TheCorsair
Pēdicãbo ego võs et irrumäbo
- Joined
- Dec 17, 2013
Damnit! Quentin’s arena battle should have been in a hot air ball On! What was I thinkng!!!
Xana writes (and bitches probably.) Comments Welcome!
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Xanaphia
Biblically Accurate Bitch
- Joined
- Sep 28, 2013
Despite the wail that pierced unconsciousness, Kaydia did not shed sleep easily. Warmth that hadn’t been familiar in months enveloped her, accompanying a scent so intimate it felt normal. But normal wasn’t right. The last several months had been far removed from her normal.
Another cry filled her mind, carrying a needy hunger upon the sound. Blinking awake, Kaydia came to the sight of her bunk, the one she shared with Quentin and had called home for so many years. Comforting, and familiar. What was unfamiliar was the bassinet attached to the edge of their bed, and the crying infant nestled within. Vibrant blue-green eyes met Kaydia’s for just a moment, before closing and fussing again. The wordless sound spoke of hunger, a primal need more than a fully formed thought.
“Mara…” She whispered, reaching for the child. She tried to sit up, to pick up the child, to hold the daughter that had been a part of her when she had fallen asleep. The separation was jarring, and her daughter’s cries were demanding, but a sharp pain stopped her short. Her abdomen protested the movement, still healing muscles throbbing in lacerated ache.
The pain brought memories, chasing away the last dregs of fatigue. She had been taken to a hospital so Mara could be cut out of her, before being taken away. Taken hostage by the republic, to ensure her compliance, held so secretly, Quentin wouldn’t even be allowed to know she existed. Clearly, that wasn’t what happened.
“Shh…” Quentin’s voice echoed through the ship, reaching the bedroom before he did. When he did push open the door, his expression was a pleasant surprise, carrying a bottle in one hand. “Did she wake you?”
“Yeah…” Kaydia answered, trying once more to sit up. Still painful, but she managed, “How long was I out?”
Quentin picked up Mara, “Five or six hours? I feed Mara once already.” He smiled down at the child, before returning his gaze to Kaydia. “Did you want to get this one?”
“I…yeah,” Kaydia said, already reaching for the babe. Mara didn’t move much as Quentin handed her over, just rubbed a tiny fist against her open mouth. Kaydia could hardly believe how small the girl was, consider how big Kaydia had felt just hours before. Still, it wasn’t nearly as perplexing as how she ended up on the Scrapper, when she was supposed to be in prison. Once Mara had latched onto the bottle, Kaydia looked up at her husband, “How did I end up here?”
Her question was met with a weak laugh, and Quentin sat at the foot of their bed. “I felt you reaching for me, in the force. I had been seeking you as well, but I thought I feel your essence. Finding you alive instead had been wonderful surprise.”
“You thought I had died?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. Quentin laughed again, stronger this time.
“In my defense, the supreme chancellor himself had told me you’d been executed,” Quentin said, the sentence draining the joy from his face. His gaze trailed down towards their daughter, and he shook his head. “Once I found out you were alive, nothing was going to keep me from you. Telerath couldn’t keep us out; what chance did the Republic have? I still don’t know who is responsible for diverting you towards Stygeon Prime, but their secrecy actually made it easier for me to find you, and figure out a plan to get you both out.”
Kaydia shrugged, troubled by what Quentin had revealed, “The Supreme Chancellor offered me a sentence of 15 years. And when my pregnancy was discovered, they offered a commuted sentence, if I served the republic as an assassin. Still, you should have been told about your child. I wanted her in your custody, not theirs.”
Quentin frowned, and shook his head. “it doesn’t matter, not now. You’re alive,” he murmured, reaching over to caress her face. His touch brought grateful tears to her eyes. It had been far, far too long. “You’re alive and we have a daughter.”
“What are we going to do?” She whispered, hope and fear trembling along her words.
“We are headed to Zeltron,” Quentin explained, “Sheila helped me to prepare new identities for us, and set us up with a house and jobs. After a lengthy maternity leave, first.”
“That’s generous of her,” Kaydia admitted with an embarrassed laugh. Mara had finished her milk by now, and Kaydia lifted her to her shoulder to burp.
“That’s what I said, but she insisted that she was getting a bargain on us, considering our skillsets.”
Kaydia laughed again, snuggling Mara close. By now Quentin had scouted over and she leaned into him. “Does this mean you left the Jedi?”
Quentin kissed her on the forehead “Well, I broke you out of prison, and kidnapped our daughter. Justified or not, I am a criminal now too. Maybe it in time we will be able to clear our names, but now, Mara and your safety was more important to me. If it’s a choice between and code and my family, I choose you and her.”
Another cry filled her mind, carrying a needy hunger upon the sound. Blinking awake, Kaydia came to the sight of her bunk, the one she shared with Quentin and had called home for so many years. Comforting, and familiar. What was unfamiliar was the bassinet attached to the edge of their bed, and the crying infant nestled within. Vibrant blue-green eyes met Kaydia’s for just a moment, before closing and fussing again. The wordless sound spoke of hunger, a primal need more than a fully formed thought.
“Mara…” She whispered, reaching for the child. She tried to sit up, to pick up the child, to hold the daughter that had been a part of her when she had fallen asleep. The separation was jarring, and her daughter’s cries were demanding, but a sharp pain stopped her short. Her abdomen protested the movement, still healing muscles throbbing in lacerated ache.
The pain brought memories, chasing away the last dregs of fatigue. She had been taken to a hospital so Mara could be cut out of her, before being taken away. Taken hostage by the republic, to ensure her compliance, held so secretly, Quentin wouldn’t even be allowed to know she existed. Clearly, that wasn’t what happened.
“Shh…” Quentin’s voice echoed through the ship, reaching the bedroom before he did. When he did push open the door, his expression was a pleasant surprise, carrying a bottle in one hand. “Did she wake you?”
“Yeah…” Kaydia answered, trying once more to sit up. Still painful, but she managed, “How long was I out?”
Quentin picked up Mara, “Five or six hours? I feed Mara once already.” He smiled down at the child, before returning his gaze to Kaydia. “Did you want to get this one?”
“I…yeah,” Kaydia said, already reaching for the babe. Mara didn’t move much as Quentin handed her over, just rubbed a tiny fist against her open mouth. Kaydia could hardly believe how small the girl was, consider how big Kaydia had felt just hours before. Still, it wasn’t nearly as perplexing as how she ended up on the Scrapper, when she was supposed to be in prison. Once Mara had latched onto the bottle, Kaydia looked up at her husband, “How did I end up here?”
Her question was met with a weak laugh, and Quentin sat at the foot of their bed. “I felt you reaching for me, in the force. I had been seeking you as well, but I thought I feel your essence. Finding you alive instead had been wonderful surprise.”
“You thought I had died?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. Quentin laughed again, stronger this time.
“In my defense, the supreme chancellor himself had told me you’d been executed,” Quentin said, the sentence draining the joy from his face. His gaze trailed down towards their daughter, and he shook his head. “Once I found out you were alive, nothing was going to keep me from you. Telerath couldn’t keep us out; what chance did the Republic have? I still don’t know who is responsible for diverting you towards Stygeon Prime, but their secrecy actually made it easier for me to find you, and figure out a plan to get you both out.”
Kaydia shrugged, troubled by what Quentin had revealed, “The Supreme Chancellor offered me a sentence of 15 years. And when my pregnancy was discovered, they offered a commuted sentence, if I served the republic as an assassin. Still, you should have been told about your child. I wanted her in your custody, not theirs.”
Quentin frowned, and shook his head. “it doesn’t matter, not now. You’re alive,” he murmured, reaching over to caress her face. His touch brought grateful tears to her eyes. It had been far, far too long. “You’re alive and we have a daughter.”
“What are we going to do?” She whispered, hope and fear trembling along her words.
“We are headed to Zeltron,” Quentin explained, “Sheila helped me to prepare new identities for us, and set us up with a house and jobs. After a lengthy maternity leave, first.”
“That’s generous of her,” Kaydia admitted with an embarrassed laugh. Mara had finished her milk by now, and Kaydia lifted her to her shoulder to burp.
“That’s what I said, but she insisted that she was getting a bargain on us, considering our skillsets.”
Kaydia laughed again, snuggling Mara close. By now Quentin had scouted over and she leaned into him. “Does this mean you left the Jedi?”
Quentin kissed her on the forehead “Well, I broke you out of prison, and kidnapped our daughter. Justified or not, I am a criminal now too. Maybe it in time we will be able to clear our names, but now, Mara and your safety was more important to me. If it’s a choice between and code and my family, I choose you and her.”
- Joined
- Jan 14, 2009
- Location
- Canada
Caught up are you...? cracks fingers We'll see about that.
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Xanaphia
Biblically Accurate Bitch
- Joined
- Sep 28, 2013
My writing mojo seems to be more or less back, finally. At least, I don't feel totally wiped after a single post. Of course, tonight my muse wanted to work on this, instead of the replies that continue to build up.
In other news, I made a cover for book 2, in hopes it would motivate me to work on it.
I've been working on the first chapter, but I think I am going to need a serious rewrite. Still, I decided to start it off with Matthias, as he fights demons and gets captured and brought before a demon lord. Nice parallelism.
Oh, and I just figured out the first book and the last book mirror each other. The first book goes:
Matthias takes Ari to the Ebon Keep> Matthias and Ari escape the Ebon keep, head to the Order of Afodisia> Matthias is imprisoned by the Order> Ari and Matthias head for Monsford> Ari abandon's Matthias outside Monsford, arrives alone. In the last book, Matthias flees Ari, leaving her alone in Monsford> Heads to the Order> Gets imprisoned> Leaves the Order to head for the Ebon Keep. Oh, and the reason they have to leave Monsford for the temple is almost the same reason they had to leave the temple for Monsford: Jeoram interrupted a private, intimate moment between them, and wreaked massive havoc. For something we didn't do on purpose, it is pretty damn impressive. Though, my subconscious must have realized it, because I did have the Oracle say, "The path of redemption retreads old ground."
At first, Kaydia thought she was hearing things. Distractions created by a mind more interested in anything other than studying. But when the faint sounds of heavy breathing were interrupted with a gasp and giggling, she knew she hadn’t imagined it. Eyes darted across the table, towards the girl reading, head bobbing to music playing through her earbuds. No one else in the library seemed to hear it.
With a deep sigh, Kaydia looked back down at her notes, trying to remember where she left off. Something about metaphysical idealism? The material world isn’t real, just an illusion to give the experiences of the mind context.
Another gasp, louder this time, drew her attention behind her. What was that? Scanning the rest of the library and finding oblivious disinterest, Kaydia decided it was up to her to investigate. The sounds grew louder, faster, building as she neared the high shelves. Peering through the shelves, she caught sight of a tall guy in a thin white shirt, concealing half of a red and black tattoo on his shoulder blade. Feminine legs wrapped around his waist, and well-manicured red nails dug into his broad shoulders.
“Quentin…”
Holy shit! They really were just going at it in the library. Kaydia couldn’t pull herself away, mesmerized by the movement of his hips and the restrained cries of the woman, until the guy moved his head to kiss her neck, and she made eye contact with the woman. Shit!
She spun on her heels, unable to imagine her embarrassment if they caught her staring at them. But what did they expect, going at it like that in public? It’s like they wanted to be caught. Clearing the thought from her head, she returned to her table and began packing up her book and notes.
“Hey, Kaydia.” Kazak, the cute guy from her philosophy class, greeted her with a single wave. “Are you leaving already? I thought we were going to study.” There was a disappointment in his eyes that broke her heart.
“I, uh…yeah, no, I mean… maybe just move tables?” She explained, brushing loose strands of hair behind her ear.
“Move? Nah, this is good,” he decided, putting his bag down on the table, “If we leave this table we probably won’t be able to get another one.” Kaydia chewed on her lip before nodding. She’d be too busy studying with Kazak to pay attention to the couple, right? So, she sat back down and pulled out her notes.
“Do you get any of stuff about idealism?”
Kazak glanced down at his own notes, “Umm, basically, nothing is real and the physical world is an illusion?”
“Yeah, I think I get that part but I don’t understand the arguments in favor of it.”
“Umm, let’s see… that was Berkeley, right?” He flipped through his book, “It’s on page 54–“ Another gasp cut off his words. Their eyes met, confusion in his, embarrassment in hers, and another cry wafted through the room.
“Wait, is someone…?” he asked, glancing in the direction of the noise. Kaydia laughed this time, flushing red.
“Yep, right there in the stacks.”
“Who is it?”
Kaydia shrugged, “I don’t know. I guess the guy’s name is Quentin.”
Kazak laughed and shook his head, not quite meeting her gaze, “Lucky him, I guess. No wonder you wanted to move.” They were both silent for a moment, except for the sound of Kaydia drumming her fingers on the table and the increasing sighs from the mystery couple.
“We could head to my dorm. My roommate has a late class tonight, so we will be alone,” He met her eyes then, before quickly adding, “To study in peace, of course.”
“In peace, right,” Kaydia agreed, trying not to imagine her and Kazak tangled up like the couple she’d spied on. He smiled, and it was even harder to push the fantasy away. Fuck it. Wasn’t like she was getting anything done here, anyway. “Sounds good.”
It was another week before Kaydia returned to the library. This time she headed for Study Room C, aiming to be precisely five minutes early for her tutoring appointment, but someone was already in there. Blue eyes looked up from his book as she entered, and he seemed familiar in a way she couldn’t place.
“Are you the philosophy tutor?”
“Yep, Quentin.” He offered his hand to shake, but Kaydia left him hanging, lost the recollection of whimpers and moans, and the half impression of a tattoo on strong shoulders.
Quentin…
“And this would be the point where you’d tell me your name,” he teased, features lighting up with an infectious smile.
“Right, sorry. Kaydia.” Finally, she took his hand, shaking it quickly as she tried to push away the memory of catching him in the library.
“What and who are you taking?”
“Intro to Philosophy with Professor Valis.”
“Ah, you’re in luck then. I got an A in that class. What did you need help with?”
“Well, I brought my last exam over, I was hoping we could go over it?” He nodded, and she fished it out of her backpack. Taking the seat across from him, she appreciated his firm figure. A thought that made her feel guilty, since he clearly had a girlfriend, and she sorta had a boyfriend.
“You got a B?” Quentin asked, disbelief in voice.
“A B minus,” Kaydia corrected. And it’s your fault I didn’t get to finish studying that night, but she didn’t dare voice that.
With a deep sigh, Kaydia looked back down at her notes, trying to remember where she left off. Something about metaphysical idealism? The material world isn’t real, just an illusion to give the experiences of the mind context.
Another gasp, louder this time, drew her attention behind her. What was that? Scanning the rest of the library and finding oblivious disinterest, Kaydia decided it was up to her to investigate. The sounds grew louder, faster, building as she neared the high shelves. Peering through the shelves, she caught sight of a tall guy in a thin white shirt, concealing half of a red and black tattoo on his shoulder blade. Feminine legs wrapped around his waist, and well-manicured red nails dug into his broad shoulders.
“Quentin…”
Holy shit! They really were just going at it in the library. Kaydia couldn’t pull herself away, mesmerized by the movement of his hips and the restrained cries of the woman, until the guy moved his head to kiss her neck, and she made eye contact with the woman. Shit!
She spun on her heels, unable to imagine her embarrassment if they caught her staring at them. But what did they expect, going at it like that in public? It’s like they wanted to be caught. Clearing the thought from her head, she returned to her table and began packing up her book and notes.
“Hey, Kaydia.” Kazak, the cute guy from her philosophy class, greeted her with a single wave. “Are you leaving already? I thought we were going to study.” There was a disappointment in his eyes that broke her heart.
“I, uh…yeah, no, I mean… maybe just move tables?” She explained, brushing loose strands of hair behind her ear.
“Move? Nah, this is good,” he decided, putting his bag down on the table, “If we leave this table we probably won’t be able to get another one.” Kaydia chewed on her lip before nodding. She’d be too busy studying with Kazak to pay attention to the couple, right? So, she sat back down and pulled out her notes.
“Do you get any of stuff about idealism?”
Kazak glanced down at his own notes, “Umm, basically, nothing is real and the physical world is an illusion?”
“Yeah, I think I get that part but I don’t understand the arguments in favor of it.”
“Umm, let’s see… that was Berkeley, right?” He flipped through his book, “It’s on page 54–“ Another gasp cut off his words. Their eyes met, confusion in his, embarrassment in hers, and another cry wafted through the room.
“Wait, is someone…?” he asked, glancing in the direction of the noise. Kaydia laughed this time, flushing red.
“Yep, right there in the stacks.”
“Who is it?”
Kaydia shrugged, “I don’t know. I guess the guy’s name is Quentin.”
Kazak laughed and shook his head, not quite meeting her gaze, “Lucky him, I guess. No wonder you wanted to move.” They were both silent for a moment, except for the sound of Kaydia drumming her fingers on the table and the increasing sighs from the mystery couple.
“We could head to my dorm. My roommate has a late class tonight, so we will be alone,” He met her eyes then, before quickly adding, “To study in peace, of course.”
“In peace, right,” Kaydia agreed, trying not to imagine her and Kazak tangled up like the couple she’d spied on. He smiled, and it was even harder to push the fantasy away. Fuck it. Wasn’t like she was getting anything done here, anyway. “Sounds good.”
It was another week before Kaydia returned to the library. This time she headed for Study Room C, aiming to be precisely five minutes early for her tutoring appointment, but someone was already in there. Blue eyes looked up from his book as she entered, and he seemed familiar in a way she couldn’t place.
“Are you the philosophy tutor?”
“Yep, Quentin.” He offered his hand to shake, but Kaydia left him hanging, lost the recollection of whimpers and moans, and the half impression of a tattoo on strong shoulders.
Quentin…
“And this would be the point where you’d tell me your name,” he teased, features lighting up with an infectious smile.
“Right, sorry. Kaydia.” Finally, she took his hand, shaking it quickly as she tried to push away the memory of catching him in the library.
“What and who are you taking?”
“Intro to Philosophy with Professor Valis.”
“Ah, you’re in luck then. I got an A in that class. What did you need help with?”
“Well, I brought my last exam over, I was hoping we could go over it?” He nodded, and she fished it out of her backpack. Taking the seat across from him, she appreciated his firm figure. A thought that made her feel guilty, since he clearly had a girlfriend, and she sorta had a boyfriend.
“You got a B?” Quentin asked, disbelief in voice.
“A B minus,” Kaydia corrected. And it’s your fault I didn’t get to finish studying that night, but she didn’t dare voice that.
In other news, I made a cover for book 2, in hopes it would motivate me to work on it.
I've been working on the first chapter, but I think I am going to need a serious rewrite. Still, I decided to start it off with Matthias, as he fights demons and gets captured and brought before a demon lord. Nice parallelism.
Oh, and I just figured out the first book and the last book mirror each other. The first book goes:
Matthias takes Ari to the Ebon Keep> Matthias and Ari escape the Ebon keep, head to the Order of Afodisia> Matthias is imprisoned by the Order> Ari and Matthias head for Monsford> Ari abandon's Matthias outside Monsford, arrives alone. In the last book, Matthias flees Ari, leaving her alone in Monsford> Heads to the Order> Gets imprisoned> Leaves the Order to head for the Ebon Keep. Oh, and the reason they have to leave Monsford for the temple is almost the same reason they had to leave the temple for Monsford: Jeoram interrupted a private, intimate moment between them, and wreaked massive havoc. For something we didn't do on purpose, it is pretty damn impressive. Though, my subconscious must have realized it, because I did have the Oracle say, "The path of redemption retreads old ground."
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OP
OP
Xanaphia
Biblically Accurate Bitch
- Joined
- Sep 28, 2013
“A dance?” Clara exclaimed, stunned. “You must be joking!”
She sat at a kitchen table, knife in one hand and a half-peeled apple in the other, staring at her aunt as if the older woman had grown a second head. Ingrud, not stopping as she peeled an apple as well, shook her head.
“No. It’s the way of it in Gulder.” She tossed the peel in a bucket of scraps. “We celebrate the sacrifice. When your aunt Helga…”
“There is an army of demons less than a week from here!” Clara interrupted.
“When your aunt Helga was chosen as one of the two sacrifices to the Dragon,” Ingrud continued, “the kingdom celebrated for a day. And here, we celebrated a week.”
“We don’t have time!” Clara insisted.
Her aunt’s gaze was like steel. “We will not dishonor you or Lord Verrier, Clara.” The gaze softened. “Besides, your sword won’t be finished before tomorrow anyway. And we can’t hurry the evacuation any faster than that. So you, young lady, are going to have a fest in your honor like it or not!”
Nodding glumly, Clara looked past her aunt and outside. Already, workmen were erecting a stage in the town hall.
Later that evening, Clara stood as the festivities played out around her, fingers wrapped tightly to the wine goblet in her hand. Some people were feasting, but Clara found she had no stomach for it. The combination of her impending sacrifice, and concern it wouldn’t even be enough to help her hometown against the demons, made her nauseous.
Oh, she wanted to enjoy the party, the celebration thrown in her honor. But how could she? The demon host was approaching, even now. How could anyone enjoy themselves while death waited just outside the walls? So she just sipped at her wine, fighting the angry tears that threatened to come up.
“Clara?”
“Sigurd?” Clara called, shocked by the man she saw before her now. He was two years older than her, yet, while they were growing up, he was hardly ever as tall as her. Somewhere, in the past four years, he had shot up in height, now almost half a foot taller than her. His pale blonde hair was still as wispy as she remembered, but the rest of his features seemed sharpened, baby fat melted away, revealing the strong jaw. His brown eyes were warm, as warm as his boyish smile. He laughed nervously as their eyes met, and she found her face growing hot.
“It’s so good to see you, Clara,” He said, seeming to savor her name as it rested on his tongue. The way he said it made her shiver, wondering if he would call it out like that —No! Stop, now isn’t the time for those thoughts. Just because it would be easy to get lost in his eyes, didn’t mean she should!
“Are you…are you a Paladin now?” He asked, unable to hide the reverence in his tone.
“I…no, I am still in training,” Clara admitted, rubbing her neck. Was he always so handsome, or was that new? Goddess, why couldn’t she think of anything else but how his mouth might feel against hers?
“Would you care to dance? I understand if you don’t want to, but I was hoping…” He asked, like that, and she grew warm at the thought she could make a man stumble over his words. Especially a man as attractive as him…
“I would like that,” she admitted, deciding to let herself get lost in the revelry, at least for one song. Lightning shot through her fingers as his hands interlocked with hers, and she wrapped her arm around his shoulder, shivering at the touch of his hand on her waist. She felt lighter than air, as he twirled her along the dance floor.
There was cheering and shouting and stamping of feet as Sigurd escorted Clara out into the square. Her cheeks, already pink from his attention, flamed scarlet. Then the band struck up a lively tune, and the caller began calling the steps, and suddenly she was too busy to do anything but spin and twirl and try to keep up with the music. Soon enough, despite her fears, she was laughing and enjoying herself.
From the sidelines, Ingrud watched her niece’s obvious pleasure with a contented smile. Arms slipped around her waist, and a scratchy, stubbly face nuzzled the back of her neck, and she leaned back into a broad, strong chest. “You look pleased with yourself,” her husband murmured.
“Do I?” she murmured back, turning her head slightly to kiss him. “Must be because my nefarious scheme worked.”
Arthur watched Clara fall into Sigurd’s arms as the caller called out to swing partners. “Did it now?” he grinned, returning the kiss. “And here I thought your nefarious schemes involved getting me alone..?”
She ground back against him. “Not all of them,” she purred. “Just most of them.”
Arthur laughed. “What would you have done if she hadn’t been interested?”
“I’d have sent him back round. This time with his fiancee,” she answered, laughing. “Hell, if she’s anything like her mother I might need to anyway.”
Clara flushed a little as she whirled into Sigurd’s arms, skirts flying. His arms went around her waist, and for a moment all she was aware if was his strong, lean body hard against hers. Then she whirled out as they linked arms, spinning around one another.
He was taller than Willam, she noted, and fairer. Not stronger, surely —like herself, Willam had received the Mantle— but older and better defined. She wondered what his lips would taste like, and shivered deliciously at the thought of his bare chest and felt heat curling in her abdomen.
That thought started to sour her a little, but then the music stopped. “Bow to the band,” announced the caller. “And bow to your partner!” She did and then froze at the final, traditional call of each song. “Kiss your partner!”
Sigurd’s arms were around her and his lips were on hers. Her hands slid over his back, and she gasped a little in pleased surprise as one of his hands cupped her rear and his tongue slipped into her mouth. She clung to him, suddenly weak-kneed, and little inarticulate sounds of pleasure escaped her. And then, frustratingly, it was over.
“May I have the next dance?” he whispered, eyes twinkling.
“Oh Sigurd, that is hardly fair,” Another familiar voice called out now, rich and playfully in its tone. A fire-haired girl peeked her face around where Clara could see. “You can’t keep her to yourself all night.”
“Thora?” Clara acknowledged, one of her closest friends before she left for her training. Goddess, she had grown far more beautiful as well, her tight, low cut dress. Clara couldn’t help herself from getting lost in the rolling cleavage of her creamy breasts.
“The choice is yours, of course, my dear Clara. Sigurd is a fine dancer, and I am sure you would have a wonderful time with him, but there is no need to limit yourself to a single partner,” Thora told her, her eyes suggestive, giving the word dance had many meanings in this situation. Clara’s only response was to blush and imagine her lovely friend pressed up against her, both nude as their soft forms moved along one another.
“Well, Clara, would you like to dance with Thora this song? We could take turns with you,” Sigurd suggested, sliding his fingers through a strand of her hair. The idea made her shiver, and Sigurd continued, “I hate the idea of relinquishing you, but I think I would enjoy watching, in this case.”
“I…would like that,” Clara confessed. Fantasies of Sigurd and Thora in played in her mind, offering her all the pleasures a man and a woman could. She took Thora into her arms now, placing her hands on Thora’s slender waist, while Thora wrapped her arms around Clara’s neck. Thora’s scent, lavender, with hints of apple blossom, filled her senses, with their faces this close, their bodies this close, their breasts pressing up against one another’s.
Dancing with her friend was just as pleasing and dizzying as dancing with Sigurd had been, and Clara found herself looking forward to that last call, and pressing hot lips against Thora’s delicious mouth, tasting her tongue. Except, she wasn’t just fantasizing now, as Thora’s hands caressed her face, pulling her into the soft embrace, and a quick, moist kiss and left Clara longing for more. Before She could miss the heat of Thora’s body against hers, Sigurd stepped back in to replace it.
The next few dances passed in a whirlwind blur for Clara. Her pulse raced, and she felt as if she were having trouble breathing, and she hoped it would never end. Sigurd and Thora had been her best friends, back before she’d been taken to the Temple for training, and it was wonderful to see them again! And they were amazing, Sigurd was so handsome now and Thora was gorgeous and they were kissing and Sigurd was letting his hands ‘accidentally’ explore her as they danced and Thora had ‘accidentally’ cupped her breasts when they’d spun together once, and damn but she was feeling flustered and hot and damp and…
And now they were dancing a wild reel, all three of them, passing from one to the other with all of them and none of them taking the lead. Thora linked arms with Sigurd as they spun wildly, then he spun to her and they caught hands and raised them high as Thora slipped between them – taking pains to rub against both of her partners as she did. Then she turned, catching Clara’s hand and the three of them moved together to the music before Clara found herself pressed against Thora’s back and Sigurd’s chest.
The music ended. “Bow to the musicians!” the caller demanded. Giggling, the three managed to bow together without disentangling. “Kiss your partners!” Thora turned her head, finding Clara’s lips as Sigurd joined them, and for a moment three sets of lips moved together in a dance as intricate as their steps had been. Hands moved over bodies as the kisses deepened and parted and changed orientations, and Clara was shocked at her daring as her own hands slid over Sigurd’s rear and the skin of Thora’s exposed cleavage.
“Maybe,” Sigurd whispered, voice thick and husky, “maybe we should go somewhere else?”
Clara started to speak, then shuddered with delight as Thora’s lips found her ear. “Somewhere where we can dance?” the older girl murmured.
Nodding, barely trusting herself to speak, Clara managed to say “Yes” with a shaky voice. “I’d… like that. Dancing.”
Ingrud and Arthur watched with interest as the three teens made their way out of the square, hand in hand. “It’s about time,” he grinned, leaning into his wife.
She laughed, slipping an arm around his shoulders. “You’re not kidding,” she agreed. “At the rate, they were going, I thought they’d end up humping right there in the square.”
“What would you have done then?”
“At a Sacrifice Fest?” She shrugged. “Hell, it’d probably have turned into an orgy.”
Slyly, he cupped her breast. “You say that like it would have been a bad thing…”
Giggling a little, she slapped his hand. “Behave!”
He kissed her ear. “I am behaving…”
The trio found their way to one of their old childhood hangouts, a low stone building built half-underground. Once it had been a root cellar, but now it was used as a place to store sacking and sailcloth and nets and the like. As children, they’d played there at being kings and queens, or river pirates, or bold warriors setting off on a quest to slay demons. And for a moment, as Clara looked at the old boxes and heaps of cloth and the like, happy memories of those childhood games flooded back.
Then Thora was kissing her, tongue slick in her mouth and soft breasts pressing against her chest, and all thoughts of children’s games evaporated. Clara met the kiss as well as she could, exploring her friend’s body with her hands. More hands caressed her shoulders and moved her long hair, and Sigurd’s lips slid over the back of her neck as he pressed into her from behind. “Goddess, Clara,” Thora murmured, breaking the kiss and beginning to unlace the ties of Clara’s blouse. “You’ve gotten so beautiful…”
Clara shook her head. “No,” she whispered, shivering as Sigurd pulled the tails of her blouse from her skirts and slid his hands over the bare skin of her stomach. “No, I’m not. Not like Thora. I’m plain and flat-chested and…” Her voice died away as Thora slid her fingers over the skin of her small breasts, above the bindings that supported them.
Thora kissed her again. “Hush,” she whispered. “Tell her she’s being stupid, Sigurd.” Her fingers whispered over Clara’s abdomen.
“You’re gorgeous, Clara,” Sigurd murmured, slipping her shirt and vest from her shoulders. “Lovely little breasts like ripe apples in cream, and a nice, firm ass.” He cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples through the binding.
“I wish I had an ass like yours,” Thora agreed, planting gentle kisses on Clara’s throat and working on the buttons of her skirt. “Tight and hard – mine’s too big, even with all the work I do.”
Clara found the laces of Thora’s dress, tugging at the knots as she rocked her rear back into Sigurd’s hips and enjoying the feel of his erection. “Uh-uh… you’ve got all these curves, and I just look like a boy…” She kissed Thora back, tasting the traces of cider on her lips as she explored the wet heat of her friend’s mouth. Then she sighed as Sigurd’s hand slid between their bodies and cupped her mound.
“No boy has beautiful little tits like these,” Sigurd whispered, squeezing a breast gently. “Or a sweet little peach like this.” His fingers pressed into her cleft, through the layer of her woolen skirt and her underwear, and she ground herself against his hand. “Does it taste as good as it feels?”
“This is your night, Clara,” Thora whispered, fingers trailing up Clara’s sides. The skirt, unbuttoned now, slipped down her hips and remained in place only from Sigurd’s hand on her crotch and the two bodies pressed against her. “And I’m going to spend it all showing you just how beautiful you are.” She kissed her friend, biting gently at Clara’s lower lip, and then gave her a devilish grin. “Should we let Sigurd join in? Or just make him watch?”
With both of them caressing her skin, it was hard for Clara to think. To focus on Thora’s questions, to form answers that were more than just “uhh,” or “ahh,” or even “hmm.” All she could process was the suppleness of Thora’s skin, the throbbing of Sigurd’s erection rubbing against her ass, the demanding fervor that consumed her thighs.
“I want…I want…both, ahhh,” Clara tried to answer, unable able to help the greed in her words or tone. Dammit, they had been teasing her all night! How could she not want to feel both of them pressed against her, both of their mouths savoring her body?
“You will have us both then, however you wish,” Thora promised, between deep kisses, helping Clara slip her out of her dress, adding it to the pool of clothing forming on the floor. Clara’s hands grew bolder, reaching out to palm one of her full breasts, enjoying how it yielded to her fingers, loving how the nipple responded to her touch. “Who gets to taste you first? Who do you want to taste first?”
Sigurd’s fingers massaged her clit in a way that made thinking even harder. Clara leaned her head back against him, pushing her chest forward, lost in the sensation of their attention. Thora took this as an invitation, bringing her mouth forward to lick Clara’s breasts. Clara’s only response was to moan and run her free hand through Thora’s copper hair, letting Sigurd hold her up while she surrendered to pleasure.
“Goddess!” Clara managed to cry out, shuddering as her two friends adored every inch of her body. She pulled Thora away from her breast, devouring her mouth in a hungry kiss, sighing into her mouth as Sigurd slipped a thick finger into her tight channel. He moved slow, letting her juices drip down his finger, fitting the finger to the first knuckle, then the second before stopping.
“Clara is this…Is this your first time?” Sigurd asked, voice breathy as it tickled her ear.
“Yuh.Yuhhh…yes…” Clara groaned, part answer, part pleasured cry.
“Oh, that won’t do!” Thora declared, teasing her with light, feathery kisses. She pressed her body against Clara’s, breasts rubbing against each other’s. “We are going to make love to you all night.”
“Please…” Clara could only beg, taking advantage of Thora’s closeness to kiss her neck now, taking her pent-up desire out on her delicate throat. Thora’s moans and sighs were just lovely, and it drove Clara to greater heights, feeling the frantic heartbeat pulsing through her veins.
Sigurd moved away now, as and much as Clara missed the heat of his muscles pressed against her, she was lost in the silky smoothness of Thora’s flesh to protest. He laid down some cloth, making up a makeshift bedding for the three of them to enjoy.
“Why don’t you to lie down, then we can figure it all out,” Sigurd suggested, with arms around both women as they kissed each other. He took a deep kiss from each before releasing them to lie down. The girls lied in each other’s arms, freeing fondling one another, while Sigurd stripped out of his clothes.Moonlight cast shadows over his firm muscles, highlighting his tone. Her mouth watered as he pulled down her trousers, and his hardness sprung out to meet her as soon as it was free.
“So, who gets you first Clara?,” Thora whispered into her ear, as her fingers moved up and down her sopping sex.
“Both of you,” Clara gasped as Thora traced the sopping lips of her sex. “I… I don’t know how that would work… but… I want both of you… my first time…”
“Both of us, hmm?” she purred, slipping her finger into Clara’s heat,”I think I’ve got a few ideas.” She slipped her finger back out, slick with Clara’s juices, and sucked it. “Goddess, you taste good.”
Eyes dark with lust, Clara pushed Thora onto her back, kissing her. Her tongue slipped and explored, tasting herself on Thora’s tongue, and her hips ground against Thora’s as she straddled the older girl. “Tell me about these ideas…” she murmured against Thora’s skin, kissing her way down the pale skin of her throat. “How… would you both have me?” She slithered down Thora’s body, moaning a little as her smooth flesh teased her skin. Lips and tongue traced the contours of her shoulder, her collarbone, and the swell of her breast before finding the hardened bud of Thora’s brown nipple. Clara tensed a little as she felt Sigurd’s hands caress her back and rear, then sighed and continued tonguing her friend’s nipple.
Sigurd knelt behind Clara, between both women’s legs, teeth scraping gently over the smooth skin of her behind. “Well,” he said, stroking her dripping sex as he nibbled along her thigh. “I could fuck you like this, while you ride Thora.” His fingers parted her lips and his tongue slipped into her from behind. Clara threw her head back, moaning in pleasure as his tongue laved her clit and thrust deep into her soaking channel.
Thora caught her hair, drawing her back to her abandoned breast. “Or, we could… oh, Gods, do that…” She took one of Clara’s hands with her own, placing it on the other breast. “Don’t forget this one…”
Clara may have been inexperienced, but she still stole Thora’s voice as she teased and tasted her nipple.
With a shuddered breath, Thora continued,”We could… I could take you with… with my mouth… while Sigurd… fucks you…” Her hands roamed Clara’s back, scratching and caressing gently, reveling in the hard muscle beneath her friend’s skin.
Clara moaned again, her channel clenching around Sigurd’s tongue. “Both,” she moaned, “Goddess… both of them…”
“We have all night,” Thora reminded her, “I’m sure we can find time do it all…” She groaned as Sigurd added two fingers to her pussy, fingering her in time with his tongue fucking Clara.
“Now, though, I want your tongue inside me,” Thora demanded, slipping fingers inside herself, moaning out her pleasure. Clara had no qualms with that, the sight of Thora’s slick nether lips too inviting to decline. She pulled herself away from Sigurd, lapping at the honey between Thora’s thighs, inching closer to the woman’s sultry core. Thora’s legs formed a hallway that led directly to her hungry slit, and it was only inevitable that Clara would end up there. The taste of her friend’s desire was divine, and Clara seeking her depths.
Sigurd watched the lovely display before, hand stroking his own excited cock. He brushed it against Clara’s wetness, slowing collecting her longing from her blossoming lips, pressing the tip against her swollen clit. Gently, he pushed into her sex, groaning as her tightness enveloped him.
“Goddess…” he murmured, fingers tight on her hips when he pushed forward. Clara cried out into Thora’s slit as she stretched around his cock. Sigurd filled her, stopping for a moment as he met the resistance of her virginity. He moved against it a few times, easing against the thin barrier. Finally, there was but a moment of opposition, before she opened to him, accepting his length within her walls. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He breathed, not moving now.
“No,” Clara said, too lost in the musky aroma of Thora to notice any pain. Goddess, it felt good, to be filled by him, while his hands massaged her back and spine. Every twitch of his hardness sent lightning pulsing through her veins, leaving Clara humming against Thora’s clit.
Sigurd movements started slow building his pace to the tempo of her moans. Thora’s sighs and his own animal sounds of pleasure became a concert of bliss, underscored by the rhythmic wet slap of flesh in flesh.
Clara moaned against her friend’s lips, tasting the musky flavor of her arousal as she explored the woman. There was no expertise in her actions, just lust and a desire to taste and feel her pleasure, and her mouth made wet, sloppy sounds as she probed and licked. Little cries of pleasure escaped her, making her tongue jerk and dance within Thora’s cunt as Sigurd thrust into her. She slid her hands up the other woman’s body, cupping and kneading her breasts in time with the motions of her tongue. “Fuck,” she gasped, “Goddess, fuck me!”
Thora spread her legs wider, giving Clara more access, and arched her hips against the Paladin’s tongue. One hand stroked gently through the younger girl’s hair, gently guiding her and encouraging her, making her moan with pleasure as Clara found the most sensitive spots of her dripping sex. She sighed, a wordless noise of pleasure as Clara’s hands cupped her breasts, and her free hand fisted in the rough cloth beneath her body. “Mmmm… like that….” she gasped out, hips rolling against Clara’s mouth in time with Sigurd’s thrusts. “Goddess… get… get me off… with your… your tongue…”
Clara’s tongue moved faster, thrusting deeper and savoring Thora’s depths. Aching with the slow-building need in her loins, she thrust back into Sigurd, impaling herself on his cock with every thrust. The feel of his thick cock stretching her walls and his head bumping against her womb broke her concentration, leaving her moaning and swearing gently against Thora’s cunt. Dimly aware that the redhead’s hand was spreading her lips and circling her clit, Clara tried to return her attention to her friend and her delicious slit once more. Fingers tangled in her hair, pressing her mouth into the other girl’s dripping mound, and somehow she still managed to fuck herself on the cock buried in her as she slurped and licked.
Sigurd gasped out, his breathing growing ragged. His fingers dug into Clara’s hips for leverage, and the sound of flesh slapping flesh filled the air as he abandoned gentleness and pounded himself into the brunette’s slit as hard and fast as he could go. “Fucking good,” he sobbed out, voice thick and harsh with his rising pleasure. “So fucking good! And tight! Fuck!”
Clara threw her head back, moaning with pleasure, and the sight of her face glistening with Thora’s juices in the moonlight made him take her harder and faster yet. Thora dragged her face back down, her own cries of building pleasure coming in time with the desperate motions of Sigurd pleasuring himself with Clara’s tight sex. He couldn’t speak any longer, just cry out as his belly slapped her ass and his cock penetrated her deeper and deeper. With a final wild cry, his cock pulsed within her walls and the heat of his seed flooded her womb.
The three crumpled into one another as their orgasm took over, Clara resting her head against Thora’s pillowy breasts, perfectly suited for this very purpose. Thora planted lazy kisses on her forehead, brushing back her sweat-drenched hair behind her ears. Sigurd lied beside them, wrapping an arm around Clara, kissing her to taste the lingering traces of Thora’s pleasure. He caressed her face, his dreamy brown eyes meeting hers, leaving her shuddering against her buxom friend.
“Thanks,” Clara murmured, settling down into an exhausted heap with her two best friends. It was almost enough that she could forget all she was giving up, to protect Monsford. To protect them.
She sat at a kitchen table, knife in one hand and a half-peeled apple in the other, staring at her aunt as if the older woman had grown a second head. Ingrud, not stopping as she peeled an apple as well, shook her head.
“No. It’s the way of it in Gulder.” She tossed the peel in a bucket of scraps. “We celebrate the sacrifice. When your aunt Helga…”
“There is an army of demons less than a week from here!” Clara interrupted.
“When your aunt Helga was chosen as one of the two sacrifices to the Dragon,” Ingrud continued, “the kingdom celebrated for a day. And here, we celebrated a week.”
“We don’t have time!” Clara insisted.
Her aunt’s gaze was like steel. “We will not dishonor you or Lord Verrier, Clara.” The gaze softened. “Besides, your sword won’t be finished before tomorrow anyway. And we can’t hurry the evacuation any faster than that. So you, young lady, are going to have a fest in your honor like it or not!”
Nodding glumly, Clara looked past her aunt and outside. Already, workmen were erecting a stage in the town hall.
Later that evening, Clara stood as the festivities played out around her, fingers wrapped tightly to the wine goblet in her hand. Some people were feasting, but Clara found she had no stomach for it. The combination of her impending sacrifice, and concern it wouldn’t even be enough to help her hometown against the demons, made her nauseous.
Oh, she wanted to enjoy the party, the celebration thrown in her honor. But how could she? The demon host was approaching, even now. How could anyone enjoy themselves while death waited just outside the walls? So she just sipped at her wine, fighting the angry tears that threatened to come up.
“Clara?”
“Sigurd?” Clara called, shocked by the man she saw before her now. He was two years older than her, yet, while they were growing up, he was hardly ever as tall as her. Somewhere, in the past four years, he had shot up in height, now almost half a foot taller than her. His pale blonde hair was still as wispy as she remembered, but the rest of his features seemed sharpened, baby fat melted away, revealing the strong jaw. His brown eyes were warm, as warm as his boyish smile. He laughed nervously as their eyes met, and she found her face growing hot.
“It’s so good to see you, Clara,” He said, seeming to savor her name as it rested on his tongue. The way he said it made her shiver, wondering if he would call it out like that —No! Stop, now isn’t the time for those thoughts. Just because it would be easy to get lost in his eyes, didn’t mean she should!
“Are you…are you a Paladin now?” He asked, unable to hide the reverence in his tone.
“I…no, I am still in training,” Clara admitted, rubbing her neck. Was he always so handsome, or was that new? Goddess, why couldn’t she think of anything else but how his mouth might feel against hers?
“Would you care to dance? I understand if you don’t want to, but I was hoping…” He asked, like that, and she grew warm at the thought she could make a man stumble over his words. Especially a man as attractive as him…
“I would like that,” she admitted, deciding to let herself get lost in the revelry, at least for one song. Lightning shot through her fingers as his hands interlocked with hers, and she wrapped her arm around his shoulder, shivering at the touch of his hand on her waist. She felt lighter than air, as he twirled her along the dance floor.
There was cheering and shouting and stamping of feet as Sigurd escorted Clara out into the square. Her cheeks, already pink from his attention, flamed scarlet. Then the band struck up a lively tune, and the caller began calling the steps, and suddenly she was too busy to do anything but spin and twirl and try to keep up with the music. Soon enough, despite her fears, she was laughing and enjoying herself.
From the sidelines, Ingrud watched her niece’s obvious pleasure with a contented smile. Arms slipped around her waist, and a scratchy, stubbly face nuzzled the back of her neck, and she leaned back into a broad, strong chest. “You look pleased with yourself,” her husband murmured.
“Do I?” she murmured back, turning her head slightly to kiss him. “Must be because my nefarious scheme worked.”
Arthur watched Clara fall into Sigurd’s arms as the caller called out to swing partners. “Did it now?” he grinned, returning the kiss. “And here I thought your nefarious schemes involved getting me alone..?”
She ground back against him. “Not all of them,” she purred. “Just most of them.”
Arthur laughed. “What would you have done if she hadn’t been interested?”
“I’d have sent him back round. This time with his fiancee,” she answered, laughing. “Hell, if she’s anything like her mother I might need to anyway.”
Clara flushed a little as she whirled into Sigurd’s arms, skirts flying. His arms went around her waist, and for a moment all she was aware if was his strong, lean body hard against hers. Then she whirled out as they linked arms, spinning around one another.
He was taller than Willam, she noted, and fairer. Not stronger, surely —like herself, Willam had received the Mantle— but older and better defined. She wondered what his lips would taste like, and shivered deliciously at the thought of his bare chest and felt heat curling in her abdomen.
That thought started to sour her a little, but then the music stopped. “Bow to the band,” announced the caller. “And bow to your partner!” She did and then froze at the final, traditional call of each song. “Kiss your partner!”
Sigurd’s arms were around her and his lips were on hers. Her hands slid over his back, and she gasped a little in pleased surprise as one of his hands cupped her rear and his tongue slipped into her mouth. She clung to him, suddenly weak-kneed, and little inarticulate sounds of pleasure escaped her. And then, frustratingly, it was over.
“May I have the next dance?” he whispered, eyes twinkling.
“Oh Sigurd, that is hardly fair,” Another familiar voice called out now, rich and playfully in its tone. A fire-haired girl peeked her face around where Clara could see. “You can’t keep her to yourself all night.”
“Thora?” Clara acknowledged, one of her closest friends before she left for her training. Goddess, she had grown far more beautiful as well, her tight, low cut dress. Clara couldn’t help herself from getting lost in the rolling cleavage of her creamy breasts.
“The choice is yours, of course, my dear Clara. Sigurd is a fine dancer, and I am sure you would have a wonderful time with him, but there is no need to limit yourself to a single partner,” Thora told her, her eyes suggestive, giving the word dance had many meanings in this situation. Clara’s only response was to blush and imagine her lovely friend pressed up against her, both nude as their soft forms moved along one another.
“Well, Clara, would you like to dance with Thora this song? We could take turns with you,” Sigurd suggested, sliding his fingers through a strand of her hair. The idea made her shiver, and Sigurd continued, “I hate the idea of relinquishing you, but I think I would enjoy watching, in this case.”
“I…would like that,” Clara confessed. Fantasies of Sigurd and Thora in played in her mind, offering her all the pleasures a man and a woman could. She took Thora into her arms now, placing her hands on Thora’s slender waist, while Thora wrapped her arms around Clara’s neck. Thora’s scent, lavender, with hints of apple blossom, filled her senses, with their faces this close, their bodies this close, their breasts pressing up against one another’s.
Dancing with her friend was just as pleasing and dizzying as dancing with Sigurd had been, and Clara found herself looking forward to that last call, and pressing hot lips against Thora’s delicious mouth, tasting her tongue. Except, she wasn’t just fantasizing now, as Thora’s hands caressed her face, pulling her into the soft embrace, and a quick, moist kiss and left Clara longing for more. Before She could miss the heat of Thora’s body against hers, Sigurd stepped back in to replace it.
The next few dances passed in a whirlwind blur for Clara. Her pulse raced, and she felt as if she were having trouble breathing, and she hoped it would never end. Sigurd and Thora had been her best friends, back before she’d been taken to the Temple for training, and it was wonderful to see them again! And they were amazing, Sigurd was so handsome now and Thora was gorgeous and they were kissing and Sigurd was letting his hands ‘accidentally’ explore her as they danced and Thora had ‘accidentally’ cupped her breasts when they’d spun together once, and damn but she was feeling flustered and hot and damp and…
And now they were dancing a wild reel, all three of them, passing from one to the other with all of them and none of them taking the lead. Thora linked arms with Sigurd as they spun wildly, then he spun to her and they caught hands and raised them high as Thora slipped between them – taking pains to rub against both of her partners as she did. Then she turned, catching Clara’s hand and the three of them moved together to the music before Clara found herself pressed against Thora’s back and Sigurd’s chest.
The music ended. “Bow to the musicians!” the caller demanded. Giggling, the three managed to bow together without disentangling. “Kiss your partners!” Thora turned her head, finding Clara’s lips as Sigurd joined them, and for a moment three sets of lips moved together in a dance as intricate as their steps had been. Hands moved over bodies as the kisses deepened and parted and changed orientations, and Clara was shocked at her daring as her own hands slid over Sigurd’s rear and the skin of Thora’s exposed cleavage.
“Maybe,” Sigurd whispered, voice thick and husky, “maybe we should go somewhere else?”
Clara started to speak, then shuddered with delight as Thora’s lips found her ear. “Somewhere where we can dance?” the older girl murmured.
Nodding, barely trusting herself to speak, Clara managed to say “Yes” with a shaky voice. “I’d… like that. Dancing.”
Ingrud and Arthur watched with interest as the three teens made their way out of the square, hand in hand. “It’s about time,” he grinned, leaning into his wife.
She laughed, slipping an arm around his shoulders. “You’re not kidding,” she agreed. “At the rate, they were going, I thought they’d end up humping right there in the square.”
“What would you have done then?”
“At a Sacrifice Fest?” She shrugged. “Hell, it’d probably have turned into an orgy.”
Slyly, he cupped her breast. “You say that like it would have been a bad thing…”
Giggling a little, she slapped his hand. “Behave!”
He kissed her ear. “I am behaving…”
The trio found their way to one of their old childhood hangouts, a low stone building built half-underground. Once it had been a root cellar, but now it was used as a place to store sacking and sailcloth and nets and the like. As children, they’d played there at being kings and queens, or river pirates, or bold warriors setting off on a quest to slay demons. And for a moment, as Clara looked at the old boxes and heaps of cloth and the like, happy memories of those childhood games flooded back.
Then Thora was kissing her, tongue slick in her mouth and soft breasts pressing against her chest, and all thoughts of children’s games evaporated. Clara met the kiss as well as she could, exploring her friend’s body with her hands. More hands caressed her shoulders and moved her long hair, and Sigurd’s lips slid over the back of her neck as he pressed into her from behind. “Goddess, Clara,” Thora murmured, breaking the kiss and beginning to unlace the ties of Clara’s blouse. “You’ve gotten so beautiful…”
Clara shook her head. “No,” she whispered, shivering as Sigurd pulled the tails of her blouse from her skirts and slid his hands over the bare skin of her stomach. “No, I’m not. Not like Thora. I’m plain and flat-chested and…” Her voice died away as Thora slid her fingers over the skin of her small breasts, above the bindings that supported them.
Thora kissed her again. “Hush,” she whispered. “Tell her she’s being stupid, Sigurd.” Her fingers whispered over Clara’s abdomen.
“You’re gorgeous, Clara,” Sigurd murmured, slipping her shirt and vest from her shoulders. “Lovely little breasts like ripe apples in cream, and a nice, firm ass.” He cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples through the binding.
“I wish I had an ass like yours,” Thora agreed, planting gentle kisses on Clara’s throat and working on the buttons of her skirt. “Tight and hard – mine’s too big, even with all the work I do.”
Clara found the laces of Thora’s dress, tugging at the knots as she rocked her rear back into Sigurd’s hips and enjoying the feel of his erection. “Uh-uh… you’ve got all these curves, and I just look like a boy…” She kissed Thora back, tasting the traces of cider on her lips as she explored the wet heat of her friend’s mouth. Then she sighed as Sigurd’s hand slid between their bodies and cupped her mound.
“No boy has beautiful little tits like these,” Sigurd whispered, squeezing a breast gently. “Or a sweet little peach like this.” His fingers pressed into her cleft, through the layer of her woolen skirt and her underwear, and she ground herself against his hand. “Does it taste as good as it feels?”
“This is your night, Clara,” Thora whispered, fingers trailing up Clara’s sides. The skirt, unbuttoned now, slipped down her hips and remained in place only from Sigurd’s hand on her crotch and the two bodies pressed against her. “And I’m going to spend it all showing you just how beautiful you are.” She kissed her friend, biting gently at Clara’s lower lip, and then gave her a devilish grin. “Should we let Sigurd join in? Or just make him watch?”
With both of them caressing her skin, it was hard for Clara to think. To focus on Thora’s questions, to form answers that were more than just “uhh,” or “ahh,” or even “hmm.” All she could process was the suppleness of Thora’s skin, the throbbing of Sigurd’s erection rubbing against her ass, the demanding fervor that consumed her thighs.
“I want…I want…both, ahhh,” Clara tried to answer, unable able to help the greed in her words or tone. Dammit, they had been teasing her all night! How could she not want to feel both of them pressed against her, both of their mouths savoring her body?
“You will have us both then, however you wish,” Thora promised, between deep kisses, helping Clara slip her out of her dress, adding it to the pool of clothing forming on the floor. Clara’s hands grew bolder, reaching out to palm one of her full breasts, enjoying how it yielded to her fingers, loving how the nipple responded to her touch. “Who gets to taste you first? Who do you want to taste first?”
Sigurd’s fingers massaged her clit in a way that made thinking even harder. Clara leaned her head back against him, pushing her chest forward, lost in the sensation of their attention. Thora took this as an invitation, bringing her mouth forward to lick Clara’s breasts. Clara’s only response was to moan and run her free hand through Thora’s copper hair, letting Sigurd hold her up while she surrendered to pleasure.
“Goddess!” Clara managed to cry out, shuddering as her two friends adored every inch of her body. She pulled Thora away from her breast, devouring her mouth in a hungry kiss, sighing into her mouth as Sigurd slipped a thick finger into her tight channel. He moved slow, letting her juices drip down his finger, fitting the finger to the first knuckle, then the second before stopping.
“Clara is this…Is this your first time?” Sigurd asked, voice breathy as it tickled her ear.
“Yuh.Yuhhh…yes…” Clara groaned, part answer, part pleasured cry.
“Oh, that won’t do!” Thora declared, teasing her with light, feathery kisses. She pressed her body against Clara’s, breasts rubbing against each other’s. “We are going to make love to you all night.”
“Please…” Clara could only beg, taking advantage of Thora’s closeness to kiss her neck now, taking her pent-up desire out on her delicate throat. Thora’s moans and sighs were just lovely, and it drove Clara to greater heights, feeling the frantic heartbeat pulsing through her veins.
Sigurd moved away now, as and much as Clara missed the heat of his muscles pressed against her, she was lost in the silky smoothness of Thora’s flesh to protest. He laid down some cloth, making up a makeshift bedding for the three of them to enjoy.
“Why don’t you to lie down, then we can figure it all out,” Sigurd suggested, with arms around both women as they kissed each other. He took a deep kiss from each before releasing them to lie down. The girls lied in each other’s arms, freeing fondling one another, while Sigurd stripped out of his clothes.Moonlight cast shadows over his firm muscles, highlighting his tone. Her mouth watered as he pulled down her trousers, and his hardness sprung out to meet her as soon as it was free.
“So, who gets you first Clara?,” Thora whispered into her ear, as her fingers moved up and down her sopping sex.
“Both of you,” Clara gasped as Thora traced the sopping lips of her sex. “I… I don’t know how that would work… but… I want both of you… my first time…”
“Both of us, hmm?” she purred, slipping her finger into Clara’s heat,”I think I’ve got a few ideas.” She slipped her finger back out, slick with Clara’s juices, and sucked it. “Goddess, you taste good.”
Eyes dark with lust, Clara pushed Thora onto her back, kissing her. Her tongue slipped and explored, tasting herself on Thora’s tongue, and her hips ground against Thora’s as she straddled the older girl. “Tell me about these ideas…” she murmured against Thora’s skin, kissing her way down the pale skin of her throat. “How… would you both have me?” She slithered down Thora’s body, moaning a little as her smooth flesh teased her skin. Lips and tongue traced the contours of her shoulder, her collarbone, and the swell of her breast before finding the hardened bud of Thora’s brown nipple. Clara tensed a little as she felt Sigurd’s hands caress her back and rear, then sighed and continued tonguing her friend’s nipple.
Sigurd knelt behind Clara, between both women’s legs, teeth scraping gently over the smooth skin of her behind. “Well,” he said, stroking her dripping sex as he nibbled along her thigh. “I could fuck you like this, while you ride Thora.” His fingers parted her lips and his tongue slipped into her from behind. Clara threw her head back, moaning in pleasure as his tongue laved her clit and thrust deep into her soaking channel.
Thora caught her hair, drawing her back to her abandoned breast. “Or, we could… oh, Gods, do that…” She took one of Clara’s hands with her own, placing it on the other breast. “Don’t forget this one…”
Clara may have been inexperienced, but she still stole Thora’s voice as she teased and tasted her nipple.
With a shuddered breath, Thora continued,”We could… I could take you with… with my mouth… while Sigurd… fucks you…” Her hands roamed Clara’s back, scratching and caressing gently, reveling in the hard muscle beneath her friend’s skin.
Clara moaned again, her channel clenching around Sigurd’s tongue. “Both,” she moaned, “Goddess… both of them…”
“We have all night,” Thora reminded her, “I’m sure we can find time do it all…” She groaned as Sigurd added two fingers to her pussy, fingering her in time with his tongue fucking Clara.
“Now, though, I want your tongue inside me,” Thora demanded, slipping fingers inside herself, moaning out her pleasure. Clara had no qualms with that, the sight of Thora’s slick nether lips too inviting to decline. She pulled herself away from Sigurd, lapping at the honey between Thora’s thighs, inching closer to the woman’s sultry core. Thora’s legs formed a hallway that led directly to her hungry slit, and it was only inevitable that Clara would end up there. The taste of her friend’s desire was divine, and Clara seeking her depths.
Sigurd watched the lovely display before, hand stroking his own excited cock. He brushed it against Clara’s wetness, slowing collecting her longing from her blossoming lips, pressing the tip against her swollen clit. Gently, he pushed into her sex, groaning as her tightness enveloped him.
“Goddess…” he murmured, fingers tight on her hips when he pushed forward. Clara cried out into Thora’s slit as she stretched around his cock. Sigurd filled her, stopping for a moment as he met the resistance of her virginity. He moved against it a few times, easing against the thin barrier. Finally, there was but a moment of opposition, before she opened to him, accepting his length within her walls. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He breathed, not moving now.
“No,” Clara said, too lost in the musky aroma of Thora to notice any pain. Goddess, it felt good, to be filled by him, while his hands massaged her back and spine. Every twitch of his hardness sent lightning pulsing through her veins, leaving Clara humming against Thora’s clit.
Sigurd movements started slow building his pace to the tempo of her moans. Thora’s sighs and his own animal sounds of pleasure became a concert of bliss, underscored by the rhythmic wet slap of flesh in flesh.
Clara moaned against her friend’s lips, tasting the musky flavor of her arousal as she explored the woman. There was no expertise in her actions, just lust and a desire to taste and feel her pleasure, and her mouth made wet, sloppy sounds as she probed and licked. Little cries of pleasure escaped her, making her tongue jerk and dance within Thora’s cunt as Sigurd thrust into her. She slid her hands up the other woman’s body, cupping and kneading her breasts in time with the motions of her tongue. “Fuck,” she gasped, “Goddess, fuck me!”
Thora spread her legs wider, giving Clara more access, and arched her hips against the Paladin’s tongue. One hand stroked gently through the younger girl’s hair, gently guiding her and encouraging her, making her moan with pleasure as Clara found the most sensitive spots of her dripping sex. She sighed, a wordless noise of pleasure as Clara’s hands cupped her breasts, and her free hand fisted in the rough cloth beneath her body. “Mmmm… like that….” she gasped out, hips rolling against Clara’s mouth in time with Sigurd’s thrusts. “Goddess… get… get me off… with your… your tongue…”
Clara’s tongue moved faster, thrusting deeper and savoring Thora’s depths. Aching with the slow-building need in her loins, she thrust back into Sigurd, impaling herself on his cock with every thrust. The feel of his thick cock stretching her walls and his head bumping against her womb broke her concentration, leaving her moaning and swearing gently against Thora’s cunt. Dimly aware that the redhead’s hand was spreading her lips and circling her clit, Clara tried to return her attention to her friend and her delicious slit once more. Fingers tangled in her hair, pressing her mouth into the other girl’s dripping mound, and somehow she still managed to fuck herself on the cock buried in her as she slurped and licked.
Sigurd gasped out, his breathing growing ragged. His fingers dug into Clara’s hips for leverage, and the sound of flesh slapping flesh filled the air as he abandoned gentleness and pounded himself into the brunette’s slit as hard and fast as he could go. “Fucking good,” he sobbed out, voice thick and harsh with his rising pleasure. “So fucking good! And tight! Fuck!”
Clara threw her head back, moaning with pleasure, and the sight of her face glistening with Thora’s juices in the moonlight made him take her harder and faster yet. Thora dragged her face back down, her own cries of building pleasure coming in time with the desperate motions of Sigurd pleasuring himself with Clara’s tight sex. He couldn’t speak any longer, just cry out as his belly slapped her ass and his cock penetrated her deeper and deeper. With a final wild cry, his cock pulsed within her walls and the heat of his seed flooded her womb.
The three crumpled into one another as their orgasm took over, Clara resting her head against Thora’s pillowy breasts, perfectly suited for this very purpose. Thora planted lazy kisses on her forehead, brushing back her sweat-drenched hair behind her ears. Sigurd lied beside them, wrapping an arm around Clara, kissing her to taste the lingering traces of Thora’s pleasure. He caressed her face, his dreamy brown eyes meeting hers, leaving her shuddering against her buxom friend.
“Thanks,” Clara murmured, settling down into an exhausted heap with her two best friends. It was almost enough that she could forget all she was giving up, to protect Monsford. To protect them.
Alright, a chapter edited, though I think I need another run through this one because it was just too freaking long and I am sure I missed a dozen things. How do these smut scene end up so long? I cut a third of it, and it was still 4k+ words.
As for Chapter 1, man, IDK, it's still kicking my ass. Overall it's not that bad, it just one scene part that really needs to be reworked, but I can't stay stuck on it any longer. I need to move forward and hopefully, it will be easier to fix later.
Other thoughts: Think I am going to swap around the chapters some. Keep things in chronological order, and switch between Matthias and Aurianna's chapters and Clara's. At the very least, it's consistent with how book 1 was written.
Looks like I am going to have a little bit of plot left over at the end, mostly involving Clara and her growing harem. Think I will turn that section into a standalone novelette (or add in the other little standealone scenes I wrote by myself that take place between book 2 and 3).
TheCorsair
Pēdicãbo ego võs et irrumäbo
- Joined
- Dec 17, 2013
I blame attention to detail. And the fact that the difficulty of writing sex scenes increases by the square of the participants.
- Joined
- Dec 14, 2012
- Location
- Australia
To someone who'll appreciate the appropriateness of the context behind this as much as I do.
Oh, and another link you might find humorous and be able to identify with some of the memes:
Oh, and another link you might find humorous and be able to identify with some of the memes:
Disney Princesses as Writers[/url]]
- Joined
- Dec 14, 2012
- Location
- Australia
That's not fair, you know I'm not an expert in the Dark-Fantasy Demon-Erotica genre!
However, you'll still be eating your words when my novel hits the top of the New York Times bestseller list.
I'm starting on it tomorrow, so should be there by the end of April!
However, you'll still be eating your words when my novel hits the top of the New York Times bestseller list.
I'm starting on it tomorrow, so should be there by the end of April!
OP
OP
Xanaphia
Biblically Accurate Bitch
- Joined
- Sep 28, 2013
Oh, I have some tips about this!
1. Self-insert yourself as the protagonist, and pick an actual celebrity to be your love interest. The only change you should make to the celebrity is that they are no longer famous, and totally enamored with you.
2. Publish your first draft, but insist it was edited three times.
3. Order thousands of copies of your book at bookstores, but make sure they report to the NYTBS list first.
4. ?????
5. Profit and movie deal.
This should guarantee you get on the list for at least 23 hours.
1. Self-insert yourself as the protagonist, and pick an actual celebrity to be your love interest. The only change you should make to the celebrity is that they are no longer famous, and totally enamored with you.
2. Publish your first draft, but insist it was edited three times.
3. Order thousands of copies of your book at bookstores, but make sure they report to the NYTBS list first.
4. ?????
5. Profit and movie deal.
This should guarantee you get on the list for at least 23 hours.
- Joined
- Dec 14, 2012
- Location
- Australia
Would it also help if the photo of the chiselled Aussie author hunk on the dust jacket makes Chris Hemsworth look like a cross between Quasimodo and The Elephant man in comparison?
OP
OP
Xanaphia
Biblically Accurate Bitch
- Joined
- Sep 28, 2013
The Broken Paladin
Matthias had a weapon, now.
In the early hours of dawn, he doubled back to the ferry, wanting to ensure that Aurianna and the girl, Clara, had made their escapes. He found a scene of battle, the rotting remains of two demons, one impaled on a harrow spear, the other sprawled amongst scorched craters and dried blood. The tattered remnants of the girl's jerkin lay on the ground as well. Had she been wounded, or Aurianna? He used the jerkin to clean the blade. Spears weren't his preferred weapon, but he had learned them, along with sword and axe and mace.
Flies buzzed in the background, hovering around demon corpses, as if trying to decide if they could be eaten. After he'd finished cleaning himself off he'd gone back on the hunt. The hunt was all he had left, since Dark Choir had twisted his mind, leading Aurianna to abandon him. Less than a mile from the river, he'd stumbled across three more of the Dark Choir, and a small taste of revenge. Striking without warning, he'd killed all three before they could attempt to warp his mind. The third one he'd drank down, filling the gnawing emptiness with bitter metallic blood.
A shadow flickered, drawing his attention. Glancing upwards, Matthias reached for his spear. Three black-winged demons soared overhead, bearing barbed cruciform lances. The one in the tail glanced downwards, then cried in a harsh voice. As one, the three banked left and circled back towards him.
Matthias didn't wait. Seizing his harrow spear and coming to his feet, he tossed it into the air and sunk it into the abdomen of the lead demon. She shrieked in agony, clawing at her guts as she tumbled from the air, and he leapt to meet her. Kicking her own weapon away, he tore his spear from her body and drove it into her throat. Blackish blood gushed from her mouth and nose, and then she lay still.
Something tore into the flesh of his back, ripping and pulling as he stumbled forward. He tried to sag to his knees and couldn't, hooked by the barbs in his muscles. He grunted in agony as the barbs pulled, trying to drag him into the air, and he forced himself to reach up and catch the shaft. Razor-edged ridges grated the flesh of his fingers and palm as he pulled, and he screamed in agony as he released it once more. There was time for a quick impression of flayed flesh and red-black blood streaming down his fingers to soak the earth, and then the other surviving demon swooped down at him.
In desperation, he tore himself from the barbs in his back, screaming in agony when pieces of muscle and skin ripped away. Dodging the other lance was more luck than skill as he stumbled and fell to the ground beneath the swing of the demonic weapon. His left hand closed around the shaft of the harrow spear, and his fangs bit through his tongue as he forced himself not to cry out as he rolled and slashed with the blade. The demons beat their wings, rising away from his strike.
Concentrating, allowing his demon more and more control as he fought the pain and the injuries, he rose to his feet once more. "You bitches want me?" he laughed, voice becoming cold and inhuman. "Come on, then. I'll tear your wings away and devour your corpses!"
One of the succubi laughed. "We will take our time on you, little lust demon." Then she sniffed the air. "You stink of the War-Whore, demon. Perhaps our Mistress will wish to play with you, instead."
Matthias whirled when a shadow alerted him to the motions of the other demon, and he lashed out with his spear. His tattered back screamed in protest, and his strike fell short. The winged demon's blow did not, and barbs bored in his left thigh. She jerked at the weapon as she soared past, and he was torn from his feet and dragged behind her. Before he could react, the other demon's lance embedded in his ribs, and he screamed aloud as he was pulled into the air.
Gasping in pain and wishing he could pass out, the harpies bore him west.
Waking up alone, in a bed, proved disorienting to Aurianna. Where was Matthias? Clara? Where was she, and how did she get here?
A knock at the door drew her attention. The room was simple, all whitewashed walls and sturdy handmade furniture. A dresser, a wardrobe, a single bed with a mattress stuffed with straw and a comforter stuffed with down and goose feathers. There was simplicity in the design that was calculated to allow the beauty of the wood itself to shine through. Clara entered, dressed to match, wearing a dark skirt of homespun wool, and a white blouse and a brocade vest in black and gold. All in all, she looked every inch a farm girl from a successful family.
The scabbarded sword at her side, and the hard set of her eyes, did not match that impression.
They had made it to Monsford, Aurianna reasoned, and they were safe, but not for long. Not with Hydranes approaching. And not Matthias. He was still out there, alone in the wilderness without a weapon. The memory stung, but at least Clara was safe.
"You... you're looking better..." Clara managed, the words strained. Then her lip trembled, and her eyes watered, and the bed bounced as she threw herself down next to Aurianna and embraced her. "Lady be praised!" she cried out, voice cracking with the emotions she was trying to keep in check. "I thought... oh, Goddess, I didn't know if you'd make it!"
Aurianna held Clara against her, with her good arm, running fingers through her hair. “I guess the Goddess isn’t ready to bring me home yet.” With a strong effort, she moved her injured arm into her lap and winced as the muscles pulled.
Clara sat up straighter, "Oh, I forgot. I... I didn't hurt you, did I?"
“Not too much. Besides, the pain means I stand a chance to keep it.”
They sat in silence for awhile, Matthias weighing on Aurianna’s thoughts. Rage at what he’d done mingled with guilt over leaving him behind, and all she was left with was a bitter taste in her mouth.
Clara sighed, twisting the fabric of her skirt anxiously. "I... uhm, I need some... some advice."
Clara fell silent again, gnawing her lip. Meeting Aurianna’s eyes, she continued, voice brittle with strain. "Monsford is... it's probably, possibly, uh..." She swallowed hard. "The demons are coming. And... and everyone's... everyone's going to, to fight. To try and... and keep them back. Keep them out of the Kingdoms."
She fell silent again, wiping her eyes and struggling with her voice. "I... they... there's no... no way, you know? My fa.... my people, they're... they're brave. And they're good fighters. But... but that Host outnumbers them. A lot."
Shaking a little, Clara wrapped her arms around her shoulders. "So... so I'm going... to the Mountain. To... to the Dragon. Lord Verrier." Her head turned away, eyes closed tight. "And I... I don't... don't know... if... if I'll... be... coming... back..." She began rocking back and forth, voice falling to a whisper. "I'm scared, Mistress."
“But Lord Verrier… You said he protects the mortals of his lands.” Comfort was Aurianna’s intention, but uncertainty seeped through. This was a huge force, larger than she had ever seen come for the Seraphim Wall. And here she was, too injured to help.
" I'm going... to the Mountain. To the Dragon. Lord Verrier." Her head turned away, eyes closed tight. "And I... I don't know... if I'll... be... coming... back..." She began rocking back and forth, voice falling to a whisper. "I'm scared, Mistress."
“Clara, what do you mean?” Aurianna asked, grabbing Clara with her good hand, refusing to let anything else slip through her fingers.
“I am…The offering…for Lord Verrier…” Clara explained, shaking hard, barely able to speak the words.
“No, offer me instead. The world doesn’t need me anymore, not a broken paladin,” Or a demon’s whore.
Clara shook her head, “You wouldn’t make the trek, not in your condition.” Looking up again, Clara forced a smile through the tears. “Besides, you can heal. You can be a great warrior again. Afodisia isn’t done with you yet, remember?” Clara stood
An older woman declared, leaning against the doorframe. She also looked like Clara, albeit, an older, experienced worn version of her. “Once you’re able, you are to get moving as well.”
“To join Clara? Aurianna asked. She moved to hang her legs off the side of the bed, as if to prove she would be able to make the trek in place of her acolyte.
“No. To go with the rest of the noncombatants to Kirstad,” The older woman informed her. Noncombatant. The word was a punch in the gut.
“Like hell I am. I can fight,” Aurianna, protested, jumping to her feet.
“You can’t even move your arm,” Clara countered, “and your spear is two-handed.”
“Give me a sword. I can fight with my left.”
“With your off hand?” The disbelief in the woman’s voice was another blow.
“From what I saw you need everyone who knows which end of a sword to hold to fight,” Aurianna asserted, “I can fight. I am not useless.”
The older woman just sighed. “Fine, you can stay if you are so certain throw away your life.” She offered her hand, “Ingrud Kelvasdottir, Clara’s Aunt, and Mayor of Monsford.”
Aurianna vented her frustration on a wooden training dummy. Or she would have been, if trying to fight with her off hand wasn’t causing even more frustration. Oh. she wasn’t terrible. Merely mediocre. Below average. The left arm was sluggish compared to its twin. Not used to leading, to driving the attack. When it followed its partner, and it thrived. But her right arm hung limply at her side.
“I had heard there was a Paladin here, but I wasn’t expecting Afodisia herself!”
Aurianna cringed. Not the first time she heard the comparison, but it highlighted her irritation as she failed to live up to the gifts the Goddess had bestowed upon her. Besides, that was what Jeoram used to call her.
“You shouldn’t blaspheme. I am but a pale shadow of her glory. Especially like this,” she replied, sheathing her sword. Abating the urge to stab some innocent bystander. Or embarrass herself by trying and failing. She glanced towards the source of interruption.
“She wouldn’t have given you those eyes, if She did not want Her children to see Herself in you,” the older man teased, twinkling in his worn blue eyes.
Aurianna didn’t respond, just blinked. This was slightly less frustrating than fighting poorly with her off hand. The man was certainly a strange case. Taller than her and thinner, he must have been well into his sixties. His hair was frayed silver and hadn’t been brushed in months.
“Shouldn’t you be evacuating?” Aurianna asked, leaning against a nearby post.
“Oh no, I have far too much work to do here to evacuate. But shouldn’t you, broken paladin?” He shot back at her.
She stiffened at his remark. “I can fight,” she argued, clenching both fists, despite the pain that shot through her right arm.
“Oh, like a green girl,” He laughed, a little too loudly to be appropriate. “Tell me, girl, you want to be really useful?”
Aurianna scowled as he threw insults at her, hurt by their accuracy. And yet, his last question caught her off guard. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t have to be broken. I think I could fix you,” The old man asserted, rubbing his chin. “Almost certain I could.”
“I…don’t understand. Are you some kind of healer?”
“Hmm? Oh no, nothing like that,” The old man laughed once more, as though her remark was amusing.
“So…You can help me?” Her tone was sharp, frustration replacing the brief glimmer of hope.
“Oh, well, yes. Your arm is injured. Why wait for it to heal when you can just replace it?” he asked, as though the question made any sense.
“I...uh.. .what?” Patience wore thin.
“I have a few pieces that I could embed there, should return you to full range of motion. Then you could actually be an asset to Monsford,” he explained smirking. Aurianna’s blank expression spoke louder than words, so the old man, continued, “Follow me to my workshop, I’ll show you what I mean. I’m Otis by the way…”
“Aurianna.”
Hydranes stared down at the tribute, cruel eyes laced with a hint of curiosity. He strung up by chains hooked into the meat of his arms, hanging a few feet off the ground.
“What is Baath Me’el’s rebellious slave doing all the way out here?” She questioned. Before he could even answer, two of her servants drove heated rods into his thighs, preemptively ensuring his honesty.
Matthias felt no shame as he screamed in agony. He'd learned that it actually made torture easier to bear. Slightly. So he shrieked in anguish as iron rods pierced his thigh and pressed into his bones, roasting them.
"Killing... your... demons..." he gasped. Then he retched at the scent of burning meat.
Hydranes laughed, then gestured. Bloody meat was forced into his mouth, and he drank it down by reflex. His wounds spasmed around the barbs and hooks in his flesh, trying to heal, and he whimpered in agony as the wounds sealed and tore open once more.
“Where is that paladin cunt I smell on you? Baath Me’el wants her back so badly. I want to see what all the fuss is about.” Her black lips curled into a sinister smile.
He went mad for a second, screaming and struggling against his chains, heedless of the new injuries he inflicted. The hissing kiss of sharp, hot iron driving into his belly stopped him short. "Mine, bitch! She's mine! I'll kill you! I'll rape your corpse in front¬–"
The rant cut off in a high, keening wail of utter agony. The barbed spike in his gut twisted and pulled, and he screamed again as it tore from his flesh and dragged a perforated loop of intestine behind it. Laughing, Hydranes seated herself on a chair shaped from a living human body. "Oh, I do so love the strong ones." Negligently, she gestured at an attending demon. "Fetch the worms."
“FUCK!”
Strapped down to a chair, there was little else Aurianna could do but scream as Otis applied the metal joint directly to the bone. Far more painful than the injury that wounded her, the injury he was trying to “fix.” And fix was a rather appropriate term for it, as he used blacksmith tools to attach armor directly to the joints, enchanted by magic to move her control. A roundabout way to regain use of her arm, but what choice did she have?
“You need to stay still. And quiet. The procedure is delicate,” he chided her. Then stopped for a moment, looking down on her, with a curious expression on his face. “I forgot to offer you something for the pain, didn’t I?”
“ARGH! Fuck! Yes! Fuck!” Aurianna cried out, aware of the cold metal bonding with the bone. Otis walked away for a moment and brought back a thick leather strip.
“Here, bite down on this,” he instructed, oblivious to the incredulous look on her face. Nevertheless, Aurianna accepted, screaming into the leather as he attached a bolt to her elbow.
Alright, finally found my groove in editing again. Overall the chapter wasn't bad, just wasn't feeling like a first chapter. But I think I made it work, or at least made it much better. I moved a section that was originally at the end of book 1 to the beginning of book 2, just because it ended up making more sense. The benefit of editing an entire series at once, you can see everythign and how it pieces together.
Made some moodboards for some characters. I think the model in the Matthias one is a bit too pretty, but the fans approve.
OP
OP
Xanaphia
Biblically Accurate Bitch
- Joined
- Sep 28, 2013
This is a little piece I've been meaning to write for awhile, but it made me too sad to get through before. I think it turned out okay.
~*~
Made a couple more moodboards.
“High Inquisitor?” Rielle asked, hands fidgeting in her lap, “It’s honor, Lord Commander, but are you sure? There are several inquisitors with more experience than me.”
“Experience is well and good, but you have already proved yourself to have a quick and keen analytical mind,” Mykel explained, placing a bottle of brandy and two glasses on his great oak desk. “Even those who have served longer as see that you bear Afodisia’s wisdom.”
Pride spread over her lips and cheek, her grin almost painful to stifle. “Thank you, sir. I strive to serve you and Her well.”
“How are things with Matthias? Is the wedding still on?” Mykel prodded, pouring brandy for both of them.
Rielle laughed, trying in vain to cover the blush on her cheeks. “Things are wonderful. We decided to push the wedding back until he finishes training Aurianna.”
“Makes sense,” Mykel acknowledged, scratching his chin, before breaking into a wide smile, “I imagine Matthias will have earned himself a break by that point.“
Rielle wore a curt smile, “He tells me she is very gifted.”
“Gifted, sure, but also reckless and headstrong. He has the patience of a saint.” Mykel took a swig of his brandy at that, before adding, “It’s why I asked him to train her in the first place.” He stared into his brandy for a moment longer, before draining the glass.
“Well then, I suppose he has his work cut out for him,” Rielle agreed, sipping at the brandy.
Mykel nodded, refilling his glass and holding it up, “In any case, let just drink. To your promotion.” But before she could clink her glass with his, the door burst open, and Aurianna burst in behind it.
“Lord Commander, you have to send reinforcements to Lord Matthias!”
“Aurianna, what’s going on?”
“He sent me here for help, while he holds The Gap against demons. He won’t last long, so we have to go now!”
Rielle blanched, eyes wide as the words processed, “Matthias…?” Mykel met her gaze from across the desk.
“What are you doing? We have to leave now, before they–”
Mykel’s voice was full of an awful calm, “There is nothing we can do for him.”
“What do you mean? He is holding them on his own and–”
“Aurianna, Matthias isn’t waiting for reinforcements. If he’s lucky, he’s already dead. He sent you away, to get you to safety.”
“No, that’s not...” Aurianna shook her head, golden eyes glittering as the truth dawned on her. She turned toward Rielle, “You love Matthias, don’t you? Don’t you? Tell him! Tell the lord commander we can’t leave him out there!
“Aurianna, that is enough!”
Aurianna fell to her knees then, grabbing Rielle’s hands. “Tell him, please tell him. He’ll listen to you. We can’t leave him, we can’t–” Aurianna’s words dissolved into nonsensical pleas. Reille sat still, unable to summon any words. Unable to summon any tears. Unable to hear Aurianna’s sobs and the Lord Commander’s rebukes over the pounding of her own heartbeat. Matthias...Matthias was...
Finally, Mykel managed to get the hysterical Aurianna out of the room, closing the heavy oak door of his office with a dread finality. Four heavy steps later, and he was behind her, one heavy hand on her shoulder.“Oh, Rielle, I’m so sorry...”
“Experience is well and good, but you have already proved yourself to have a quick and keen analytical mind,” Mykel explained, placing a bottle of brandy and two glasses on his great oak desk. “Even those who have served longer as see that you bear Afodisia’s wisdom.”
Pride spread over her lips and cheek, her grin almost painful to stifle. “Thank you, sir. I strive to serve you and Her well.”
“How are things with Matthias? Is the wedding still on?” Mykel prodded, pouring brandy for both of them.
Rielle laughed, trying in vain to cover the blush on her cheeks. “Things are wonderful. We decided to push the wedding back until he finishes training Aurianna.”
“Makes sense,” Mykel acknowledged, scratching his chin, before breaking into a wide smile, “I imagine Matthias will have earned himself a break by that point.“
Rielle wore a curt smile, “He tells me she is very gifted.”
“Gifted, sure, but also reckless and headstrong. He has the patience of a saint.” Mykel took a swig of his brandy at that, before adding, “It’s why I asked him to train her in the first place.” He stared into his brandy for a moment longer, before draining the glass.
“Well then, I suppose he has his work cut out for him,” Rielle agreed, sipping at the brandy.
Mykel nodded, refilling his glass and holding it up, “In any case, let just drink. To your promotion.” But before she could clink her glass with his, the door burst open, and Aurianna burst in behind it.
“Lord Commander, you have to send reinforcements to Lord Matthias!”
“Aurianna, what’s going on?”
“He sent me here for help, while he holds The Gap against demons. He won’t last long, so we have to go now!”
Rielle blanched, eyes wide as the words processed, “Matthias…?” Mykel met her gaze from across the desk.
“What are you doing? We have to leave now, before they–”
Mykel’s voice was full of an awful calm, “There is nothing we can do for him.”
“What do you mean? He is holding them on his own and–”
“Aurianna, Matthias isn’t waiting for reinforcements. If he’s lucky, he’s already dead. He sent you away, to get you to safety.”
“No, that’s not...” Aurianna shook her head, golden eyes glittering as the truth dawned on her. She turned toward Rielle, “You love Matthias, don’t you? Don’t you? Tell him! Tell the lord commander we can’t leave him out there!
“Aurianna, that is enough!”
Aurianna fell to her knees then, grabbing Rielle’s hands. “Tell him, please tell him. He’ll listen to you. We can’t leave him, we can’t–” Aurianna’s words dissolved into nonsensical pleas. Reille sat still, unable to summon any words. Unable to summon any tears. Unable to hear Aurianna’s sobs and the Lord Commander’s rebukes over the pounding of her own heartbeat. Matthias...Matthias was...
Finally, Mykel managed to get the hysterical Aurianna out of the room, closing the heavy oak door of his office with a dread finality. Four heavy steps later, and he was behind her, one heavy hand on her shoulder.“Oh, Rielle, I’m so sorry...”
~*~
Made a couple more moodboards.
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OP
Xanaphia
Biblically Accurate Bitch
- Joined
- Sep 28, 2013
Sometimes I wonder if I can even tell good from bad anymore. It all sort of bleeds together and becomes indistinguishable. Someone let me know if this is terrible, alright? Otherwise I will take the silence to mean it's great.
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Xanaphia
Biblically Accurate Bitch
- Joined
- Sep 28, 2013
Happy Easter!
Obi-Wan Kenobi: Is thatme?
Me: No that's Jesus. At least, a white-washed approximation of him. Today we celebrate the day he came back to life.
Obi-Wan: I've done that before.
Quentin Hall: I've done it twice.
Obi-Wan: It's not a competition
Darth Maul: If it was, I'd be winning.
Kaydia: Amateurs.
Obi-Wan Kenobi: Is thatme?
Me: No that's Jesus. At least, a white-washed approximation of him. Today we celebrate the day he came back to life.
Obi-Wan: I've done that before.
Quentin Hall: I've done it twice.
Obi-Wan: It's not a competition
Darth Maul: If it was, I'd be winning.
Kaydia: Amateurs.
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Xanaphia
Biblically Accurate Bitch
- Joined
- Sep 28, 2013
So, I rewrote the end of chapter 2 of To Betray a Master, and it's so much better. I mean, I think it is, and I am really excited, but maybe it's not nearly as good as I think it is? (Shut up anxiety.) I need to make some adjustments to chapter 3 now, but I also came up with an idea that Make's Matthias' revolt even more convincing.
Anyways, I was able to remove the graphic rape scene while maintaining the emotional weight of the scene and giving Aurianna greater agency. Plus I managed a couple parallels with future scenes
Anyways, I was able to remove the graphic rape scene while maintaining the emotional weight of the scene and giving Aurianna greater agency. Plus I managed a couple parallels with future scenes
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Xanaphia
Biblically Accurate Bitch
- Joined
- Sep 28, 2013
Wow, that nearly kicked my ass. Longest single POV Chapter so far. I loved that opening the firs time I wrote it, but the prose got under my skin this time around. I am so proud of how much stronger it is now, and how much I have improved since undertaking this endeavor. Maybe I actually can do this?
Now that I have run out of things to procrastinate with, looks like I am going to have to tackle that post that is tripping me up. I am at risk of getting caught up right now.
Now that I have run out of things to procrastinate with, looks like I am going to have to tackle that post that is tripping me up. I am at risk of getting caught up right now.
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Xanaphia
Biblically Accurate Bitch
- Joined
- Sep 28, 2013
Okay, this one went smoother than the last. Mostly I struggled with POV, because I wasn't sure who should get it. I think Demon!Matthias made the most sense here, especially once the switching takes place, to give the eader a better understanding of what exactly was happening.
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Xanaphia
Biblically Accurate Bitch
- Joined
- Sep 28, 2013
Another chapter done. Still not sure if I like the ending, but it's strong. Hoping to ride this wave of momentum to another couple chapters complete. I started looking into publishing, both self publishing and traditional, and I am feeling overwhelmed. A day of looking into marketing for indie authors makes me wonder how any of them find time to write. On the other hand, I found a new indie publisher who looks like they would be perfect for me, but they are brand new, and have no clients yet. No one to indicate if they are legit or not. Plus the usual fears of rejection, of course.
I picked up a bunch of indie fantasy romance novels, to get a sense of how my novels compare to other's. It is not as far off as I feared. I even found a couple books I am quite confident in saying that mine is better than, and they managed to find an audience, so perhaps I can to. I also reached out to an editor to get a quote, and he was impressed by the sample I sent him. On one hand, I feel like this was just a way of buttering me up so I would be more amenable to purchasing their services, but on the other hand, he only recommended a proofread, instead of a full copy edit, which is more extensive, and costs more. Seems like they'd want to upsell me, wouldn't they? Maybe there is a grain of truth in there.
I picked up a bunch of indie fantasy romance novels, to get a sense of how my novels compare to other's. It is not as far off as I feared. I even found a couple books I am quite confident in saying that mine is better than, and they managed to find an audience, so perhaps I can to. I also reached out to an editor to get a quote, and he was impressed by the sample I sent him. On one hand, I feel like this was just a way of buttering me up so I would be more amenable to purchasing their services, but on the other hand, he only recommended a proofread, instead of a full copy edit, which is more extensive, and costs more. Seems like they'd want to upsell me, wouldn't they? Maybe there is a grain of truth in there.
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sheherazade
Planetoid
- Joined
- Jun 14, 2018
Why do people with talent always doubt themselves? I leisurely clicked your thread, then I clicked chapter 4. Then I started with chapter 1 and read them all to chapter 9. I'd buy you! Without a second thought.
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Xanaphia
Biblically Accurate Bitch
- Joined
- Sep 28, 2013
Thank you. I am actively working through my self-doubt, but it's not easy.I know your question is rhetorical, but there is actually a reason. It's called imposter syndrome. In my case, I have compared myself to literary powerhouses, which I have to accept isn't fair to me. Of course, my first drafts aren't going to hold up to their polished, edited works, especially not when they have been writing and publishing for decades. Anyways, I can take this oppurtunity to share an anecdote by Neil Gaiman about his experiences with imposter syndrome. Maybe it will help someone else the way it's helped me. (click for full size)
sheherazade
Planetoid
- Joined
- Jun 14, 2018
Wow. Thanks for sharing that.
And yes... i do think suffering from imposter syndrome is kind of "normal" for everybody who has found some kind of "fame". My first "boss" actions... i thought "What if the other employees find out that I have NO CLUE what I am actually doing?" the entire time.
And yes... i do think suffering from imposter syndrome is kind of "normal" for everybody who has found some kind of "fame". My first "boss" actions... i thought "What if the other employees find out that I have NO CLUE what I am actually doing?" the entire time.
TheCorsair
Pēdicãbo ego võs et irrumäbo
- Joined
- Dec 17, 2013
I don’t think it’s just imposter syndrome, although I know for a fact that I suffer from it as well. I think it’s also the fact that writing is an intensely personal experience, and it can be hard ncomfortable letting people get that close. I mean, I start acting like an excitable puppy when I see people reading my work. My internal dialog goes like this:
“Do you like it? Do you like it? Is it good? You haven’t said anything yet! Oh god, it sucks! You hate it, don’t you? It’s terrible! I hate it, and myself - wait! You turned the page! You like it? Is it good? Tell me it’s good! DAMN YOU TELL ME IT’S GOOD YOU HAVEN’T SAID IT’S GOOD IT MUST BE AWFUL I’M GOING TO GO STEP IN FRONT OF A BUS NOW oh wait. You turned the page. Maybe you like it?”
Honestly, I usually have to leave the room until people finish.
“Do you like it? Do you like it? Is it good? You haven’t said anything yet! Oh god, it sucks! You hate it, don’t you? It’s terrible! I hate it, and myself - wait! You turned the page! You like it? Is it good? Tell me it’s good! DAMN YOU TELL ME IT’S GOOD YOU HAVEN’T SAID IT’S GOOD IT MUST BE AWFUL I’M GOING TO GO STEP IN FRONT OF A BUS NOW oh wait. You turned the page. Maybe you like it?”
Honestly, I usually have to leave the room until people finish.