Message-ID: <12692eli$9807022346@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: marawuti@ipinc.net Subject: Wulf: Nemesis 1/5 (m/f, m/f/f/f, f/f, cons. s&m) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <359bfe3a.21769003@news.ipinc.net> Nemesis is yet another chapter in the ongoing adventures of Wulf the Freelance, fantasy adventurer and reluctant sex machine. I invented him a few years ago as an antidote to the poor quality of erotic fiction on line (you know what I mean, the vile kiddie porn and the vomitous snuff crap, to name but two especially scummy genres), and as a tribute to some of my favorite writers and authors (among them Bill Willingham, Michael Moorcock, Jack Vance, Fritz Leiber, Stephen Brust, Phil Foglio, plus others too numerous to mention). Since then he’s participated in probably about a quarter-million words of fantasy swashbuckling and messy sex, and is still going strong. Nemesis is yet another serialized tale (along the lines of Wulf’s last adventure, "Stormking"), and is the first chapter of the new epic, "Dark Vengeance." There is, however, one important difference between it and "Stormking" (take note before sending e-mail). I will not be working on "Nemesis" continuously, but will take time out to tell other Wulf and Wulf-related stories in between installments. Other Wulf tales include "The Wizard of Shark Island" (based on my current AD&D campaign which is unfortunately stalled about 1/3 of the way through), and "Mark of the Zombie," which features the crew of orc Cap’n Skrall’s ship "Conqueror," and is totally Wulf-less. The present tale contains miscellaneous acts of lesbian and hetero sex (haven’t dipped too strongly into gay male sex yet, since I’m not really all that familiar with its - pardon the pun - ins and outs), including some elf bondage sex, daemon buggery, strap-on biodildo lesbian sex, a multispecies foursome, oral, anal and old reliable conventional sex. This story is not intended for distribution to individuals under 18 years of age. FINALLY: AN IMPORTANT NOTE TO OUR LOYAL READERS: We have changed servers AGAIN, and now can be mailed as marawuti@ipinc.net. Our website is now www.ipinc.net/~marawuti, but is likely to change yet one more time in 3 months or so. The reason for this is that our old isp, Spiretech, for whom I briefly worked, laid me off after less than 4 months and left us sucking vacuum. I chose not to continue service with this stupid company and their stupid, short-sighted, incompetent president, and so have moved to ipinc. We’ve been thrown slightly off-track by this blindsided betrayal, and I’m struggling to find something to replace the income I’ve lost. In the meantime, Wulf and company are constant companions and actually quite a comfort. Their world is uncomplicated and straightforward, and despite its dangers, is infinitely hospitable. Better than our little scrap of dirt, wouldn’t you say? Best wishes to all. Dark Vengeance Part One: Nemesis A Wulf Tale in many parts Prolog: The Dark Elven Realms The room was lit with deep indigo, purple and blue with a high vaulted ceiling that vanished into grey misty shadows. Two women sat in silence, a study in contrasts. The first sat upon an elaborate seat of carved stone, with snakes and daemons twisting along its legs and arms, and a great black dragon’s head projecting from its high back, staring with magically glowing red eyes. She was a dark elf, her skin deep black, her heavy-lidded, almond-shaped eyes a rich purple. Captive beauty is such a lovely thing, thought Lady Thae’Lynn N’Quy, Duchess of Darkoak Hill, Keeper of the Black Ring, Mistress of the Thirty-three secrets, Holder of the Sacred Chain. Beauty chained, restrained, bent to your will. Particularly, she mused with a delicious shudder that set her rings to jingling, when that beauty is an arrogant one, golden-haired and vain, like her race’s cousins, the ancient light elves. One such kneeled before her now, her skin a pale contrast to Thae’Lynn’s ebon flesh. Keeper Vaenetha Toliurim, former Mistress of Stag Vale and Protector of the Four Keys had fallen far since the Stormking’s rebellion, now reduced to kneeling, chained and naked, before the representative of her people’s mortal enemy. Yet, even in bondage, the high elven woman maintained a trace of dignity, a spark of the self-assured hubris which was her race’s hallmark. Thae’Lynn smiled to herself, while at the same time maintaining an air of icy disdain. She was happy that the elf retained a small amount of her old spirit. All the more pleasure in the breaking. Lady Vaenetha held out her shackled wrists in a gesture of submission. Thae’Lynn tried not to notice that the gesture made it appear as if the elf woman was offering her breasts as well as her wrists. The room was chilly, and the Vaenetha’s pink nipples had begun to swell. "Lady Thae’Lynn," Vaenetha said softly, pale blue eyes meeting Thae’Lynn’s deep violet ones, "I come as a representative of my people. You asked that I come before you naked and unarmed, in chains as a slave, and so I have. I offer myself in the name of all my fellow refugees, those who followed the Stormking and are now exiles. We beg your succor and your protection." Thae’Lynn drew a deep breath and gazed away absently. "And why, as one of the pale ones, who banished my people ages ago, do you come seeking my protection?" A flash of fear and indecision flashed across Vaenetha’s exquisite, alabaster-sculpted face. "My Lady, surely you know." "No. I do not. Pray tell me." Thae’Lynn kept her voice steady and emotionless. "The Stormking, Lady... He was... He was your ally, Lady Thae’Lynn. He led us in rebellion against our rightful queen, the Silver Lady. We fought our own people on your behalf. We were..." Thae’Lynn let the silence stretch between them. "You were what?" "We were deceived, Lady. By you. Now, as a result of your deception, we are without a home, rootless exiles, hunted criminals. We helped you once, Lady, though it was without our knowledge. Now, we ask that you help us." The dark elf raised her eyebrows. "You speak bravely, little elf, for a naked, helpless captive." She tugged contemplatively at the silver stud in the center of her lower lip. "The Stormking was my pawn, true. And you were my dupes, fighting your bitch queen like dutiful little soldiers. But I owe you nothing, foolish little elf. No more than the gamemaster owes his dice." Oh, the lovely, delicious expressions which pursued each other across the golden-haired elf’s face! Anger, fear, disappointment, tragic loss... and finally, finally... Oh, the finest and most lovely of all expressions -- absolute surrender, the desperate desire to find something, anything, to say or do, to change the unchangeable. It was the look of the condemned prisoner at the gallows, of the spurned lover, of the wealthy man seeing his fortune vanish before him. At that moment, Thae’Lynn knew she had won. "Please, lady," Vaenetha said in a small, broken voice. "We beg you. We will do anything. If you do not help us... We will... We will all..." Thae’Lynn waited a long time before replying, then finally cast the elf a sidelong, narrow-eyed glance, flashing a smile like a cracking whip. "Hm. Perhaps..." She mused for another long moment. "Perhaps you will have your uses. You say your people will serve me in any way I ask." "Any way, Lady. We’ve no other choice." "Hm. How many of you are there." "Nearly two hundred. Once we were thousands. We have many different skills which would serve you well." "Of that," Thae’Lynn replied, smile widening, showing off the multiple dark rings that pierced her flesh, "I am certain." She felt a faint throbbing in her thighs and a deeper, warmer sensation at their junction as she watched the elf’s response. Sudden hope, tempered by barely restrained terror of what the dark elves might inflict upon her and her fellow refugees. "I require proof, of course," Thae’Lynn said, keeping a tremor of growing excitement out of her voice only with stern effort. "I require you to prove your sincerity." The elf swallowed, holding her head up, shaking her thick golden tresses. "What do you require of me, Lady?" Thae’Lynn stood, loosening the neck of her gown. "Much, little elf," she whispered. "Very much." * * * * Wulf Lady Daedora is a relatively regular visitor to the "Skate," and her arrival usually involves wild sex, in which I am, more often than not, uninvolved. Like so many of my other female acquaintances, her preference is for my companions, Livia and Narisha, and though I’m sometimes invited, their activities are usually noisy, exuberant, and regrettably ladies only. Not that I really mind all that much; the constant attentions of Livia and Narisha are enough to exhaust even the strongest and most virile of men, which I am neither. This appeared to be one of those nights, I’m afraid, during which I sat around with Stef or, worse, Udo, drinking and getting morose while the entire ship rocked to and fro, and the occasional wail of passion echoed up from Narisha’s well-appointed little love nest-cum-cabin. This night, however, proved different. For those of you who may be totally confused by all this expository babble, I should probably stop a moment and explain. My name is Wulf, aka several other equally uninventive names, including Chuma (keep that in mind -- it will be important later, and there WILL be a test). I’ve been all things in my day... No, wait a minute; that was that other guy. Let me start over again. The name most commonly associated with me is Wulf. It’s known to the authorities from Cold Isle to the Demon Realms, and with special fondness in such citadels of good taste as Stoneburg the Free City, the Elven Isles, and the Dark Elf kingdoms. Until recently I made my living as a petty thief and freelance adventurer, though since our acquisition of the mercenary cutter "Skate," we’ve added smuggling, exploration, salvage work and occasional piracy to the resume. When I say "we," of course, I include myself and my merry crew, including Stef the thief, who keeps losing parts of his body and getting them reattached, Udo the drunken and only marginally sentient dwarf, Jikjik the goblin accountant (go figure), and Turlu the bosun, whose skill with a knife is equaled only by his ability to cheat at cards. I’ve got some other miscellaneous friends, too, but they’re off on their own ships or having their own adventures, and don’t show up in this narrative. Then, of course, there’s the women, who are, I’m sure, the ones you’re most eager to hear about. My affections are pretty much equally divided between Narisha, a lusty wilderness of crimson flesh and black hair, and Livia, a blonde, freckle-faced little nymphomaniac, whose innocent exterior hides a heart that is the very soul of perversity. Narisha is a demon, that is to say a race of creatures who physically resemble infernal beasts but are actually entirely mortal, and Livia is, well, she’s a thief like me. She’s just a kick-ass sorceress to boot. My history with these two is well known, and has been chronicled in my previous memoirs. I like to think that I’ve played a role in mellowing them both out a tad, since Narisha isn’t quite so demanding, nor is Livia quite so selfish and manipulative since they both started sleeping with me. I am, in all likelihood, wrong in this conclusion, but it at least helps me deal with the frustration of seeing them vanish belowdecks with a delectable dark elf woman, apparently bound for an evening of lustful exploration and penetration of multiple orifices. This left me walking the decks, noting the inspiring sight of Big and Little Sister rising above the silvery waves, full and crescent, shield and scimitar. Somewhere to the north were the Elven Isles, where the Silver Lady and her councilors strove to keep together an increasingly fractious and chaotic domain. To the west lay the endless grassy Veldt Lands, home of my greatest lost love, the warrior woman Ushandra, while south of us the towering crags of Arwensland concealed and protected the mysterious kingdoms of the dark elves. This last was, of course, where our new guest had come from, flying out of the night on a black-furred warbat. Above me there was a rush and flap of wings as the aforementioned warbat, which had until now been hanging upside-down from a yardarm, plummeted toward the deck, then swooped into the air, lightly grazing the calm water, then flapped away like a scrap of paper blown on the breeze. "Holy shit!" echoed a gruff voice from nearby. "Wha’ the fuck wazzat?" Udo the dwarf tottered out of the shadows, clutching, as always, a bottle of Ol’ Gimli’s Rotgut. "Just a big bat," I said, calmly. "Ignore it." "Oh. Ah. Mm." That was about the extent of the little bugger’s verbal repertoire, but I didn’t feel all that bad as he fell into unsteady step beside me. "’at’s what da elf girlie came in on, wuzzunt it?" "Yes, Udo," I replied. "She flew here on a big black bat." "Hm. Kinda cute, fer an elf." "Not an elf, Udo. A dark elf. Only don’t ever call them that to their faces." "Hm. Okay. Why not?" "It’s an insult. Kind of like calling a dwarf a sheep buggerer." Udo’s face suddenly contorted with anger. "Hey! Who the fuck called us THAT?" I was saved from further pointless banter by the surprising appearance of my beloved Narisha. She really is the sort of woman who makes you stand up and take notice, if you take my meaning. She’s tall - only a few fingerspans shorter than me, from her tousled, jet-black hair to her powerfully-muscled legs, and everything in between screams loud, hot, passionate sex. She follows the usual demon fashion trends, which is to say wearing as little as possible, in as alluring a manner as possible. Demons, you see, rely upon their natural toughness and resistance to normal weapons to protect them, and figure that armor is nothing but an impediment lustful ogling. This time, however, her expression was anything but lustful, and she seemed far too somber to have just completed a bout grappling with Livia and Daedora. She was also dressed relatively conservatively, in heavy trousers and a man’s shirt open nearly to the navel, revealing a deep crimson gorge between her breasts. Unfortunately for the rest of the world, Narisha looks painfully sexy even when she’s not trying to be. "Wulf," she said, uncharacteristically quiet. "You need to come down. Daedora has something she needs to talk to you about." "Heh heh heh," chuckled the oily little dwarf. "Talk, huh? Izzat wha’ she calls it, the li’l minx? ‘Talk’, huh? Yeah, Wulf. You go do some talkin’ fer me, okay?" I briefly considered tossing him over the side, then finally decided that we probably needed him, and followed my demon lover belowdecks. Her cabin was set up for a conference, rather than an orgy, and the other two women seated at a table, regarding me with sorrowful gazes. Damn, I thought. Someone must have stolen their lubricant supply. Fortunately for me, I kept the thought to myself, instead bowing slightly to Daedora. "Lady," I said, politely. "I’m sorry, but your bat seems to have flown away." I got a small smile for that. "Don’t worry. He’ll find his way back." There was a sadness about her that I had not seen before. Like all dark elves, she was black-skinned, with pure white hair and deep bluish lips. Her face was sharp and active, her deep violet eyes like a fox’s, normally alive with mischief and cunning. Unlike certain other dark elves, Daedora shunned bodily modification, and her skin was smooth, absent rings, bars, scars and tattoos. She wore a fur-lined tunic and tight trousers, and sipped from a steaming mug of tea. "Hello, Wulf," said Livia, voice soft and restrained, then cast her pale-blue eyed gaze down at the table. Her gown was the same shade of blue, complimenting her short blonde hair and accentuating the generous, but not grossly overblown, curves of her breasts and hips. Even as I once more admired her delicate beauty, she sighed deeply. Gods and daemons, I thought, they’re ALL like this... "So what’s going on?" I demanded, seating myself, and feeling a lurking sense of dread. "Tell me before I go out and hang myself." Daedora began, speaking softly. "Something terrible has happened. And something even more terrible is likely to happen, as well." "That," I said, pouring myself a cup of tea from Livia’s magically self-heating pot which sat, happily steaming, in the center of the table, "is not very encouraging. What’s happened and how terrible is it?" "She’s locked horns with an old friend of yours, Wulf," Livia said. "Remember Thae’Lynn N’Quy?" Now if there’s ever a name tailor-made to boil my blood, it’s that ring-studded dark elf bitch. Alternating trying to fuck me and trying to kill me (usually in concert), she’d managed to get me embroiled in two elven civil wars, murdered uncounted thousands, and been indirectly responsible for the death of my lover Sarra, a wild elf druid. Our last encounter had ended with Thae’Lynn and her daemon lover teleporting to safety a bare instant before my lance skewered her like the last piece of meat at a dwarven banquet. "How can I forget," I replied, as calmly as possible. "If ever there were two people who wanted to see each other dead..." "We know she was behind the Stormking unpleasantness," Livia said. "And probably that demon assassin who tried to kill you, Wulf." "Her schemes have grown in scope and cunning since the Elvish Isles debacle," Daedora said. "She is now the undisputed ruler of the Dark Elf lands." My head snapped around at that, and I sat straight up, heart pounding. "Gods damn her," I growled. "How the fuck did something like that happen?" "That’s what Daedora was busy telling us," Narisha said. "Now that you’re here she can continue." "Hell," I said. "I thought you were all down here having sex." "That," Narisha said, "would have been a welcome alternative. Unfortunately, it will have to wait." She stretched, breasts struggling to escape from her shirt and reminding me that some things don’t change. "Not too long, I would hope, however. A good session of whipping and fisting does wonders for driving off depression, my dear little dark one." I winced, and Daedora smiled again, but still looked weary. "My lovely demon," she whispered. "I hope to oblige you again soon. But we’ve other things to discuss now." I poured myself some tea, cast about for biscuits, and settled in for a long story. Daedora Deep within the labyrinthine canyons and grim mountains of the Dark Elven realms lies Council Spire, a single shard of black granite rising from a dark, stony plain. Here, where the sky is always storm-tossed, and lightning brings but a brief, electric glare to the shadowy landscape, and where dark winged things flap and squawk, the Zhalha'sarr'im rulers gather once per year in solemn assembly to discuss their realms and decide upon matters that affect them all. Daedora journeyed there this year, along with her aunt Shadera and her uncle Vomoss, heirarchs of House Yth’ela. She was young for such an honor -- well under fifty years -- but her parents, lesser household nobles and Zhalha'sarr'im had raised concerns about Daedora’s unorthodox ways. Specifically, her tendency to leave the safe confines of the Darkhold, as her people called their homeland, and seek adventure in foreign, dangerous lands. Her romantic relationships with, among others a demon woman, human sorceress and human thief, remained secret, and Daedora knew that were they to be found out, her parents’ rage would know no bounds. For the moment, a trip to the Council with her more influential aunt and uncle was considered sufficient to at least show her the majesty and glory of Dark Elven culture, for these events were invariably accompanied by excessive pageantry and spectacle as each house sought to outshine all the others. Subtlety was a dark elven trait when it came to foreign relations and the manipulation of outsiders, but was a lost art when it came to internal politics. Though somewhat distressed, and desirous of another trip abroad (when she thought of Narisha Daedora’s thighs ached and she found herself craving a cool drink of water), Daedora found herself looking forward to the Council with growing anticipation. The many and varied traditions of the different houses fascinated her, from their elaborate ceremonial garb, their strange accents and court customs, and even such esoteric points as their magical rituals and sexual practices. These last were a source of primarily intellectual curiosity for, like many dark elves, Daedora found most others of her kind distinctly unappealing. The declining birth rate of the Zhalha'sarr'im was linked to many things, not the least of which was the fact that dark elven males and females generally held each other in complete disdain. And so it was that Daedora clambered into a luxurious howdah atop a great, sluggish dray lizard and joined the winding House Yth’ela caravan beneath grim indigo clouds and began the long journey to Council Spire. Discomfited by primitive conditions -- she had only two slaves to see to her needs -- Daedora was grateful when the high, forbidding massif at last emerged from the gloom, already surrounded by the retinues of a dozen Dark Elven families. The seemingly frail and slender needle of rock was deceptive -- close up it was enormous, honeycombed with passages and chambers, hollowed out with ancient magic -- powerful spells long forgotten. Daedora sighed with relief at sight of the rooms assigned her, and sank into the deep, black marble tub, eager to wash away the travails of her long journey. A pair of twin nethron servants attended her, and Daedora left the bath chambers feeling refreshed and renewed. Daedora dined on fresh water shark and landsnails Shadera and Vomoss, then spent the hours between dinner and moons-rise dressing in her finest spidersilk gown and elaborate silver and emerald jewelry, then allowed the slaves to painstakingly coif her long white hair, weaving it with platinum wires, deep purple gems and spangles in her household colors of green and black. Finally, she placed her personal firewand at her belt -- unlike other races, Dark Elves were expected to attend councils armed. When finished, she stood before a full length mirror, gazing at herself with frank admiration. Her race, she knew, was a selfish and narcissistic one. For Zhalha'sarr'im, Daedora was downright charitable, but even she could not resist the potent lure of her own reflection, of the dark, wicked beauty she exuded, from delicate, pointed face with its small, pouty mouth painted silver, to her shapely, exposed shoulders and pert breasts, nipples stiff and starkly silhouetted against the purple silk of her gown. When she walked, the black skin of her thighs was visible though the high slits in either side of her long skirt, and a pair of silver sandals wound thin tendrils about her calves, almost to her knees. The pressing, but deliciously impossible desire to make love to herself tugged at Daedora. Perhaps, she mused, allowing a throg to wrap her in a fur-lined cloak, our race is dying out because none of us can ever find a passion to equal that which we feel for ourselves... House Yth’ela was seated in the dome-roofed council chamber, household guard resplendent in black and green enameled armor, spears held on guard, and Daedora watched the rest of the families arrive. The scions of House Jabushan marched into the chamber, eyes fixed rigidly to the front, faces expressionless beneath dragon-crest helms. House Devora came, clad in bright colors and outrageous clothing, scandalizing other, more conservative families. Duchess Reanna Nythor and her daughter, the Baroness Shav’rae entered, escorted by a pair of demon guards in black armor, and followed by a long train of relatives and retainers bearing household banners. Young Faela M’Than, come only recently to Patriarchy of his house, entered with his own version of Shav’rae’s demons, a squad of steel-clad bull jarreks. Others came -- the green dragonscale guards of House Nendotha, the slender bat-riders of House Voale, the furtive assassins of House Inytas, and the other minor houses -- Uthiam, Nashla, Ruthas, M’non and Yaleatta. Last came Prince Tyreth, the virtually powerless ceremonial ruler of all the Dark Elven realms. The position of King or Queen remained unfilled, at least until, as Dark Elven tradition dictated, they returned to the elven homeland and replaced the treacherous light elves who had usurped rulership of the land. No, wait... Daedora’s eyes scanned the chamber, counting households, matching family crests with retinues, then looking back to the Prince, who stood in the center of the chamber, looking confused and angry. Where, Daedora asked silently, was House N’Quy? It took several long moments for the absence to finally sink in with the dark elves who now filled the chamber. No house would dare defy convention and arrive after the High Prince... Apparently, it quickly became evident, Thae’Lynn N’Quy, Duchess of Darkoak Hill would, and did, for a few heartbeats later, she and her escort appeared, striding confidently into the chamber. No one could deny that Countess Thae’Lynn was a perversely beautiful woman, tall and slender, with her dozens of gleaming piercings, her elaborately braided and coifed silver hair piled atop her head, and her luminant purple eyes. She wore a midnight-black gown with an open bodice, revealing her breasts and silver-studded nipples, and a single sculpted black thigh. Thae’Lynn was beautiful, true, and cunning, but she had also led her people into countless disasters, from the abortive invasion of the Elven Isles to the ill-advised backing of the rogue sorcerer known as the Stormking. Her intrigues grew more elaborate and cunning with each passing day, and many considered her the prime schemer in all the Zhalha'sarr'im lands. Her household was one of the strangest of all, as well, reflecting her xenophilic tastes. An exquisite young Dark Elven beauty, naked save for silver chains, eyes downcast, led the procession. Daedora guessed that this would be Yawesha'ae, Lady Thae’Lynn’s favorite plaything. The Duchess of Darkoak Hill herself was borne on a litter by a quartet of minotaurs, and beside her walked her black unicorn, Valla. Daedora shivered, recalling the tales of the beast’s carnivorous appetites. Behind her, leading a column of household guards strode the fearful form of Mazzor, Thae’Lynn’s daemon lover. Last in line came a curious procession, a group of white robed, hooded figures, bearing a second litter, this one concealed by a white cloth screen. The Prince whirled, his face a mask of annoyance, melting quickly into curiosity. "Lady Thae’Lynn!" he said, his high voice echoing off the domed, vaulted ceiling. "We are pleased you could join us at last. Perhaps you could explain your tardiness?" Thae’Lynn nodded graciously as her bearers set down her litter. "A thousand pardons, your grace," she said. Though her voice was soft, steel underlay her tone. "My retinue, as you can see, is rather elaborate, and we were unavoidably delayed." "Mm." The Prince seemed unimpressed. "Unavoidably delayed, Lady? Very well, we will overlook the infraction. Please take your place among your peers." Rather than complying, Thae’Lynn stood, stepping down from her litter as graceful and dramatic as an animated ebon statue. "Again, my apologies, My Prince," she said. "It is just as well that things have gone as they have, for I’ve an important matter to bring before these assembled dignitaries." Now the Prince seemed truly annoyed. "Lady Thae’Lynn, we will deal with your important matters in due course. Other houses have business to discuss as well." "Mm." The steel in her voice became more obvious. "I believe that my matter is of considerably greater importance than anything these worthy nobles --" The Prince’s tone was harsh. "Lady! Take your seat, or..." "Or what, My Prince?" Thae’Lynn demanded. Mazzor stepped forward, talons gleaming with implicit threat. "I only ask your indulgence for a moment, then I will take my place if you still feel it is warranted." Tyreth stepped back involuntarily, eyes wide. Around him, hands went to sword hilts and his personal guards gripped their spears more tightly. All seemed suspended for an instant. "Very well, Lady," Tyreth said, softly. "You have my indulgence. But if it is not worth my time and that of these assembled nobles, there will be consequences." Thae’Lynn smiled, as if victory was already hers. "As you know, my agent the Stormking was defeated in battle two years ago." "And we are still paying the price for your folly!" shouted a voice from House Nendotha. Thae’Lynn ignored the taunt. "And in the wake of his defeat, the Elven Realms are in chaos. Hundreds of the Stormking’s Light Elf followers fled, and wandered throughout the lands of the Inner Sea." Thae’Lynn gestured, and the hooded figures came forward, bearing their heavy, concealed litter. "At last, my fellow nobles, with nowhere else to go, they came to me, their ally and sponsor. They offered their lives and souls to our cause, my brothers and sisters." One by one, the figures removed their hoods, revealing the fine-boned, golden haired visages of light elves, males and females. A hush fell over the assembled Zhalha'sarr'im. "My kindred, it is well known that in all the history of our race, none of us have ever had light elves in our households. I now have accomplished such a thing. These light elves are pledged to me and to House N’Quy." Thae’Lynn’s burning violet eyes scanned the chamber, and Daedora felt the other woman’s gaze rest briefly on her. "What will they do for me, you ask, my brethren? To what lengths will they go for their beloved Thae’Lynn? Let me show you." She made a quick gesture, and the assembled elves moved, setting down the litter and removing the white screens. "Behold," Thae’Lynn declared proudly, "Keeper Vaenetha Toliurim, and her new lovers." The assembled Dark Elves gasped in involuntary astonishment at the scene before them. Upon the litter was constructed a framework of black wrought iron, end caps in the form of bat and dragon heads. Astride the framework, wrists bound to a pair of metal crossbars, was a graceful light elf woman, naked save for a harness of black leather straps that presented her breasts like offerings on a tray. Doubt-maddened eyes noted that the two swollen pink nipples were pierced by heavy silver rings, with a fine chain hanging between them. Her face was uncovered, her expression was a delicate combination of wide-eyed fear, but mixed with anticipation and smoldering excitement. Some observers noted the effect of overindulgence in dream-smoke, but even this was amazing, for it was well known that Light Elves never partook of such things. And that wasn’t all. The scene before them was, to the eyes of the Zhalha'sarr'im, almost inconceivable. The high elf woman, lithe and lissome as all of her kind, clad like a Dark Elven courtesan, slowly spread her supple thighs apart, revealing a cleanly shaved pubis, pink vulva naked and hairless, a purple gem glittering from a silver ring that pierced her clitoris. What had happened, what god or goddess had been stirred to action, what cosmic law has been transgressed, to bring one of the proud, the golden, the chosen, to this state, a bound, eager captive, lying naked and exposed before her enemies? It defied logic and ten thousand years of experience. Between the elven woman’s legs crouched two black-skinned Zalha’sarr’im, a male and a female, also naked, also pierced and chained. After the first few moments of shock finally began to subside among the assembly, something new and even more unbelievable happened. Slowly and deliberately, with apparently practiced ease, the two Dark Elves began to kiss, lick and bite their way up the elven woman’s splayed thighs. The elven woman -- who was she? Keeper Vaenetha? -- closed her eyes briefly, and her pink tongue moistened her lips. Her pierced breasts rose and fell, chain glittering in the faint violet light, and the silent assembly fancied they could hear a tiny moan escape from her throat. Daedora’s thoughts mirrored those of her fellow nobles. Who was this Keeper Vaenetha? Thae’Lynn said she had followed the Stormking. She was a woman without a country, now, a hunted outlaw. But even that made no sense, and did not explain her behavior. What high elf would subject herself to this? What high elf would allow herself to be... To be what, Daedora wondered, feeling her own excitement grow. Best not to question. Best to only... Only watch... [end of part one] -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----