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Old 11-05-2012, 05:09 PM   #1
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The Thorn-star Agenda (Closed for DarkWarrioress)

"Yes, I've heard of an order that matches that description."

Andras stared in disbelief as he spoke with Grensha in her tent. She was stooped over a large cauldron of what she claimed to be a medicinal remedy, but smelled more like the wrong end of a flatulent horse that had devoured bad apples. His nose wrinkled as he stepped away from the bubbling viscous liquid.

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"

"Because you've never asked me, elf. I know many things. You seem surprised. It is no small feat to be as old as I am and still be up and alert."

He smiled then, asking "Just how old are you, Grensha?"

Her walking stick smacked him square in the chest, knocking the breath out of him. He hadn't even seen her step from behind the cauldron.

"It's not polite to ask a lady her age, you mannerless brute."

"I'm the mannerless brute? You birthed Mulgar! Or so they say..."

Her walking stick smacked him again, this time on the shoulder.

"As I recall, he's mine. And yours; a good soldier and a fine captain. You've said so yourself."

"Yes, I have. So, tell me more about these star-marked monks. Why do they want the collar so badly?"

Grensha settled down in a chair, gesturing for Andras to join her. She leaned heavily on her walking stick, old grey eyes full of wisdom in their cloudy depths.

"Long and long ago, before many of the civilized tribes came to be, there were beings of pure magic and mysticism that roamed the land. They were arcana given physical form. In fact, they called themselves the Arcane. They were of various tempers; some sought to help create while others only wished to destroy. Much like any mortal.

As collective thought became more common, the people of the realm decided that the Arcane needed to be contained, lest they become too powerful and overthrow the rise of man. Some went willingly into servitude, some into hiding. Others defied this decree outright.

It is within the power of the Arcane to possess a mortal body, to shove the owner's essence out and claim it as its own. Many did this to amass a private army, men that were not men, walking amidst the public as shadowy agents for the Arcane.

Secret wars were waged through the centuries; many innocent lives were lost. Many of the Arcane that remained in their original form were banished or destroyed. Mistrust ran rampant and even the benevolent were driven out. It is said that the faeries and dragons and all the other fae are truly the offspring of the outcast Arcane. That they are the font from which all magic originally sprang from. Some say you elves are the direct descendents..."


"All very interesting, but what about the star-marked monks?!"

"The faction that remained in opposition the longest was one headed by an Arcane named Abraxus. They called him the Thorn-king because his manifestation was covered in writhing vines with wicked barbs and burrs. His followers were known as the Thorn-stars. His mark was a thorned pentacle, and each bore the mark on their left cheek as a sign of deference and also solidarity.

Abraxus gave them each a tiny portion of his essence, enough to empower them and enough that he could control them, like puppets all strung together by one master. Fracturing himself like that was, ironically, the opposite of his goal. He wants to reassemble the Arcane, bring them together as one being. He believes that they all split off from one form, one essence. He wants to reassume the mantle of the one true Arcane. To do that he will need a massive sacrifice. The essences of countless mortals must be pushed out of this existence to make room for the emergence of those banished and thought destroyed. No one would do this willingly, and no one would stand for his enslavement on such a grand scale. Even his army is not that powerful."


"That's where the collar comes into play..."

"Precisely. And if they can't get their hands on it directly, then they will seek any means to make that possible. Abraxus' splitting off of his own essence has left him a madman. His mind is fragile and brittle and bitter. It is focused now only on recreating a vision he only believes to be the truth."

Andras weighed this information heavily in his own mind. Such an evil certainly needed to be purged. This was much bigger than he'd thought originally. Much more than a simple plan to avenge his father.

"That temple they took Elana to, the one where their great machine was housed. Where was that?"

"Hard to say. Abraxus has many lairs, many hideaways that none but his disciples know of. I do know that he came to power in a land east of Orenthal. This continent is not the only one to rise from the sea. The place is called Xin Sheng. They are much as we are, but they worship different gods. They were closer to the Arcane than we ever were. Strange customs abound there, but then again, they would find us to be most odd."

"So what you're saying is that we have to cross the sea to find this Abraxus and bring him down?"

"You make it sound so easy, elf. That would be but the first step. If you do this, you know that you might not come back, right? Would you risk everything to do this? To seek your vengeance?"

"It's about more than that now. If they want the collar to enslave and sacrifice countless people, they must be stopped. That cannot be allowed to happen."

Grensha smiled. She knew that Andras had a good heart. He was headstrong and reckless sometimes, but he was a great leader, a true commander. The orcs he led wouldn't follow his orders otherwise. He'd proven himself to them time and again, and even though enmity existed between their races, this coexistence was forged with a strong bond.

"I wish I knew more, elf. Sadly, most of the things that happen in Xin Sheng stay there, only whispered as rumor here. To get to the source, you'll have to seek out some assistance there."

Andras left the elder orc's tent, mind whirling with all the new information. It had only been a few weeks since Elana's coronation and her appointment of Arthus, her uncle, as Regent in her stead. Plans and preparations had begun almost immediately, though they had no idea where to start their search for the star-marked bastard monks who had murdered Andras' father. Now they had a heading, it wouldn't be long before they could start their journey. The lands on the eastern coast of Orenthal were much more savage than anything seen in Haven's Landing, Crestfall, even the Rimescale Mountains. The trees grew thick in dense jungles and swamps, spawning flora and fauna from nightmares and fever-dreams. They would have to be traversed if they hoped to reach the waters of the Raven Sea and Xin Sheng beyond.

The elven commander's amethyst eyes fell upon the entrance to Elana's private bedchamber. He knocked once, then three times. His own personal greeting, to let her know it was him. He opened the door gingerly and stepped inside. He had much to tell her.
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La vie n'est qu'une ombre dans l'obscurité la plus profonde

Something's gotta give...and if it's not my spine it will surely be my spirit. I only pray the splinters will shatter in such a way that every passerby takes a second to revel in my wreckage....

In the space between the sands of time and making sense he scribbles thoughts half-made and half-mad. He has written all his mind away and been left half-alive and mostly dead. His spark is the maker's forge, burning bright and hot. His soul is the flame that guides lost travelers on their wayward paths. In his thoughts he is whole, he is home, he is free. If only this poor poet's mental world were true reality...

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Old 11-09-2012, 11:21 PM   #2
DarkWarrioress
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Elana was sorting through clothes when Andras slipped into bed chamber, closing the door behind him quietly. She glanced upward, a pair of leather pants in her hand. She smiled happily, tossing the pants onto a small pile of clothes that held so far, a another pair of leather trews, a leather jerkin and a pair of scruffy boots that had seen better days.

“Hello, My Elven Commander. What is on your mind?”

He looked pre-occupied. Andras came to her side and sat her down on the edge of the bed, joining her and began speaking, telling her everything he learned from Grensha. The old woman never ceased to amaze her. Grensha had been a fountain of information on their previous journey and so much more. The old woman was practiced in the magic arts as well.

Elana listened intently. Her mind was trying to absorb everything he was telling her. One thing was clear to her, however. They needed to stop Abraxus. But first, they needed to learn more about this man. It seemed to her that the first place they needed to find and visit was this place called, Xin Sheng. Before they could deal with a man they did not know, they needed to learn everything they could about him. Grensha was right about that. This Xin Sheng needed to be the first leg of their journey.

Elana tilted her head slight, a slight grin forming on her lips.

“So when do we leave, Andras?”

Her uncle was Regent and the it suited him and the people. As she knew it would. Elana wasn't worried about the kingdom. Besides, she was getting antsy and was more than ready for another adventure with her Blade.
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Old 11-11-2012, 01:52 PM   #3
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"Three days. There are still a few preparations to make first. I can't help but feel like going to Abraxus' homeland is dangerous for you, especially if he still wants the collar. But I know better than to ask you to stay here."

He smiled and ran a hand against her cheek. The collar's sigils lit up in a lavender glow, fading to a soft red, pulsing gently. In the last few weeks, they'd had plenty of time to themselves, but even then they still found new ways to keep each other up until the wee hours of the morning. Here and now, even with the heavy weight of Abraxus' plot on his mind, he was losing himself to the mossy green of Elana's eyes.

He gave her a soft kiss on the lips, pulling back slowly. Before he let his more lusty instincts take over, he tried to abate it with humor.

"So I see you've taken to laundry since you don't have any Queen's duties to attend to..." His laugh filtered out even before he finished speaking. He braced himself for the hit he knew might be coming, but his warm smile never faltered.
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La vie n'est qu'une ombre dans l'obscurité la plus profonde

Something's gotta give...and if it's not my spine it will surely be my spirit. I only pray the splinters will shatter in such a way that every passerby takes a second to revel in my wreckage....

In the space between the sands of time and making sense he scribbles thoughts half-made and half-mad. He has written all his mind away and been left half-alive and mostly dead. His spark is the maker's forge, burning bright and hot. His soul is the flame that guides lost travelers on their wayward paths. In his thoughts he is whole, he is home, he is free. If only this poor poet's mental world were true reality...

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Old 11-15-2012, 03:20 PM   #4
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"Three days. There are still a few preparations to make first. I can't help but feel like going to Abraxus' homeland is dangerous for you, especially if he still wants the collar. But I know better than to ask you to stay here."

“Andras, you know that I’d face any----“

Her words were abruptly broken off as his hand made gentle contact with her cheek. Instinctively, she turned her face into his palm and kissed it. Since they had taken Haven’s Landing from the clutches of evil that had been her brother, They had spent a lot time together. In and out of bed, much to the consternation of her uncle’s council of Elders. He leaned forward to kiss her. She met him halfway and when he retreated her fingers itched to pull him to her and tumble them both back onto the bed, scattering the clothes she had been sorting before his arrival.

"So I see you've taken to laundry since you don't have any Queen's duties to attend to..."

Even as he spoke, her fingers stole behind her, curling around a corner of a pillow that was resting not far away. She brought it up in a quick swing for his head, laughing as she did so. She cut off his words.

“Someone has to sort through my things, many of which require mending, thanks to a certain Elven Commander, who seems to have little to no patience.”

Her voice held a teasing tone then turned somber.

“Will we be taking your army with us, Commander? Or do you think they’ll stand out too much? And about Abraxus, do you think he knows about us?” She paused in thought before answering her own question, “Of course he would. He wants the collar.”

Her palms rested lightly against his shoulders as she drew quiet, thinking. Then she simply pushed against them, tumbling him back to the bed and following him down, lightly resting over him, braced up by her hands on either side of his head. Her own lowered until her lips found the side of his neck.

“Well, he can’t have it or you. Now, Commader, I think we have a bit of time. Why don’t you remind me why you are my blade….”

Her teeth sank against his neck. Her hands were already undoing his tunic and pushing it upward.
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Old 11-16-2012, 02:18 AM   #5
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Before he could answer her questions, her teeth were on his neck. He forgot everything except for her. His hands moved to help her with his tunic, making short work of it and hers. His body rolled, pinning her to the bed under his weight. He smiled and kissed her lips, moving over her cheek, her jaw, down her neck while his hands were busy between them. Supple curves were caught under his palms, kneaded and caressed.

The path of his mouth went lower, his body shifting down with it. The peaks and valley of her bosom fell under his roving touch, lips and tongue pressing and swirling on a trail that left shimmering remnants of his passing. On and on, over the toned muscles of her stomach, the curve of her ribcage. Never ceasing, even when his hands found the tie to her breeches, tugging and unlacing them enough to drag them down and off, fingertips clutching fabric and lifting her hips to remove them.

Hunger drove him. The passion she incited with just a simple bite to the neck, the fever of their couplings past returning to him in waves. The crux of her thigh and hip, the spaces just before her legs ended and her sex began; those places he planted kisses and small nibbles before he positioned himself near the foot of the bed, arms looped under her legs, wrapped around her thighs.

Warm breath and wet tongue, soft lips and firm suction, all found her center. His attention was on her for a long while, feeling her clench and writhe, drawing pleasure in ways both heard and not. Before long though, the ache in his loins was too strong to ignore. She wanted a reminder of why he was her Blade; what better way than to show her that she was not only his Light, but his Sheath?

And so he made a return trip, kissing beside her navel as his fingers undid his own pants, pushing them down and off as he made it to her pillowy lips once more. Without trying, he pressed against her, eyes locking with hers.

The collar glowed deep crimson, brighter as the crown of his manhood inched forward, separating the petals of her lover's rose. Slowly, steadily his hips rolled against her, filling her in a deliberate motion. A hint of a smile found his face. A tiny notion, as if saying Is this proof enough?

Even though this was just the beginning...
__________________
La vie n'est qu'une ombre dans l'obscurité la plus profonde

Something's gotta give...and if it's not my spine it will surely be my spirit. I only pray the splinters will shatter in such a way that every passerby takes a second to revel in my wreckage....

In the space between the sands of time and making sense he scribbles thoughts half-made and half-mad. He has written all his mind away and been left half-alive and mostly dead. His spark is the maker's forge, burning bright and hot. His soul is the flame that guides lost travelers on their wayward paths. In his thoughts he is whole, he is home, he is free. If only this poor poet's mental world were true reality...

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Old 11-16-2012, 01:45 PM   #6
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A small laugh left her as Andras rolled them, pinning her beneath his body. Her hands raked through his hair, her lips returned his kiss and her head tipped slight back against the down mattress of the bed as his mouth roamed her facial features. His hands were no slouch. They found, cupped and kneaded her full breasts which she knew filled his hands, almost to the point of overflowing. Andras, a damn fine commander of troops was also an exquisite lover.

His weight shifted. His lips and tongue tormented her flesh with a touch meant to incite her passion and he didn’t fail there either. She wiggled, squirmed beneath him, hands clutching at his shoulders or his head. Dainty fingertips trailed down his neck, across his shoulders, anything and everywhere she could touch. The muscles in her stomach contracted, making her giggle slightly as his lips and tongue teased her there. Humor was soon lost in a soft moan. His hands made short efficient work of her breeches. Hips arched off the bed so as not to impede the removal of them. Kisses and nips of teeth made her twist slightly in his hold. Wanton sounds of pleasure echoed around the room. Sounds she didn’t even attempt to muffle. His arms slid under her thighs. More than capable hands, spread her open. She wasn’t a tall thing but rather petite. Her hands couldn’t reach him. Instead, they fisted the rumpled bedcovers under her. Her body grew taut with anticipation. He didn’t disappoint. Her neck extended as her head arched backwards on the bed. Talented, sinful tongue, warm breath, supple lips and the right amount of devastating suction to her core, turned her into an instantaneous flow against his face. Her hips rose and fell across the bed. He drew her whimpers. Her cries of passion. She was panting by the time his lips left her, traveling a path back up to her own lips. She could taste herself on his lips and tongue. With eyes held, she felt him slide into her. Her hips rose to meet him. Her core opening warmly and with welcome as he forged their bodies into one. Her legs locked around his as they rocked together.

Her Blade. His Sheath. Her Strength. His Light.

He lay atop her, replete, sated. How long had they been this time? A half hour? An hour? She didn’t care. She was drowsy with satisfaction. Her fingers, which had been running up and down his spine in a leisurely gesture, rose and delivered a quick smack on his bare arse. Her lips found his ear.

“We’re not getting anything done this way, Commander. You have preparations to see to and I need to resume sorting clothes for our journey.”

Their reward for their last journey had been the relaxed atmosphere to enjoy each other in. The sands of that time were slowly running out. There was adventure, intrigue and danger waiting out in the world for them. Abraxus needed to be stopped. The man had gone mad and madness, in and of itself, was dangerous. What had started out as a simple plan to avenge his father, had turned into something graver. More important. A muscle twitched in her jaw. She didn’t like the idea of dealing with an Arcane. Her last encounter with one had almost scarred her for life. Hell’s dominion, it had almost killed her.

From across the room, standing in a corner, the gem in the cross guard of one sword twinkled. In its twin, resting beside the other, the same gem, lodged in exactly the same place, flashed once then dimmed. Neither of the elves on the bed noticed….
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Old 11-17-2012, 03:25 AM   #7
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The tranquility of their hereafter was suddenly jolted by her solid spank. For such a dainty thing, she held much power. He nearly jumped, but held his ground. The smile he gave her spoke of retribution for that later. At present, though, she was right. There were still preparation to be made for their voyage. The entire army would not be welcomed in Xin Sheng, nor would it make sense to cart the entirety of Andras' forces to a foreign land without guarantee of a safe return. He would bring a force with him, consisting of his trusted captains, now generals in their own regard.

Andras dressed slowly and leaned down to kiss Elana once more before departing her chamber. The maidservant he bumped into just giggled and stepped aside so he could pass. He still wasn't sure what was thought of their relationship. It was certainly unorthodox. Mostly, he didn't care what other people thought of them being together. They would be and that was all that mattered.

It was a short time later when he entered the pavilion tent that housed much of his battle schematics and maps. His generals sat around a wooden table, laden with various cartography. Koreg was busy leafing through notes taken by scholars of Xin Sheng's customs and communities. Mulgar was poring over a map of Xin Sheng's capital, doing his best to look like a professional appraiser. Dreggar sat with his arms crossed, staring off into space.

Since the death of his twin brother, the young orc had seemed less jovial. His sense of humor was still there, but there was a certain spring to his step that was missing now. He wore his brother's dagger on his hip at all times, in remembrance.

With Andras' arrival, the true planning could begin. The three orcs, plus 30 of their best men would accompany the two elves on their journey. Enough of a force to make a presence known, but not enough to cause commotion. The ship awaiting them would leave from the port town of Orianthi and arrive in Xin Sheng along the southern coast. From there, the path was unknown. One could only assume that the capital held the answers to all their questions.

"Commander, it seems advisable to try and skirt around as much of the Vlingari territory as possible. The jungle is not a welcoming place. It would only add a few days, a week at most, to our destination."

"We don't have that kind of time, Koreg. Unfortunately, we'll have to barrel through these unkind climes. If we give Abraxus enough time to work on whatever scheme I'm sure he's hatching, then we might arrive too late, or fall into a trap. We've left it go long enough."

"Yeah...this guy needs to take the big fall, and quick."

"Who asked you, Dreggar?"

"Mulgar, calm down. What intelligence have you managed to glean about the capital?

"There's not a whole lot. It's called Shei Jin, and it's supposedly the most heavily fortified city in the world. It's supposed to draw treasure hunters from all over to try and break into the various vaults and secret hiding places of the ruling family. Rumors and hearsay abound about the city's walls shifting and changing, the streets running like water into new configurations on a daily basis. Nothing that I'd really put any stock in..."

"Alright. Then we'll just focus on crossing the jungles and swamps, getting to Orianthi and crossing the Raven Sea."

The meeting adjourned and the rest of the preparations went without interruption. On the third day, their departure day, Andras knocked again at Elana's door. The morning sun had just peeked over the parapets of the castle's keep. He cracked the door, easing the creaky wood open and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

"Good morning, my Light. We leave in half an hour. The weather is quite favorable, and it looks as though it will hold throughout our journey eastward."

He smiled as his eyes fell upon her. It was hard to suppress the joy he felt just being near her. The collar strobed a soft purple, fading into a jade green. Andras would figure out what each color meant, someday. For now he took it to simply mean peace and eagerness. Andras' hand rested idly on his sword's hilt, arm bent and at ease while he leaned back against the door to her chamber.
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La vie n'est qu'une ombre dans l'obscurité la plus profonde

Something's gotta give...and if it's not my spine it will surely be my spirit. I only pray the splinters will shatter in such a way that every passerby takes a second to revel in my wreckage....

In the space between the sands of time and making sense he scribbles thoughts half-made and half-mad. He has written all his mind away and been left half-alive and mostly dead. His spark is the maker's forge, burning bright and hot. His soul is the flame that guides lost travelers on their wayward paths. In his thoughts he is whole, he is home, he is free. If only this poor poet's mental world were true reality...

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Old 11-19-2012, 01:55 AM   #8
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"Good morning, my Light. We leave in half an hour. The weather is quite favorable, and it looks as though it will hold throughout our journey eastward."

She had just finished tying closed her pack when he entered. His voice brought her head up, a smile on her lips.

“Good timing, Commander. I just finished packing.”

She was dressed in a flowing tunic of green with silver buttons down the front. She wore leather leggings under it, these were tucked into a pair of finely tooled boots that came just below her knees. She left her pack on the bed and went to don her swords, strapping them to her back. Their familiar weight gave her a sense of security. Her back was to him though she was aware of him and where he was standing. Elana stood looking out of a window, out at the bailey and beyond. In the distance, she could barely make out the sea. The very one they would be crossing to strange lands and by the earth, who knew what else they would find. Trouble? Easily. Death? A probability. Their mission was twofold. Justice for Andras’ father and stopping Abraxus before his insanity could affect the world as they knew it. She also had a personal grudge for the star marked monks. She hadn’t forgotten they were going to remove her head from her shoulders. They would have removed her from Andras’ reach and that, was unforgiveable in her mind. She turned away from the window and crossed the room toward him, stopping by her bed to shoulder her pack. Stopping on front of him, she went up on her tiptoes and lightly brushed her lips across his.

“I’m ready when you are, my heart. I’m assuming Grensha is coming with us?”

The old orc elder had proven to be invaluable to Andras and eventually, to her as well. The old woman had surprised them both with her knowledge. Elana remembered she hadn’t cared for orcs at all. They had been little more than beasts to her but she had learned differently. She had come to see them as a people. She had come to respect and admire them. She had fought with them and beside them. She had mourned with them. She still worried over Dreggar, though she never showed it. Orcs respected strength but she could never forget how his twin had died or for whom. She also never forgot that they would turn on the commander they respected and followed if he showed an ounce of weakness. They were taking Andras’ three generals (as if he had any choice in the matter. If he had chosen to leave them behind, there would have been an uproar, she was sure of it) and thirty members of the orc army. She almost felt sorry for Abraxus. She would wade into a fight with only thirty-three orcs any time.
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Old 11-19-2012, 03:40 PM   #9
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They left her chambers side by side, coming out into the courtyard still in stride with one another. The contingency of orcs was already mounted and ready to go. They did not tend to ride horses, but in this case, the time they had to cover the distance was a factor. Andras mounted his steed, grasping the reins and ushering his horse to the front of their group. Even Grensha was on horseback, the elder orc looking just as at ease as the elven commander.

There were no speeches this time. No great words of inspiration. Just a nod and a signal to begin their trek. The mid-morning sun shone brightly over Haven's Landing, casting a warm and inviting glow over the fields that they rode through. The sound of hoofbeats and the wind were all that flooded Andras' ears. In his mind, thoughts of the unknown plagued him. The lands to the east weren't familiar territory, and beyond that, the sea. An even grander mystery to him. He'd seen it once, been on a beach by the coast. Long ago, when he was still learning to walk and talk. But he remembered the sand, the salty air. It had been comforting then. Now, the memory only brought him trepidation.

By early evening, they had covered much ground. The sun was retreating below the horizon; it would be time to make camp for the night soon. They stole every bit of distance they could before stopping. Tents and a main fire were set up efficiently, watches chosen, meals prepared. Andras sat staring at the flickering flames, mind still preoccupied with the gravity of the situation.

Grensha hobbled by, tapping her walking stick to his arm in greeting. His amethyst gaze turned up to see her, a hand gesturing for her to sit next to him.

"You seem to be carrying a lot in that head of yours...what burdens you so?"

"It's just...this was all for revenge. To right the wrong done to my father. Now, it's far more important."

"Yes, but things are never quite as they seem, elf. There are always hidden facets to things we see. We are not so plain as you would like to believe."

"You're always so cryptic."

"It is my way."

"So it is..."

"You have much courage in you. Because you fight not for you, not even for your father. You fight for her."

Andras' eyes followed Grensha's tipped head, landing squarely on Elana, making sure that her pack was properly prepared and cinched. Her swords were still strapped to her back, the gems on each catching and reflecting the fire-light. He smiled. It was mostly true. He still wanted to make the star-marked monks pay for what they'd done, but they had threatened her life directly. That was their greatest crime. And so if Abraxus had given them that goal, then he was their ringleader, and must be brought low to answer for it.

"Don't focus too hard on the sea and that beyond. Especially when we've yet to cross into Vlingari territory. Get some rest, elf. Tomorrow's another day."

Grensha used her stick to rise from her seat and wandered off to her own tent. Andras still had many questions for the elder orc, but they would have to wait. For now she was right; he had to consider the Vlingari and the dangers they posed. Their land was as savage as they were, twisted beasts and aberrations roamed the jungle, feeding on whatever was too weak or slow to escape. For as much as the populace disliked orcs for their ferocity, the creatures that roamed the Vlingari territory were worse.

His eyes fell on Elana again and his fears took a backseat to the feeling of peace and contentment she gave him. She truly was his Light, even in the depths of darkness. When she happened to glance his direction, he smiled and beckoned her over. Perhaps talking to her would help assuage even more of his worry.
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La vie n'est qu'une ombre dans l'obscurité la plus profonde

Something's gotta give...and if it's not my spine it will surely be my spirit. I only pray the splinters will shatter in such a way that every passerby takes a second to revel in my wreckage....

In the space between the sands of time and making sense he scribbles thoughts half-made and half-mad. He has written all his mind away and been left half-alive and mostly dead. His spark is the maker's forge, burning bright and hot. His soul is the flame that guides lost travelers on their wayward paths. In his thoughts he is whole, he is home, he is free. If only this poor poet's mental world were true reality...

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Old 11-24-2012, 03:18 PM   #10
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They walked out of the castle side by side. She paused a moment to look around, still in disbelief that this was all hers. Their horses stood quietly, awaiting them. The company of orcs that Andras’ generals had chosen to accompany them, were mounted and simply waiting on him to lead. Grensha was astride a gentle mare also waiting them. Elana caught her eye and dipped her head in respect to the Elder. She might be a grumpy one but Elana knew she was fond of Andras and perhaps had earned a bit of it for herself.

Elana strode to her mount, removed her pack and secured it to her horse before she swung gracefully up into the saddle, shifting slightly as she took up the reins. Andras moved to the front of the line. Elana brought her horse beside his. They rode together in companionable silence, but she felt that her commander was troubled about something.

At the day’s end, her backside ached, reminding her that they had traveled a far distance this day. It further reminded her that the first leg of their journey depended upon the whim of wind and tide. Time was of the essence here. Glancing toward the sky as she dismounted her horse, she was drawn to the beauty of the setting sun. As it started its continual descent past the horizon, it left a wake of muted colors, purples and blues and closer to the orb itself, were an array of reds and oranges. It left a sense of well-being inside her. Elana groomed her horse as tents were put up, the cook fire started. She spoke in soft undertones to her steed, who’s ear flickered as its tail swished idly to and fro. One by one, Elana lifted its feet, checking for lodged stones that could and would easily lame a horse. A quick glance in Andras’ direction and she had caught his eye. He gestured for her to join him and she gave him a quick smile and nod before she turned again, putting a light blanket on her horse. The night air was getting chilly, far chiller than if they had been inland. She nonchalantly wondered what Andras and Grensha were talking about.

As if she felt his eyes upon her, Elana turned. He gestured again, for her to join him. With a slight smile and affection in her eyes, she did just that. Her hand trailed across the back of his shoulders as she came around to sit beside him.

“Do you realize Commander, that your army no longer sets up my tent. They set up your tent, for the both of us.”

She laughed a little as she sat down, her hand finding his thigh and giving it a squeeze.

“What were you and Grensha speaking of so seriously?”
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Old 11-25-2012, 03:44 PM   #11
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"Just discussing the dangers of the Vlingari territory and the greater scope of our mission. She's a wise old crone, that one. But I still feel like she's keeping something else hidden. I'm sure she'll reveal it to us when she's ready."

Andras' eyes moved to the solitary tent beside the fire. He smiled then, draping an arm around her waist, leaning his head against Elana's.

"Yes, I had noticed. With all that's transpired, it seems only fitting. I'm sure some back in Haven's Landing would be as perturbed by it as my visits to your bedchamber..."

The moon was high in the sky. Even the orcs were preparing to bed down for the night. Andras stood and offered a hand to Elana, leading them both to his tent for the evening. The night went by uneventfully, naught but the sounds of the wind and night creatures hooting or calling to one another occasionally.

The next day dawned just as calmly, the orcs cleaning up camp and getting on the trail quickly. The good weather continued right up until they met the border of the Vlingari territory. The skies grayed, an ominous thunderhead leading the charge that overtook the sun.

"A bad omen, but not one that can be helped. We must continue."

Andras nodded to Grensha and gave the order to move into the marsh that they found themselves before. The horses were none too happy to slog through the mire, but they made decent time nonetheless. Just as Andras was set to call a halt for the day, a rumble shook the ground, rippling the waters that swirled about their horses' hooves. All eyes went to their perimeter, seeking the source of the commotion. Nothing could be seen in the overcast gloom. The earth trembled again, a pair of glowing crimson eyes peering through the murky waters of the marsh.

"Dismount. We don't want to be on these horses when whatever that thing is spooks them..."

No sooner had their feet met the muddy ground than the beast reared its head up out of the deeper water. It was a great wedge of teeth, a maw the size of one of the horses easily. It stood on six stocky legs, covered in scales that shimmered an iridescent gray-green. A mighty tail whipped back and forth as it roared, snapping at them. Andras and his men drew their weapons. It seemed the danger would begin now.
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La vie n'est qu'une ombre dans l'obscurité la plus profonde

Something's gotta give...and if it's not my spine it will surely be my spirit. I only pray the splinters will shatter in such a way that every passerby takes a second to revel in my wreckage....

In the space between the sands of time and making sense he scribbles thoughts half-made and half-mad. He has written all his mind away and been left half-alive and mostly dead. His spark is the maker's forge, burning bright and hot. His soul is the flame that guides lost travelers on their wayward paths. In his thoughts he is whole, he is home, he is free. If only this poor poet's mental world were true reality...

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Old 11-27-2012, 11:52 PM   #12
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She had her own thoughts about Grensha but she kept them to herself, for now.

“Haven’s Landing wouldn’t say a thing in public about their queen,” Elana chuckled, “but I bet what they say in private is altogether another matter.”

Elana’s voice was amused. She hardly cared what the people may think of her relationship with Andras. She was sure there was plenty speculation about the collar she wore about her throat as well. She never went out of her way to hide it, after all. They spoke quietly a while longer before her Elven Commander held out his hand to her. She placed her own in it and together, they rose, moving inside the tent to get some sleep. It had been a long day of travel and they still had a bit to go.

She had slept peacefully in Andras’ arms with the night sounds in her ear and woke to gray skies that were thunder ridden. The Vlingari territory. A cloud had slid between the sun and the band of riders, sending a shiver through Elana. She wrinkled her nose at the smell wafting from the marsh, still, when Andras gave the order to move forward, some had to fight their mounts for control. The fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Her eyes spied nothing alarming but the feeling wouldn’t go away.

Then it came, the rumble that shook the ground, causing the horses to shift uneasily as the water churned around their hooves. Eyes cast around the waters. Nothing could be seen. Another quiver of the ground beneath the water came. This time, as they all glanced about, they seemed to see it simultaneously, a pair of crimson glowing eyes.

"Dismount. We don't want to be on these horses when whatever that thing is spooks them..."

The men were already swinging off their mounts. Elana among them. She drew one sword from its sheath as she did so. The water retreated and then surged forward as the thing with the crimson eyes surged out of the water, rising up on six thick legs covered in scales with a tail that angrily thrashed back and forth. With one eye on that tail, Elana shifted so she was standing behind Andras and to the beast’s side. The beast roared, snapping those ugly lethal teeth at them. The orcs were more than ready for a fight. With weapons raised, a war cry rose, echoing through the marsh, as they dashed forward to meet the beast head on. It’s thick neck extended as it’s jaw snapped at the orcs that hacked at the beast then danced out of the way of those teeth. Elana rushed forward with the rest, but her eyes were set on its hind quarters. Take out its legs, make it immobile and the rest should be a piece of cake. Her arm cocked back across her torso before she propelled it forward. Her sword sang as it cut through the air. Her blow missed its mark as the beast stomped and surged forward toward the taunting orcs. Her swear words were lost among the grunts and cries of the orcs. This time she used a backhanded swing to the back of a leg. Her sword’s edge lodged into scales. She didn’t have time to jerk it free. A few of the orc joined her. Their weapons tearing into the scales and jerking them free. The beast roared in pain. Elana reached over her shoulder and drew her other blade and dashed under the beast’s belly.
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Old 11-29-2012, 02:29 AM   #13
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The thud of steel on scale rattled the air, every orc swinging ferociously to try and fell the beast that thrashed about in the muck, flinging mud and debris everywhere. The mighty jaws of the behemoth snapped and nearly chomped down on several men, but luck would spare them in this fight.

Andras, for his own part, swung with as much determination at the beast, his steel singing as it sliced the air and the thick hide of the monster. It was bleeding from many deep cuts and while it still moved with great strength, it really stood no chance at victory.

Or so they thought.

The more the wounds wept, the more violent the thrashing of its tail became. It whipped like a tree trunk tossed in a storm, knocking ten men off their feet easily, sending them sailing across the marsh. The stirred in the muddy water, rising slowly to their feet. They looked dazed, but not out of the fight.

As the night crept in, Andras knew that they'd need to end this soon. He called to Mulgar and Koreg, reminding them of the monster of Elgar's that they'd outwitted to slay. This time they'd have more support. They swung into action, mounting the beast and hacking at the meaty hock of its neck. It's wedged head couldn't reach back far enough to snag them. Axes and swords found new homes in the vertebrae of the beast.

Even with such mortal wounds, the creature refused to fall. Andras looked for Elana; she was nowhere to be seen. His brow furrowed; he could feel she was near, and unharmed, but the danger of this situation still set an unease in the pit of his stomach. His attention was jerked back to the beast as it continued to snap at he and his two orc generals while they bludgeoned its thick neck.
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La vie n'est qu'une ombre dans l'obscurité la plus profonde

Something's gotta give...and if it's not my spine it will surely be my spirit. I only pray the splinters will shatter in such a way that every passerby takes a second to revel in my wreckage....

In the space between the sands of time and making sense he scribbles thoughts half-made and half-mad. He has written all his mind away and been left half-alive and mostly dead. His spark is the maker's forge, burning bright and hot. His soul is the flame that guides lost travelers on their wayward paths. In his thoughts he is whole, he is home, he is free. If only this poor poet's mental world were true reality...

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Old 12-01-2012, 05:37 PM   #14
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The beast was heaving from above her. It was constantly shifting, stomping its feet. Mud and water were flying everywhere. They weren’t making much headway attacking the way they had been, although the orcs were causing damage by the sheer force of determination and brute force. It was the scales that was impeding them but Elana had a thought. Most creatures with scales had a weak spot. However, trying to keep herself from being stepped on and trying to find that weak point was proving to be a daunting task.

The beast gave a deafening roar and staggered. It was stubborn however and still hadn’t fallen. Elana wasn’t sure what was going on above her, but the beast’s movements became frenzied. From the way it was moving, it was swinging its head. Elana’s eyes searched its underbelly. There! She reversed her grip on her sword, tip pointed heavenward and shoved it upward with all the strength she could muster. Tightening her grip on the grip, she pulled it along the belly. There was a thin line where the scales parted as the beast thrashed about. It was not an easy task. The scales clamped onto the sword’s edge and lifted Elana off her feet. She clung to the sword and gave it a forceful tug, pulling it free of the creature’s body. She fell a couple of feet to the ground and had managed to get to her knees before the beast started to topple over. Quick reflexes made her roll quickly out from under it and just in time. Blood and the creature’s guts started to pour onto the ground. She heard a low animalistic groan and felt the ground shake with a thud with the downed creature’s body. She was soaked to the skin by water, mud and blood but otherwise, unharmed. Elana took a knee and leaned her arm across it, head bowed as she drew in breath. Staggering to her feet, she moved around the felled beast and yanked her other sword free from its hindquarters. Using the back of her hand, which swiped a path of mud across her forehead, she brushed back a stray strand of hair before she resheathed her swords.

She had a sinking feeling that this journey was going to task them greatly. There was a sinking feeling in her belly as she went in search of Andras.
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Old 12-02-2012, 11:56 PM   #15
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The beast gave a great roar, much louder than any previous sounds it had made. It lost balance, tipping to one side. The three on its back managed to leap from their perches and land with a splash in the muck and mire, soaked to the skin with more of the foul waters of the marsh. The monster lay still, the muddy waters tinted crimson, a cloud of its blood billowing out from the wound at its belly. Andras scanned the surroundings, searching for Elana.

Grateful aubergine eyes fell on her form, breathing heavily and caked in mud. Her swords weren't drawn, a clear sign of her part in the death of the monstrous lizard. He smiled at her, taking long strides to reach her side. He hugged her tightly, keeping her held close for several long moments.

"Well done, my Light. Quick thinking and a swift blade have won us this battle. The only unfortunate fact is that we'll have to travel further now to reach a safe campsite."

Grensha was already ordering some of the men to carve chunks from the beast. Many more took a section of scales as a trophy. Koreg and Mulgar each took one of the beast's teeth, tucking them into their bedrolls as they were too big to fit into a pack. After they'd taken what they could from the monster, they gathered their things and all the horses that hadn't run too far off. Those left without a mount slogged through the marsh. The water got deeper, then petered out to barely a puddle here and there. The jungle's edge was near, but rather than venture into its darkening depths, Andras called a halt there.

"We'll make camp here and resume on the morrow. Get some rest men, and well done."

While the tents were set up, Andras went to Grensha to ask if she'd ever seen a beast like that before. She hadn't, but had a guess as to its origin.

"Seems likely that it's a descendant of the drakes that used to roam Orenthal. The brethren of dragons, just as hardy but without the fearsome magical power."

Andras nodded, returning to his...no his and Elana's tent. He didn't see her within. As tired as he was, he decided to simply enter and strip down, peeling the muddied clothes from his body, casting them into a pile in a corner. The night was cool, the cloud cover was breaking, and a soft breeze blew across the expanse of the camp.

His muscles ached and his mind was whirling with thoughts of more dangers ahead of them. They'd handled this first test with relative ease, but if things got much more intense, he worried for their safety and the success of their mission. His mind turned and roiled with doubts, but then he looked up at a small sound. His lips curled into a smile. She was always a bright spot. No matter how depressed he felt, how concerned he was, she could always give him hope. Maybe it was the fact that they'd been through so much together, maybe it was just the fact that he...

His smile quirked at his last thought. He loved her. Completely, without question. It was that love that kept him going, made him want to protect her from every evil the world could throw at them.

Andras propped himself up on his elbows, waiting for her to join him.
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La vie n'est qu'une ombre dans l'obscurité la plus profonde

Something's gotta give...and if it's not my spine it will surely be my spirit. I only pray the splinters will shatter in such a way that every passerby takes a second to revel in my wreckage....

In the space between the sands of time and making sense he scribbles thoughts half-made and half-mad. He has written all his mind away and been left half-alive and mostly dead. His spark is the maker's forge, burning bright and hot. His soul is the flame that guides lost travelers on their wayward paths. In his thoughts he is whole, he is home, he is free. If only this poor poet's mental world were true reality...

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Old 12-04-2012, 01:37 PM   #16
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She found herself enveloped into a tight hug, her face buried against his chest for a moment. She allowed herself to enjoy it, inhaling his scent deeply. Her arm slipped around his waist, fingers curling into his side as she half turned to watch Grensha give the orcs instructions about cutting away some of the meat from the beast.

"Well done, my Light. Quick thinking and a swift blade have won us this battle. The only unfortunate fact is that we'll have to travel further now to reach a safe campsite."

“It was a joint effort, Commander.”

She grinned and squeezed him. It was a simple moment then it was back to business as usual. She was one of the lucky ones. Her horses hadn’t gone far. She located him, gathered the reins and swung herself up into the saddle. She paused before one of the orcs left on foot and held out an arm. He hesitated a moment, then grasped her arm, swinging himself up behind her. Elana bit back a smile. His willingness to do so demonstrated his acceptance of her. Apparently, she was earning her place among them. They traveled in silence and in deference to her riding companion, she slipped back amongst the troops.

They had cleared the marsh when Andras called a halt for the night. None too soon for her. While the men set up the tents, she saw to her horse. She needed a bath and a change of clothing. Her nose wrinkled as the fragrant odor of marsh water filled her nostrils. Short of bathing in the marsh water, which was not an option, she would simply have to make due. Shouldering her saddlebags, she made her way to the tent she shared with Andras. There was little sense in setting up two tents, she never used her own. Besides, after the days spent in Haven’s Landing, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind where she belonged or who she was sleeping with.

Pushing aside the tent flap, Elana stepped into the interior of their tent and stopped. Her eyes finding him unerringly. She smiled, letting the saddlebags slip from her shoulder before she gently nudged them aside. Her eyes wandered appreciatively over him even as she rolled her shoulders. Now that the little skirmish with a beastie was past, her muscles were letting her know they were there. She stood there and started to unbraid her hair.

“I gather Grensha is concocting some sort of meal out of that lizard.”

She chuckled, shaking her head, amusement glinting in her eyes.

“Some part of me relishes the idea of eating that beast and another part revolts at the thought of it.”

Her fingers ruffled her hair as she stepped toward him and sat down, tugging off her boots. Turing her head, she leaned toward him, brushing her lips across his.

“I also would like a bath to remove the stench of marsh water and lizard guts from my skin but bathing in the marsh would not be a sound idea.”

Elana rolled her neck. First one way, then the other before she tugged her tunic over her head and tossed it into a shadowy corner. Her hips lifted as she made short work of the breeches too. She glanced at him mid motion of tossing the pants toward the corner to join her tunic.

“What are you smiling about, My Blade?”
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Old 12-05-2012, 01:40 AM   #17
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"She's mentioned some sort of stew and lots and lots of jerky. She says with the right spices it will be delicious. I'm just hoping for palatable. I share your joy and revulsion about that creature, but it will be better than running out of food too early in the journey.

Ah, yes a bath would be nice..."

His eyes had adjusted to the relative dark of the tent, wandering over her exposed skin, seeing the traces of mud and blood and marsh grass. He couldn't stop his smile if he tried. Even dirtied as she was, she still held great beauty. Managing to tear his gaze away long enough brought amethyst eyes on the large basin of water they'd put in his tent. A bath honestly hadn't even crossed his mind, but now that she'd mentioned it, it sounded divine. He returned his eyes to her, following the line of her leg and curve of her hip up and beyond to her face.

"The simple answer is you, my dear. And that bath you desire isn't so far from your grasp."

Andras tilted his head in the direction of the basin. There were an abundance of towels laid around it. The muck of the marsh would be hard to scrub off, and many changes in cloth would be necessary. He sat up then, though his muscles protested, rising to his feet and taking the few strides over to Elana. With practiced ease his hands found her waist and his lips found hers.

"Shall we?"
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La vie n'est qu'une ombre dans l'obscurité la plus profonde

Something's gotta give...and if it's not my spine it will surely be my spirit. I only pray the splinters will shatter in such a way that every passerby takes a second to revel in my wreckage....

In the space between the sands of time and making sense he scribbles thoughts half-made and half-mad. He has written all his mind away and been left half-alive and mostly dead. His spark is the maker's forge, burning bright and hot. His soul is the flame that guides lost travelers on their wayward paths. In his thoughts he is whole, he is home, he is free. If only this poor poet's mental world were true reality...

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Old 12-07-2012, 03:37 PM   #18
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Her eyes wandered over him, the parts she allowed her eyes to wander over. Why was it, that when they were alone all she could see and think about was him? He lightened her heart when shadows fell over it and when he touched her, she just wanted to melt right into him. His hands found her waist, urging her closer to his body as his lips found hers. Her palms found his chest and pressed into the firmness there as her fingers splayed across the expanse of his skin. Elana could feel his heart beating beneath her palms.

"Shall we?"

A small smile flinted across her lips as they meandered from his own to press lingering kisses to his jaw, making their way down to his neck, where they paused here and there to let the tip of her tongue swirl against his skin. The night was young and so were they. Well, as young as elves were considered. Elana tipped her head back, giving him a teasing grin.

“I’m way ahead of you, love and as much as I hate to admit it, you smell of offal and stinky marsh water. Not exactly the smell I most enjoy on you. “

If he had found his tongue and asked, her reply would have simply been. Me. Instead, she smiled into his eyes and spoke in a tone barely above a whisper, as if anything louder would have broken the mood between them.

“I get to go first.”

She didn’t give him time to say anything or react. Turning, she picked up one of the cloths, dipped it in a basin of water, wringing the excess water from it before she turned back to her blade and began to clean his skin, starting at his neck. The cloth swiped across his skin, dipped into the basin and was wrung out, time and time again until the color of the material was dark and couldn’t be washed away. Another was sought and the process began again. After each stroke of cloth, against clean smelling skin, her lips traveled over it, tasting. Tasting him.

Her efforts moved to his chest and trailed lower until she was kneeling in front of him. With deliberation, she drew near his manhood and with only the slightest hesitation, bypassed it to see to his legs. Again, the cloths dipped and moved across his legs, followed by lips and the trailing of her teeth. Fingernails grazed up along hardened corded leg muscles then paused as another cloth was fetched, moistened in a basin of water and applied this time to the growing length of his shaft. It was discarded, dropped to the floor of their tent as her lips found him, sliding wetly up along the extended length of him to the sloping head. She paused there for a tiny moment before the flat side of her tongue, slipped over the sensitive cap to his hardened length. Her tongue made a broad sweep, swirling across the surface only to return to the portal from which his seed sprang from. She found a taste of him there and lapped it up, brushing it to the roof of her mouth before the wickedness of her tongue moved on, sliding down the far sided length of him. One hand found the back of his thigh. The other encircled the base of his manhood, holding him captive while her lips and tongue continued their sweet torture. They moved lower, exploring him, exploring the heavy sac that dangled between his legs. Her lips parted to take one side between them, rolling it gently against her tongue before releasing it to capture the other side. Equal treatment was always something she believed in. Her hand, still resting at the base, slipped up to stroke the span of his erection with slow and easy movements as her lips parted wider, taking both skin enclosed spheres into her mouth and rolling them around against her tongue. She abandoned her attentions but only to drawn the length of him between her lips, letting him slip across her tongue. Her head lowered with slow easy strokes until she could feel him at the back of her throat. The muscles there began to gently milk him as her palms slipped up to his buttocks, urging him forward. Deeper.
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Old 12-08-2012, 02:01 AM   #19
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Andras watched his Light with bated breath as she took to bathing him. It was quite the site, her practiced hands wringing the towel and swiping away the accumulated grime, replacing it with the scent of soap and the soft caress of her lips. When she knelt before him, his eyes went a bit wide. It was certainly not the first time she'd been in such a position, but it still gave him pause. Her cleaning never ceased, even when she was presented with the burgeoning of his manhood.

A swift intake of breath, a fluttering of his eyes overtook him as she suckled at his scrotum, taking and teasing as she tasted him and the pearls of his arousal. His calves clenched, nearly bringing him up on tiptoes as she swooped down, engulfing his length, fingernails digging into his buttocks as if bracing and beckoning at the same time. He obliged her with a rock of his hips, a single hand losing itself in the tangle of her curly hair. His grasp there guided, never forcing her further than she could go while giving her every inch she could take.

It was not long before he could feel the intensity of sensation that heralded orgasm. He breathed her name like a silent prayer.

"Elana...."

He could not find words beyond that, trusting their connection and the signals of his body to warn her of what she was bringing out of him.
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La vie n'est qu'une ombre dans l'obscurité la plus profonde

Something's gotta give...and if it's not my spine it will surely be my spirit. I only pray the splinters will shatter in such a way that every passerby takes a second to revel in my wreckage....

In the space between the sands of time and making sense he scribbles thoughts half-made and half-mad. He has written all his mind away and been left half-alive and mostly dead. His spark is the maker's forge, burning bright and hot. His soul is the flame that guides lost travelers on their wayward paths. In his thoughts he is whole, he is home, he is free. If only this poor poet's mental world were true reality...

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Old 12-08-2012, 09:47 PM   #20
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She drew him to the back of her throat, the muscles there, gently milking him. Her fingers curled and dug into the fleshy globes of his buttocks. Her mouth swallowed him to the base of his shaft, momentarily held him there before retreating to the crown, again, holding him imprisoned there while her tongue tormented the sensitive head. The only relief he received was when she slid the entire length of him back into her mouth and touched the back of her throat, if that could be called relief.

"Elana...."

Her name dropped from his lips like a fevered prayer. Elana barely heard him, so lost was she in the moment of pleasuring her Blade, her heart, her love. His urgency translated to her, causing her mouth to love him with an increased pace. Short, hard strokes were countered with longer deeper ones, though the pace of her mouth’s comings and goings never faltered, if anything, her movements were more frequent. She knew the joy of his mouth pleasuring her and she wanted him to have that same pleasure from her.

She felt his fingers tangling in her hair as his hips rocked against her lips. Her hands slipped down from his buttocks to the back of his thighs where she could feel the corded muscles there tighten in anticipation of his release. The underside of his shaft slid along the surface of her tongue. She stroked it as she applied a gentle suction to draw him to the roof of her mouth. She urged him to give her what she wanted, the very essence of himself.
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Old 12-09-2012, 03:21 PM   #21
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Deep and slow, hungry and fast, alternating until his body would no longer succumb to his mind's fervent effort to prolong this moment. Like a geyser, hot jets of his seed filling her mouth, coating her tongue. Every single muscle in Andras' body was taut as a bowstring, even his fingers clenched the cloud of Elana's hair, frozen in those few moments of exquisite passion and reward.

As with most good things, his high came down, but that only left him with a wicked smile and a firm but gentle tugging on his Light's tresses. He brought her to her feet, lips finding hers. There was a trace of his masculinity on her tongue, but his mind was in another world.

"My turn."

His only two words as he took hold of a clean cloth, soaked it in the water, thankfully still warm to the touch. Wrung out and swiped across her skin, cleansing the slender column of her throat, removing any trace of dirt and debris from the delicate line of her collarbones. He did not leave her with kisses, instead he followed his cleaning path with the drag of fingertips, watching the minute bumps of goose-flesh rising in his wake. Desirous amethyst eyes roved over every inch of her; each new cloth following along a curve or line, revealing pale skin from the brown of marsh and sweat. Like uncovering a marble sculpture from its clay casting, he brought about her unhindered nakedness, front and back. He was brought to kneel as he swept lower, looking upward to catch Elana's eye as his hand trailed from her left ankle to calf, cloth then barest of fingernail, drawing up and up. Both legs done in turn, leaving just the curvaceous expanse of her hips. From his vantage, he could breathe in the scent of her. Feminine, subtle, yet maddening. There was no hesitation as he set aside the final cloth, still kneeling before his woman, his purpose, his Goddess. It was as though he was making an offering to her. Giving a gift in the form of his warm breaths and the soft caress of his hands, rushing upward with determination to rest at the tops of her thighs. His lips were a whisper's breadth from her mound, that short distance feeling like a mile until he finally brought down the first of many kisses, dancing their way over and around in a slow spiral that brought him closer and closer to her sex. The taste, the sight, the smell. He was consumed by her. The tent fell away, the water, the battle, the future. There was only this; pleasing her.
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La vie n'est qu'une ombre dans l'obscurité la plus profonde

Something's gotta give...and if it's not my spine it will surely be my spirit. I only pray the splinters will shatter in such a way that every passerby takes a second to revel in my wreckage....

In the space between the sands of time and making sense he scribbles thoughts half-made and half-mad. He has written all his mind away and been left half-alive and mostly dead. His spark is the maker's forge, burning bright and hot. His soul is the flame that guides lost travelers on their wayward paths. In his thoughts he is whole, he is home, he is free. If only this poor poet's mental world were true reality...

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Old 12-10-2012, 10:28 PM   #22
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She drank him down, swallowing every single drop he poured into her ravenous mouth, until there was nothing left to give. Her tongue stroked him gently as the suction of her mouth eased up and she felt a tug on her hair. She drew upwards, along his body. His lips found hers and she leaned into him, pressing her body against his without forethought until her lungs demanded air.

"My turn."

There was hint of wicked mischief in his tone, but it was the promise she heard. A tingle slid down her spine. Her eyes quietly watched him dip a cloth in the warm water and then turn to her. Her head tilted back slightly as the cloth in his hands drew down her neck. His knowledgeable fingers moved in the wake of the cleaning cloth. Elana felt the goose bumps rise on her skin. She tried to remain still and found it difficult to. If his fingers weren’t torturous enough, she watched his eyes roam over her through her own half-lidded eyes. Heat started to pool between her thighs, deep in her core. He took his time, removing the grime and the smell of marsh from her skin. Each cloth followed her lines and curves, making her shift from one foot to the other. There wasn’t a single part of her left untouched by his cloths.

Oh, sweet merciful stars. He knelt before her. Amethyst gaze met her moss green one and he drew her breath from her body as his hands slid up an ankle to calf. Her hands perched on his shoulders. She shuddered in his hands with a small moan as she felt his nail trail upwards. Stomach muscles tightened. The throbbing, hidden in her core, grew more intense. He moved to her other leg, the process was repeated. Yes, he was trying to drive her mad with desire. Gods, she wanted him. She swore, like she did every time he made love to her, that it was always more intense than the last time. He knelt there, before her, his breath on her skin then his kisses. Her lower abdomen tightened and tightened as his kisses moved ever closer to her center. The crux of her femininity. Her fingertips dug into his shoulders. It was that much more powerful as she gazed down, watching him, unable to tear her eyes away.

Beyond their tent was the night, the orcs accompanying them. There would be more battles, large and small to confront. A facelss one to hunt down and stop. The wonders of another side of the world to explore. Yet, all she wanted, was right here, on his knees in front of her, tormenting her with kisses and firing her blood with his warm breath. One hand slid across the top of his shoulder, up the nape of his neck and curled into his hair. Her knees were weakening, trembling from his onslaught.

“Andras, My Blade, please…..please… torment me no more...love me….”
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Old 12-11-2012, 02:37 AM   #23
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The way she pleaded, the urgency and want in her voice, the tremble of her knees and her voice made her irresistible. His lips followed the front of her, from the heat of her sex upward, kisses at intervals randomly. Stopping at her navel, again at her sternum, again at her neck before working to her lips. His strong arms wrapped around her, holding her lithe frame, guiding her around and back to his bedroll. Down they went, together. His body rested comfortably above hers, aligned in more ways than just the obvious. Though that obvious positioning was a tantalizing state to be in for a moment.

"As you wish, my Light. No more torment, save that little death you'll be wracked with."

Lips melted into one cohesive embrace as his hips rolled, sheathing his length within her velvet tunnel in a single stroke. She took him, no she claimed him with her walls, already clutching and squeezing. They beckoned for him to never depart, but he had to, if only to relive the joy of penetrating her warmth again and again.

His hands busied themselves with her wrists, one broad palm holding both while the other managed to caress her side, her cheek, her breasts. He touched and teased while their hips continued to clash, the sounds of heat and wetness and friction creating a melodious ringing in his ears.

Andras let himself be taken away by his own rhythm, filling her desire and sating his, one deep, fluid thrust at a time.
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La vie n'est qu'une ombre dans l'obscurité la plus profonde

Something's gotta give...and if it's not my spine it will surely be my spirit. I only pray the splinters will shatter in such a way that every passerby takes a second to revel in my wreckage....

In the space between the sands of time and making sense he scribbles thoughts half-made and half-mad. He has written all his mind away and been left half-alive and mostly dead. His spark is the maker's forge, burning bright and hot. His soul is the flame that guides lost travelers on their wayward paths. In his thoughts he is whole, he is home, he is free. If only this poor poet's mental world were true reality...

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Old 12-11-2012, 04:41 AM   #24
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He heard her words, her urgency. She knew he did. Yet, he would torment her more with paced kisses. Elana wasn’t sure how much more she could withstand before she crumbled. His arms, bands of steel and comfort, wrapped around her, guiding her down to their bed. It didn’t matter that it was just a bedroll. What mattered was his heartbeat pounding in tandem with her own.

"As you wish, my Light. No more torment, save that little death you'll be wracked with."

His words made gooseflesh appear again. Gentle, yet strong fingers pressed into the back of his neck as their lips met and he slid into her. Her body was more than ready for him, welcoming him, closing around him. His hands found her arms, slid up them until his fingers curled around her wrists, drawing them away from his body and guiding them above her head, stretching her breasts tautly against his chest. He gathered both of her wrists in the broadness of one hand, holding them captive there. The movement of his hips surged against her own as they rose from the bedroll to meet him. His free hand roamed over her, making her whimper his name in need. He withdrew from her needy tunnel only to return, filling her, over and over again. Each time was a little more fierce than the last. Each time he came to her felt deeper than the last until she felt him press against her cervix. Her legs slid around him, an action that opened her internally for him just that little more. They rocked. They pressed. He stroked. The only world that existed was the one they created with their desire and passion. It was urgent and demanding. His body pounding into hers as he drove her into that little death he had promised, pinning her hips to the bedroll beneath them as she internally clutched at him, squeezing him rhythmically. Her mouth found his shoulder, small teeth sinking into his flesh to keep from screaming out loud and waking the camp. The sound coming from her throat choked and muffled as her legs tightened around him, her hips jerking against his.

The slight moisture that rested across her skin and had very little to do with the cloths he had cleansed her with, caused small tendrils of her hair to curl on her forehead and remain plastered there. Her teeth loosened from his skin and withdrew, her lips kissed him. Her tongue lapped over the marks she had left on him, in apology. Her breathing bounced off his skin and sounded harsh to her own ears. Her body grew soft, gentled, as she relaxed against him, relishing the weight of his body pressing against hers. Nay, she gloried in it. In him. She was his. She always would be.
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Last edited by DarkWarrioress : 12-11-2012 at 05:46 AM.
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Old 12-11-2012, 11:38 PM   #25
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Waves, crashing on a shore. Ebb and flow. That was his rhythm, until the tense of orgasm gripped him, Elana's and his own. The high spiral of release slowly deposited him back into his body, breathing like he'd run miles on end and smiling like he'd just been told the most wonderful news in the world. His lover was below him, panting just as raggedly, a sheen of sweat coating them both, even though they'd intended originally to be cleaned off.

It was a bittersweet withdrawal from her honeyed depths; he could lay there within the inviting warmth forever, even if his erection had passed. But the need for rest soon overwhelmed even his fiery passion. He collected her to himself, resting on his side and cradling her with his arm. This position was comfortable for both of them, like a fitted glove of protection and peace. The night passed into morning with nary a sound save their gentle breaths.

When they awoke, it was time to move on again. New clothes were donned and the tents taken down and packed. The regiment moved on, deeper into the jungle. The sun had to fight its way down below the canopy. The Vlingari territory was mostly covered by this type of terrain, all the creatures adapting to the climate out of necessity. The first three days marching through the thick vines and humid air went uneventfully. Everyone remained on guard; there was no telling when they would be laid upon by man or beast or both.

By the fifth day, they had nearly crossed out of the jungle entirely, having only a slight setback with a pair of horses struggling in quicksand. They had to be abandoned, but it was not without a large measure of regret and remorse. Andras knew Elana would take a special pain in that, but comforted her the best he could.

Now they were seeing a thinning out of the roots and leaves that covered the lower third of the tall jungle trees. The cacophony of the inhabitants was stilled. That was the first sign of trouble. Then came the terrible drumming, from every angle and direction. Chants rose louder on the air, in a language that no one could discern. The Vlingari, the tribesmen the place had been named for, were ritualistic warriors with no concern for civilization. Their barbaric rule over this place had been enforced with nothing but brutishness and bloodshed. Now they were finally sure enough to show themselves.

Andras called his men to draw arms and prepare for the coming fight. Eyes darted to and fro, looking for the first sign, the first target.

It didn't take long for them to rush out of the trees in groups of three and four, spears and clubs and swords in hand. War cries went up on both sides and the clash of weapons rang on the air. Andras waded in with his men, hacking and slashing and attacking without mercy or hesitation. This was the only thing separating them from the other side of the Vlingari territory and the shores of the Raven Sea that awaited.
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La vie n'est qu'une ombre dans l'obscurité la plus profonde

Something's gotta give...and if it's not my spine it will surely be my spirit. I only pray the splinters will shatter in such a way that every passerby takes a second to revel in my wreckage....

In the space between the sands of time and making sense he scribbles thoughts half-made and half-mad. He has written all his mind away and been left half-alive and mostly dead. His spark is the maker's forge, burning bright and hot. His soul is the flame that guides lost travelers on their wayward paths. In his thoughts he is whole, he is home, he is free. If only this poor poet's mental world were true reality...

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