The Marked Ones.

[Damess]

The field of battle was shrouded in the gray of a sinking sky; clouds hung between the trees, heavy and freezing…

Aerica Valentine sat upon the back of a fully plated white warhorse, the beast’s polished silver armor emblazoned with the sigil of the God Kaltheon and lined by fine silks of the House Beaudain, colored blue and white. A banner was draped before the mount’s throat, hanging from either shoulder of the creature, proclaiming it to be a proud member of the King’s army.

The rider was surprisingly less so honored in dress. She wore not a single emblem or rune of blessing – which was severely out of place for any person born to and defending Allierveauce – nor was she equipped anything that resembled even the most basic of armor.

The half elf was outfitted in a white robe with brilliantly true red ribbon bordering the hems. The garment was cut somewhat like a dress – the long sleeves were not attached directly at the shoulder, rather hanging loosely about her upper arm, giving the material about her chest the look of a strap blouse. If one allowed their eyes to trail down the curves of her generous breasts and beyond the flare of her hips, they would find that the material of her long skirt split just inches below the start of her inner thighs, at two points. The effect was that she had foot wide panel directly before her legs – which, generally, would display symbols of an order, if she belonged to one. The particular cut allowed her optimum maneuverability…and the fact that it often gave glimpses of her legs didn’t cause for complaint.

As she was now sitting, straddled upon her mount, just the slightest glimpse of her shorts could be seen beneath the compromised position of her robes. Her legs were free of such material entirely, showing to be otherwise covered by mid-thigh high white stockings and knee high riding boots, which were presently situated in the stirrups that accompanied her saddle.

Her azure eyes stared out into the distance – which, given the circumstances, wasn’t very distant. The silhouettes of the trees wavered unnaturally in the dense fog; it reminded her somewhat of a dream, some twisted surreal experience. She felt a chill travel down her spine.

“Aerica?”

The woman turned her attention towards the speaker, masking the unease from her expression as best she could. “Yes, Your Highness?”

The young human tilted his head slightly to the side, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Please – as I’ve said – it is Edgar.”

A short pause existed before it became apparent that the prince would not continue speaking until the priestess conceded to his simple request. “Yes, Edgar?” she repeated in the tone of reverence found in her former address.

“I had thought to ask if you were alright.”

The half elf nodded. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

Edgar Beaudain, the only son of the King, had always treated the godless priestess well. It was not uncommon for an elf, even those of half blood, to not accept a deity until within their adulthood – of which, Aerica was barely so, at the age of 27. Whereas it would be considered reprehensible for any human citizen (which was the vast majority of Allierveauce) to refuse the insignia of Kaltheon, it was entirely expected in such cases as half breeds.

Aerica was thankful that she showed great natural ability in the realm of holy magic, as she could feel accepted into the ranks of the King’s army on her own merits rather than her father’s. Her training within Kaltheon’s temples had never required an oath of her and she quickly found herself being appointed a part of the prince’s personal guard for the skill it afforded her. But now…with the Legion of Chaos closing in on the capitol and the sickening soak of evil within the fog itself, the half elf couldn’t help but worry. There was no Divine to heed her call, should she need it, and if she failed to protect Edgar –-

She pushed such thoughts from her mind, which had all occurred within seconds, focusing instead on her present companion. He was calmly watching her and seemingly buying the farce that she wasn’t unsettled by the very feel of the air that surrounded them.

“Very well,” he responded as he shifted the helmet held between his hands. He said something that was prolific and inspiring about their assured victory before placing the crowned great helm atop his head before turning his horse away so that he may address the troops appropriately previous to their upcoming engagement.

Likely the speech he gave was prolific and inspiring, too. Aerica all but missed it, her attention returning to the short distance from which their enemies would undoubtedly emerge. What she felt was not fear, but a deep sense of…well. She couldn’t quite place it.

*****​

Initially, the battle didn’t appear to be a lost cause – which is to say, it was. It was simply impossible to recognize until it was too late.

The front lines of the King’s army held up admirably for half a dozen minutes, cutting down waves of their enemies as if they had nothing to fear – but the sheer number and brute strength of the monsters set against them eventually proved to be too much.

There was no opportunity to fall back. Directly behind the forces of Kaltheon was the very city they were defending, the towering white granite walls that protected the throne and its subjects. Ordinarily, archers would be loosing arrows from those very heights, which was anything but beneficial with their presently limited visibility – it would be as much a hazard as it was an offense.

Once the barrier of the front line was compromised, all was lost. Chaos broke out as the massacre began; the vast and endless swarm of dark forces engulfed the defenders and efficiently decimated their forces.

Edgar Beaudain continued to stand, even after his horse had been cut down, no doubt at least partly in thanks to the priestess devoted to keeping him alive. While the prince was beautifully skilled and not inclined to allow his enemies to pass his guard, in such circumstances as these…it was impossible to avoid everything, particularly when the break in the lines allowed the legion to surround him entirely.

Aerica’s horse reared up and viciously kicked its hooves at the face of an advancing enemy. The half elf rider was too concerned with the concentration of her spells, and did not attempt to control or suppress the beast’s instincts – which nearly unseated its rider, who found herself breaking a spell in order to grab the horn of the saddle with both hands.

She felt a breath catch in her throat.

Her gaze settled on the limits of the fog, where she could clearly see a figure pointing directly at her. It wasn’t but moments later that she felt a gauntlet covered hand wrap roughly around her right forearm – she was jerked down from her mount, barely being able to catch herself on her feet. The grip on her arm tightened painfully just before a blade was thrust through her chest.

The sword entered just slightly above her left breast and traveled at an angle to pierce her heart. Aerica was certain that she should have died instantly, but she could hardly lament her failure to pass at such a moment. The pain was so intense --

The frost that covered the ground beneath her melted as it came in to contact with her spilling blood; the woman had fallen forward after the blade was drawn out of her flesh, landing upon her hands and knees. She couldn’t help but look to the form of Prince Beaudain, to which she would witness a slaughtering that would forever haunt her mind.

She collapsed, then. Somehow Aerica managed to roll herself on to her back, at which time she raised a hand to cover her wound. She could feel her heartbeat through the intensity of the blood flow; it ebbed and amplified with each palpitation. It was gradually becoming weaker. The woman closed her eyes – she prayed for her friends; that if they were to die, that they do so without lingering sufferance. They were dying in Kaltheon’s name, protecting the King who ruled under the Divine Right granted to him by the God of Justice…there was some peace in that. Aerica could only hope that they would not have to endure horrifically painful deaths to earn their place of honor in the afterlife.

The half elf opened her eyes, seeking to stare up at the sky. The fog that prevented her sight merely added insult to injury. Perhaps it was fitting, to end on the sight of the world in gray.

*****​

She was uncertain how long she lain there, expecting to die. She was only vaguely aware of the battle that commenced around her position, the clash of metal and screams of pain that surrounded her – until it stopped. The moment that the battle was concluded, she felt an involuntary jerk of her arm.

She took a breath like it was her first in several minutes and sat up like someone waking from a nightmare. But fate was not so kind; she was still on the battle field, drenched in her own blood. Her hand felt an unexpected radiance from her wound – a soothing heat which convinced the woman to look down at herself. Slowly removing her hand, she discovered a crimson glowing mark upon her chest. She was unfamiliar with what it represented.

Aerica looked around briefly to see if her sudden movement had been detected by the victors. The dense fog helped in that regard; though it was also potentially detrimental, as she couldn’t possibly see anyone coming.

The half elf adjusted her position so as to crawl to the side of Edgar Beaudain. Upon a quick inspection, it was discovered that his spine had not been severed – which gave hope to reviving him.

There wasn’t a doubt in Aerica’s mind that the legion would be wandering the area, patrolling for wounded survivors to slaughter. She couldn’t be certain, but she also assumed they would seek out Edgar’s body; she dared not think of what they might do with it.

“Edgar,” she whispered sadly as she placed her hands upon his armored chest. Despite her seeming recovery, Aerica felt weak – she had the slightest doubt in her mind that she did not possess the energy to bring the prince back to life. She leaned over his body as she closed her eyes, causing for tears to fall down her cheeks.

Reality seemed to shift for a moment; the woman spoke words she could not remember directly after they escaped from her lips. The next thing she was certain of was the shifting of the man’s body beneath her hands. He blinked several times, waking to life slowly as he tested the ability to move his limbs.

“Edgar,” the usual reverence that accompanied the address was all but gone, replaced by a tone of urgency. “You must escape.”

The man’s brows came together as he considered the ridiculous suggestion – he seemed confused that such an action would dare be advised. “I can’t abandon --“

“You can’t avenge this if you let yourself die while you are at such a serious disadvantage.”

The man was speechless. The priestess was right, he knew…but it was a painful thing to accept. To leave his father to the mercy of the legion…it was unthinkable.

Aerica heard a footfall, made heavy from plated armor, just outside of her assumed visual range. “Stay down a moment,” she whispered hastily, perhaps thinking that the human had a lesser ability to hear than herself. “I’ll draw them away.”

“Wait, don’t—“ Edgar began to speak; but as Aerica was already upon her feet, he knew she was beyond reason. He couldn’t afford the luxury of arguing with her – it would make her sacrifice completely pointless.

It was no less than a moment later that the standing form of the priestess was discovered by its silhouette in the hazy gray surroundings by one of the legion.

“We’ve got a live one!” A soldier of the darkness proclaimed with twisted joy in his voice.

A rush of adrenaline caused the woman to turn on her heels, spurring her into an immediate run. She had made certain to diverge from Edgar in such a way that she would not lead the pursuer, or potential pursuers, over top of him.

It was perhaps several minutes that she eluded capture. The half elf was swift of foot, agile enough to dodge the bodies that littered the battle field as she navigated herself between the trees and dense fog. But, as it was…there was nowhere to go. Aerica was at peace with the fact that she would be captured, knowing that she had given Edgar an opportunity to escape.

It seemed the godless half elf bearing an ancient glowing mark upon her chest was worth the effort of capturing – which was not a common practice of the legion, as she understood it. Aerica expected to be slaughtered like the rest of them: her friends, her comrades…probably the King, too, now that the capital was thoroughly vulnerable.

The priestess found herself surrounded – she didn’t attempt to fight, as she truly had no idea how to handle a weapon of any sort. Instead she stood, her posture proper, patiently waiting to again feel the bite of metal as it ripped through her body.

But it didn’t come.

A soldier took a step forward, approaching Aerica from behind. Taking a firm hold of each of her arms, he forced her elbows behind her back before sliding his hands down to her wrists. He wasted no time in binding her, employing a painful amount of pressure in the venture.

Aerica clenched her jaw, refusing to voice her discomfort. She looked down briefly; several strands of dark golden hair fell forward, cascading over her shoulders and falling down to a length just past her breasts.

That…that was the last thing she remembered. Then the world went black.

((This thread is closed for Denrik.))

 

[Damess]

It took several moments for the pieces of reality to assemble themselves – Aerica opened her eyes slowly, discovering that she was slung over the shoulder of a tall man, balanced thusly upon her waist. The man held her legs securely against his chest as they made a steady pace forward; as to where, the priestess hadn’t the slightest. She strained her back against the heavy gravity the position forced on her, attempting to gain a better vantage to observe her surroundings.

They were inside the walls of Allierveauce’s capitol city, seemingly in the royal district. Aerica could not rightly focus well enough to determine their exact location – but she was aware enough to be terrified of the silence that surrounded them.

Aerica fought against her restraints, a gesture that was largely ineffective. Her wrists were bound too tightly for her to gain any slack by pulling at them thusly; already her efforts had rewarded her only with a minor case of rope burn. She gave a frustrated growl.

Ulrik chuckled lightly. “For a Marked One, you’re surprisingly weak.”

The half elf failed to have a response to the insult.

She didn’t have long to soak his words, however. After perhaps half a minute they reached the courtyard gardens of the citadel – a lackey was sent ahead to inform Denrik of Ulrik’s request to see him. As the message was passed along, Aerica considered the name of the recipient: Denrik, the great Deceiver.

She couldn’t be fearful – she could hardly process that this was reality. That she had some glowing emblem inscribed in her flesh, that it would somehow earn her torments from the darkness that was Denrik’s hand… Perhaps she had died, and she had gone to hell.

…Denrik wasn’t real – or at least, that is what Aerica had always hoped. The things that were said of the man…which is not to say that he was a person, so much as some formerly living being suspended in an eternal death…everything about him was simply too terrible to be truth. It had only seemed reasonable that he be fiction; a warning to all decent people, to illustrate how miserable and monstrous servitude to the darkness could make a person.

The half elf felt her heart drop when the lackey returned and said that they had granted an audience. Everything went fuzzy as they began to move again – she felt sick.

Her human mount came to a complete stop after several moments. Ulrik knelt down and leaned forward to deposit the bound priestess on the ground at Denrik’s feet, holding on to the back of her knees until the last moment so that she had no choice but to sit rather than stand. The half elf briefly considered the aged and worn face of the one who had brought her here as he drew back from her; he had a massive scar across the left side of his face and an odd sense of wisdom about him that made him rather distinguished.

“I have a victory present for you, Denrik,” he began, taking again to his feet. He paused for dramatic effect, giving Aerica ample time to be so bold as to turn and look directly at Denrik’s form. Of which – she did.

Her sight trailed up his ornate armor, quickly finding their way to holding his gaze. The intensity of his stare; it was like metal piercing her heart all over again. The half elf was unable to look away.

“She bears the mark of Renthenia,” Ulrik continued after some moments of silence. He motioned with a hand as he spoke, although he hardly needed to point out the glowing flesh to make it evident.

Aerica’s azure eyes continued to linger upon Denrik’s gaze – the veins of silver amid the dull gray she beheld was strangely marvelous and enchanting. It certainly wasn’t what she had expected to see when looking into the eyes of a man that was dead inside. She was grateful for Ulrik’s voice giving her an opportunity to draw her attention elsewhere. Prompted out of her frozen state, she suddenly realized that it was ridiculous for her to continue sitting on the ground as she was. “Renthenia?” she repeated curiously as she climbed to her feet, her gaze remaining upon Denrik’s eyes.

Ulrik raised a brow, watching Aerica’s movements. He, himself, was more of a historian and less of a soldier – when this woman was found on the battle field, the older human male was contacted immediately. Whereas he could certainly handle transporting a prisoner, he had no intention of maintaining discipline on said prisoner upon arrival to their destination.

It was the first time he saw someone climb to their feet in Denrik’s presence – it seemed about the dumbest thing a person in the woman’s position could possibly do.

Ulrik didn’t respond to her query, to which the half elf seemed discontent to drop. She turned her attention fully to the old historian. “What is Renthenia?” she asked more concisely. The man was very willfully ignoring her and Aerica saw this and ceased to waste her time. She glanced down at the crimson mark upon her chest.

It was made of three smoothly bent lines – two travelled nearly parallel to each other, reaching apart as they approached her shoulder and intertwining with small curls towards her inner chest. The third line intersected the other two, at such an angle and position that the entire insignia somewhat resembled an overly ornate “V”. She knew what to call it now – the mark of Renthenia, though that hardly helped her understand what she had become…or was becoming.

Aerica found her sight being drawn again towards Denrik.

 

[Damess]

The woman’s returning consciousness was only aware of one thing: pain.

It was impossible to determine which injury was the most agonizing. The half elf was able to distinctly discern every cut and bruise, the strain of every muscle, well before her mind came around to any other realization. Suspended in such a state of empty suffering, it took several more moments before Aerica could fully appreciate her present situation.

The lashes of her eyes lifted slowly, almost reluctantly. She found her sight falling the length of her body, finding rest upon a floor of black crystal. Her brows drew together just slightly as she tried to recall her last waking memory – her eyes continued to search her surroundings as if seeking something familiar. Her stare halted abruptly as it came to behold a glint of silver beneath the surface of the onyx. One needn’t understand the significance of the terrible rune to feel its malice; Aerica averted her gaze only to find a similar fragment directly beside the first. Raising her head, it soon became apparent that she was surrounded by such dark marks – a graceful arch of them encompassed her present position.

Where the fuck… she began to wonder. The thought was never finished, however.

Denrik.

She had scarcely set her eyes on the man’s back when his name rang out in her mind.

That was it! The last thing she remembered… That bastard had struck her in the face. Her eyes narrowed as she continued to consider the Deceiver’s back. She felt a profound amount of hatred welling within her – for him, his God, his allies. They had destroyed everything which had ever been precious to her.

Despite her powerless position, Aerica resolved to gather what strength she had. The ache within her shoulders became ever more apparent as she shifted her body to stabilize herself on her feet, using the binding of her wrists to lift and balance herself to a proper posture. The chains attached to the shackles about her ankles rattled lightly as she attempted to tuck her feet fully under herself – it was more than a little unsettling to her that she could do no such thing.

The noise had been enough to draw Denrik’s attention; Aerica’s eyes met his own as he turned to look upon the miserable mess she assumed herself to be.

This time, she was less so enchanted than before. She glared at the man defiantly, refusing to let the shock of his presence shake her guard. She wanted to call him a monster, to express her disgust of him directly…but she reasoned that her words would mean nothing to him. She held his gaze for several long moments of silence, if for nothing else but to spite him.

Then, as if suddenly losing interest, the woman’s azure eyes cast themselves aside. She drew in a deep breath before rendering herself sightless. She whispered in an ancient tongue – Aerica herself would be unable to translate the words she spoke to a modern language. It was without thought or effort that such came to her.

The priestess felt a light rustling of the air against her exposed flesh, a gentle gust that seemed to bend tightly against the contours of her body. The unnatural wind seemed to emanate from her breast, which rose and fell gently with each steady inhalation of her lungs. Within several breaths, the movement of air became plainly visible, taking with it traces of light from the now brightly burning mark upon her chest. The cyclone spread, swirling down and up her limbs, remaining so well condensed against her body that not even a breeze would be felt from inches away. As tendrils of shimmering light traveled over her, the blood upon her flesh soaked into her pale skin and wounds mended instantaneously, leaving not even the slightest mar in their place.

Aerica opened her eyes as the magical effects subsided, feeling the rub of cloth as her robe settled around her form, her dark golden hair cascading over her shoulders as it fell from its former levity. Her gaze was still averted from her captor.

“You’ll not break me,” she spoke confidently as she returned her gaze to his. “You miserable, wretched fuck.” She had hoped to come up with something eloquent to say but the passion of her hatred caused her to spit these words like unfiltered venom.

She growled as she made a show of jerking on her restrains. “Do I threaten you somehow, Deceiver? Or are my restraints not born of sheer cowardice?” Aerica, of course, knew better than to think Denrik had any fear, especially of her. “Some sick pleasure of yours, I assume?”

She should have been terrified – any person in their right mind would be. But, as it was, Aerica’s righteous rage towards the fiend won out over the nightmare that was.

 

[Damess]

”And what do you know of being broken?” the Deceiver had asked, his words materializing in the air like some terribly dark conjuration. The depth of his voice…the ethereal effect of his speech…it was simply unnatural. And his question – it was distinctly intent to inspire fear, suggesting cruelty the likes Aerica had never known.

The half elf refused to allow the man to see exactly how pointedly struck his words had been, though she nearly believed that he could see right through her. He was exactly right: Aerica knew nothing of being broken. She had not suffered a day of her life, until so very recently. She had been born to a Hero of Kaltheon and a trusted noble family of the House Beaudain, her treatment on par with the most spoiled of those gifted with an honorable bloodline. And while the girl could have easily led a life based solely on her father’s fame – as an elf serving Kaltheon was rare, and his lifespan elevated him to nearly immortal heights in the minds of the humans who surrounded him – the half breed had received endless praise on her own, for her adeptness within the Light and for her overly kind nature. And, despite the fact that Aerica was a godless wretch, she had always been regarded as highly as any lady of faith; no doubt mostly in thanks to her mother’s prestigious lineage. No one had dared to speak an ill word in regard to her, much less ever attempted to break her spirit by verbal or physical means.

Denrik continued, advising her against holding courage on the merits of her newfound influence. To which, Aerica gained some resolve. May her mark be damned – she had no ties to whatever it represented, at least not directly. She could scarcely even remember what the supposed historian had called it. No, her courage was her own, based whole heartedly in the desire to refuse the Deceiver the pleasure of her fear.

"Though, it is to be mentioned, a mark such as yours hasn't graced this land for an age. The meaning behind which is directly unknown, as is the reason why you would be the individual to carry this uncertainty."

It was at this point that Aerica had jerked upon her restraints and suggested that the man before her was a coward – she cared not to discuss her mark, least of all with the Deceiver. He could know everything…it would matter not to the young woman. She couldn’t trust his word, as was purely evident by the man’s assigned title. Aerica’s continued assumptions towards Denrik and his depraved sense of pleasure was more for her own benefit. Judging from what she knew of such darkness, she felt she needed to confront the issue of her potential defilement directly. She couldn’t afford to let the manifestation of the possibility to catch her off guard; one must always prepare for the worst, after all.

"It would not be wise young elf to assume to know the desires of another, for I assure you the darkness of this chamber has considered your thoughts and you may quickly implore it to have remained blind." Aerica remained silent and allowed the man to continue uninterrupted. "In truth I am at a struggle to know what to do in your regard." A thoughtful pause followed. "If it weren't for the grace of your mark..."

“I would be dead, and not by your hand,” Aerica spoke as if to finish the man’s trailed off sentence. “I would have been given the exact same consideration of all the other good people that your men so unhesitantly slaughtered.”

Her azure eyes burned with loathing. “Might I suggest that you show some semblance of intelligence, puppet? I cannot pretend to know what options you are presently considering, but if it involves anything other than murdering me as I stand, I assure you such will be your undoing.” The half elf only briefly considered the fashion in which she would need to be dispatched so as her mark would not revive her, as it had done on the field of battle. “By the might of Kaltheon, I swear vengeance for your wrong-doings.” She did not believe that she needed to be devoted to the God directly to invoke his ideals as her own – she had, after all, been raised in the grace of his kingdom. She again fought against her restraints, bringing herself just slightly closer to her captor, hanging quite uncomfortably to make a show that she did not fear him. “I will tear your frozen heart from your chest, though you deserve to suffer so much more…your death will be swift, and your soul at the mercy of your monstrous master.” Whereas the woman’s voice was generally tender with the elegance of a true born lady, it was now filled with the undertone of a growl more fit for a warrior. “Underestimate me now and you will face my retribution.”

She dared not remove her gaze from his own, but through her unfocused parameter of sight she soaked in the details of the man’s attire. A generous glimpse of his naked chest was afforded by his open robes, and the muscular tone of his body would have perhaps been considered lustfully if it had graced the body of anyone other than himself. As it was, the half elf forced her attention away from the temptation of his flesh – knowing that if she were to ever feel his touch that it would be anything but the bliss that one lover could give to another. More likely it would be her torment; being used so carelessly that it would wound her heart and mind more than her body.

With Denrik standing so close, Aerica found that she needed to only incline her sight slightly to look up into his eyes. His form did not tower her own, by much – his imposing presence manifested more so in the very feel of his existence. Which is not to say that the man was not of an impressive stature; he was. But his captive’s mixed blood allowed a considerable height to her lithe and womanly curvaceous body. She very much resembled an elf, far more than her human heritage, with features of the aforementioned race predominant upon her. Long, slender ears pointed sharply like any full blooded elf, and the slender frame of her body was typical to the breed; the only difference, perhaps, being found in her generous endowment and wide hips.

In the brief moments that Aerica awaited the man’s response to her threats, she was disturbed by an unexpected line of thought within her mind. An inhalation of breath had brought Denrik’s scent to her senses; she felt an internal shiver course through her body as an image of intimate circumstances between them flashed in her awareness. As if he was taking his leisure of deriving pleasure from her body, and that she was deeply drawing in his musk with the utmost appreciation. The half elf was disgusted…and confused as to how such a thought would surface in her mind. She tried to shake it off – finding instead another short lived image, in which her own hand was willfully and lovingly caressing the man’s bare chest, her naked body nestled against his as her head rested upon his shoulder.

 

[Damess]

Aerica was surprised at herself. Despite everything she had ever been told of the Deceiver, she found herself allowing his words to seep into her mind, even daring to consider his speech with some credence. He wasn’t entirely wrong for chastising her for the judgments she so easily assigned to people she did not truly know; though, she still believed that she was not completely flawed for assuming the best of her fellow Allierveaucians. While Denrik may have considered the priestess unworthy of deciding who was decent and who was not, she still knew what goodness was and felt justified in subscribing such to certain qualities and specific people.

She continued to regard him with distain, insulted by his insistence that she lacked understanding of the concepts of which they now spoke. There wasn’t much time to dwell, however; a flash of the man’s eyes promptly distracted her attention from such concerns. She watched as the silver of his eyes burned with an intense white glow.

Her awareness followed the channeling of his dark power though the outcome of such was completely unexpected. Whereas the half elf had momentarily assumed that the Deceiver was going to kill her, she soon felt the faint shifting of her robes – and she knew. The lust within his fierce gaze suddenly became evident to the woman who had been willfully denying such. Aerica pulled her body back to a proper posture as she felt the arcane influence wrap about her form; she was well prepared in the moment that her clothing abruptly shredded and departed from her body. Refusing to remove her hateful stare from Denrik, she witnessed the destruction of the material only in unfocused sight. Tatters of her dress floated with a misleading peacefulness –gently moving away from her as they fell, like snowflakes pushed upon a serene breeze. As the material disintegrated in flame and ash she felt a whole new level of loathing for the man before her. How many others had there been, in a position similar to her own? She had no reason to believe that she would be an exception; so far as she knew, the Deceiver had a harem of conquered wenches. That is, assuming that he didn’t murder them after he grew tired of their flesh.

His continued taunting was less than appreciated. Aerica half thought to defend Kaltheon’s honor before convincing herself that it was not her battle – he was not truly her God, after all. Besides, Denrik was likely just as insane as his master…there was very little point in arguing with whatever he saw as truth. Instead, the woman merely reiterated her threat: that she would have retribution if he dared to underestimate her.

She felt his gaze as it trailed along the curves of her exposed body, regretting that he would find her supple form pleasing. The half elf was not completely unaware of her appeal; although she was modest, she was not blind to the way some men considered her like a morsel to be devoured. Thankfully none had been so bold as to let their fantasies be anything more than just that.

"You do not understand, I know far more of who you are than you seem to know of yourself. You have no retribution."

Aerica froze. It disturbed her deeply that her heart took his words to be absolute truth. How was it that she accepted his claim without even the slightest resistance? Was his trickery so great that he could have her believe that she wasn’t capable of vengeance? The half elf had never taken a life – not even of a so-called lesser creature – but…surely, Denrik deserved death. Everything she had been taught of justice…

Bring not suffering to others.

It was a rule Aerica followed throughout her entire life, unknowingly; that particular mandate had never made itself directly present in her mind before this very moment. But now that it was upon her thoughts – it gave her a sense of levity like she had never felt before, which contended greatly with the distraught feelings in regard to her inability to uphold her duty to the House Beaudain.

The Deceiver continued to consider her form; Aerica became acutely aware of the reflection of her body in his eyes. The flickering luminousness of the surrounding candles caused shadows to dance over the paleness of her skin, caressing her curves and lingering for the slightest of moments before being cast away by the returning light. She could not make out the intimate details of herself but she knew her womanhood to be graced by only a small patch of dark golden curls on her mound – she was clean shaven, otherwise, and freshly so.

He did not touch her, but it almost felt as if he did. A gentle heat upon her flesh, like a hand dragging appreciatively across her stomach…Denrik raised his gaze to meet her own once again. The sensation of warmth began to creep up her body, slowly moving to encompass her flesh. She was confused as to what exactly the Deceiver was doing to her. It almost felt pleasurable. But what reason would he have to attempt to bring her such a feeling? Certainly, he could use her without such considerations.

Aerica continued to watch the man intently, her expression struggling to uphold the look of contempt. Still, she could not stop herself from a sudden realization: that Denrik was an obscenely handsome man. The shape of his lips, the strong line of his jaw…even the precise angles of his nose. And his eyes – they were not nearly so dead as she had once thought, though she suspected that his transformation to the darkness had robbed them of their real beauty. She wondered what color they had once been, before the unnatural veins of silver had corrupted their brilliance.

A moan escaped her lips – the half elf immediately forced her sight away from the man, turning her face slightly to the side as she closed her eyes. Was he enchanting her? Surely, she’d not be attracted to, much less lust for, the embodiment of evil that was the great Deceiver.

“Don’t—“ she spoke suddenly, with a surprising level of supposed authority within her voice. She interrupted herself with an inhalation of breath, finding that she had at some point prior ceased to breathe. Her D-cup breasts lifted with the rising of her chest, her light pink nipples growing hard as her body reacted to the arcane stimulation.

He does not mean you harm, she heard within her mind, though she severely doubted that the thought had originated within herself. Somehow, she knew that such was not forced upon her by the Deceiver – whether or not he had the ability to manipulate her thoughts directly was unknown to her, but instinct suggested it was not he that invaded her mind.

Azariah may no longer have love for me…but whatever fettered hatred has corrupted his heart, he will never bear me true malice.

An image flooded Aerica’s awareness – two lovers, entangled in each other’s arms. She could not rightly recognize either of them, but she felt their emotions deeply. A happiness like nothing the half elf had ever felt before; a love so profound and pure that it was existence itself.

My mark will protect you.

The grip of reality came back suddenly. Aerica opened her eyes, her mind attempting to question the invader of her thoughts…but to no avail. The presence was gone.

Her gaze slowly returned to Denrik, her eyes settling just above his feet. With a diligent pace, she lifted her sight up his body, taking in the details of his form fully for the first time. As her eyes returned to his own, all traces of loathing had dissolved from her expression. Despite his marvelous physical appearance, she still did not want for his touch – but nor did the idea of it repulse her. It seemed that her body was far too interested for her mind to fully deny her attraction to him – she felt a dampness growing between her thighs.

“Denrik…” she spoke his name softly. “Please…not like this. You don’t even know my name.”

Not that Aerica could expect the man to care – but she hoped, for her sake, that he would acknowledge that she was a person and not just some Marked piece of flesh.

“Unchain me,” she requested gently, “and I will accompany you to your chambers. You can have my body without such violence as bondage or force.”

There was no reason to fight – the half elf was powerless to stop him. She assured herself, still, despite the want of her body, that she wasn’t exactly willing…she was merely resigned to her fate at Denrik’s hand.

“…I will even tell you my name, if you should see fit to ask for it.”

 

[Damess]

Aerica gave no verbal response to Denrik’s warning of wandering off; she was unable to promise that she would not, at some point, attempt to escape the Deceiver’s chambers. For the time being, the woman merely gave a small nod to convey that she understood the potential threat of doing so.

Her mind lingered on the arcane manipulations upon her breasts, finding surprise that she would be so easily inspired to imagine the man’s exquisite lips upon her. That he might take her nipple into his mouth, teasingly stimulating the nub of flesh with his tongue. His strong hand gently caressing along her jaw line and up the outer edge of her ear…his alternate hand trailing down her back, pausing before it fully reached the point of cupping her ass. The half elf tried not to over-analyze the realization that she would have wanted Denrik to continue, were his hands actually upon her flesh.

He had finished speaking and the young woman was pleased to feel the release of metal from about her ankles. It was not but moments later that the unraveling knot from above left Aerica to stand entirely upon her own strength – which faltered. Though, she did not fall. She would have, certainly, but she found that the same arcane influence which drew an immense want of further pleasures from her body also served to wrap about her form and assist in the catching of her balance. The energy in which she was immersed was intense and the opposite of painful. She looked upon her captor with a slightly confused, though not entirely unpleased, expression.

"For what reason would I desire to know your name elf?"

His whispered question caused Aerica a grief of which she had never experienced before. She did not pity herself, or wallow in the prospect that she was unworthy of knowing; though she understood that she could not convince Denrik otherwise, she believed it was for his state of existence rather than her merits or lack thereof. She considered the man that stood less than an arm’s reach away, her sundered heart under the influence of the excruciating void of loss. Aerica had not known – or would ever know – the person that Denrik once was, nor could she ever begin to fathom what it was being the great Deceiver did to one’s heart and mind. Still, the half elf felt a compassion for the man that once was and couldn’t help but wonder if his present form held any capacity for emotion. It seemed unlikely; and that, in itself, was infinitely sad.

“...If it is your want to know me only for my body, far be it for me to convince you otherwise.”

One could not teach another to care, after all. Aerica did not want to force the basic courtesy of learning a person’s name on her captor as the social nicety that it was; she desired for him to find a need to ask for such on his own. As she attempted to see past the silver veins of Denrik’s gray eyes, the woman prepared herself with the knowledge that he may never come around. Such could not be entirely unexpected, given the grip of darkness that held him in an almost immortal state. And yet – she could not convince herself that Denrik was completely dead inside. His skillful employment of the arcane arts in deriving pleasure in his captive, even if such was motivated purely by his own lust, showed some hope that he wasn’t an absolute monster. It seemed that if he was going to use her, he would do so with some semblance of a lover.

What was she thinking? The Deceiver had called for the murder of everyone she had once known and they had all died agonizing deaths. Aerica’s father, in the brave campaign to stop the Chaos Legion from advancing into Allierveaucian province…her mother, in the siege of the capitol…and her prince, even if he had been resurrected…had all suffered horrendous ends. The priestess mourned them but somehow was unable to continue to assign hatred in reaction.

The woman’s mind was properly fucked. Conflicting thoughts ran rampant while the lust of her body fought for her attention – all of which flooded her awareness within mere moments. There was a short pause as she continued to hold the Deceiver’s gaze. Her expression was stoic.

Two slow and purposeful steps carried the woman dangerously close to the Marked One of Azariah. She dared to bring her hands to the man’s chest; her fingertips graced over his bare flesh gently, brushing outwards and slightly under his open robe as she pressed her palms against his skin. Slowly, her hands rose towards his shoulders as she leaned in closer; her hard nipples just barely making contact with his body, dragging lightly against him with each of her breaths. Her hands moved to grip at the front hems of his robe, pushing the material back so as to allow the garment to crumple to the floor behind him.

The first quadrant of Aerica’s left eye had taken on a darker color, appearing rich violet that stood out starkly against the otherwise pale blue of her iris. She inclined her face only slightly to continue to hold Denrik's gaze, her new position placing her lips only inches away from his. In a continuous movement that caused his robe to be lost to the floor, the woman had wrapped her arms tenderly around the man’s shoulders.

She paused, giving him a proper chance to respond to her perhaps unexpected actions.

 

[Damess]

"If it is of your desire to give me your name it seems beyond reasonable to attempt to convince me, does it not?"

Aerica stared into the Deceiver’s eyes for several moments, considering his words. It wasn’t his logic that was flawed so much as his understanding of the half elf’s wants: an issue she nearly addressed immediately. But before her lips could part to refute the basis of his argument, she felt his hands as they came into contact with her sides. Denrik’s touch was nothing the woman would have expected - it was not cruel, or cold, or sharply grasping. The sensation of his flesh against her own was delicate, the bend of his hand tenderly encompassing the curve of her body, his warmth carrying easily into her skin that was otherwise at the mercy of the chill of being exposed.

Any notion of responding to his question diminished with the realization that his lips were tentatively approaching her own. Without hesitation Aerica found herself leaning in ever so slightly to receive the kiss – and in a moment his uncertainty seemed to fade and their lips met as if it had been destined to be so. The woman closed her eyes briefly and, perhaps in vain, attempted to restrain her emotional response. When she felt him drawing back from the kiss, she couldn’t help make up the little distance he had placed between them, surprising herself at how badly she had wanted the gesture.

When they parted, the elf unintentionally gave a gasping moan. She wasn’t entirely certain how she had gone from spiting seething hatred at this man to melting in his hands. It was all...just so surreal.

The candlelight that filled the chambers was suddenly extinguished, giving a short wavering dance of their flames before leaving the two in darkness.

Aerica’s arms slowly unwrapped from around Denrik’s shoulders, her torso pulling away from him ever so slightly as her hands slid to rest upon his chest. She was aware that her surroundings had changed, though the returning of the light of candles did not inspire her to tear her gaze away from the man who held her. Her eyes lingered on the slight curve of his lips – he was even more handsome when he smiled, even when such was a minor expression. A few moments of silence passed as the woman attempted to suppress the beating of her heart.

“I don’t desire to give you my name,” she finally corrected. “And I will make no attempt to convince you to ask for it. You may as well continue to call me ‘elf’, even though I am not of full blood, as it carries the same level of intimacy as my name spoken without...” She paused. Without what? Aerica knew the answer, but she dared not speak it out loud. Why would she want for such a dark creature as the Deceiver to love her? How was it that the thought of him possessing her without even the slightest attachment was crushing her heart?

She shook her head gently as she moved to increase the distance between them. Her hands pushed lightly against his chest as a foot slipped backwards – assuming he didn’t counteract her attempts, the woman would turn slightly as she stepped outside of his reach, leaving his hands to drop away from her flesh. Remaining silent, not caring to continue her earlier words, Aerica allowed her sight to soak in the details of the chambers.

It would be impossible not to be impressed by the details of Denrik’s chambers – the man had taste, and no doubt the means to have the finest of the things he desired. Aerica’s eyes scanned over the arrangement, lingering on the transparent drapes that wisped around the collection of astoundingly intricate furnishings. Her eyes eventually settled on the lizard, discovering the source of the delightful aroma that filled the room. No doubt the woman could have spent hours appreciating the finer details, but at the moment, she observed her surrounds more so as a momentary distraction to gather her thoughts than a genuine studying of the man’s material wealth.

The Marked One of Renthenia returned her attention back to Denrik, pivoting on the balls of her feet to fully face him. Her arms were crossed over her chest, in a stance that suggested that she was cold rather than intentionally being stand-offish or attempting to cover her naked form for the sake of modesty.

“I think it would be best if we took things slowly,” she spoke. “I’m...inexperienced in the realm of pleasure, and...” She trailed off momentarily, a slight flush overcoming her features. “...Surely, it would be more enjoyable for both of us if we savored each others’ bodies inch by inch rather than rushing to...” again, the woman let the sentence hang in the air, incomplete. She averted her gaze for several moments.

A deep inhalation of breath followed. Regaining some resolve, Aerica redirected her sight towards Denrik once again. Her lust for him persisted – her body begged her to be reckless, to abandon her concerns and fears. To throw herself back into Denrik’s arms, to surrender to their primal desires. But a part of the half elf refused the concept of being so easily taken, or given... Present circumstances, the woman found the specifics beyond her reach, a sort of comprehensive task she simply was uninterested in at the moment.

Her arms uncrossed and she reached out a hand, offering an open palm to the one she had considered an enemy throughout her entire life. But as she looked at him now, her expression was sweet – a soft smile played at the corners of her mouth and her gaze held her companion nearly with endearment. She’d wait until the man’s hand found her own before beginning to step backwards slowly, towards a collection of cushions and fabrics. Her second hand would join her first, lightly clasping over the back of Denrik’s wrist. She said nothing as she as she did so, merely watching the Marked One of Azariah as he calmly followed her suggestive movements. As they approached a suitable settling point, the half elf glanced at where it was she intended to lie before briefly biting and dragging her teeth over her lower lip.

“Denrik...” she spoke softly. Her azure eyes stared into his, and she remained standing as she pulled lightly on his hand to urge him closer to her. Once he was close enough for her to feel the heat of his naked chest against her own, she released the grip on the back of his hand so as to wrap her arm around the bend of his waist. She drew him in tighter against her as her lips sought to claim his.

It was...bliss. A dizzying effect without ailment, a floating in which feet didn’t leave the ground. After several long moments of relishing the feel of the man’s lips, her fingers interlacing and caressing between his, she eventually used such holding to guide his hand on to her body, placing him at the base of her ribs. Her own hand then continued upwards, moving to tenderly cup the side of Denrik’s face.

She drew back from their kiss and gazed upon his features appreciatively. “You’re incredibly handsome,” she remarked sincerely. “Is that a gift of the darkness, or does such beauty exist in the realm of mortals without divine favor?” As she awaited his response, the hand upon his face drifted back and upwards, a fingertip seeking to glance along the outer curve of his ear. After an initial tracing, her hand would close in so as lightly rub the cuff between a thumb and two fingers.

He’d be given the opportunity to respond and in the meantime Aerica would remain closely nestled against his body. She watched his reaction to what could be construed as the equivalent of a flirtatious inquiry, such as asking an attractive lady if she was an angel that fell from heaven; though her question was infinitely more serious. This was the Deceiver, after all, and who better to take an artificial appearance. When he finished speaking in return, Aerica gave herself little time to consider, much less doubt, whatever he claimed to be the case. Regardless of what he’d say, immediately upon him speaking the final word, the woman would again take his mouth with hers.

This time, her lips would part mere seconds into the kiss, a soft moan escaping as she shivered with desire. Her tongue sought to explore Denrik’s mouth, the deepening embrace passionately but not going so far as to be over-zealous. She massaged his tongue tenderly, cautiously though with the absence of fear. It was simply that she did not want to devour him so much as have a taste.

A full minute passed between them, Aerica remaining ever mindful of the feel of the man’s hands upon her body. As she withdrew from him, her own hands had found a resting place upon Denrik’s shoulder and lower back. She paused only for a moment before continuing to move the higher of the two down his chest. The movement was deliberate – slow. Aerica was studying every detail of his flesh, by feel and sight, her eyes downcast as she watched the flickering of the candles against the definitions of Denrik’s stomach. When her hand approached the border of his pants, her fingers slipped between the barrier and his skin. Her hand caressed a short span from slightly to one side towards the silver clasp.

Her eyes returned to his. The flushing of her face had deepened considerably – she gave a small nervous smile. Aerica’s alternate hand came around from the man’s back, moving to assist the other in the unfastening of the wolf head clasp. She made no further efforts in removing Denrik’s remaining clothing, instead moving to settle herself on the aforementioned cushions. She sat, at first, her legs held together at the knees.

Aerica’s arms opened towards him, inviting him to join her in a more comfortable arrangement. She’d gladly accept the kiss he offered as he bent down to her height, taking a hold of his face in both hands before fully laying back. Their relative positions shifted only slightly during such action, leaving both to rest on their sides as they continued to exchange kisses.

He left her breathless. Full of desire the likes she had never imagined.

“I...” she started when they finally broke apart. She took several breaths as she gathered her courage and discovered that she might be willing to say shameless things. “I want you to feel how wet you’ve made me, Denrik,” she purred softly. “But – only briefly: a sample of what is to come.” Before his hand began to move in response, Aerica could imagine his fingers soaking in her arousal by merely running the length of her tender folds. No doubt she wouldn’t want him to stop, but she’d force herself to show some restraint.

She felt his hand tracing ever lower over her abdomen, her back arching subtly in anticipation while her thighs slowly parted.

 

[Damess]

The half elf stared into Denrik’s eyes as his finger traced over her mark. She hadn't the faintest understanding of what it meant, or why she was chosen to bear it. All she could know for certain is that it had saved her life, twice: once upon the field of battle, when the sundering of her heart should have meant death, and again when she had become the Deceiver's captive. His hesitation to kill her, even as her words towards him had seethed with hatred and rage...perhaps even his intimate interest, all thanks to the crimson scrawling above her left breast.

The realization stung. Her name truly didn't matter; nor did anything else about her. Who she had been...nothing more than a quickly fading memory. Even in her own mind, the resolve and concerns of Aerica were dying.

She wouldn't have done this. Wouldn't have allowed herself to be found in the arms of her enemy, to so easily cast aside her duties to the House Beaudain. Aerica would have fought, to the death. Would have hated the Deceiver up until her very last breath.

Perhaps the mark not only explained Denrik's regard of her, but her regard of him.

It was bittersweet. The half elf felt a soothing peace within her as his hand trailed down her pale flesh, as if nothing else could be more right in the world. A happiness for the favor of his interest, a bliss in knowing that they belonged together. And yet...what still remained of Aerica lamented that her heart was seemingly no longer her own, that she had not willfully fallen in love with this man. Something much bigger than herself had made that decision for her. Destiny? Maybe. For all she knew it could be a twisted game of the Gods, something trivial for their amusement.

His hand graced over her mound before suddenly lifting away. She nearly whimpered, the unexpected loss of contact working to jar her mind from over-thinking her present position. There would be plenty of time to wonder, to sort through what it was that she was becoming, to find out how it was that her fate was intertwined with his. In that moment, her only focus was on Denrik and how she felt for him, how she longed for his touch to return to her.

He did not disappoint. As requested, he sampled her lust for him, his finger teasingly testing the moistness of her slit. Aerica had to resist the urge to raise her hips, to force his appendage to rub against her tender folds. The half elf managed to remain still, a brief closing of her eyes accompanying a low moan. As the azure orbs reappeared, the woman found Denrik leaning towards her for another meeting of their lips, removing his hand from between her thighs. Without the slightest hesitation she moved to eagerly accept the gesture.

Aerica was lost to reality. All that mattered was them and the pleasures they could afford each other. Not just physical bliss, either. Her heart had already accepted Denrik and she wanted for nothing more than to exist with him. To be his lover for the rest of time.

She kissed him deeply, her hands finding their way to hold the sides of his face. Without thought, her body shifted so as to roll on top of him, her parted legs settling to straddle his lap. Hardened nipples drug lightly against his flesh with every breath, every motion of her body. Her hips began to rock wantingly over the material that separated their bodies. She was suddenly thankful that she had left him dressed, in that regard. Restraining herself, even if she was the one who had requested that they slowly become accustomed to each others' bodies, would have been a near impossible task given the level of desire she held for him.

Aerica broke their kiss, her hands trailing down his face, along his throat, to his rest upon his chest. She watched him with a combination of lust and love within her gaze, again studying the finer details of his face. The woman thought to speak, but found no words to express the welling of emotion within her. She wanted him, more than anything, and nothing needed to be said.

Her lips found purchase upon the side of his throat. A gentle kiss, followed by a slow withdrawal. Her lips parted slightly as she pressed them against his flesh again, her tongue sampling his taste. She trembled softly. Her hands gracefully moved over his strong chest, repositioning at his sides, clearing the way for her to continue her mouth's explorations downwards. Still, she lingered upon his collarbone, trailing her affectionate gestures along the bend of his flesh before looking up to glimpse his expression.

She couldn't resist - Aerica lifted herself back up his body, taking his mouth with hers. She purred as his lips and tongue eagerly accepted and returned the passionate kiss. For several minutes, she remained thusly positioned, absorbing every moment of tenderness as if it could disappear at any moment.

When they eventually parted, she began kissing down his throat again, this time failing to pause when it was that she reached his chest. She continued downwards, a hand moving to stimulate his nipple as her mouth took the other. Leaving a thin layer of her saliva on the nub of flesh, she blew on it teasingly before trailing her lips over his skin towards the other side of his chest. A switching of hands caused for a finger to lightly grace over his wet nipple as her mouth worked to similarly treat the other.

Once this mission was suitably accomplished, Aerica continued to descend down his body. A combination of kisses and licks carried her down his toned stomach, to the border of his pants. Hands placed themselves at the hem, one above either hip, the half elf looking up at his face as if seeking his approval to remove the article of clothing.

 

[Damess]

Azure eyes settled on the curve of Denrik's lips. The woman reflected his tender smile, marveling in what it was to witness such an expression from the Deceiver. Never would she had imagined such circumstances - even now, there was a small part of her that remained unconvinced that this was real. Her gaze lifted, to his eyes, and the adoration she found there only seemed to reinforce her sentiments of surreality. She only awaited his word, his blessing that she devote her efforts to teasing and pleasuring him, finding herself eager to gain his permission in the venture.

His following actions were unexpected. Reaching down to take hold of her arm, he drew the woman back up his body, claimed her mouth for his own. Aerica felt her heart melt as her lips met his, moaned softly into his mouth.

And then, an even more unexpected move. The half elf gave a small startled cry as she lifted into the air, her hands grabbing on to his wrists as he held her waist in an attempt to balance herself. She doubted the the Deceiver would allow her to fall, so such grabbing on her part was completely unnecessary, but it was a thoughtless reaction. As he placed her into the new position, her knees settling on either side of his neck, the woman flushed darkly across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

His hands trailed beneath her thighs, working to wrap up and around her flesh. She felt his fingers digging lightly into her skin, reminded immediately that she was his to possess. A prospect which, surprisingly, she thought kindly upon. The former priestess looked down, between her parted thighs, to witness the flickering of the silver of Denrik's eyes, his gaze watching her as he paused for her consent.

"Denrik," she whispered. "Please..."

But she did not finish speaking, finding herself at a loss of how to express such naughty thoughts and desires. A light trembling of her body, a fresh coating of her juices soaking onto her lower lips...no doubt would tell of what it was the woman wanted him to do.

 

[Damess]

His sight left her face and quickly settled between her parted thighs - the already blushing woman briefly held her breath as she felt his gaze lingering upon her most intimate vision of flesh. She was surprised to find no embarrassment from his intent study, rather being inspired to marvel at the beauty in the depths of etched silver of his eyes as they soaked her in her image. Her exposure struck a chord of blissful unawareness, allowing her to forget everything but what it was to feel the thrill of a lover preparing to delve between one’s legs. The anticipation of his intimate attentions left no room to consider what Aerica thought she knew of this man. The Deceiver, Denrik...the horrible tales of destruction and chaos tied to his name might as well be subscribed to someone else entirely.

Her lover wasn’t a monster, of this the half elf was certain. He might have fallen into such a role, been written into history as such, but he...he wasn’t inherently evil. The years of darkness that had grasped at his soul, perpetuated his life and power with the Marked flesh bearing the symbol of Azariah...Denrik still held a capacity as giving lover. It was enough to reassure her entirely without any need for further considerations.

She felt a gentle rush of warm air upon her moist lips and she exhaled a held breath with a soft purr in response. Her back arched slightly as she continued to hover just slightly above his face, eagerly awaiting the moment that he’d indicate that he desired to give her more. As if knowing how badly she wanted to feel his tongue and lips upon her, he lovingly used his hold around her thighs to guide her to his mouth.

Aerica closed her eyes as she rolled her head back, lost in the sensation of his tongue as it travelled the length of her slit. Unintentionally, her hips gave a light buck against him, a short and gentle rocking motion repeating in the after-shock. She moaned softly as he continued to work his slick appendage over her excitedly drenched lips, the knowledge of him savoring her taste of her soaking womanhood bringing her unimaginable ecstasy.

A whimper came from the woman as he removed his mouth from her. She lifted her head after a moment, peering down at the man as he placed a kiss on the inside of her thigh. It was so sweet...and unexpected. She watched in quiet amazement as he teased her, his lips gracing over her flesh tenderly. He licked at her mound and continued slightly towards her waist before he returned to his former position.

He placed his mouth precisely at the meeting of her lips, delivering a well-pressured lick to the woman’s clit. She couldn’t help but gasp and lean forward slightly, a hand finding purchase on the man’s scalp. Her breaths became ragged as he continued his work, her brows drawing together as her expression twisted in blissful agony; she had never felt anything like it in her life and she knew that it would not be long until she reached a peak.

His motions slowed slightly and Aerica managed to close her mouth long enough to rewet her tongue and throat – she looked down at him, the sparkle in his eyes as he watched her writhe in pleasure. The half elf smiled gently and stroked her hand along the side of his closely-cropped hair. The moment seemed to last longer than it actually did, but as it passed, it was replaced by the man again giving his full attentions to fulfilling her desires.

“Oh, Denrik...” she moaned lustily.

The thought occurred that she could turn her body so as to pleasure him in return - a lovely thought, and something she would certainly keep in mind for the future. As it was now, though, all she could do was shiver in delight, softly purr, whimper, and moan intermittently as she absorbed every sensation he graced her with.

It was going to be a long, beautiful night.

 

[Damess]

She closed her eyes briefly as she felt his tongue broadly stroke down her desire-drenched slit, giving a satisfied sigh as he pressed teasingly at her entrance with his passing motions. His ministrations returned upwards and brought his attention back to her now throbbing clit. Aerica couldn't help but shudder lightly, her perched posture above the man suddenly straightening. As his lips sealed around the tender nub of flesh, the woman gave a small cry with the jolt of pleasure that coursed through her entire being. Her body twitched and she feared that she may pull away simply because it was so intense --

She felt the wrapping of his arms pull tightly around her thighs, securing Denrik's position of supplying her ultimate bliss. The half elf felt a wonderful and mysterious rush at being unable to defy his desires and lusts for her, felt a freedom in knowing that he would never betray the trust she had for him in that regard. Her eyes opened and she stared down at him with a loving smile upon her lips - though only for a moment, as his the working of his mouth soon had her gasping in gratification. His tongue had pushed back the hood of flesh that covered her most sensitive nub and he used pointed expertise in his continued efforts to drive her ever closer to the brink.

The presence of his arcane touch made itself known to her, caressing the lower arc of her breasts with an ethereal warmth. A ragged exhalation of breath passed her lips and she whispered her lover's name in a tender and sweet voice. The unseen energy directed to her erect nipples, rubbing lightly before pinching the sensitive flesh testingly. The woman inhaled sharply and her entire body pulsed with pleasure. The half elf pressed herself willfully and hard against his mouth, knowing herself to be at the edge.

“I--I’m so close!” she warned after less than a minute of his tongue's skilled givings to her clit. Her face upturned towards the heavens and she gave a animalistic howl of a moan.

Her orgasm shifted reality. Colors ceased to exist and the world may have well collapsed on itself. Aerica was effectively lost to a void; the most lovely of nothingness. So long as she had him, she had no need for anything beyond this newly discovered mode of existence.

When the details of reality began to settle back into place, the woman’s recovering panting breaths were the first thing to reach her awareness. Her head dropped forward, bringing Denrik into her gaze. She watched him for several long moments, wordless. She could feel the excess of her fluids drenching his chin, smearing onto her inner thighs.

She felt an unbelievable high. Her legs continued to tremble lightly in post-orgasm, her chest flushed a light rose color. She nearly thought to thank Denrik - but...did people do that? Aerica wasn't certain. It wasn't often that anyone cared to discuss sex related topics with young priestesses so she had no reference for what was expected of her. Despite this marked lack of experience, the woman felt confident as she slipped her knees backwards over her lover's shoulders, moving to straddle his chest. Her hands caressed the sides of his face as she continued to move down his body, eventually falling to lightly drag her fingertips upon his chest. She continued thusly until her knees were level with his mid-thigh, at which point her hands settled on the open clasp of his pants. She glanced up at him briefly but said nothing.

Aerica would thank him, certainly. Just not with words...

She began to slip the remaining material down his hips but paused half-way through the motion. Still watching his face, the way he looked at her - she couldn't resist him. Her hands trailed up his toned stomach as she stretched out over him, smiling as she slid upwards to bring her face to his. He had wiped his chin as she had been repositioning herself or Aerica would give him a playful smile as she did so in the moment before claiming his mouth with hers. Her parted thighs rested over his lap, his hardness evident and wonderful as it pressed against her even though his clothing. When she withdrew from the kiss, her hands took a hold of her lover's wrists. She placed his hands upon her lower ribcage. "I want to feel your hands on my breasts, your mouth suckle upon my nipples," she confessed as she sat up, grinding herself against the thick desire that strained to be free of its confines. "I want to feel you rub against me as we both imagine how amazing it will feel when I give you my virginity."

As he sat up to meet her desires, Aerica shifted the position of her legs so as to have them spread out behind Denrik rather than resting upon her knees. She remained on his lap, her thighs draped over his own, her dripping sex making a mess of his remaining garment.

A hand reached for the man's face, her fingers curling lightly against his skin after her motion passed his ear. She leaned into him in the same moment as she drew him forward, her lips again meeting with his. Her tongue sought to dance among her lover's as her alternate hand slipped over his shoulder to cradle his back.

 

[Damess]

The man denied his lover nothing of her wants, his voice sweet and kind as he agreed to that which she desired. He wasn't in a rush to use her, to get himself off and dismiss the woman until such time as she could be of use to him again. The Great Deceiver, the most cruel and twisted of anything which had ever been a living human... Somehow it seemed easier to disassociate Denrik from his persona than to justify that she was exclusively special to an actual being of pure darkness and chaos.

She was unable, or perhaps unwilling, to confront such thoughts. They went just as quickly as they came - she shifted her attention to the feel of her lover's steely rod as he gave indicative thrusts of desire, his hardness rubbing most alluringly over her exposed pussy. The continued motions between them split open her lips and a slight adjustment of the height of her hips placed the tip of his thickness against her opening. Aerica couldn't help but to press herself down on him, in a move that would have slid him inside of her were it not for the barrier of his clothing.

A groan from Denrik set her passions ablaze. She wanted her hear him in the throes of desire, hear his voice as he was lost to bliss. Feel him tremble beneath her touch as she had under his. She wanted the entirety of his pleasure, to give him everything, at this very moment. It would be so easy to give in to her lust...to strip him entirely and worship his cock with her mouth and tongue before giving him her the symbol of her innocence. And she would, eventually; there was not doubt in that. She would revel in the feel of his impressive manhood as it drove deeply into her soaking wet pussy. Her vaginal walls tightened at the thought, as if wanting to milk him for his precious seed. But that would have to wait - the half elf was felt inclined to draw the process out, to enjoy every moment of his loving caresses and tender kisses while her body burned with desire for the solid girth that rubbed wantingly between her legs. She slipped her position downwards again, her clit rubbing against the underside of his cock as she settled into rubbing up and down the entirely of his length.

Their open-mouthed kiss had Aerica wrapping both arms around the man's shoulders, holding him loosely as she felt his fingers begin to explore the curve of her breast. In moments each of his hands had progressed to cup her soft globes. His fingers squeezed gently as his palms lifted her breasts against her, holding them for a moment before allowing them settle back into his hands. His fingers traced delightfully along the outer curve of the perfect orbs, drawing teasing patterns over her flesh.

A surge of desire made her already hardened nipples ache. The rosy nubs of flesh stood erectly between the present placement of Denrik's fingers, his palms situated on the lower bend of her breasts. The woman released her grip around his shoulders, her hands unwrapping from his back to rest on his shoulders. After several moments, she reluctantly withdrew her mouth from his. She kissed down his throat shortly before leaning back slightly so as to lead his eyes to her chest.