by Jay Aury
“How would you…”
“You leave that to me,” Tiberius said, his red eyes gleaming. Socretha caught her breath as she felt power pulse from the man’s body. A shiver worked its way across her as Tiberius walked towards her. Shadows trailed after him like a cloak. “Stick by me, and we’ll take the world. I never do something half assed.”
“The nearest castle is Fulgrim’s Keep,” she said, voice husky. Blood thumping with elation and anticipation. “It is to the south, just beyond the High Hills, where the goblins lurk in their hollows. It is a cursed place, forsaken by all.”
Tiberius laughed harshly, taking her by the arms. She gasped, his touch seeming to burn her. “Really?” She stared into his eyes, held by them. “Tell me more.”
“Yes,” Socretha breathed, shivering in his grasp, yearning towards the sorcerer. Her heart beat quickly. “Monstrous demons have held the old keep since the End Wars.”
“How monstrous?”
“They eat men and orcs.”
“Delightful! Go on.”
She gasped, the heat of his touch seeping through her. She spoke quicker, flushing. “If you could oust them, the other orcs would rush to your banner. With them, and your might, we could sweep aside the Watchtowers which holds the Dragon’s Teeth, and take the Southlands. Crush them beneath your heel.”
“I do like doing that,” Tiberius husked, his breath spiced with something she had never known before. She shivered, feeling strangely weak. Her head spinning as if drunk.
“Yes,” she said, breathless. Her skin sang with a sudden awareness of him. “The orcs would follow a man willing to conquer. I would,” she said. She ground her groin against his, feeling the hardness of his erection. The heat which bled from the twisting marks across his skin seared her.
“I could get behind that,” Tiberius growled, resting a hand on her hip. Squeezing hard.
“Do it,” Socretha said, hands on his belt. “And I’m yours. Take the Keep, lead us across the Teeth, and I will swear to serve you forever.”
“You’ll serve me anyway,” the warlock said.
She felt his manhood strain the fabric of his pants. She found herself trembling, responding to the sorcerer like no other. “I would,” she breathed. “I would for such a man.”
“How forward thinking of you,” Tiberius growled. Leaned closer. “I like that in a woman.”
He kissed her then. His lips hot and fierce. Demanding and powerful. She moaned, her tusks pressed against his mouth. She gripped him back, pulling him against her, crushing him to her in a sudden need. He chuckled, grabbing her firm breasts and squeezing.
“Nnn!” Socretha gasped.
“Like that do you?” Tiberius chuckled, his red eyes blazing. “Like it rough?”
“Y-yes,” Socretha moaned, rubbing her tight furrow against his length.
“Lucky for you, that’s how I like it too.”
She moaned as she felt his hands tighten against her. Lust made her head spin. The heat of his body seemed to draw her in. The shadows which clung to him threatened to engulf her.
It was hard. Harder than anything she had done before, but she pulled back from that yawning gulf. Gasped, pushed him back. An inch. Enough. Just enough.
“No.”
Tiberius froze. His hands tightened on her arms. “I’m sorry, what was that? I think I had something crazy in my ear.”
“No, my Lord,” Socretha managed. “I… I cannot. Not before you take that keep. Not until you prove that you are worthy of seeding me.”
Tiberius rolled his jaw, popping the joint. “Do you know… how many women have said no to me?”
“Many?”
Tiberius stared at her.
“I am not your slut,” Socretha said, her breathing laboured, controlling herself with effort. “The man I call Master must be worthy of me. And I must be worthy of him. To mate with a lesser male would dishonour him and me.”
Tiberius growled. “You test me, woman.”
“I do,” she said. Oh, but if you could know how it tests me, she thought. Thought, but dared not say. “But I am worth it, my Lord. Prove to me you’re worthy of being called my Master.”
Tiberius stared into her eyes. A savage, hungry smile turned his mouth. “Hm. Very well,” he said, tracing the line of her jaw. “Let’s have it done. And then,” he said, pulling her against him again, his cock pressing against her hot quim. “Then, I’ll take you. I’ll fuck you until you’re screaming my name.”
Socretha gasped. “As you say,” she said, trembling with desire. Then, reckless with lust, grinned her tusked mouth. “My Lord.”
Tiberius glowered at her. “Good. Now,” Tiberius said, stroking her breast, making her tense and moan as lust pooled within her again. “Tell me more about this castle…”
Enemies at the Gates
Night shrouded the Dusk Woods. Hooves clipped on the road beyond Solita’s gate. This was unusual to Arvil, who had only been a guard for the last two seasons. No one travelled the road at night. No was stupid enough to. He snapped open the peephole, peering into the darkness as a lone rider came into the torchlight on the walls. Bent over his mount, the man was shadowed in a thick cloak that seemed to meld into the darkness, rippling in the wind like it was made of shadows.
“H-halt!” Arvil cried from behind the gate. “Who goes there?”
The rider stopped. Arvil caught the sight of long, pointed ears jutting from the figure’s hood. “Open the gate, boy.”
“Wh-who are you?”
The hood moved, the figure scanning the palisade. The youth caught a flash of gold in a gloved hand. “Is there an elf within? Female. A sorcerer?”
Arvil relaxed. He grinned. He knew this game. “Aye,” he said, reaching out through the peephole and taking the coins. “She is. In the Lodger’s Hall.”
“Good. I need to meet with her.”
“Can’t open the gate sir.”
“I believe you’ll make an exception.”
Arvil hesitated. “You… You one of the Wraith’s men?”
The hooded man was silent. “Yes,” he said at length. “I am.”
“Only… You’re an elf.”
“Racism is not becoming in outlaws. Tends to make recruiting difficult.”
Arvil nodded. “Well, if you’re one of Wraith’s boys, welcome. We don’t want no trouble with the bandit king.”
“And you won’t have any,” the rider said as Arvil opened the gate. “In fact, he never needs to hear about it.”
Arvil nodded stoutly, closing the gate as the rider rode past. He smiled happily, leaning on his spear and counting the coins.
Therefore, he was more than a little surprised to hear again the drum of hoofbeats from the road ten minutes later. He snapped open the peephole to see a number of riders approach. Muffled against the chill of the night, their rough, ragged leathers and armor marked them immediately as bandits.
“Open up,” the leader of them said. “You got an elf in there? Lady kind? Wears real filmy clothes?”
“Er, yeah,” Arvil said. “But your friend’s already here taking care of them.”
“Friend!” the bandit barked. “What friend?”
“He just rode up.”
“But we just got here…” one of the riders, a rather fat man, said.
The first speaker slapped the second on the back of the head, then he leaned forward into the light, illuminating an evil face to the progressively more frightened Arvil. “Oh you better open up that gate right now, sonny boy. Or things are going to go very hard for you indeed.”
Flight from Solita
Felix woke to the sound of someone trying to make as little noise as possible.
It was an intensely familiar sound. An absence of noise. He’d heard it often in his life. One did not campaign in the jungles of Cavisar long without developing an affinity for such things. He glanced at Auria, her generous chest rising and falling with deep sleep, violet skin faintly luminous in the darkness, as if moonlig
ht itself made her glow. Felix sat up and picked up a chair, moving wearily to the door.
Standing in the dark, he hefted the chair over his head, wincing at a creak on his joints. Gods. He was way too tired for this. Auria had not been kidding when she said he would be tired after. He supressed a sigh as the lock clicked. He heard the blorp of someone quietly oiling the hinges, and the door soundlessly opened. The man who poked his head through was wearing a dark cloak and hood. If that hadn’t been evidence enough of ill will, the dagger he clutched certainly was. The assassin peered about. When he saw Felix his glowing eyes widened, and that was all he had time for.
The crash of splintering wood roused Auria with a start. She bolted upright as Felix dragged the insensate assassin inside and closed the door.
“Wh-what? Huh? What!” the elf gasped.
“Morning assassins,” Felix said. He held out the fellow’s cloak, giving it a slight shake. “Good fabric though.”
Aura stared blankly. “How…”
“Tiberius used to send these daft things,” the knight said as he stripped the would-be assassin and tried on the pants, wincing at their tightness. Worth a shot, he thought. “They were a kind of… shadowy clawed monstrosities. Silent as anything. Only way to actually see them was to shine a blue light on them. He killed a good number of the Twin Kingdom’s nobility like that. I learned how to sleep very lightly. You know,” Felix said, grunting as he tried unsuccessfully to force his feet into a pair of boots at least three sizes too small. “That sorcerer was really a bit of a dick. Damn,” he cursed, tossing aside the jacket. “Doesn’t fit either.”
Auria stared, flabbergasted as Felix picked up the man’s cloak, and removed the clasp. He inspected its carving of a scorpion. He pursed his lips, then tossed it to Auria. “Make anything of that?”
She caught it. Recognition flicked across her eyes, but the knight didn’t notice. “Little good,” she said. “There are probably others.”
“Doubtless.” Felix picked up his pants and dressed quickly, but reluctantly, in his stolen bandit rags. He did however toss the cloak over his shoulders, it at least fitting him.
Auria likewise dressed. Her clinging garments seemed to adhere to her skin, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Felix caught himself staring more than once as the shapely elf donned her filmy silks, but her sly wink recalled him. Felix coughed, tried to cover his conspicuously tenting pants, and started to open the door.
The sound of another door downstairs splintering with a crash had him quickly close it again.
Felix raced back and flung open the window. As he slipped out Auria swept a hand at the door. Blue magic wafted from her fingers, and where it touched frost crawled across the doorframe, the wood creaking as it stiffened under the icy embrace. Very carefully Felix moved out onto the sloping roof. As he helped Auria out, the door of their room thumped under a heavy impact.
“Hey! There’s frost on this door!”
“Get the axe!”
With some haste Felix made his way down the slope of the roofing. Reaching the edge, he peeked over and saw a number of horses before the inn, and man hunched in a black cloak, naked steel in his hand watching the door. Felix sighed, grabbed the edge of the roof and swung himself down. His landing was softened by the waiting man, who crumpled under Felix’s weight with a startled oof and a very unhealthy sounding crunch. Felix held out his arms and caught Auria as she jumped down.
Immediately the elf swung her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his lips. “My hero,” she said with a sly smile.
Felix blushed and let her down. “No time for the stables. Grab a horse.”
There were certainly enough to go around. The animals tossed their heads uneasily as elf and man moved among them. Felix chose a charger, the ornery creature snorting at him and tossing its head as he swung onto its back.
“Hurry!” he hissed at Auria as the elf pulled herself onto a calmer mare. Her smooth rise was made hasty by a great crack from the room they’d vacated and the furious shout of men finding their quarry gone.
“Time to go!” Felix said, wheeling about his mount, riding towards the gate out of Solita as a villainous looking man shoved his head out the window and screamed, ‘Son of a bitch! My horse!’
Something zipped by Felix’s ear, shattering on a cobblestone. He risked a glance back and saw a hooded man in the window with a crossbow. He snapped the reins, urging his horse on.
Auria wheeled her steed about, the horse dancing. She lifted her hand above her head. White light blazed from her palm, searing the night into day. The horses screamed in surprise. Eyes rolling, mouthing at their bits, the bandit’s steeds plunged about in a sudden terror. The archer at the window howled, reeling back and clawing at his eyes.
Grinning, Auria turned her mount about, racing after Felix. Hooves rang on the stones. A shout went up from the walls as guards, woken from the flash, stumbled into the open. Crossbow bolts snapped through the dark. As they rode towards the gate she whirled her hand above her, whispering a spell as magic gathering around her fingers. She hurled her hand forward with a triumphant cry, a blast of pure force rolling through the air, shattering the crude gate in a hail of splinters.
The screams of the horses, shouts of the bandits, and roar of the guards echoed behind them as they rode through the gate and down the road, the thunder of their hooves ringing through the shadow wrapped trees.
The Cursed Hills
Socretha marveled at the movement of the clan. Cresting a grey, black cliff she looked back at the vast column of riders and orcs. They carried little baggage on their worgs. Huge, savage wolves gripped with saddles and riders. Their manes bristling in a mass of jagged fur, their long fangs bared. She beamed at the sight of them. For too long had the clan been bound to their hunting grounds. For too long corralled by Morgoroth’s leisure and disinterest. Now they marched. Now, they rode.
Well, most of them rode.
She glanced uncertainly at Tiberius, who had said nothing for some time. He trod forward, cloaked in one of the hides he had found in Morgoroth’s room. The marks across his skin glowed beneath it, his shoulders hunched in annoyance at having to plod along. Like a peasant! There was a sizeable ring of open space around him. No worg would let him ride. They feared him. It had made many among the clan even more uncertain of the man, but only bolstered Socretha’s awe. Few things made a worg afraid. They would try and bring down ogres if they found the brutish creatures in their lands. But this human with the red eyes they feared. Even Luan, her own mount, who had ridden down cave trolls with her, edged around him.
“There,” Socretha said as she crested the rise.
Tiberius paused, peering. Before them was spread a valley, barren and empty. Ruins dotted the landscape. Old buildings of a once prosperous village or town, roofs long fallen in, only walls still standing like broken tombstones to those who once were.
And looming over them, at the peak of a winding road, was Fulgrim Keep.
It climbed out of the ragged mountainside. Heavy walls rounding it, the sort of fortress made to withstand siege and sword. For armies to batter themselves against until they broke. Scattered towers. rose from the solid mass of the curtain walls.
There was a gloom to the place. Wrinkled, twisted trees lurched out of rocks and grew in the ruins of the town. Weeds and grass ran riot, all old and grey and withered.
“Cozy,” Tiberius said drily.
“A cursed place,” Socretha said.
“Yes, but it’ll be our cursed place,” Tiberius said. “Try to think of it in that light.”
Socretha did. It didn’t help much. Tiberius paid her little mind, starting off again. Socretha spurred Luan after him, the worg loping forward with a snarl.
“So,” Tiberius said. “Demons?”
“The watchtowers of the southlands were once longer here along the Barren Pass,” she explained. “Leading up to Fulgrim Keep, where they kept the clans diminished. This changed one day, when one of
their mages erred badly. From his accursed spells he summoned a host of monstrous demons that slaughtered the men who manned the keep. They prowl from it when they hunger.”
“Charming,” Tiberius said.
They passed through the bones of the village without incident, but as they neared the trail to the keep, the worgs balked and let out a whimpering howl.
“Now what?” Tiberius snapped.
Socretha stroked her beast, trying to soothe the snarling animal. “They’re afraid,” she said.
“Then I guess we walk,” Tiberius said. He glared enviously at the orc’s rides. “A novel idea for sure.”
Socretha nodded. She looked back and waved to her warband. The other orcs dismounted shortly, swinging down and drawing their weapons. Pulling free her own axe, Socretha stalked after Tiberius as he made his way up the winding trail. As they climbed higher she glanced back, watching the rest of the clan file into the village uncertainly. They think we’ll die, she realized. She pushed the thought aside and focused once more on the path ahead.
The gates loomed before them. Broken, shattered, they leaned crookedly out from the open doors and over a stone bridge spanning a sudden slash in the trail. Gargoyles leered from walls and crenellations. Many of their faces were broken and chipped, while the walls were black as ink.
Socretha’s palms grew sweaty. The pall of the place pressed upon her. The clink of steel and scuff of feet was all that could be heard as the warband walked into an empty bailey. The walls rose high around them. Before them lay the keep, large and imposing. Worn steps split around a jutting balcony before rejoining at the door to the looming edifice of stone and age. A dry fountain rose out of the middle of the courtyard, weeds choking its basin.
The gloom and silence about the place deepened as they walked into the court. Tiberius paused, taking it in with an air of satisfaction.
