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Cherubian
Supernova
- Joined
- Aug 30, 2010
Her Royal Highness princess Seline Derulin, youngest daughter of king Garald Durulin, was gazing in her mirror. And, quite predictably, her slender blond self clad in the same short green silken robe was gazing back at her, mirroring the frown on her face. Still too flat chested for her liking, something even her sweetly innocent face could not compensate, and certainly not something that would cheer her up right now.
Her father had found a husband for her. Now supposedly that was a good thing, and the eventual fate of every princess. Her case, however, was special. During her childhood she had contracted a severe illness. And while she had overcome it and was a picture of good health these days, one aftereffect remained. The princess was irrevocably barren. Worse, word of it had gotten out. Which, of course, meant, no prime suitor was interested in a woman that could produce no offspring. Which, in turn, meant that whoever was willing to marry her … was not a prime suitor.
She would meet her future husband soon, her father had told her. To the young woman it had sounded like something between a threat and an ill omen, but there was nothing she could do about it. She should go to bed – she already was dressed for the night - and get a good night's sleep, but in her agitated state she knew this would be a futile endeavor. With sagging shoulders she let out a frustrated sigh as her mouth shifted to something resembling grim determination. Resolutely she stepped over to her cupboard, and got out her wooden practice sword.
This was a secret past time of her she had begun about half a year ago. It had started with all those stories of chivalrous knights and not so chivalrous men that still had a heart of gold and a body of corded muscles and lived a life of adventure and excitement. Besting foes, vanquishing evil, and of course rescuing the obligatory princess. The kind of story a bored and ignored princess would pass her time with. Though it had increasingly irritated her that the heroes of those stories were always men. Why couldn't there be a tale of a gorgeous female sword virtuoso saving helpless princes by the score? Now that would be a refreshing change. Somehow, through the twisted brain of an adolescent female, this had led to the resolution to learn swordplay herself.
Of course her father would have none of this, so she did not even bother asking him. Instead she secretly bought some older guy who seemed a capable enough instructor on the slave markets, declaring him one of her new servants. And when there were no prying eyes he would teach her the basics of armed melee. She still was a mere beginner at this, but swinging even the wooden practice utensil made her feel better, gave her a certain sense of confidence, more definitely than just idling around and looking presentable, or studying some long dead ancient language because it was considered essential for a 'good education'.
The sword cut through the air in practiced arcs, parrying and striking at imaginary adversaries, and indeed the desired effect happened. Droplets of sweat formed on that silken skin of light complexion, and her mood did improve, at least slightly. Emboldened, she picked up the pace and intensified her footwork, making use of the whole breadth of her royal bedroom with an elaborate lunging maneuver. Left and right and again left swung the polished wood and … it hit the vase. And the vase began to topple ...
Originally it had been a present to her father, from some other ruler to the far east she had long forgotten. The piece looked veritably ancient. The shape, the golden mosaics let into its dark blue surface, the weathered traces of wear, all spoke of a time long gone. It also was severely at odds with the palaces current interior architecture, so her father was searching for any excuse to not have to exhibit it in a prominent place. One interested glance of her – probably thinking about the story of Edrik the Strong in the ruins of Akbar – and before she knew it her father proclaimed he would grant his daughters wish and place the invaluable present in her bedroom. Great, just what she needed.
Now that present, under the shocked wide eyes of the princess, was heading towards the ground with accelerating pace, and on impact splintered into fragments of blue lacquered clay. Before she could even start to worry about how to explain this, though, something else happened. Where only a pile of fragmented vase should be there was a fist sized ball of light, purest white light. It hovered about an inch of the ground, and the next moment it shot at the princess, hitting her right in the chest.
She was burning from the inside. Whatever this light was, it washed all over her, suffused every fibre of her body … and her mind. She was … dancing between the rows of savages, her twin swords whirling in a dance of death … standing stark naked in front of three fat masked men her crotch tingling with excitement … traversing the rooftops of a gigantic city at night … dodging the fiery breath of a dragon as her weapon homed in for the kill … standing on a high mountain ledge, watching over vast expenses of fertile land … and the twirling images kept coming, faster and faster, like a maelstrom drowning her imagination while her body was ablaze with this alien energy, her limbs and her chest glowing hot.
And then it was gone.
Exhausted the princess slumped to the ground on her hands and knees, head hanging between her shoulders, breathing deeply even as she felt the gentle sensation of passed pain in her muscles. What exactly had just happened? While her thoughts were still reeling she finally brought herself to lift her head enough to look up at the spot where the white ball had been. Her mouth went wide in surprise, it was still there!
Only now it shimmered in a warm golden glow. And it grew. A moment later it had expanded all around her, drowning the whole room in the same golden light. And yet another moment later it was gone.
So was her room.
Confusion now total, the princess mechanically turned her head, her eyes taking in her new surroundings. She was within what must be ruins. Very old ruins. Only the stumps of some stone pillars dotted her surroundings like broken teeth, and the ground beneath her was of solid stone, clearly man made. But over all of it was an eon's worth of moss and weed. Slowly Seline got to her shaky feet, her arms clutching her flimsy garment to her chest against the blowing winds. But … wait … that felt different.
Dropping her eyes she was in for the next surprise of the evening. Welling up over her crossed arms was more supple flesh than she was used to. A lot more. In disbelief she pulled her robe apart to be granted the top down view on a truly massive pair of udders that kept her mouth gaping. Tentatively she groped herself to confirm that indeed those tits were real, and they were hers. So was that what the white ball of energy had done to her? But where had it brought her?
With her mind starting to be numbed by the constant assault of completely absurd surprises she mechanically thought about what to do next. Covering herself again she took a few steps forward. The wind was tugging at her blond mane as she reached the edge of the structure, and reflexively she jerked back a step. To her feet a cliff was dropping a good hundred feet, allowing her to oversee an expanse of steppe that seemed to reach to the horizon, interspersed by the occasional group of hills or, farther away, mountains. All of it was basked in the orange light of the setting sun. And there, probably five miles away, she could make out with surprising clarity the details of a small town.
She knew not where she was, but she was certain she would not last long in the wilderness alone. Knitting wild beasts to death was not a viable option, and that was not even taking into consideration the threat of thirst and starvation. So she turned around, her bare feet continuing to find their way across the uneven ground with unexpected ease as she began to move along the cliff edge, hoping either for it to grow lower or at least offer a safe passage to the plains beneath.
Her father had found a husband for her. Now supposedly that was a good thing, and the eventual fate of every princess. Her case, however, was special. During her childhood she had contracted a severe illness. And while she had overcome it and was a picture of good health these days, one aftereffect remained. The princess was irrevocably barren. Worse, word of it had gotten out. Which, of course, meant, no prime suitor was interested in a woman that could produce no offspring. Which, in turn, meant that whoever was willing to marry her … was not a prime suitor.
She would meet her future husband soon, her father had told her. To the young woman it had sounded like something between a threat and an ill omen, but there was nothing she could do about it. She should go to bed – she already was dressed for the night - and get a good night's sleep, but in her agitated state she knew this would be a futile endeavor. With sagging shoulders she let out a frustrated sigh as her mouth shifted to something resembling grim determination. Resolutely she stepped over to her cupboard, and got out her wooden practice sword.
This was a secret past time of her she had begun about half a year ago. It had started with all those stories of chivalrous knights and not so chivalrous men that still had a heart of gold and a body of corded muscles and lived a life of adventure and excitement. Besting foes, vanquishing evil, and of course rescuing the obligatory princess. The kind of story a bored and ignored princess would pass her time with. Though it had increasingly irritated her that the heroes of those stories were always men. Why couldn't there be a tale of a gorgeous female sword virtuoso saving helpless princes by the score? Now that would be a refreshing change. Somehow, through the twisted brain of an adolescent female, this had led to the resolution to learn swordplay herself.
Of course her father would have none of this, so she did not even bother asking him. Instead she secretly bought some older guy who seemed a capable enough instructor on the slave markets, declaring him one of her new servants. And when there were no prying eyes he would teach her the basics of armed melee. She still was a mere beginner at this, but swinging even the wooden practice utensil made her feel better, gave her a certain sense of confidence, more definitely than just idling around and looking presentable, or studying some long dead ancient language because it was considered essential for a 'good education'.
The sword cut through the air in practiced arcs, parrying and striking at imaginary adversaries, and indeed the desired effect happened. Droplets of sweat formed on that silken skin of light complexion, and her mood did improve, at least slightly. Emboldened, she picked up the pace and intensified her footwork, making use of the whole breadth of her royal bedroom with an elaborate lunging maneuver. Left and right and again left swung the polished wood and … it hit the vase. And the vase began to topple ...
Originally it had been a present to her father, from some other ruler to the far east she had long forgotten. The piece looked veritably ancient. The shape, the golden mosaics let into its dark blue surface, the weathered traces of wear, all spoke of a time long gone. It also was severely at odds with the palaces current interior architecture, so her father was searching for any excuse to not have to exhibit it in a prominent place. One interested glance of her – probably thinking about the story of Edrik the Strong in the ruins of Akbar – and before she knew it her father proclaimed he would grant his daughters wish and place the invaluable present in her bedroom. Great, just what she needed.
Now that present, under the shocked wide eyes of the princess, was heading towards the ground with accelerating pace, and on impact splintered into fragments of blue lacquered clay. Before she could even start to worry about how to explain this, though, something else happened. Where only a pile of fragmented vase should be there was a fist sized ball of light, purest white light. It hovered about an inch of the ground, and the next moment it shot at the princess, hitting her right in the chest.
She was burning from the inside. Whatever this light was, it washed all over her, suffused every fibre of her body … and her mind. She was … dancing between the rows of savages, her twin swords whirling in a dance of death … standing stark naked in front of three fat masked men her crotch tingling with excitement … traversing the rooftops of a gigantic city at night … dodging the fiery breath of a dragon as her weapon homed in for the kill … standing on a high mountain ledge, watching over vast expenses of fertile land … and the twirling images kept coming, faster and faster, like a maelstrom drowning her imagination while her body was ablaze with this alien energy, her limbs and her chest glowing hot.
And then it was gone.
Exhausted the princess slumped to the ground on her hands and knees, head hanging between her shoulders, breathing deeply even as she felt the gentle sensation of passed pain in her muscles. What exactly had just happened? While her thoughts were still reeling she finally brought herself to lift her head enough to look up at the spot where the white ball had been. Her mouth went wide in surprise, it was still there!
Only now it shimmered in a warm golden glow. And it grew. A moment later it had expanded all around her, drowning the whole room in the same golden light. And yet another moment later it was gone.
So was her room.
Confusion now total, the princess mechanically turned her head, her eyes taking in her new surroundings. She was within what must be ruins. Very old ruins. Only the stumps of some stone pillars dotted her surroundings like broken teeth, and the ground beneath her was of solid stone, clearly man made. But over all of it was an eon's worth of moss and weed. Slowly Seline got to her shaky feet, her arms clutching her flimsy garment to her chest against the blowing winds. But … wait … that felt different.
Dropping her eyes she was in for the next surprise of the evening. Welling up over her crossed arms was more supple flesh than she was used to. A lot more. In disbelief she pulled her robe apart to be granted the top down view on a truly massive pair of udders that kept her mouth gaping. Tentatively she groped herself to confirm that indeed those tits were real, and they were hers. So was that what the white ball of energy had done to her? But where had it brought her?
With her mind starting to be numbed by the constant assault of completely absurd surprises she mechanically thought about what to do next. Covering herself again she took a few steps forward. The wind was tugging at her blond mane as she reached the edge of the structure, and reflexively she jerked back a step. To her feet a cliff was dropping a good hundred feet, allowing her to oversee an expanse of steppe that seemed to reach to the horizon, interspersed by the occasional group of hills or, farther away, mountains. All of it was basked in the orange light of the setting sun. And there, probably five miles away, she could make out with surprising clarity the details of a small town.
She knew not where she was, but she was certain she would not last long in the wilderness alone. Knitting wild beasts to death was not a viable option, and that was not even taking into consideration the threat of thirst and starvation. So she turned around, her bare feet continuing to find their way across the uneven ground with unexpected ease as she began to move along the cliff edge, hoping either for it to grow lower or at least offer a safe passage to the plains beneath.
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