Today is of the Cycle Of The Seventh Moon.
Current Season & Month:  , Year: 543 A.R. (ref)

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The Duskhill Sanctum


NoOne
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The Duskhill Sanctum

This disused room indicates that Duskhill was once the dwelling of a devotee of Loth. The chapel-like space is dominated by a flat stone altar with sides carved in the imagery of the spider goddess. Half the room is now buried in limestone from a sealed-up fumeraole and dust coats the decayed wooden icons and tapestries of the church of Loth the Merciless.


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Myrae

From: Outside Duskhill 

Myrae led the way through Duskhill’s halls, quickly leaving the active living spaces and heading into defunct halls slowly being absorbed by the same limestone geyser that provided heating, water, and had formed the travertine pools. The back of the house was warm and humid with steam from leaking pipes and fumeroles. The slinky drowess stalked the path with surefooted determination, keeping none of the natural roll and tilt of her hips in reserve. While she was turned from Rigel, Myrae placed upper teeth on lower lip, her eyes closing in an expression of anticipatory bliss. 

Merciless Loth,

This.

Is.

Perfect. 

He shouldn’t be here. Duskhill was her own sacred retreat, now infested with birds, cats, elves, and men.

She shouldn’t be here. Heretical outcast as she was, Myrae had avoided the ancient estate's chapel of Loth. Why chance incurring the wrath of the spider goddess for no good reason.

But now she had a reason. He was big and broad, swarthy, reddish-tan, blunt where he should have been sharp, just… just everything a drow male was not supposed to be. He followed a foreign god and seemed ambivalent, uninterested even, toward Myrae. 

It made her want him all the more, and if she couldn’t bed him, right here, right now, then Myrae resolved that it wouldn’t be from lack of trying. 

Upon entering the sanctum, Myrae whispered something too quietly for Rigel to hear. Her intent was to have him lean in closer to hear her words. If he did so, she would repeat “Kre’j l’tein’sar!” as drew and swung the Draegolth’s Claw without warning, in a single smooth motion. 

The sword was a bit unwieldy compared to the ceremonial dagger she kept for this specific ritual, but the thought of desecrating the legendary weapon was just too delicious to pass up.

Myrae was strong and fast, but the Claw was a weighty battle blade. The Drowess’s aim was true, and--if he did not dodge--the sword would whisk through Rigel’s tunic, only just nicking his skin, coming away with the thinnest sheen of blood shining in the muted light from the stained-glass window behind the altar. 

Myrae was not going to speak in common within the Sanctum. She was not going to explain what was happening to this foul miscreant surface dweller. However, her actions were unmistakable to those familiar with Drow rituals.

Unfortunately, for those not well-versed in the ways of the coalskins, the first stages of ritual mating and attempted murder seemed nearly identical.


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Rigel
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From: Hidden Estate of Duskhill

"Dos zenn’latt branell uns’aa.”

Rigel had offered himself to the Drow priestess as she had indicated she wanted, now she suddenly seemed even more angry as she hissed what sounded like harsh words at him in her tongue.  This did not make Rigel any more comfortable with his situation.  

She then took his wrists and pulled indicating he was to follow, at least that was how he interpreted her action.  She then spoke to him again in Drow.    

“Nin doer wund ussta nec’perya.”

Again, he had no idea what she said.  the only thing he was sure of was that he was to follow.  Rigel followed.  His anger Rising his blood beginning to boil at this treatment.  Still, they walked quickly as she led him through the halls, past what appeared to be living quarters and other rooms.  possibly meeting spaces or work areas, Rigel could not tell. 

The further they walked the more ancient the areas seemed to be.  Each room was hotter than the one before, each room meant more sweat breaking out on his brow as she led him to...what?  his doom?  Rigel did take note that she was feeling the effects of the heat and humidity as well as tiny rivulets of sweat dripped down the exposed flesh of her back, down the silky skin of her arms, down her long legs.  As they kept walking, he could see the sweat beginning to make her clothing cling to her flesh.  Flesh that swayed sinuously as she walked, not an unpleasant sight, after all, Rigel was a man.  He suddenly found himself wanting to reach out and slap the drowess's behind to feel the firm flesh, to hear the firm crack of his hand on her.  That would be inappropriate though.  Given what the Lady Faan had told them, it could be an offense that would lead to the deaths of himself and his companions.

In time they entered a large room, the room was in obvious decay but in the center stood a large flat altar.  "So, this is where she plans my demise" Rigel thought "I will not go with extracting a price from her".  Rigel had no idea what she was capable of or what magical powers she might have if any. 

“Kre’j l’tein’sar!”   She spoke again but Rigel could barely hear her words, he leaned a bit closer, he could smell her sweat, her hot breath, her particular musk. "Pardon me?" What he was thinking when he made a boneheaded amateur move like that would haunt Rigel possibly the rest of his life.  Which could be short indeed.  

Rigel felt a slight rustle of movement and heard the distinct snick of a weapon being removed.  It was to slow though, either she was not sufficiently skilled at wielding it or it was simply too large for her to be fully proficient with it.  It was however being drawn quickly enough that the intention of its use rang clear to Rigel's battle trained mind. 

Rigel's movement was all but a blur as he attempted to seize the Drowess's wrist's and pull her arms out fully to stretch to her sides.  The rapid movement tore open one of the wounds just above his right clavicle causing a fresh trickle of blood.   If he was able to execute the move properly, she would likely drop her weapon as their chests slammed together from the sudden stretch.  His height advantage would bring her to her toes.  "Hmm...making those long legs even longer...."  He would then have her off balance enough he could use his weight to press her against the altar further limiting her options. Then looking into her eyes, he might better divine her true intention.


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Myrae

Pinned against the alter of Loth by Rigel's bulk and essentially crucified against the monk, Myrae managed to catch the crosstree of the Draegolth's Claw with the heel of her boot and kick the blade up under her. Rigel would find that an expression of ecstasy was upon the drowess's face as her backside was flayed by the holy blade now resting upon the alter against which she was pinned.

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Myrae wrapped her legs around Rigel's midsection and bit open the left clasp of her halter. As the garment peeled away from her decolletage, her tongue snaked out to slowly lap up the monk's vitae, now oozing from his old wound. Never breaking eye contact with Rigel, Myrae tightened her thighs and pulled, grinding herself tight against him and surging upward, attempting to press her open mouth to his.

He tasted like Uman. No, like warrior Uman. Iron and copper and rust. Salt sweat and grit filth of battle. It was just the abomination she had always dreamed of. Myrae wanted every inch of herself covered in this taste and scent. 

The rightmost clasp of her ceremonial halter broke under the strain and the dress, that was not covering all that much anyway, would crumple to the ground as soon as the press of their bodies relented even a little. 

Whether or not Myrae managed to kiss the man--really it seemed more like she were trying to paint his molars with the blood upon her tongue--she would gasp to him: "Vith unsaa! Vith unsaa bejzt!!" 

It was a pretty sure bet that Rigel didn't need to speak Drow to understand what Myrae was demanding of him.

And now the monk might find himself in a bit of a quandary. If he released any of Myrae's hands to use his own, that hand would busy itself disrobing Rigel with the same quick violence that had thus far characterized their encounter. In fact, the only reason that Myrae was not using her feet to claw down the man's trousers was that it was impossible, even for a former Yochol Sister, to remove heeled thigh high boots without using her hands.


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Rigel
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Rigel looked into the eyes of the Drowess with a detached contemplation.  Was her true intention to bed him or to have his head?  Either way he would take a part of her with him one way or another be it flesh or soul.

As she stretched her long neck up toward him Rigel plunged his mouth onto hers kissing her deeply.  The violation has begun.  Pulling her wrists up over her head he then brought them together then down behind her head where he grabbed a handful of hair in addition to both wrists in his large hand.  

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As her hands came to rest at he back of her neck her halter fell to the floor exposing her coal black flesh to the humidity of the room and the appreciative eyes of her captor.  Holding her gaze with his eyes Rigel bent and ran his tongue wide and flat up the inner curve of her left breast.  He appreciated the taste of her skin, her sweat, the salt, the soft feel of her flesh as it slid under his tongue leaving a damp trail behind.

Rigel reached down and cupped her pelvis in one hand and lifted her slowly to the altar where he proceeded to use his mouth and hand to manipulate her until her body began to tremble.  Then he stopped.  He allowed her to catch her breath then he started again.  Over and over again he brought her body to a tremble, each time more intense than the one before, each time stopping before she reached release. The sweet torture of full pleasure denied.

Rigel bent over Myrae and nipped at the flesh covering her taught abdomen, moving up her body a few inches he nipped again,  stomach, ribs, breast, nipple, neck, curve line of her jaw, her earlobe.  "For now, you are mine.... " he hissed almost inaudibly into her captured ear.

Sweat was dripping from all the flesh of her body, pooling in her navel, pooling in the hollow of her throat.  As she lay gasping for breath once again.  Rigel's trousers dropped away and he mounted the altar then bit into the soft flesh of her neck.  This would not be his last mounting of the night...[/spoiler]

This post was modified 6 months ago 2 times by Rigel

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NoOne
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Myrae

So…

That had been a pretty epic desecration. Myrae lay atop the alter, both herself and the stone covered in, well… best not list just what. 

Rigel, despite being a "monk" had clearly not been new to this particular game. A bit of a control freak, but Myrae hadn't minded.

Well, for a while. Now she had a pretty good headache going both from dehydration and from headbutting Rigel at some point when she'd had enough of being manipulated and decided to fight for a spot at the top of the heap, as it were. 

Honestly, she couldn't really recall the outcome of that gambit. Buckets of sweat, pain, blood, and pleasure. 

The drowess traced a finger along the ebony blade of The Claw, her lips curling at the corner, knowing she had added a secret title to the long list of the mythic blades accomplishments.

Heretic Fornicator or something like that.

If The Church ever found out what she had done atop The Draegolth's Claw… the thought of it sent shivers of pleasure down her arms. Rolling her head to the side, she cracked one carmine eye at Rigel. Or what was left of him. 

Nah… I mean, she maybe could… but at this point she guessed it was going to be mostly a one-woman show. Not that his stamina hadn't been vithing incredible, but he was only Uman. 

And she actually needed to find her little feathered mouthpiece. 

Slipping from the altar, she winced as the movement reminded her of the downside of… laying… atop a razor-sharp weapon and unforgiving stone surface. None of her injuries were serious, but she had not exactly sanitized blade or alter beforehand. So she needed to treat her flayed flesh before minor wounds became major problems. 

The drowess's outfit was a wreck, and putting it back on involved more pain than even masochistic Myrae was willing to endure, so she took Rigel's discarded shirt as she limped toward the door of the sanctum. "Okay, yer purified." She whispered, with a painful laugh, in her wrecked voice. 

Ouch. Shouldn't have done so much screaming. 


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Rigel
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Rigel was near spent.  It had been a very VERY long time since he had been with a woman.  He watched as the drowess Myrae climbed down from the altar.  She walked away taking his shirt with her.  She was limping, this brought him shame, he had hurt her.   He noticed cuts on her back, several of them from her being on top of a blade as he....abused her.  Rigel had brought blood and even death to probably hundreds over he years but this...this seemed different and he was ashamed.

He watched as a tiny rivulets of blood traced down her back then stained what was left of his now appropriated shirt when she donned it.  As the number of stains increased so did Rigel's shame.  How had he let himself lose so much control and abase this woman?  She was a priestess, she deserved the respect of her rank yet he had stripped her of that dignity.  

 "Okay, yer purified."

Rigel wasn't sure he understood exactly what she meant by his being purified when he had just committed such atrocities.  he had taken her, controlled her, robbed her of her free will even as she fought back.   He had a black eye and swollen nose to remind him of that.  

He knew nothing of her God but he had desecrated their altar, another shameful act.  he had violated one of their  Priestesses, vile.  Rigel was not worthy of Farans grace,  he was not worthy of existence...

Moving from the altar Rigel left this place, his head hanging as he contemplated  all he had done to bring shame to Myrae, to Faran, and to himself.  He moved through the door and went in search of Pioloss.  He would be too ashamed to see the Lady Wuu’Faan Liewuun.  Perhaps it would be best if he just left so as to not shame those that had allowed him to travel with them.  Still he owed it to them to confess his indiscretion before he left.

 

 

This post was modified 5 months ago by Rigel

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