By: SinfulWolf

The incense filling the room was pleasant, swirling across the senses and making everything in the room feel so much more alive. Slaves wearing gold skirts and bared breasts wandered amongst the guests, carrying silver trays full of grapes, strawberries, shrimp, and chalices of wine. Silk curtains hung from the walls, over the openings that led to the various other halls and rooms of the villa, gave the party an even more plush and exotic atmosphere.

Just how the nobility of Goldulin enjoyed it.

Sarya though, taking a bite out of a ripe strawberry, a chalice of rich red wine held firmly in her callused hands, kept her eyes on the scene in the centre of the room.

An indentation in the floor was swirling with cool, clear water. A dais in the centre of the pool held a collection of women. Their gilded gold skin was nude save for the black masks that covered their upper face. Lustful eyes with black painted lids gazed out at the audience, simmering with heat and base intent. Their hair was gelled and styled in a sleek wave down their backs. The women were an undulating mass of flesh, their bodies writhing amongst each other, gasping softly as hands and fingers drifting over painted flesh. Lips and tongues caressed breasts, necks and thighs. Sarya watched them, entranced by their beauty and their skill in the craft of sexuality.

Four men stood at each corner of the dais, a rounded pillar at their backs. Their faces were hidden behind masks of ivory, neither eyes nor mouths showing, only carvings of such, all the same identical clamped lips and wide orbs lacking detail. Their otherwise naked frames were painted a stark white, almost like marble, and, in their hands, fluttered long sheets of silk that flowed between them, occasionally obscuring the sight of golden women between them, only their silhouettes showing for a brief second of teasing.

Sarya sipped her wine, ignoring the rigid cocks of the four men, standing proud and ready to service at a moment’s need, enthralled by the pure beauty on the dais. She watched as one raven haired beauty slowly slid a palm down a golden haired nymph’s breast. The second woman’s back arched, her golden nipples standing proudly, allowing her paramour to wrap silken lips around the stiff bud

A silk sheet passed before them, and Sarya could only see their shapes moving, slow and sensual, stirring a heat between her legs.

“Centurion. It is not often we get one of the common soldiery here amongst us,” a man’s voice said.

Sarya cursed him in her mind as she turned away from the sight to view the man approaching her. A slave trailed behind him, massaging his shoulders even as he walked. The man’s eyes rimmed with dark liner, though not nearly as dark as what curled around his wife’s striking blue eyes. She stood next to him, red lips curled in a smile as she took in Sarya. The warrior had no doubt she made quite the impression, standing in full armour that had been polished to a splendour for this event, but still held the gouges of battle in the chest plate and pauldrons. A red cape tied around her neck, denoting her rank, hung down her back.

“It is not often I get such an invitation either,” she said politely, wondering as to the nobleman’s intent.

“Ah, but you of all of us deserve it. Fighting those foul Kazdruk hordes on the coasts. I hear it was your cohort that won us the battle of Tamarin,” the noblewoman said pleasantly, and with a bit of a seductive purr to her voice. Sarya’s lips curled into a coy smile at the thought of peeling off that vibrant red and violet dress she wore, and tasting what lay beneath. She was a beautiful woman, and she might even sleep with her husband to get her.

Culture was certainly different here than most places of Goldulin she’d seen. At least, different since worship of Oan had spread.

“It was my cohort. I have some of the best Legionaries in the empire under my command. The Kazdruk are vile, and a ferocious enemy but they bleed and die just like anyone else,” Sarya said patting the hilt of the spatha sheathed at her hip.

The two nobles laughed, sincere laughs, and the woman’s fingers grazed Sarya’s forearm pleasantly. The man paid no mind to it, as the slave behind her reached her own hand into his toga, and between his legs. The woman’s eyes were burning with unbridled lust, and Sarya wondered if her husband would be involved tonight at all.

The thought seemed so heretical, and Sarya loved every second of it. This was true Goldulin culture, not the watered down version that the last few Emperors have shown to the world.

“This must be so foreign to you though. The only screams, ones of pleasure… or ecstasy,” the man chuckled gently with a slight lilt to his voice as the slave’s hand worked beneath his garb.

“I admit to questioning the wisdom of spending precious funds on such lavish parties when armies are bearing down upon us as we speak. They will be at the gates of Goldalin within the month, and victories are few and far between,” Sarya said bleakly, fingers curling around her sword, even as the woman’s fingers curled around the Centurion’s forearm.

“That is precisely why we need events such as this. It gives us hope, and with no hope we are lost. Besides… may as well enjoy some of life’s, pleasures,” the woman said.

Sarya smiled again, letting her fingers relax. “Forbidden pleasures it seems.”

“Only by some.”  the woman dismissed.  “The foolish and the zealous of an overbearing God,” she continued. Sarya laughed, flicking her eyes once again to the women.

“Senator Gracus, Lady Amilia… absconding to your chambers with my special guest already? I haven’t even had the chance to speak with her,” a sensual voice slid over Sarya’s mind, and all three turned. The Senator and Amilia both smiled and laughed and said their apologies to the empress before giving their thanks to Sarya and taking their leave.

Sarya, though, snapped her heels together and punched a fist to her chest in salute. Those of the gathered guests who saw it laughed, but most were too pre-occupied. One man was conversing with his wife in the corner, with a slave’s lips around his cock, while another slave ran his tongue between the wife’s slick thighs.

“Empress. I live to serve,” Sarya said firmly to the woman before her, Nera, Empress of Goldulin, dressed in an opulent purple dress, trimmed in gold filigree, that clung to her feminine figure, leaving the expanse of her breasts bare. Her hair was carefully coiffed, a long braid running down her back, with a perfect bun resting on the back of her head.

“Sarya please. You are my guest, and in this house… there is no need for such formality. Look around you,” the Empress said, her hand sliding gently around the villa’s room, a den of carnality and other pleasures of the senses. A woman poured wine over her husband’s chest before bending down to lick it up. At least, Sarya assumed it was her husband. She couldn’t be sure.

“Formality interrupts such pleasures, and you are a hero of the Empire, and deserve such pleasures,” Nera purred, and slid a hand between Sarya’s legs, pushing the knee length skirt of the Legion against her thighs as she forced her legs out of the position of military attention. Sarya blinked; she had of course seen the Empress before, only at a distance, but never would she have guessed that she was so… delicious.

Nera’s hand didn’t move for a moment, but then slipped under the skirt and crept higher.

“Let an Empress reward the loyalty of a brave soldier, with what she craves,” Nera purred, her fingers deftly worming their way through the wraps of wool Sarya had around her hips, and plunged into her womanhood. The Centurion couldn’t stop the low moan that spilled from her lips, even as she started walking, following as those fingers led her to the edge of the room, and through a set of curtains.

She was alone with the Empress now, and the situation began to slowly sink in.

“Empress-,” she started before being cut off. “Nera. In the morning you can again let Empress slip from those pretty lips, but until then, I am your lover.”

“Nera,” Sarya said, letting the word slide off her tongue like rich honey. “What of the Emperor. I could be executed, this is a sin to Oan,” she said, her heart pounding with lust, fear, and excitement. Nera’s fingers twitched inside her, continuing to guide her along the halls of the rich and powerful until they reached a quiet room, far from the party. The bed was covered in silk and made of fine wood, carved with nymphs along the head board.

“This is my personal villa Sarya. The Emperor does not visit. He thinks I kneel before Oan here, but as you can see, that is not true. He does not sleep with me except when he wants to attempt to father an heir. I take lovers here… and fuck Oan. I know you also do not worship that oafish God,” Nera purred, slowly removing her fingers from within the Centurion, and slowly sucking the first of two digits clean with a soft moan, and pressing the other to Sarya’s lips.

Sarya confirmed Nera’s statement by taking the woman’s finger into her mouth. The Empress grinned and reached up with her free hand, and unclipped a small brooch behind her neck. Smoothly, the dress slid down off her body, exposing everything to the Centurion, who licked her lips at the sight of pale creamy skin that must not have felt the touch of the hard sun in years.

“We are being invaded by evil Sarya. And humanity will not stand in the light. Only in the dark can we thrive. So long as I live, Goldulin will live.”

Nera grinned, and pulled her finger free, starting to work on disrobing Sarya. Each piece of armour, each indication of rank, joined the Empress’s dress upon the floor, until Nera was pushing Sarya onto the bed, running a tongue slowly up her thigh, teasing her way to the Centurion’s womanhood. Sarya groaned.

“I know who you whisper to before battle, I know whose name you utter in the dark Sarya. It is why I invited you here tonight, to partake in her bounty. To show you the Goldulin that will live again. Tonight you will not whisper her name… you will scream it,” Nera purred from between Sarya’s thighs.

Sarya looked down between her breasts, across the rippling expanse of her stomach, at the woman to whose husband she had sworn her life. The woman who represented Goldulin. A saint to the eyes of the people, and saw the fangs of a vampire protruding from her lips.

Sarya didn’t have time to react before those fangs bit down into her thigh, piercing her flesh, letting blood flow into her lover’s mouth. Nera’s tongue slid over the skin that had been pierced, and her hand slid down to entwine in the Empress’s hair, and moaned to the ceiling.

><><

Looking over the city of Driftafay, Sarya let her eyes open. She had been afraid that Lillium’s visage would taint such a sweet memory, her fingers gently drifting over the twin, pale pink scars upon her thigh. The power of a succubus could be strong.

She glanced over her shoulder at Isilda laying naked upon her bed, and for a moment wished she was painted gold, and wore a mask. But Nera was gone, Goldulin had fallen. Now there was only the Kazdruk, who had taken everything from her.

And Lillium. Sarya would see the woman dead, and every last Kazdruk dead upon her blade for what they did to her people.

Sarya would have her reckoning, even if it burned the world to ashes around her.

><><

Night had long since fallen, and the columns of marching soldiers had set up their tents and cook fires for the night. Soldiers nursed their feet from the long day of marching, while the cavalry units tended to their horses. Sentries stood at their posts, firmly grasping their spears and staring

with vigilance out into the night as guards patrolled the perimeter.

Standing in tight Elvish breeches and a tunic that drew the eye, Lelthina was already missing the fine silk of her dresses, the caress of it across her skin. The heat of the sun that hung above their heads during the day, making sweat trickle down her back and itch in a most uncomfortable way, only to grow chilled when sun set to darkness,  was not how she wanted to spend her time.

Yet, what lay at the end would be worth all the discomfort. The horrible food and raw thighs from the saddle. Every step would be worth it.

Her attention was taken from the glow upon white canvas tents by the screech of a hawk fluttering in from the night sky, drowning out the low sound of soldiers’ conversations. Flexing her hand in the thick leather glove she wore, Lelthina held out her arm. The hawk’s talons dug into the leather as it landed upon her forearm.

Cooing softly, and offered the raptor a strip of hare meat. It snapped up the sliver of flesh in its beak with the viciousness of a hunter as Lelthina carefully slipped a hood over the hawk’s head. Her eyes drifted down to the small scroll held in a brass capsule tied to its foot. With the hood on, the hawk easily let her remove it, as a glove bearing servant came out from her tent to take the beautiful avian from the chancellor.

Unveiling the parchment strip was quick, the snap of the brass capsule quiet in the fire lit camp. Her eyes slid across the words written there, and nodded once to herself.

Brushing an errant hair from her brow, she never could get it bound just right out here, she turned from the view of the camp and the glow upon the white canvas tents, and towards the large pavilion that was Telva’s quarters and war council. She moved quickly, purpose driving her, sweeping the flap of the tent aside as she entered. The war council had been dismissed much earlier, and Lelthina came across the Elven Princess, topless upon her bed. A servant was above her, gently massaging her shoulders.

Telva opened a single eye, but did not command the man above her to cease. It bothered the chancellor, doubtlessly the effect Telva wanted, but it reminded Lelthina too much of the Goldulin, or the Kazdruk even, to be at all appropriate.

“Chancellor, I assume you bring news from Phano,” Telva said softly, her tone relaxed, soft, sensual even. If Lelthina had been interested in women, this scene could play out to be a very enjoyable one. As it was, she simply pulled up a chair beside the princess to speak with her.

“I have. He is inside the walls of Driftafay, and has found pockets of loyalists. It seems Sarya’s fear mongering has not been as effective as she thinks.”

“Humans are always so quick to grab at whatever scraps of power they can find. They are rather foolish that way,” Telva said with a smirk, her gaze finding Lelthina. “And that’s how we’ll always keep them in check. Tantalize with little, insignificant bits of influence, and they’ll lap from our hands.”

Lelthina said nothing, but nodded her head politely. Telva’s insights were nothing she didn’t already know well. The chancellor held her own smile; the Princess was a child playing at games she couldn’t comprehend and thought herself a master.

“But of course,” Lelthina said before leaving from the tent to leave the princess with her pleasures.

><><

“Thorlgruz,” Aela whispered as she looked upon the cathedral. It had been a marvel of architecture and engineering. A beacon of worship for the faithful of Oan. A beautiful piece for the nobles of the land to be overly proud of.

When the Kazdruk had taken it, the anger and despair had flowed through the words of priests, pilgrims, and the common folk alike. It had stoked a fire of resistance through much of the lands that many Kazdruk commanders had not anticipated, slowing their advance to a steady crawl.

The priestess had never seen it, and now that her eyes were upon it, the tales of its marvel and beauty were utterly outdone. Though, she knew the desecration of the Kazdruk had more to do with her elation of its sight than what it had once been.

Yannifer let out a small sigh, hinting at sensual memories playing across her mind. Of course they would; it was here that the Harbinger had made her a concubine. Gave her empty life meaning.

The ramshackle village that had sprouted up around the cathedral had helots marching with firm discipline, spears resting on their shoulders. Large Kazdruk masters lashed the whips across the backs of empty eyed and emaciated slaves who toiled without any hope left in their bodies. Aela looked at them with pity, these poor souls who did not embrace the truth, who had refused to accept that their beliefs had made them weak, had led them down this path, and now left them as withered husks of what they had been.

But it was only pity that Aela felt, not sympathy; they had brought this sentence unto themselves.

As the two moved through the town upon their mounts, they earned suspicious glances from the helots, hard stares from the Kazdruk, and nothing at all from the slaves, who merely continued their toil, laying stones for road, fixing and upgrading once temporary huts, and carrying the resources from stockpiles upon their backs.

They reached the great doors of the cathedral, once carved with holy scenes, and now replaced with a darker one, carved with vistas of Kazdruk glory. Lust and bloodshed dug in exquisite detail. A shiver ran down both women’s spines as they gazed upon images of heavy breasted Kazdruk whipping slaves across their backs, some of the Kazdruk sporting thick erections. Aela took note that there were no helots in the carvings, despite the two live ones standing guard on either side of the door.

Their barbed halberds slid downwards, crossing before the entrance.

“What business brings you to Thorlgruz?” they demanded, and Aela looked to her companion. The Elven concubine slid from her mount and bowed slightly to both helots.

“I am Yannifer, first concubine to Baroness Lillium, who has sent me to gather some of her belongings from her chambers.

“Do you have proof of such?” the one on the left asked, to which Yannifer turned, parting the straps wrapped around her form to show a symbol inked into her flesh upon her lower back. The sigil of Lillium. The guard on the right straightened his halberd and stepped forward, his fingers running over the symbol, before firmly grasping the concubine’s rear while the other watched her face.

Yannifer’s expression did not change, even as the exploring hand dipped beneath more of her straps, running along her flesh and between her legs. Two fingers slipped into her slick cunt, and here her expression changed, a slight moan slipping from her lips.

“We have not seen the Baroness for some time. Nor Mistress Aeltha. Already the Kazdruk are scheming of ways to take this land for their own. Make your business quick inside, The Giver of the Black is not favored amongst the servants of Yuldasha’s host. Most see her as an arrogant upstart,” the one on the left said, while the other ceased his fun.

“The baroness will remember your loyalty,” Aela said with a nod as Yannifer stood and adjusted her perverse garb, ensuring the whip was still tight around her waist, even as juices of her lust slid down her thighs, unhindered by anything beneath the skirt of straps.

The helots both nodded, even as the horny one licked his fingers messily. Yannifer and Aela walked past them and into the great hall that dominated much of the structure. Aela had never seen the place, but it had changed much from when Yannifer was here last. The rubble and ruined pews had been cleared away, though blood and cum still stained some of the marble tiles upon the floor and stone blocks of the walls. Kazdruk statues now lined the walls, and a massive obsidian carving of Yuldasha, naked slaves at her feet, dominated the far end, where a altar sat dark with blood.

“The followers of Morkate and the Kazdruk are not so different,” Aela whispered quietly to herself as she took in the sights, tall candles replaced with the familiar violet torches, bodies hanging by shackled feet along the marble pillars. Some were no longer living, and the pitiful moans of those left certainly did not suggest much longer for those still cringing from death.

Yannifer licked her lips, the sight of dark decadence stoking her lust, her sadism. Aela set a hand upon her shoulder, squeezing gently.

“We must be quick, before our true intentions are discovered. Lead me to Aeltha’s chambers,” Aela said, and the elf nodded in reply. They found a small doorway off to the side, plain, and from the dust beneath it, unmoved in some time. Yannifer set her hand upon the handle, some spots of rust spreading across the metal. She pushed the door open slowly, looking over her shoulder despite the cathedral currently being empty.

Her hand came away dusty.

“A good sign,” Aela said as they slipped through the opening. They found the back hallways and rooms there, cobwebs dangling from the ceiling, dust motes floating through the rubble strewn corridors. There were a few hoof prints in the dust, but they seemed old.

Yannifer led the way, brushing cobwebs out of the way as they made their way towards Aeltha’s chambers. Yannifer stopped in front of another doorway, pushing it open slowly. The rust on the hinges creaked loudly, before they were able to slip within.

The chamber of the great Kazdruk sorceress was in much better shape than the rest of the back rooms. While there was some dust upon the furniture, and the bed looked pristine as if it hadn’t been slept in for months. Shelves crammed with books, loose pages with Kazdruk runes scrawled across them cluttered desks, a dusty mirror stood in the corner. Yannifer stood near the door, one hand upon the whip as Aela began to search, fingers dancing across parchment and leather bindings.

“Someone has been in here, many times, since Aeltha’s departure.”

Yannifer glanced over to the priestess who was flipping through a large tome, eyes pouring across its contents. She idly wondered how the woman was able to understand the harsh Kazdruk runes, but it was not her place to ask. Instead, she kept close to the door, ears attuned to any movements. She did not believe the helot guards would betray them, but this was the Kazdruk; it never suited to believe you would not be betrayed.

Aela’s sharp gasp caught Yannifer’s attention. The concubine looked to the priestess, who was gingerly lifting a book of black leather, and thick parchment, from a box hidden hastily beneath the sorceress’s desk.

“The grimoire of Aeltha the Sorceress,” Aela explained, eyes wide, wonder in her voice as she began to flip through the pages, eyes drinking in the forbidden knowledge scrawled within.

“Does it have what we need?” Yannifer asked, and the priestess grinned.

“Yes. And the path to having another ascend.”

><><

The fire snapped, and a log shifted, sending a towers of embers swirling around the branches arched over their heads. The knights of Oan rested upon their bedrolls, armour carefully nestled in saddlebags beside them. All three were silent, staring into the flames as their horses nickered quietly on the edge of light.

It had been a week since they left Driftafay to search for the wolf kin. Each of them had heard stories whispered about such a creature when they were children, the priests pretending not to listen as youth dabbled in fantasy.

The time of innocence was long since past.

“We need to find her soon,” Morris muttered, eyes flicking up to dance between his two companions, neither of whom could find his gaze which soon returned back down.

“I know. But she’s good, and we are not trackers of any sort,” Duncan replied, tossing a stick absently into the fire.

Viviane said nothing, just felt the heat on her skin. It had seemed such a good idea when she was speaking with Sarya, but now out here, out of her element, she felt lost. Alone even with her companions. The thought if they felt the same flittered through her mind as Morris’s attempt at conversation sizzled away into silence.

“You are all rather stubborn,” a woman’s voice cut into the small clearing from the darkness of the trees. Immediately the three knights were up, their swords sweeping from their scabbards as they put their backs to the fire.

“Put those away, there’s a handful of crossbows aimed at you,” the voice said, a figure emerging slowly from the shadows. A tail flicked behind her, and the firelight caught the points of her canine ears emerging from her mane.

“The wolfkin,” Viviane said softly, sliding her sword back home. The other two glanced at her briefly, before following suit.

“I am. Was arrested for it too. And now here you are, hunting me, when the Kazdruk are hammering at our doors!” she said, face contorted in anger with those final shouted words.

“We are not hunting you. We were looking for you. For help,” Viviane said, holding out her hands; she could only hope Kira would see it as a peaceful gesture.

“You stand ready to execute me, now you want my help?”

“We had nothing to do with your trial,” Morris said, and Kira’s gaze snapped to him, eyes narrowed.

“Trial. There was no fucking trial,” she spat, before letting out a long slow breath, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides.

“Why do you need my help?”

“To stop Lillium,” Duncan said, his eyes never wavering from the trees, looking for the crossbows pointed towards him.

Silence reigned again for a few moments as Kira looked between them all. The fire crackled, and somewhere in the woods a twig snapped. Viviane refused to look though Duncan’s head snapped in that direction.

“Either you people have finally opened your eyes, or something’s happened in Driftafay to change your attitude so completely. I’m guessing you have a plan,” she said finally, and Viviane could hear the tension slowly releasing from crossbows in the shadows around her. Had those people been helots, the quest would have ended before it began properly.

“We do, join us by the fire so that we may discuss it.”

“Better idea, you come with us. Come and see the refugees forgotten. My army,” Kira said turning and starting to move into the woods.

The three knights looked at each other for a moment, before scrambling to douse the fire and prepare their horses for the journey.

><><

Isilda knelt naked in the basement of her brothel. Sarya was above, in the palace, and Isilda had snuck down here, as she had been bidden. Around her candles burned softly, flickering lights casting shadows across the room, at the other women gathered around her, all nude, marks of crimson upon their bodies.

The woman from the outside, the refugee from the farms stood before a makeshift altar in the basement, intricate symbols drawn on her flesh from the blood of a sacrifice. The same blood marked the other women circling the room. The woman stepped close to Isilda, holding a bowl gently in one hand.

“Do you Isilda, accept Morkate as your goddess? To guide you through blood, into pleasure?” the woman said.

“Yes,” Isilda cried, holding her arms out wide.

The woman dipped a hand into her bowl, and placed a crimson handprint upon Isilda’s breast. The blood was warm, sticky. It felt, good.

“Do you accept Lillium as the harbinger of Morkate’s will? Aela as the mouth, lips, and tongue of Morkate?” the woman intoned, hand already slipping back into the blood.

“Yes,” Isilda cried once again, tilting her head back, and the woman smiled. Wet fingertips ran from Isilda’s temple and around the outside of her eye. They smeared across her lips, and Isilda accept them between, tongue rolling across the offered digits.

“Then rise, our sister, our lover,” the woman intoned, and Isilda slowly got to her feet, thin trails running down her skin before she joined the circle to watch as the next prostitute stepped forward to accept the touch of their new goddess.

In the darkness, where candlelight could not reach, red eyes stared at the ceremony. A shadow flickered with the barest of movements, swallowed into nothingness.

By: SinfulWolf

The wine was sweet, smooth and rich as it flowed down her throat from the rim of the silver chalice. The bottle sitting upon the marble table beside her cost enough that even a human king would clutch his purse and look elsewhere for his drink. Chancellor Lelthina however, didn’t think a human would even be able to appreciate such divine quality.

Standing in her personal greeting chamber in the palace of Winterstone, she listened carefully to the man before her, one finely manicured hand resting upon that marble table. She only took small sips as she listened carefully to each word that flowed from the man’s mouth.

The quality of his clothes was utterly horrid; a dull brown and tattered cloak with all kinds of patches sewn across the larger holes. A drab tunic of green, and breeches that had more dust on them than the dye used to give them whatever colour they had been. Normally, such a man she would not converse with, but one did not turn away spymaster Phano. She’d seen him in such a variety of clothes, and act in such a variety of manner, that she could not say for sure how wealthy he truly was.

And she was usually so very good at knowing that.

The story he told now though was incredulous. If he were not Phano, she wouldn’t have believed a single word of it; but the spymaster hated exaggeration. So, no matter how improbable what he was telling her to be truth, it was. It was shocking even.

“So we have lost Driftafay,” Lelthina said, her voice almost a whisper. She had never imagined this would come to pass. At the hands of a Goldulin bitch no less.

“Seems the humans have finally decided to overreach themselves. Any word from their barbaric clans on this… affront?” the chancellor asked as the spymaster moved to the table, and poured himself a glass of the deep red wine.

“None. They don’t even know it’s happened. Seems this, Sarya, has struck out on her own,” he said, slipping out of the grizzled tone of a street urchin he’d been using not two minutes before, and sounding much more like a noble Elf. It was off putting with the clothing, but Lelthina much preferred it. It sent a shiver down her spine.

Phano’s smile told her that he noticed. Of course he noticed, he never missed anything.

 “Stupid Human bitch. No matter, Driftafay cannot stand on its own. I will inform the king of this. I’m sure his daughter will want another shot at being the hero after the atrocity at Atzgol,” Lelthina said shaking her head, and earning a deep laugh from Phano.

He slid behind her, stinking of the road. She could feel him, so close to her, almost touching her fine silken dress.

“Bathe before you enter my chambers,” she said firmly, gesturing towards a side door, where one of her personal servants stood.

Phano glanced at another door, the one to her bed chambers. Where he would find himself soon enough.

“Very well chancellor. Enjoy your meeting with the king,” he said with a deep bow that was both mocking, playful, and respectful at once. Lelthina still wasn’t sure how he managed to pull that off.

Shaking her head, Lelthina drained the remainder of her chalice, and left the room. She’d be back soon enough, and on her back. Phano had a way with women… and men. He could have whoever he wanted, yet he liked to have her. Lelthina had a little smile to herself at that, putting a little extra sway into her hips as she moved through the corridors of the opulent palace of Winterstone.

Servants all bowed as she walked by, proving that they knew their place in this world. Lelthina ignored them otherwise, walking with her chin up as she moved with her perfect Elfin grace.

When she finally reached the throne room, pushing both thick doors open wide, she let some of her pride seep out of her stroll. For before her, on his throne of gold draped in the finest blue silk, sat King Apol. Lelthina was quick to bow before him on the plush rug that ran to the base of his throne, feeling the pale blue eyes of not just the king, but his daughter Telva as well.

“Chancellor. You have met with Phano then?” Apol said in his quiet voice, drained by age.

Slowly, respectfully, Lelthina rose to her feet once more. She turned to Telva and curtsied quickly. When the princess returned the gesture with her beautiful white dress, accentuated with blue sashes, Lelthina smiled and turned back to the king. Even amongst royalty she demanded respect.

“I have, your grace. It is as we feared, the rumours are true,” Lelthina started, before telling Apol everything she had learned. In the corner of her eye she saw Telva’s face redden with anger at the pure nerve of the Goldulin bitch.

When she finally finished her tale, the room was in utter silence. Telva stood stock still, shaking with righteous anger, and Apol silently tapped his finger against the armrest of his throne. From beneath his gray hair, his still perfectly blue eyes watched Lelthina. Finally he turned to his daughter.

“Telva. Prepare your army, you leave at dawn. You will take Driftafay, and you will fly the Winterstone banner from the Evermar Palace. We will run this Coalition now, and show the Humans who hold thoughts of turning against us, the power of Winterstone,” Apol said, an edge of iron coming to his usually soft voice.

“And those living in the city now?” Telva asked, with the slightest of growls. Lelthina listened carefully for the king’s answer as he pondered.

“Execute any who resist… then decimation. I’m sure Sarya will appreciate the humour in that,” Apol said with a humourless grin.

Decimation. Lelthina smiled. Finally the humans would be made aware of how insignificant they were to the world.

“Chancellor. You will accompany my daughter, as the new head of the Coalition Council. Obviously your predecessor did not perform adequately. That’s what happens when you get soft with humans.”

Lelthina bowed deeply.

“It is an honour, your grace.”

><>< 

“Morkate take my soul, as I give my life for your harbinger,” the woman said, holding a silver dagger in her upturned palms before her naked form. Kneeling before the priestess Aela, a silver bowl engraved with ancient markings of the Goddess of Lust and Blood.

Aela reached down and took the dagger from the hands of the sacrifice.

“May the shadows embrace you,” Aela said, and quickly slashed the woman’s throat open. She didn’t even make a sound as blood pumped from the deep wound, down her body, and pouring into the bowl. When life faded from her body and she started to slump forwards, Aela caught her by the head, holding her up until more blood had filled the bowl.

When the sacrifice finally stopped bleeding, Aela looked up to the Helot guards standing at the entrance to Lillium’s chambers. They’d been there since Lillium had been returned to Volgras.

“Take her to the temple. She is to be honoured,” Aela said, and one of the helots nodded, carefully taking the dead woman in his arms.

The helots knew better than to disrespect Aela and the customs of Morkate. The priestess smiled to herself; even many of them were becoming devout followers. The harbinger’s plans were coming along nicely, until that woman, Goldulin from what she’d heard, put it all in jeopardy.

With no witnesses save the single helot guard, Aela moved to Lillium’s bed. The succubus lay on her back, stripped down to only long leather skirts. There were no bandages over the hole through her chest, for she wasn’t bleeding. But, neither was it healing. Aela could see the snapped ribs, the marrow within them. She could see the heart, struggling to beat with much of it torn asunder.

Dipping two fingers into the bowl, Aela painted sigils on her own naked skin, connecting her to the Goddess. Moving onto the bed, she straddled Lillium’s form. Oh how she wished the succubus was awake for this. Looking down at her form, so near death that her breasts scarcely rose with breath, Aela could not help but admire the perfection of the snowy skin, the faint hints of blackened veins, the swells of her breasts.

“Morkate, hear me your servant. Give me the strength to bring your harbinger back from the brink, that she may continue her holy work,” Aela said softly, tipping the bowl so that blood flowed over Lillium’s unmoving lips, and into the hole punched through her chest.

Her own heart stilled as the crimson flowed over Lillium’s still form, dripping into her chest cavity. Aela’s lips moved in silent prayer as she watched. She could even feel the tension in the helot’s breast as they waited.

And waited.

Nothing happened. The heart still struggled, the exposed lung still barely expanded, and her beautiful eyes stayed closed. Aela hung her head. Until she heard the whispers. Her gaze snapped upwards, startling the helot guard.

“I know where our answers are.”

><>< 

“I saw you kill her, do you doubt your own hand?” Viviane said before the gathered officers and nobility of Driftafay, while Sarya sat to get pressure off her injured leg.

“I don’t, which is why I know she’s not dead. The one thing we didn’t know going out there, is that she’s a fucking vampire,” the Centurion said angrily, her gaze snapping at them all.

“I was about to cut off her damn head when your soldiers pulled me back. I wasn’t finished with her yet.”

Some of those who’d been around for some time, those that trained and led the very same men that Sarya had commanded in battle while they cowered behind walls, at least had the shame to blush.

“She can’t have been a vampire! We’ve all seen her, a succubus,” some noble with slicked back hair and a too well groomed goatee said. Sarya hated him on sight, purely because of all that grooming. Probably never saw a battle before. Even though that small skirmish outside might be considered one, he more than likely hid behind the skirts of a whore.

“I saw her up close. I saw her heal wounds that would have brought a succubus down. I saw her fangs, her hunger for blood. I saw this, because I fought her. We’re talking about the Kazdruk, not a clan of sheep fucking barbarians. They, do, not, follow the fucking rules of nature,” Sarya seethed, staring down anyone who dared doubt her. Luckily for them, there was only silence that followed her outburst.

“Nothing else to say? Than go… and get ready for her to come back,” the Centurion said, flipping her hand towards the door.

Most were quick to scramble away from the woman who had started a massacre in their very streets, and had braved the creature that had them terrified. Most, but not all.

Viviane remained where she was, standing proud and firm. Sarya let out a long breath to release her anger into the air. Viviane had been brave in the fight, hell just the fact that she fought at all meant the world to Sarya. For a moment she said nothing, just stood by the table letting Sarya calm herself.

The Centurion kept a hand pressed to her thigh, trying to ignore the throbbing pain. At least the apothecary had a steady hand with the stitching.

“How is it?” Viviane finally asked to break the silence, and Sarya let a humourless smile curl her lips briefly.

“Painful, but it’ll be fine soon enough,” she said, and looked down at the table before her, with its map of DelHelshan, marked with coloured pins for all the Kazdruk raids and attacks. The coast was getting hit hard, and with the Atzgol plains fallen the Kazdruk were advancing up along the Ruby sea.

Then there was Volgras, and Lillium. How the hell had she gotten so far into Coalition territory without being stopped? Why were those helots so respectful of her? Everything Sarya had seen of the Kazdruk grunts showed they would abandon their cruel masters at a moment’s notice. Not Lillium though; they carted her away. Was it her vampirism, or something else? Sarya stared at the map, cupping her chin in her hand as she studied it.

“We won’t get help here, we’re not the front lines,” Sarya muttered to herself, until Viviane’s cough reminded the centurion that the Knight of Oan was still standing before her.

“So Lillium is a Kazdruk experiment. We know she used to be human, but now she is some kind of… abomination. We need to go after her, and finish what you started,” Viviane said firmly, and Sarya looked up with a raised eyebrow. She didn’t want to admit it, but the knight’s determination impressed her.

“We don’t even know for sure where she’s holed up. My guess is Volgras, most reports suggest that. But, I can’t leave. Driftafay is on the brink, again. And I doubt anyone else is going to want to go hunting her,” Sarya said, hating herself for saying it.

To her surprise Viviane was nodding, and gesturing to Sarya’s leg.

“I don’t know if you’d be at top game anyway.”

Sarya laughed, a little bitterly at the comment but nodded. She pointed to Volgras.

“I won’t stop you. I want the bitch dead. We all need the bitch dead. Just… don’t get yourself killed doing it. I’m starting to like you,” Sarya said with a smirk, and Viviane smiled.

“I’ll see in I can find that Wolfkin that managed to escape. I’m sure she’s fled the city by now.”

“Take the woods then. I have a feeling she’s not that far away,” Sarya said, slowly getting to her feet.

The two warriors nodded to each other, then clasped hands firmly.

“Go with Oan Sarya.”

“Just kill the bitch.”

><>< 

Watching Aela pack a bag while draped in a long cloak that covered much of her form seemed simply strange to Mia. The temple was nearly deserted, save for herself, the priestess, and Lillium’s first concubine Yannifer. Even the sadistic elf had her attire of leather straps concealed beneath a cloak of black cloth, her eyes watching the priestess pack.

“Where are you going? The Mistress needs you,” Mia said pleadingly as Aela clasped her pack shut and threw it over her back. The woman said nothing for a moment as she stepped down from the dais that held the stone altar of Morkate up, before finally turning to the Harbinger’s concubine and acolyte of Morkate.

“Thorlgruz. Yannifer is accompanying me for she knows the way, and the layout of the cathedral. There is a grimoire there, the tome of the Kazdruk sorceress Aeltha, that contains all her secrets of corruption,” Aela said as she began to walk towards the front doors of the temple, Yannifer falling silently in step with her.

“Thorlgruz? A tome?” Mia asked confused, and Aela glanced at her as if a child.

“It will contain the secrets of how she created the Harbinger, and therefore the knowledge we need to bring her from the brink. Lorth will be in command while I’m gone… I need you to oversee the needs of the temple,” Aela said as Yannifer pushed open the doors.

All three stepped outwards and down the three steps to the dirt road running through Volgras. Two horses were waiting there, their reins held by the Helot captain, who bowed in respect to Aela as she emerged from her temple.

Yannifer quickly mounted while Aela fixed her pack to the horse’s saddle. Mia could only watch, feeling the weight of responsibility upon her shoulders. As Aela gracefully mounted she looked down upon her acolyte.

“Morkate has told me of this, and I must see it done. We will return as quickly as we can,” she said, as she took the reins from Lorth.

Concubine and priestess both kicked their heels into the flanks of their mounts, and without further conversation or proper farewells they were riding southwards. Towards Thorlgruz. Mia stood beside Lorth and watched them riding down the road.

“What if Aeltha discovers this?” she asked, and the helot snorted.

“Then you better learn how to kill.”

By: SinfulWolf

The sound of trebuchets letting loose their boulders, to sail into the city and smash through wall and roof, was scarcely heard. Almost drowned out by the crickets of the fields, uncaring for the corruption of the land. Staring to the north west, where any reinforcing armies would be coming from, the Helot sentry paid no attention to the siege. His only concern was to what may come, what he hoped would come. His cohort had not taken any slaves, their blades not tasted any blood. Instead they had marched away, out of sight, and now were hidden in the edge of the forest, amongst the trees and brush.

If the Elves or one of the human kingdoms came marching down that road, he would be there, with his brothers. To butcher them all.

Then his thoughts were sent into a torrent of chaos and confusion as a foot harshly slammed into the back of his knee. Starting to fall to one knee, a hand clamped hard over his maw and nose, but no warning shout was to come out even if the hand were not there, for the same instant a knife slammed into the side of his neck. Hot blood poured over his armour, before the blade cut outwards. The innards of his neck were severed, and death came for him quickly.

Kira let the body down slowly, balancing it upon her knee to prevent the armour from rattling as she set it down in the grass. The smell of freshly spilled blood filled her nostrils, and she felt a wild thrill running through her mind. A temptation to feast, but, these beings were corrupted, so she shoved that craving down. Not to think on it again.

Drenched in Kazdruk blood, the Wolfkin made her way into the camp, leaving two corpses on the perimeter. Dagger clutched firmly in hand she slunk through the shadows, scouting the tents hidden amongst the trees, counting the enemy, where they were positioned. There was only so much she could do before the bodies were discovered, and she was but one person. She could not take on the entire group herself.

It was only a few moments before she found what she was looking for, and not until she had nearly fallen into it. A small pit dug into the ground, a tarp draped over top and covered in brush and leaves to help conceal it. Their food supplies for however long they planned to be out here. With no visible commander’s tent, she knew that this would be the next best way to strike against them.

Without a sound Kira slipped beneath the tarp, pulling a vial from a pouch on her belt as she moved. She moved to the first crate, scrunching up her face as she pulled it open, the foul odor from within wafting over her. Whatever meat these guys were eating, it was getting much too ripe to be healthy for anything save Kazdruk foot soldiers. Popping the lid off the vial of poison, Kira suddenly froze when she heard footsteps just behind her.

Heart pounding in her chest, she gripped her knife tighter, not daring to move, scarcely daring to breathe as she heard someone moving past the pit she had hidden herself in. The slight rattle of armour told her it was another Helot.

Then he was gone, vanished into the night, but it may be relief for one of the sentries she killed; she was quickly running out of time. Upending the vial, she poured its contents over the meat within the crate, and carefully closed it back up, spending precious moments making it look as if it had not been tampered with.

Then she slid out of the pit on her belly, not daring to release her knife. She began to slide through the darkness again, darting past tents, thankful for the lack of torches but aware any helots not slumbering would be used to seeing in the dark at this point. She could not trust in the shadows entirely.

As she began to slide past a tent, the front flap opened. Snores from within slid out into the night air, but a very wakeful soldier, adjusting the strap of his helmet, slipped outside, his shield on his back, spear firm in hand.

Spinning on her heel she hooked her arm around his neck before he even fully registered her presence. The blade bit hard into the side of his neck, before sliding all the way across, opening it wide. A well placed kick to the knee took away his last moments of freedom, as he spent his dying moments falling to the ground, instinctively trying to break his fall, instead of fighting back.

“Tovk. What’s happening out there?” came a voice from within, much more alert than Kira wanted. Leaving the bleeding helot in the ground, she took off, as fast as she could without making any sound.

“Intruder,” she heard shouted from behind her, but she was already at the perimeter. A sentry was turning to see what the commotion was when Kira burst out from a bush. There was a look of surprise in the Kazdruk soldier’s face, but even so he tried to get his spear down. Kira was simply too fast, too savage, swiping his spear aside, and biting down hard over his throat. Her blade plunged upwards, into his armpit, where no armour protected, and more blood coursed over her hands as her teeth sunk in. Deeper, deeper, tainted blood flooding her mouth, until she yanked her head away with a growl. A chunk of meat tore away, and the Helot grasped at his throat, grasping for his sword, but life fled much too quickly.

A sentry hearing the commotion came storming over, but fell with a crossbow bolt in his eye. Thaden’s shadowy figure slipped into the trees once more.

Spitting the flesh trapped between her teeth to the ground, Kira slipped away, and left the camp in chaos, a few more crossbow bolts flashing through the darkness to find the flesh of their enemies.

><>< 

Pain flared through her fist when she slammed it into the table, but Sarya ignored it.

“No! We cannot sit idle.” She said firmly to the gathered war council. Many stared at her, surprise plain in their eyes.

“My lady, centurion, we do not have the forces to defeat the Kazdruk hordes. We should sit back, await reinforcements,” one of the gathered councillors said, struggling to think of Sarya’s title. She ignored the stumble, her own title wasn’t important; she wouldn’t be in power long enough.

“Truly? Reinforcements? From who? After the massacre that happened in these streets no one is coming to help us. You really think not a single person escaped that?  No, we are on our own. Besides, it is just Lillium out there, with her small band. Not the hordes that have been pounding the ocean shores,” Sarya said carefully.

“How can you know this?” Lady Viviane Stark said with narrowed eyes, suspicion clear in her words. Two other Knights of Oan stood just behind her. Hearing her suspicion, their hands drifted downwards towards their swords. Typical over zealous bastards, the lot of them.

“Scouts. Not all of us can rely on mere faith to win the day,” Sarya said, and Viviane narrowed her eyes.

“What is your plan then, to make up for this lack of faith?”

“I never said lack of faith Lady Viviane, I merely said more than. Cut the head off the snake, an old adage that works against the Kazdruk well. Their troops are barbaric, bloodthirsty, eager to rape. We kill Lillium, and we can lure her soldiers to our walls easily enough, where our archers can pick them off,” Sarya said.

“Easier said than done,” the councillor that had spoken up before had to hear his voice again.

“Lillium is a warrior. She will be on the front lines. My plan is rather simple, we march our soldiers out to meet her, focusing on the centre of the line, I push forward, and kill her myself. To give us some breathing room, that’s where the knights come in. If Lillium knows anything of your tactics, she will be ready for a full charge, not flanking attacks. Get them thinking about their flanks, and we have the centre to ourselves,” Sarya said with flashing eyes and a vicious grin.

There were some whispers, and officers began to argue over who would get which spot. But Sarya knew her plan would unfold, and her spatha would taste Lillium’s blood before the sun set on the morrow.

 

Lady Viviane Stark done by my lovely friend Stark

><>< 

Lounging amidst violet, satin pillows, Lillium groaned softly, as a slave kneeled between her legs, gently licking at her thighs, tasting the juices that had rolled down the succubus’s flesh through her early dawn tryst. The woman wore a collar around her pretty neck, and bore markings of Morkate on the back of her shoulder, marking her place as a whore.

A very skilled whore, Lillium thought to herself as her claws trailed through the woman’s silky hair. The succubus let out another low groan, her back arching, pushing bared breasts into the air. It was tempting to lay in here awhile longer, perhaps take this woman again. She was proving most enjoyable.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of her tent flapping open, Lorth walking in, in full battle order. He did not avert his eyes from the naked women before him, but nor did he stare dumbly. Even as Lillium slowly ceased to writhe beneath the whore’s skilled tongue, Lorth smashed a fist to his chest in salute.

“Baroness. The defenders of Driftafay are sallying forth. They mean to fight us with honour,” the captain reported.

With a press of claws until fine ruby droplets formed upon the whore’s scalp, Lillium ceased her pleasure.

“Well, we best not disappoint them shall we. Send a runner to Bazk, and we will sow these fields with corpses.”

><>< 

Sunlight brushed over the Helot’s face as he made his way quietly through the brush, ducking branches and skirting bushes. They could not see him from the walls, could not warn their allies on the fields of the flank attack to come. The warrior felt his mouth watering for the coming battle and the blood that would be shed.

The crossbow bolt that hissed from the foliage smashed his skull to pieces, and he slumped to the ground without a further sound. Brain spilled from the ruins of his head with chips of bone amidst the gray chunks.

As Kira and Thaden slipped out from the shadows of leaves of the early morning, looking down upon the corpse they just made, Thaden was quick to step forward, pulling his bolt from the mess of gore, flicking the tip in an attempt to remove much of the gunk. Kira let her eyes peer out from the foliage, stepping into thickets and brush, to see the city.

“They’re marching out,” she whispered, looking back to her companion.

“Driftafay is?”

Kira nodded, and the two looked down at the corpse by their feet. Doubtlessly a runner from Lillium’s main encampment.

“Seems our plans have moved up some,” the wolfkin whispered. Without further hesitation, the two stole back into the shadows, to strike at the camp they had poisoned in the night.

><>< 

The morning sun was climbing higher into the sky, its heat beating down upon the soldiers marching away from the safety of their walls. Sweat ran down the backs of their necks and their faces beneath the steel brims of their helmets. Dampening tunics stuck to their backs beneath their chainmail hauberks, and their skin was starting to itch.

Not one of them whined, too concerned with what lay ahead of them, beyond the rims of their rounded shields and the points of their spears. The lines of Helot soldiers, utterly inhuman beneath their dark steel plates, wicked swords in one hand, square shields with jagged bottoms and right rims in the other. In the centre of that beastly line stood the contrast. The agonizingly beautiful succubus, raven hair fluttering about her face; the woman they were here to kill.

Sarya gripped her spatha tight, her own Gondulin shield strapped firmly. The red painted steel, with its black dragon standing proud amidst the more ramshackle equipment of those she led. It felt good to be back on a battlefield, though strange that it was not her disciplined soldiers beside her.

Off to the side, hooves thundered as the heavily armoured Knights of Oan moved into a flanking position, white banners streaming from their lances held upright. Lillium glanced towards them, but did nothing.

“She has another force in reserve… she was ready to flank herself,” Sarya muttered, feeling her gut clench. Biting her lip she glanced towards the knights. If it was true they could well be massacred, but if they pulled back now, Lillium would continue to pound Driftafay into ruin.

Lifting up her sword, Sarya quickly let it drop, pointing the tip of her blade towards the enemy line, letting out a loud shout that ripped from her throat as she did. The answering call was deafening. Spears lowered, and nearly a thousand soldiers ran forward. To the side, lances lowered and spurs pressed harshly into the armoured flanks of warhorses. Dust burst upwards into the air, as the forces of Driftafay charged forward the final gap towards their enemies, shouts swirling amongst each other in a cacophony of fury.

The two lines of infantry met in a crash of steel and blood. Many shouts turned to screams, and Helots roared out their bloodlust as combat finally came upon them. Driftafay soldiers pushed the thrust their spears, spilling the dark blood of their enemies, even as the Kazdruk foot soldiers lashed back, opening flesh and spraying crimson in great arcs from their blades. In the thick of it, two women moved with confidence and surety that only experience brings.

Sarya stayed at the head of her formation, not getting ahead of those around her, lashing out with shield and spatha with deadly purpose. Seconds dragged out into minutes as the two small armies fought, and Sarya could already feel the blood running over the hilt of her blade, streaming down her hands to the bracers tied firmly to her forearms. She could see Lillium, dancing with beautiful yet deadly grace, blood trailing behind her sword, spattering on her dark steel and pale flesh.

To the side, Helots screamed out in frustration as the Knight’s of Oan crashed into their lines, impaling the Kazdruk warriors upon their long lances, before riding off again, some with broken lances, making them unsheathe their swords.

“Lillium!” Sarya shouted above the din of combat, smashing the bottom edge of her shield into a Helot’s neck. The creature scarcely had time to choke before the spatha lunged forward, slipping under its arm and into the small hollow beneath, directly through to heart and lungs. Blood frothed at its mouth for a split moment before it collapsed at her feet.

The succubus turned to stare at Sarya, holding a soldier by his neck. The man squirmed as Lillium’s thumb pressed into the front of his throat, blood bubbling around the claw that sank into his flesh. When he dropped dead, Sarya did not spare him a glance. He was gone, there were others still living she could save.

“You’re mine bitch,” the centurion roared, finally breaking free of the line, a soldier quickly taking her place as she pushed along the clashing warriors around her, shield and sword never still as she moved to meet the succubus.

Lillium grinned, tongue rolling across her lips, smearing blood across them, even as it ran down all over her form. Even from here, Sarya saw the fangs hiding behind those perfect lips. There was a brief flutter of fear within her gut as she recognized something no one else had said about the succubus.

Vampire.

Lillium dragged her line of death towards Sarya, that confident grin never faltering as she moved to meet the centurion.

Amidst corpses and severed limbs, the two commanders finally clashed, their swords ringing against one another as conqueror found defender.

><>< 

Sweat rolled under her helmet, yet Viviane ignored it as she charged with her brothers into the Helots a second time. She heard bones and steel crunching beneath hooves, even as she felt the point of her lance slam into one of the Helot’s chests, punching through the breastplate and impaling it upon the long staff.

With a loud crack, the lance snapped in two, leaving Viviane with a much shorter weapon tipped with ragged splinters. Beside her, Sir Bran was dragged from his saddle by a wicked scythe. The steel scraped against his armour but did not penetrate. Not that it helped him when he landed on the ground.

Whirling away from the clashing mass, Viviane glanced over her shoulder, and wished she hadn’t. A heavy axe was brought down on Sir Bran’s face, crushing bone hidden behind his helmet, blood spurting out his visor.

Gritting her teeth, Viviane tossed her ruined lance away, and reached down to draw her sword. She could not hear the rasp of steel against leather as it came free, but the familiar weight in her fist was comforting. An old friend in the fight against evil.

The remaining knights turned again a short distance from the battle. Viviane found herself at the head of the wedge, and holding her blade forward, pointing the tip at the enemy, she let her voice raise in a shout with those she rode with.

She didn’t truly see the dark shapes that flickered outwards, but she certainly recognized the crossbow bolts as three knights fell from their horses riddled with them. They dragged their horses to the ground under their heavy weight, and another knight stumbled as his horse’s hooves caught upon the writhing beasts struggling to rise. Sir Joran was flung into the Helots waiting for them this time with a scream. Blades and heavy feet descended upon him, and it did not take too long for them to find a weak spot to silence his shouts of righteous fury.

Viviane’s though still rang loudly. Her blade took half the skull from a Helot as she rammed through their throng. Already she was starting to pull back. There were too many to stay and fight. The knights were far too outnumbered. Another fell as they retreated, his mount’s head lopped off with a vicious strike from a two handed sword that left only a bleeding stump and the glimmer of spine in its wake. The next strike took his own head.

Now, at a safe distance again, Viviane looked upon her surviving brothers. There were only the three of them left; herself, Sir Morris, and Sir Duncan. Morris was clutching at his side, blood seeping through gauntleted fingers. A crossbow bolt had found its mark on him as well. When he saw her looking he merely nodded.

“I’ll live,” were the only words to slip out. Viviane nodded and looked back at the battle.

Sarya, and the succubus were fighting, each of them perfect in their forms. Sword met shield, spatha met bracer, parries and dodges for both blood soaked fighters. A ring had started to form around them, none of the other fighters wanting to incur the wrath of the champion of their enemy. The battle though continued to rage around them. Blood soaked the grass, and corpses littered the ground, forcing those on either side to step over friends and comrades that they may add the next enemy to the pile.

Human wounded writhed in pain on the ground, clutching at the stump where an arm or leg may have been, or at their torn throats, trying in vain to keep that precious blood within them, or a handful even clutching at their guts, trying to prevent them from spilling out any further.

The Helots though fought on despite their wounds. Viviane saw one swinging wildly without a weapon, the hand that had gripped it taken off below the elbow. Its demonic ichor spewing from severed flesh it punched and thrashed until spears stabbed it in the chest.

Viviane turned again to look at her own comrades, to prepare them for one last charge into the fray, to buy some time for Sarya, when she saw the charging band of Helots. Hundreds of them sprinting across the field. Spears and swords glinted in the sunlight.

“We cannot win this. A sacrifice in this battle will be in vain.” Sir Morris said glumly, looking towards the charging foe. Viviane looked back to the battle, then to the flanking Kazdruk warriors.

“Go. Back to the city, I’ll warn Sarya, we need to pull back now, before they get here,” she said.

With short nods the other two knights turned their horses towards Driftafay, while Viviane rode hard back to the battle.

><>< 

Watching them run towards the clash on the fields, Kira clutched her fists. There hadn’t been enough time to stop the Helots, and she and Thadon were not enough to stop them. They had needed more soldiers, and the refugees waiting in the thick of the woods were in no condition to fight.

After killing the runner, she and Thadon had returned to the camp. Darting in to kill two sentries, she quickly had ran back into the woods, leading a chase while she and her companion picked off the enemy with sword, claw, fang, and crossbow. A trail of corpses was strung beneath the canopy now, but even after a few dozen lay dead on the forest floor, their blood feeding the land they had sought to ravage, a runner Kira had missed came running back to the encampment.

After that, they forgot all about the wolfkin, quickly packing up and charging off towards the battle.

Now Kira watched, her claws digging into a nearby tree as they charged the soldiers of Driftafay to sway the tide of battle.

><>< 

Lillium’s sword flicked across Sarya’s bicep, parting the flesh and drawing a line of deep crimson, but the Centurion ignored the pain, the injured shield arm flicking the succubus’s blade out wide, and coming in low with a slash. Lillium’s bracer deflected easily, but it made the opening Sarya was hoping for.

A quick lash of her helmeted head crashed into Lillium’s face. She felt the cartilage snap, and felt a gush of blood over her face. The succubus surprised her though with a soft moan. So the bitch was a masochist.

With her own blood smeared over her lower face, Lillium kicked out. The sharp heel of her boot scratched Sarya’s armour, while the flat base pushed her back, making her stumble slightly. She quickly regained her bearings, blocking a vicious overhead chop with her shield before slashing at the pale exposed midsection before her.

She scored a deep hit, earning another groan that sent tingles down her spine despite herself. Worse though, was watching the skin reknit, healing before any true damage sunk in. Sarya let out a roar of anger and frustration, coming in with a whirlwind of blade strikes. Lillium blocked each one perfectly, her movements with the sword as close to perfect as Sarya had even seen.

She finished her wild attack with a shield bash, but Lillium stepped to the side, and pulled hard on the rim, sending Sarya past her. The centurion immediately rolled forward, knowing what was following, but felt the bite of Kazdruk steel in her thigh regardless. She howled in pain, but pushed it back into her mind as she rose once more to her feet to face her enemy.

“Helot reinforcements. We need to retreat!” Viviane’s call rang through the din of battle.

“Hold your ground! Hold!” Sarya yelled, moving fast despite the slight limp in each step. The flanking party, later than she expected, but still here. And Lillium still lived. This had to end fast.

The two warriors met again, swords crashing against one another as each tried to find the killing blow, but each finding the other a match. Around her, Driftafay troops were wavering, caught between utter fear, and the need to see this done. Some were already running, fleeing back to the city to let their comrades be cut down. Sarya couldn’t pay them any heed though.

The succubus’s sword arcing down towards her shoulder, Sarya gritted her teeth, and slammed the lower rim of her shield at an angle. The blade rocked against the plates over her shoulder, sending a dull pain throbbing into her flesh, but the succubus let out a shout of surprise as she lost her balance. A sickening crunch sounding from her knee that did not earn a groan.

Resisting the urge to say something witty, Sarya followed through with a vicious stab. The point of her sword split open the soft tender flesh of Lillium’s partially exposed breast, scraping against the edge of the steel cupping her breast. Blood gushed outwards from the wound as the spatha’s tip broke through the protective ribs hiding behind such succulent flesh.

Lillium’s red eyes went wide, as she looked down at the sword lodged in her heart. She coughed, blood spattered over Sarya’s helmet. It wasn’t enough though, Sarya knew it. She’d killed a few vampires in her time. With a kick to Lillium’s gut, she dislodged her sword, blood spraying from the wound. The vampiric succubus fell to the ground, gasping in agony, her strength fleeing.

One more strike, and it would be over.

Then arms grabbed her, pulling her back to her lines.

“No, no!” she yelled as Helots ran to save their baroness. The soldiers of Driftafay dragged Sarya away from the conflict, while Helots carried their commander off the field.

“They’re retreating, we’ve won. You got her,” someone shouted in Sarya’s ear.

But Lillium still lived, and the fact that the Helots’ bloodlust had been calmed by her fall rather than stoked, made her fear the woman’s power all the more. She stared at the backs of the retreating Helots, Lillium carried like a goddess off the field of battle, while she was dragged.

“This is far from over.”

><>< 

Standing atop the walls and watching the battle, Isilda’s hands hadn’t left her mouth, scrunched up with nervousness as she watched hundreds upon hundreds of men die. Their screams were distant, the ring of steel carrying on the wind, and she couldn’t see Sarya. Her stomach clenched, and she wasn’t able to eat, or drink.

Another whore stood beside her, gently rubbing her arm, humming softly to try and soothe her.

She didn’t know how long she had been standing there, amongst countless others from the city watching as their fate was decided. When it was finally ended, both armies simply, walking away from the other, Isilda didn’t know what to think. It was strange to see them simply break away, leaving a line of corpses that looked like a dark smear on the grass at this distance.

“She’s coming back dear. Come on, the new girl wants to tell us something back at the brothel. Let’s get you cleaned up for when Sarya comes calling,” her friend said, and Isilda offered a weak smile.

Sarya would be by soon, she would. And maybe listening to this girl, one of the refugees from outside the city, would help her calm down.