of them,” Treck admitted darkly, “they find the largest moral issue in a city when they enter, and then champion the forces against it. Afterwards, they use the influence and popular support to embed themselves in the city and become parasites.”
“Yes they do. The fanned out through the city in a single night and set fire to every brothel and rounded up every street whore they could find. The city elders were thankful, but what nobody was told was that the whores were kept as toys, for pure amusement and sadistic torture. I was among them, and while I enjoyed the whore’s life, I did not enjoy being a toy or whipping post, or coupling with a horse.”
Arakel ducked unto a rock outcropping, his eyes still sweeping the nooks and crannies of the rock for the weed. He already knew Lim’s story, knew more that she was telling Treck, so he stopped listening. Finally, in a crack at the base of a cliff, he found the weed. The stem was dark purple and the leaves a bloody red. It looked exactly as it did in the alchemical tome he had in the Cave. His hand slid into his coat, and came out with a short silver knife, which he used to slice the stem in a single motion. He put the knife away, and pulled out a silk cloth, which he used to wrap the weed before starting back down towards the cave.
When he got back, Lim and Treck were still talking, and he went straight away into his room. Setting the silk-wrapped weed on the dresser by the heavy book, he stripped off his wet overcoat and tossed it onto the nearby chair. He opened the book to the proper page, and then unlatched the box. He pushed the lid up, and went back to the dresser, where he unwrapped the weed, and picked up a heavy dagger, its blade etched with mystical symbols before returning to kneel at the edge of the box, setting the dagger beside his knee.
Arakel squeezed the stem of the weed, pushing out its thick white liquid, making it drip into the box, his hands moving in a specific pattern, dripping the liquid in an alchemical sigil before laying it inside the box and picking up the dagger. In a firm motion he slashed his own wrist, and held the cut over the box. As the blood began to drip into the box, he moved his wrist reverse of what he had with the weed.
When he finished the pattern, lights flared from the box, and before his eyes the mess inside began to coalesce, pulling together to form an androgynous, hairless human body. Arakel rocked back on his heels then stood, bending his arm to keep his wrist up as he walked to the dresser where he kept bandages. He put a bandage on the cut, and wrapped it in clean linen before walking back to the box.
The body inside was perfectly formed, entirely hairless and completely sexless. Its eyes were open, but aside from the black pupils they held no colour at all. A little button nose and slit of a mouth completed it. Arakel put one hand over the body, and his eyes closed.
In the main room, Lim looked down the hall. She could feel Arakel calling her, his magic reaching out and tugging her dead spirit to come to him. She floated that way, ignoring Treck’s questions and the fact that he followed he down the hall. When she got to Arakel’s chambers, she saw him standing there, bare-chested with one wrist wrapped in bandages, his other hand held over the large box at the foot of his bed. She saw a sexless form in the box, and then felt an even stronger call.
No, she realized after a moment. It was the same call, Arakel’s call, he was simply calling her into the sexless body in the box. She resisted as best she could, but when he looked at her, his eyes conveyed an entire conversation, one they had held centuries ago. With that look, her resistance melted. As she descended on the body, she turned over, letting herself relax as she entered the body. The moment her ghostly figure touched the created form, it pulled her in, drawing her essence inside.
The body gave a spasm, and began to ripple. This, Arakel knew, was the real test. As the body absorbed Lim, the spasms and ripples became more severe until it gave a final jerk, and the ripples subsided. For a second, nothing happened. Then the body began to change. Nipples appeared on it’s flat chest, with areola slowly spreading outwards until they covered about a half inch circle. Beneath the nipples, the chest began to swell, two small bumps that steadily increased in size as the body changed around it, the torso thinning, the legs and arms toning up as stubble appeared on the head, even as the chin and jaw narrowed, becoming more feminine.
When the eyes opened again, they were a deep vibrant purple. As she, the body was definitely a she now, sat up, her breasts stopped growing, not overly large, but certainly not small, the kind of breasts that draw the attention of every man, and more than a few women, who see them, no matter what they happen to be wrapped in. Her lips were no longer a thin slit, but full and ripe, the stubble on her head still growing, like cascading fire rolling down her back in thick waves until it finally stopped at her waist.
Lim held her hands out, and Arakel and Treck each took one and helped her up. She giggled as she stood. “My, I’d forgotten just how nice it was to be helped up by two strong men,” she said in that same rich, sultry voice.
Treck’s eyes were wide as he stared at her nude form, her legs slightly spread to show her bare mound. “How is this possible…”
“In addition to being a Necromancer, I am also an alchemist. I’ve been working on this body for close to three hundred years.”
“Three… three hundred years? Arakel, how old are you,” Treck demanded in an incredulous voice.
“I passed my two thousand and thirteenth year last month,” he said casually, “and for fifteen hundred years I’ve been studying alchemy. Now, Lim, head to the main room. Your body will need rest, so go and sleep. I’m also going to sleep, then I need to go out again. It could be a few days before I return.”
Lim nodded, and then pushed her nude body against Treck. “Care to bed down with me Treck,” she asked, her hands roaming his body.
Treck blushed a deep red, and Arakel sighed. He knew that Lim was a wanton slut, but he had thought she would hold off at least a few hours. “Lim, before you indulge yourself, get some sleep. You haven’t needed it for some time, but you need it now. Besides, your new body is still changing. You cannot have sex for six hours at least, so go and sleep,” he said, pushing the both of them from his chambers before collapsing on his bed, wondering if he would again dream of the past.
Once pushed out of the room, Lim and Treck walked arm in arm down the hall. “He’s always such a spoilsport,” Lim said, pushing against Treck again.
“With that much study though, he most likely knows his business though, so I think we should both behave,” Treck said. “It’s strange that he didn’t say a word to me.”
“Not really. Arakel doesn’t really like people. I think he prefers the dead.”
“After living alone for so long, who wouldn’t?”
When Arakel awoke some hours later, he dressed differently than usual. He pulled on cotton leggings, heavier boots than normal and a loose cotton shirt, over which he pulled his chain overcoat. He picked up a leather satchel on his way out of the room, and paused in the main room. Lim and Treck were sleeping on the large couch in a tangle of limbs, both nude. With a nod to himself, he left the Cave, and started down the path out of the mountains.
Not long after Arakel left, Lim awoke. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but she felt better for it. She’d forgotten what it was like to sleep. Even better though, for her, was waking up with a naked man. She turned in Treck’s arms, enjoying the feel of his firm arms on her body. When he didn’t wake immediately, she pouted slightly, then slid her way down his body, her hands tracing his firm ass, then around to his half-erect member. With a soft cooing sound she took it into her mouth, her body already responding as she sucked on the broad circumcised head of his cock, one of her hands cupping his ball sack while the other gripped his ass.
Her tongue played along his cockhead, eliciting a groan from the sleeping lycanthrope. His eyes popped open, but before he could say anything, Lim’s head darted down along his curved length as she took half of it into her mouth, the head hitting her throat as she groaned. Treck rolled his head back with a groan as well, the sound of it almost bestial. His hands grabbed the couch as Lim pushed him off his side and onto his back, her head bobbing eagerly on his cock as she worked it into her mouth to his accompanying groans and spasms.
Before long, his cock was buried in her throat as she continually swallowed around it, the sensations making him twists and gasp. When she pulled back, she took a breath, and licked his cock clean before crawling up his body, her breasts hanging down and her eyes smouldering. “Well little kitten? Let’s see what you can do,” she purred in his ear, one hand still gripping his slick cock, slowly pumping it.
Treck responded quickly, rolling over and planting her on her back as he worked his way down her body as she spread her legs, hooking one over the back of the sofa, the other falling off to the floor. His hands rubbed around her pussy, already soaked with her excitement, and using his thumbs he pulled her lips open, making her sigh and squirm slightly. He covered her pussy with his mouth, his tongue lapping up her juices while he began to purr, the sound rumbling along his tongue and against her wet pussy ad clit, making her softly gasp, her hands grabbing his shaggy hair and pushing his head tighter against her cunt.
Her gasps became whimpers which became moans as she thrashed on the couch as his tongue lashed her cunt. Her body bucked a few times until her pulled his head clear, and slowly climbed his way up her body, his dark eyes smoldering as she gasped and gripped his shoulders briefly before reaching down between his legs to guide him to her tight opening.
She was tight, Treck thought, tight as a virgin, and as he slowly pushed into her, he felt her hymen. A few short thrusts tested its strength, and her sharp little cries told him all he needed to know. He pulled his hips back, and then drove them forward before she could lament his actions. She cried out loud, a cry of lust and joy as he took her bodies virginity, his thick cock destroying her hymen and plunging into her tight channel. Her hands clawed and scratched at his back as he continued his assault, his entire body working to drive his cock deeper into her body.
Lim’s legs locked around his waist, tightening in time to his thrusts to try and drive him deeper into her, the pain of losing her bodies virginity suppressed by the joy of once again having a solid cock deep in her cunt and working deeper. Her new body was smaller, and less conditioned, than her original body however, and before long she felt his cock head smash into her cervix, sending her eyes wide and a strangled groan out of her lips. Her nails tore over his back, making Treck flinch slightly, and his next thrust was a touch gentler, but her reaction was the same, but her legs tightened around him again, holding him there as she shivered and shook on the edge of orgasm, but Treck paid her attempts to hold him still no mind as he pulled back and thrust again, crashing into her cervix.
The third impact was enough. Lim screamed, the sound of it echoing off the polished stone walls as she came, her juices squirting out of her, drenching the fabric of the couch, her walls clamping down on Treck’s cock like a vise. He sudden orgasm caught him by surprise, more so her sudden squirting, and, at the edge of an orgasm from her tightness, and the skill of her mouth and throat, he came with her, pumping his seed deep into her cunt, staring into her wide purple eyes with his green eyes.
They stayed locked together for a few minutes before Treck tried to slip out of her, only to find that her virgin cunt was still clamped down tight on him. He applied a bit more effort, pulling himself free as she writhed on the wet sofa, their mixed juices slowly leaking out of her cunt. He untangled himself from her limbs, and slowly stood, feeling the happy afterglow of a good orgasm as he staggered his way back to the pool, where he knew there was a shower. Arakel had tried to explain how he had managed to get running water, but Treck hadn’t truly cared at the time.
Lim, on the other hand, simply lay on the couch, her eyes closed as she enjoyed the afterglow of her first orgasm in almost five centuries. She reached down, scooped up some of the juices that were slowly leaking from her cunt and licked her fingers clean. She couldn’t separate what taste belonged to who, but the combined flavor was good enough that she went back for seconds. She knew that she should get up and clean up, but for the moment she couldn’t make more than her arms move properly at the moment. Her ear reported the shower turning on, but since her legs wouldn’t cooperate, she resigned herself to laying there, occasionally scooping up some more juices and licking them off her fingers before fatigue overwhelmed her, and she fell asleep, one hand between her legs, the other resting on her stomach.
Broken Dreams
The sun came up slowly, creeping over the edge of the mountains and slowly burning away the fog that clung to the ground near the Isle of Dreams. Arakel stood on the bank of the wide river that encircled the Isle, his eyes looking at the once stately buildings still wreathed in mist. Of the four bridges that once spanned the river, each built of heavy stone blocks sheathed in marble, one remained but its marble sheathing was cracked and in places broken off, exposing the stone blocks underneath. The heavy bronze stands that once held hanging oil lamps here either missing or broken at random heights along the bridge as he walked along it, returning to the Isle.
The Isle of Dreams had been a gem of a city, supported by the nearby gem deposits in the mountains. The buildings had been tall and graceful, sheathed in the purest marble with broad avenues that all lead to the Temple of Dreams at the very center of the Isle. The avenues had been lined with ancient oak trees that kept them shaded with their broad limbs as the tall, fair haired people walked beneath them, clad in robes and loincloths, the women unashamedly bare-breasted in the green-tinged sunlight.
Now, however, that city was a shattered dream. The invasion of the Ryu-Sincar had turned most of the once beautiful buildings into crumbling ruin. Most of the ancient trees had been hewed down and left to rot in the streets. Even the tightly fit paving stones of the avenues had been pried up or smashed in the invasion. As Arakel strode down the avenue, moving cautiously over the uneven ground, he saw little to no signs of animal activity, which somewhat surprised him. Two thousand years of wreckage and ruin, he had expected to see animal, or at least their signs, somewhere in the city.
He turned off the main avenue, and walked down a street that, while not nearly as broad as the central avenues, was still spacious enough that a pair of wagons could once have passed unhindered. The buildings down this street were only slightly less ruined than the others. He moved a bit slower now as he stepped through a ruined doorframe into one of the houses. Inside, the great winged stairwell was clogged with rubble, and the small fountain built into the curve between the two stairs no longer worked. Arakel stepped into the empty, rubble-choked fountain and brushed away the cobwebs and dust from the back curved wall to reveal the sigil of House Ve’Tria, one of the longest lines of priests on the Isle.
House Ve’Tria had been his house, his family and this ruined and rubble-choked building had once been, for thirteen years, his home.
Arakel’s fingers traced the intricate knot of his family crest, moving almost nostalgically. He’d only visited a few times in the two thousand years since the Isle had fallen, and every time it hurt somewhat to see his family home in ruins. The first time he’d been here, only ten years after the Isle had been destroyed, he’d felt so much pain and agony coming from the ruins, each house screaming out to him and his inborn ability to hear and speak with dead. His footsteps had carried him here to his home, and he had fled not long after, the screams of his own mother and sisters screaming out at him of their repeated rapes and beatings at the hands of the Ryu-Sincar.
Now though, the dead were silent, the faint energy binding them to the Isle having dissipated long ago. His hand fell off the stone wall and he left the ruined building, where he was surprised to see that the sun had reached noon already. He retraced his steps down the street until he reached the central avenue. Once there, he picked his way through the rubble towards the still-standing marble dome of the Temple.
As he drew closer, he was struck again by the thought that it was odd that after two thousand years of neglect that it still stood, the dome rising above the ruined buildings and the trees to stand guard over the once beautiful Isle of Dreams. The dome flowed down into four large halls, each one facing one of the central avenues, and even these had withstood time and weather. The great doors that lead into the halls had been smashed down with battering rams when Ryu-Sincar attacked the Isle and his people had fled into the Temple. For the first time since he was thirteen, Arakel stepped over the threshold and into the Temple that had once been the center of his world.
Broken chains dangled from the walls, the metal bowls that one held the oil and cast pools of golden light across the walls and floor long gone. His footsteps echoed back from the marble walls and roof, sounding forlorn and lonely. His memories of the place filled it with light, laughter, conversation and the smell of soft lavender incense. Now, it was dark, silent, smelling of stagnant water and rot. The Temple was still warm and humid, as it always had been
He stepped into the central room, his eyes automatically seeking out the great well in the middle of the room. This room looked to have been desecrated worse than the entire city combined, as a ring of steel spikes lined the well, each one with a skeleton crumpled at the base. More skeletons lay around the room, some half submerged in the stagnant pools that had once served as hot tubs, others lay on the floor or against the edge of the walls, rusted iron collars around their necks, the chains on the collars crudely hammered into the wall.
Arakel walked forward, and stood at the very edge of the well. There was a thin layer of stagnant water down at the bottom, but there was something else. He peered down, trying to see what lay in the shadows at the bottom of the well. Finally, frustrated that he couldn’t make it out, he walked a few paces over and, after a quick check to be sure that the stone grooves hadn’t been destroyed, he climbed down to the bottom of the well, only to draw back in shock.
Lying on its side was a dead Nek-Tem. Its tentacles were stretched out along the curve on the well, and for the first time in his life he saw its actual body. It had four sturdy legs and a small, roundish body, with no eyes or visible mouth. Arakel slowly walked towards it, one hand held out towards the only God he had ever known, and he could feel its spirit still lingering, which meant it was less than a week dead. He knelt in the stagnant water, and laid one hand on the head of his dead God. “Had I but known any of you were still here, I would have returned sooner to take you away that we might one day resurrect the Isle, and return both our peoples. Rest in peace my friend, rest in peace.”
Arakel stood, and looked around the bottom of the well again. Just behind the Nek-Tem was a small hollow, roughly carved as though the Nek-Tem itself had used its tentacles to smash the marble into a small nook. He carefully stepped over the tentacles of the Nek-Tem, and knelt again in the water. His eyes widened as he saw an egg, dark in colour and covered with thick ribs to protect it, tucked in the rough hollow. He slipped the leather satchel off his shoulder, and opened it up. Then, with hands that shook from excitement and nervousness he picked up the egg, feeling again the rough pebbled texture of the egg, and tucked it carefully into the satchel, which then went back over his shoulder. He stood, and looked again at the Nek-Tem, wonder in his mind and thanks in his heart.
As Arakel stepped out of the temple, he paused for a moment to listen. Now that he had the egg, he had every intention of being extra cautious on his way back to the Cave. He knew what was required to hatch it, and he had every intention of doing so as he moved down the avenue, and it was those thoughts that almost made him miss the footprints.
He turned on his heel when he realized what he had just seen. The footprints were there, heavy travelling boots of three different sizes that seemed, on inspection, to be heading down a side street. Arakel paused for a few moments, his silver scalp lock hanging down over his shoulder as his head came up, and he started moving without really thinking about it, walking quickly, and quietly, down the street. He paused at the end of each house, listening more than he looked before proceeding. It didn’t take long before he heard the sound of voices, and then he moved even slower until he heard the sound of wood snapping, and when he heard it, he ducked into a ruined doorway to keep out of sight.
“Saern, why are we wasting our time here in this stupid pile of rubble,” a female voice asked. It was a light voice, musical with a hint of an exotic accent that Arakel couldn’t place.
“I agree with my sister. This is a fool’s errand. The Nek-Tem and their whores have been dead for two thousand years. There’s no way one could have survived the Purge.” This was a man’s voice, but as smooth and musical as the female voice and it shared the accent.
“The peasant slut’s story is identical to the Nek-Tem however. It took her, used her for two weeks, and when she birthed the egg, it let her go. Her village is less than a week’s travel from here. This is why we were sent. The Ryu-Sincar cannot allow the Nek-Tem, or their whores, to revive themselves.” Arakel took note of this voice. It was older, and far more serious. It lacked the accent of the first two, and was rougher.
“Well, I’m sure the slut has learned to entertain our men by now,” the first male voice said with a laugh, over the sound of flint striking steel.
Two more laughs joined in, and Arakel slipped out of the ruined house. He made his way back down the street, shifting the satchel on shoulder. At least now he knew where this egg had come from, but since it was likely the only egg, he was set on getting back to the Cave before the Ryu-Sincar came back this way.
It was nearing nightfall when he was finally clear of the ruined city, and he bypassed the place he had camped the night before. Instead, he walked on through half the night, putting as much distance between himself and the island as he could. By midnight, he was curled beneath the wide spread branches of a pine tree where the plains gave way to the dark forests that blanketed the foot of the mountains.
By nightfall the next day, Arakel was cold and tired as he climbed into the mountains. Heavy clouds had started to roll in as the sun had slid below western horizon, and by the time Arakel had started up the long path to the Cave of Spirits, rain had begun to fall, sheeting across the ground to the accompaniment of heavy thunder and flashing lightning. When he entered the Cave of Spirits, he could hear something from deep inside. It took him a moment to recognize it as he moved deeper into the cave before he could place it.
It was a female voice crying out in passion, sharp cries and long moans rising above another sound, deeper and more guttural, one that he couldn’t quite place, even as he moved deeper into the cave. The sounds grew progressively louder, and he heard a softer sound as well, the wet sound of two bodies coming together. Arakel slowed his pace, forgetting the heavy satchel over his shoulder for a moment, as he stepped into the smooth hall. There, in the middle of the main room, was Lim, on all fours with her ass in the air, her breasts scraping along the ground. Mounting her from behind was Treck, shifted into his half-man form. His face was altered from his normal appearance by a cat-like muzzle and topped by a pair of leopard ears. His broad shoulders were covered in short white fur that framed his muscular chest and stomach. His arms were well defined, and his hands were larger than normal, ending in fingers halfway between claws and fingers. His legs were long and feline, ending in large paws.
Treck was crouched atop Lim, his hips moving back and forth in harsh motions, each forward plunge causing Lim’s body to jerk forward, her breasts scraping on the floor and her head flying backwards, long cries ringing in the air to be followed by shuddering moans as Treck pulled out. Her hands scrabbled at the smooth stone floor as Treck drove himself into her over and over, growling and purring as they coupled. Arakel leaned against the wall and watched, not entirely surprised that Lim had already gone to this extent. Over the centuries they had known each other, Arakel had gotten every secret Lim had out of her. She had been one of a few whores in her city that had enjoyed entertaining the lycanthropes so long as they never went into their full animal form, so he had almost expected this, though perhaps not so soon.
Lim’s glorious purple eyes opened and she saw Arakel standing there, a faint smile on his lips and, judging by Trecks sudden grunt, her body tightened around him as she climaxed from having an audience, even one as small as an extra person. Treck gave a last hard drive into Lim and she cried out again, a groaning mix of cry and moan as her whole body shuddered. Arakel walked past the pair with a faint smile, and headed to the pool, where he stripped off his wet clothes and went down into the steam. He waded out into the pool, letting the satchel sink into the water. The warmth, he knew, would be good for it after the cold rain. When he reached the raft at the far end of the pool, he rearranged the cushions to form a kind of nest, then carefully lifted the egg out of the satchel and set it in the cushions. The egg was already beginning to change colour, changing from a dark grey to a lighter green. The veins on the egg were starting to slowly pulse with life, and Arakel set his hand on the egg with a smile.
It would not be long now.
A Look From the Other Side A young girl, dressed in a loose red top and tight red leather trousers, tucked into knee-high black leather boots, crouched in the ruins of the Temple of Dreams. Her dark eyes gazed down into the center pit, staring at the dead monstrosity, her eyes tracing the tentacles that led to the young man down there as her hand pushed a lock of black and red hair behind her ear. The young man was dressed in a blue tunic and trousers, along with his own knee-high leather boots. He was crouched near the hole in the wall, examining it. There was a slight depression in the muck, and his eyes noted a trail of footprints in a few places clear of the water, prints he had carefully avoided disturbing. He followed them out, and was soon standing beside his sister. That close to her, and it was obvious they were twins. Gender differences aside, they looked remarkably similar, though the boy stood almost a foot taller than his sister and where her hair held streaks of red, his held streaks of blue. “The man that left the prints was here only yesterday.” She nodded. “I agree. Saern has yet to return from checking the city, but I bet this has something to do with the necromancer people talk about in the mountains.” “Likely our next step,” he agreed. “We should begin packing our camp up, and then prepare for a long walk Dai.” Dai, the girl, snorted as she moved out of the Temple. “Not so long Dorn. It’s barely two days to those mountains.” Meanwhile, in the city, Saern had found the rest of the footprints. Two sets, one leading in and one out. While the one leading out was direct, the one coming in meandered, moving down a side street and into a ruin before coming out and heading to the Temple, where he had left his protégés. As he walked back to the camp, he considered them both. Dai was a rarity in the Ryu-Sincar. It was rare enough for them to admit a woman, rarer still to admit a person with her skills and personality, but they had wanted her brother Dornak, and where one walked, the other followed. The Ryu-Sincar knew, of course, that the twins of them were lovers, had been lovers for years, and despite their best efforts they had been unable to stop them, and so they looked the other way, because finding a pyrokinetic, a fire controller, of Dai’s strength was rare, but a hydrokinetic, a water controller, like her brother was nearly unheard of. He ducked beneath a stone pillar sitting at an angle, resting against the partially collapsed house they were using for their campsite, noting their voices as he approached. They were talking about ordinary things, making crude jokes the way any nineteen year old twins might. His eyes took in the almost fully packed camp, most of the packs loaded onto their single mule. “I see you two have anticipated our departure.” Dorn nodded. “The tracks in the ruined temple are barely a day old. The creature has lain there longer, but only by a few days.”Saern took the news in without comment as he pulled off his heavy sword belt and plain tunic, then flipped open a heavy pack. He stuffed the tunic into it, and pulled out a padded undershirt, which he slipped on. Over that he buckled on a steel cuirass then wrapped his sword belt around his waist once more. When he turned, he saw the twins following his lead. Dai had already pulled her loose top off, baring her small breasts, her nipples tight and hard either from the chill air or from simply being topless. Likewise, her brother was topless and working on untying his boots. As Saern turned back to the pack containing his gear, Dai managed to get her boots off, and then peeled off her leather pants, wriggling her ass at her brother as she did so. He smiled in appreciation as he stripped off his own leather pants. His cock was half erect from the little teasing his sister had done, but Saern had laid down the law on this issue. The Ryu-Sincar did not allow incestuous couplings, and theirs was tolerated only because of their power. But only at night, in their tent or rooms, were they allowed to indulge. Once both twins were re-dressed to match Saern, they buckled on their weapons. For Dai, a heavy dagger and sabre, while her brother carried a pair of wide-bladed long swords. Their armour, like Saern’s, was not enamelled and was unadorned, bearing no sigils or crests to show their loyalties. As the sun reached its zenith, they set out, moving through the ruined city towards the mountains on the far horizon. By the time the sun set, all three were tired, and setting up a rudimentary camp beneath the same evergreen Arakel had rested in only the night before. The roads leading to and from the island, abandoned so long, could barely be said to exist at all, and it had proved easier to walk beside them than over them. According to Saern, a man well-versed in the campaigns of the Ryu-Sincar, the people of the island had been wealthy from nearly endless gem deposits in the mountains. This wealth had allowed them to pave their roads with massive stone blocks, instead of taking care of the poor, or working to exterminate the monsters in their so-called temple. The massive blocks used to pave the roads had broken up over the centuries, heaved upwards by the winter chill and rounded down by weather to create swathes of rock that were difficult to traverse. That night, as Saern slept, Dai slipped atop her brother, who had fallen asleep. They always slept under the same blankets, and always slept nude, unless it was winter of course. She rubbed her bare breasts on his chest, and saw his mouth twitch, as though he were fighting off a smile. A smile touched her lips as she realized he wasn’t truly asleep. Proof of that came almost with the realization as he rolled over, trapping her under him. Dai gasped, then moaned as his fingers found her wet slit, and began to tease her. His fingers rubbed along her, spread her wide and let go, probed at her but never slipped inside her, no matter how she lifted or wriggled her hips, making small impatient noises in her throat. As those impatient noises climbed to soft whines, Dorn lightly bit the side of her neck, and her entire body tensed, but not from pain. Her hands scrabbled at his back, leaving nail marks along his skin. He bit harder, and she flailed even more, eager noises coming from her throat as she marked her brothers back up. Then, with that sense they both possessed, the knowledge of what the other was feeling, he drew back from her body, leaving her on the edge, staring at him with a need so naked in her eyes that anybody could have seen it. Dorn held her eyes as he moved down her body, and she tried to hold still, to be quiet. Everybody who met them assumed Dai to be the dominant twin, because she was outgoing, not a hint of shyness in her body, but they were wrong. She lived entirely for her brother’s approval, and now, as she watched him slide down her body, his eyes told her in no uncertain terms, that she was to stay still, motionless. She failed when his mouth covered her soaked opening and his tongue drove into her. Though wet, she was tight, and a choked scream slipped from her mouth as her arms went to his head and grabbed a double handful of his hair. Dorn lapped and licked at her, swallowing her wetness in between flogging her clit with his tongue, or driving it deep into her. When she came, she came as she almost always did, in a fountain of fluids that he was happy to swallow down, her body arcing and writhing from side to side. When she came down, her small breasts heaving, he slowly climber atop her, gazing into her unfocused eyes. They snapped into focus when he drove himself into her. He was only of average length, but he was wide, and after Dai came by mouth, she was always tighter. He forced himself into her, and screamed her approval, not caring who heard or saw. Dorn drove himself into her with long, hard thrusts, driving into her until he hit her end, and she threw her head back with yet another long scream of pure pleasure. They kept at it, falling into a hard rhythm from years of practice and intimate knowledge of the others body. When Dorn began to lose the rhythm, Dai was only able to push her hips up to him, meeting his thrusts but no longer able to match them. He drove himself into her one last time, both groaning with pleasure as his seed boiled into her as her body gripped him so tight, her juices leaking, no longer squirting, out of her as they came together. Saern waited until an hour after dawn to wake them, and gave them just enough privacy to get cleaned up. He had watched them make love the night before, and though the Ryu-Sincar frowned on incest, he found the two of them together enticing. He pushed the thoughts aside as he made a rough breakfast on the coals of last night’s fire, and two hours after dawn they were underway. It began to rain throughout the day, a cold rain. They camped that night at the foot of the mountains, near what seemed to be an old, unused path, though Dorn had spotted a single footprint, roughly the same as those in the temple and city. There was no sex, or even fire, that night. They ate cold rations, and Dorn volunteered to watch through the night. If it rained, Dorn did not sleep. The rain itself nourished him, fed his body and mind and kept him energized. They ate as they began to climb the mountain, hands always on their weapons. None of them had skill with the dead, and so none of them noted the nearly invisible head that sank into the mountain side at their approach, and did not emerge when they had passed.