The Gods' Wager (PatricianHavelock x Shiva)

[Shiva the Cat]

“Hurry! Get the women and children up into the hills,” Asherah ordered to the temple guards, her gray-green eyes fixated on the shoreline below, where an ominous-looking ship had docked and was vomiting a load of shouting, staggering pirates onto the beach. Her small, heart-shaped face contorted with rage as she picked up a spare spear that had somehow been abandoned in the chaos. “I've seen types like them,” she hissed, the wind catching at her white, shoulder-length hair and raising it like a stormcloud around her head. “Cowards, every one of them. They don't care about slaughtering innocents if there's treasure to be had. Bemoru!”

The guard stepped forward at the priestess' orders. “You and Zeryphason guard the temple. I don't think they'll make it all the way up here.” The temple stood on a large, rocky hill only accessed by a steep and narrow footpath, only wide enough for two skinny men to walk abreast. “Dionas, you and your men will accompany me to rescue the wounded. Roneus, take the paladins and hold the invaders off at the village. The rest of you take rearguard to the evacuation.” Pausing, Asherah made a fist with one of her wide, long-fingered hands, then touched it to first her forehead, then her ample chest.

“May Xeris protect us all,” she prayed gently, glancing at the giant statue of the Goddess that towered in the heart of the temple. The two dozen men before her repeated the gesture of touching their heads and hearts, then hoisted their spears and shields and began to gallop down the hill in single file, ready to face the pirates head-on. At the bottom of the hill, the more heavily armored of the men set their course towards the fishing village, which was already burning in several places. The rest quickly placed themselves in between the onslaught and the screaming villagers venturing further inland in the hopes of escaping the invaders in the deeply-forested hills of the island.

Asherah led her men forth last, the smallest group of all. These were armed with short swords and bows, and had served as her personal bodyguard ever since she had arrived on the island to serve as its priestess. As she ran down the hill, the young woman couldn't help but think grimly that this was not the job she had signed up for, despite being one of the youngest-ever appointed priestesses in the Church of Xeris. She had only been nineteen when she'd come to the island a year ago, and until today she thought she'd been doing a particularly good job. Indeed, there had been many in the Church that doubted her faith and ability to lead (selkies like her weren't exactly trusted among the more “civilized” folk of the world) but the most recent Midsummer Festival had been a riotous success, and even residents of the surrounding islands had made the pilgrimage to the temple, flushing the village below with gold in the process.

That was what had probably attracted the pirates in the first place, and the thought of it made the tall, blue-skinned maiden fume even more (if she'd been in the water, no doubt the sealed gills on either side of her face would have flared dramatically). Hiking up the skirts of her long white robe, and with her pale-blue cloak fluttering behind her like a banner, Asherah dove into the fray with all the boldness of Xeris herself, but instead of looking for an enemy to cut down, she turned instead to the nearest house.

“Jolotha? Geus?” she called out, poking her head into the now-doorless dwelling. Too late, the place had already been sacked. However, there was no sign of the inhabitants, and Asherah prayed they had escaped in time.

It was much the same at the next two houses she checked: destruction, but no bodies. Then at the fourth one, she heard moaning coming from inside, and found old Hemo, the potter, slumped against the wall with an arrow buried in her shoulder. “Please, don't hurt me!” the old woman sobbed, mistaking them for pirates and weakly raising her good arm to shield her face, but Asherah gently knelt down beside her.

“It's all right, Mother,” she murmured, addressing her in the most respectful way she knew. “The Soldiers of Xeris are fighting off the invaders.” Or at least, she hoped they were. “Let me help you now. Close your eyes, and take a deep breath. This will hurt, but only for a moment.”

The old potter seemed to understand what was happening, and shut her eyes as tight as possible. After silently nodding to her guard to make sure she wouldn't be interrupted, Asherah wrapped her hands around the arrow shaft and jerked hard, roughly tearing the old woman's flesh and making her scream aloud.

“Only a moment!” the priestess repeated, tossing aside the arrow and immediately placing both hands on the potter's mangled shoulder. This time she shut her own eyes, and began to murmur a prayer beneath her breath. “Oh Xeris, Queen of Queens, Goddess of Justice and War...heal this woman wounded by Chaos, and make her whole.”

Almost immediately, a soft white light appeared beneath Asherah's hands, and the old woman felt a surprisingly pleasant warmth quickly swallowing her pain. There was also a slight tingle, and when she opened her eyes to look over at her wound, she saw with a shocked expression that the flesh was beginning to knit back together before her very eyes. By the time the light faded, there was no sign there had ever been a wound on her body, although there was still plenty of blood and a disgusting-looking arrow on the floor to say otherwise.

“Oh...bless you, Sister,” Hemo murmured, staggering to her feet.

“Thank the goddess,” Asherah said, smiling a little and helping the old woman up, but the sound of more shouting quickly killed what little joy she had felt. “Quickly now, head for the hills. I need to make sure no one else has been hurt. Take care, Mother.”

The battle seemed to last for hours, but it wasn't long before the Soldiers of Xeris turned the tide against the invaders. The priestess and her guard came across a handful of other villagers that had been wounded in the process, and sadly two that were too late to save, but by the afternoon all resident that had not chosen to stay and fight were safely evacuated. Then came the greatest development of all: shouts of “retreat!” and “to the ship!” rippling through the pirates in tones of rage and panic.

“It's over,” the priestess sighed, leaning on the spear (which thankfully she hadn't had to use against anyone) like a walking stick. She was about to tell her men to fall back and reconvene with the others, but then her eyes fell on the temple mount, and the spear suddenly dropped from her hands. The Temple of Xeris was burning.

“No...” she whispered, eyes widening in horror as a strange watery film began to form over every inch of her body, even coating her hair in drops. Without bothering to pick up the spear, she turned and ran back for the path leading up the hill, not even remembering to shout orders to her men. A few followed regardless, but the priestess was faster and less burdened than the rest of them, and easily beat them to the white pillared structure. Bemoru and Zeryphason both lay dead across the temple's threshhold, one impaled upon his own spear, and the other almost decapitated. Asherah fought down the vomit threatening to come up, and forced herself to enter the temple. There was no saving them now.

It seemed impossible that so much destruction could have been completed in so short a time. The alter to Xeris had been overturned and smashed into splinters, and the golden scales that stood upon it were noticeably missing, along with the other items of tribute that had been amassed during the Midsummer Festival. The various frescos on the walls had been defaced with...well, Asherah didn't want to know with what, and worst of all, the statue of Xeris, despite being more than eight feet tall and made of solid marble, had been toppled and beheaded. The fresh white robes that were placed on the statue every Midsummer had also been stolen, leaving the stately figure completely nude and laying on her side.

Even the living quarters of the temple hadn't been overlooked. The kitchens that served as a mess hall for the soldiers were completely barren, except for a smashed wine cask near the door. Furniture in the barracks had been broken even worse than in the main worship hall, and when Asherah reached her own quarters, she saw her own bed was actually on fire. Forcing herself to stay calm (and curiously drying off somewhat by doing so), she edge around the corner of the room and made a beeline for the loose flagstone in the floor that always served as the secret hiding spot for her most precious possession.

But the flagstone was laying across the room, and the hollowed out space beneath it was empty.

Now Asherah finally screamed. “No! They couldn't!” she shrieked, her entire body suddenly soaking through her clothing, despite the roaring fire in the room. Yet no matter how much she screamed or clawed at the floor, there was no doubting the truth: they had stolen her skin.

Oh, not her real skin, of course. But her fishskin, the long magic piece of cloth that when she wrapped around herself, allowed her to summon storms, breath under water, and transform her long legs and wide, powerful hips into a scaly tail, not unlike that of a mermaid. Without the skin, she would be bound to the land, no more powerful than a human. Weaker, in fact. Even when she didn't wear the fishskin, she still needed regular submersion in water to function, but with limited lung capacity and a weaker body, it would be harder to get the exposure she would need.

Stumbling out of her burning bedroom and to the cliffs outside, the priestess tried to think of a plan. The ship was still anchored in the harbor below, but the pirates were working as quickly as possible load it and escape. Still, that meant she had time. But could she get down the path and through the village in time to catch them? It didn't seem likely. Was there another way?

Yes. Yes there was.

Asherah reached up to unclasp her cloak, then quickly stepped out of her robe, leaving herself clad in only a white linen bandeau and some tight-fitting matching leggings. With the help of a sharp rock, she cut through her knee-high sandals, not having the time to undo each individual buckle. Barefoot and now unburdened, the priestess quickly rubbed her hands in the chalky dirt to absorb the saltwater that always appeared to cover her body at the most inopportune times. Then when she was sufficiently dried, she began the long, precarious free-climb down the cliffside.

If there was any proof that the selkie was one of Xeris' chosen, the fact that she made it to the bottom of the cliff unharmed and undetected, with still enough time to hide in an open barrel of grain taken from the temple proved it. Asherah had just replaced the lid on the barrel in time to feel it being lifted and carried into a longboat, and then hoisted onto the deck of the ship.

But as she lay in hiding, breathing as quietly as possible and trying her best to bury herself in the grain, the selkie couldn't help but wonder: had she truly stowed away, or was this a capture? Well, in either case, one thing was certain. The pirates had her fishskin, and one way or another, she would get it back.

 

[PatricianHavelock]

The sacking of the Xeris temple had been a glorious rampage! While the main body of sea-borne brigands had fared with middling success against the town's militia, they had caved when confronted by Asherah's temple guard, grabbing whatever was nearest in the form of food, chattel, or captives and making a mad dash back for the longboats which had brought them from the vessel. They were expendable. Those who survived today would die in the next raid, or the next, until they proved themselves worthy to join the ranks of his Corsairs proper. The fodder were identifiable by the black sashes they wore cross-body or as head wraps, and it was this mark which his fanatical followers had taken up at his bequest. Any man or woman who bore the mark was free to join in his raids, and wherever the Corsair Prince flew his flag, there were always seemed to be desperate souls flocking to his banner. Some wanted glory and treasure of their own, others were pressed into service from ports of call or from the ranks of captives. Some few though, were true believers, devotees of the Varok, God of Bloodshed.

By contrast, Darious' chosen retinue were hand-picked warriors, slayers, true corsairs, and thus had he named them his Blood Wing, on which flew swift death for all who stood between the Reaper of the Seas, and his prize. With axe and sword they had cut a bloody swathe up to the temple steps, and it was Darious himself who had squared off against the two chosen protectors of the sanctum, not one to balk at an honest challenge, and the ensuing duel against both at once earned him several long cuts and fresh scars. Long would he relish them alongside the treasures plundered from the Temple, as he mused over what would be made of the golden scales, a holy symbol of Xeris which he would see reforged and re-purposed as more fitting tribute to Varok. The pillaging and destruction did nothing to dull the thrill of victory in the name of his chosen god, but even with the Temple emptied, he could not help but feel, himself, robbed. A dream and whispers from the Blade-Father had led him to lead this raid, to target this place, and the reason why had been clear once he had learned it was home to Asherah, the Cherub of the Sea, a Selkie Priestess to Xeris.

He had hoped to find her hear, waiting for him, to challenge her in direct combat, best, her, and even harbored sordid visions of taking her form himself, preferably upon the desecrated altar at the temple itself. Instead, he would have to content himself with this token, a fine draping of cloth, like a veil or wrap, clearly belonging to her; it was a rare and beautiful thing all on its own, after all, and when he held it in his hands, breathed of it, it smelled of the sea, and all he loved about being aboard his vessel, bound for conflict and treasure. Departing the temple, he had seen fit to use the drapery to clean himself of the grime and sweat and fresh gore of the battle, and was delighted to find the enchanted garment left him feeling refreshed as if he had plunged his face beneath the waves. Silky soft and possessing an almost dewy quality, he was eager to shed his armor and avail himself further of this token that his true prize had left behind.

Returned to the ship, what forces he deigned to allow to make good their escape aboard, Darious gave the command to set sail. Some of the rabble would be left behind to sew chaos, spin tales of terror and destruction, it was not in his nature to care for them. In passing by one of the longboats laden with grain though, he sensed something, that familiar smell akin to the garment he had ransacked from the temple, emanating from the looted plunder . . . his keen senses better belonged to a shark or grampus, and the predatory instincts of the feared Corsair matched the description. Though he could not truly understand the relationship, yet, between the fish-skin and its owner, he singled in that the shared scent, to his mind a perfume perhaps preferred by the priestess, and once they were out to sea, had the barrel brought upon the deck, allowing his crew to go about their business as he moved to examine it himself, curious, but unconcerned.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

It was hard to tell how much time had passed since Asherah had hidden herself in the barrel, but one thing was for sure; the ship was definitely headed farther out to sea. It wasn't just the fading sounds of the shore being left behind or the increased sway of the waves beneath them that helped her determine their position, but that innate sense that all selkies had. That Song they all heard in their subconscious, calling them to put on their skins and dive beneath the waves until they reached the very bottom of the ocean, away from the troubles of the world above. Oh, if only she had her own fishskin! The farther they got from land, the more the priestess longed to dive overboard and fill her gills with the clean, salty seawater and forget all of the day's troubles had ever happened.

Ah, but that was not what Xeris had wanted for Asherah. The priestess was not like others of her people, living savage lives half in the water and half on land, with no thought or order to their actions. The elder clerics at the First Temple in the far off capital had taught this particular selkie that she was special, that the Goddess had chosen her specifically to bring the Scales and Laws back among her race and teach them the civility practiced by the other races. Why else would Asherah have been found abandoned in a Temple of Xeris more than a hundred miles from the sea if the Goddess had not brought her there Herself? So they had raised her as one of their own, instilling in her a powerful sense of justice, morality, and above all control, that latter of which Asherah had to admit was the most challenging. Selkies were lustful creatures by nature, usually only coming to land to seduce people into giving them a child, or bearing for them until it could be reclaimed later. At twenty years old, the priestess was long past the age when she should have had her first child, and yet per the laws of the Temple, her virginity was intact.

At the moment though, it wasn't a carnal lust that was tormenting the selkie in the barrel. It was a desire for the entire sea itself, and something more. Something closer. "The skin..." she breathed, realizing she could feel it nearby. Could she be so lucky that it was actually on deck? Asherah's heart began to beat faster in anticipation. If she could just spot it, all she needed to do was grab it, wrap it around herself, and jump overboard. Then she would be free to swim wherever she pleased, to the temple, the capital, or the bottom of the ocean if she chose.

Still, there were plenty of men on deck, men that had killed two of her own guards and at least one innocent village. What powers the Goddess had granted her were primarily in the realms of healing and purification, although the selkie had practiced a little hand-to-hand contact during her training days, as was common among the followers of the War Goddess. But she was barely strong enough to fight off a fellow priestess (a human one at that!), and she'd have no chance if the entire crew turned on her. Would they kill her, she wondered, or use her for more nefarious purposes? A cold shiver ran down her back, but a more insistent tug of power pulled at her heart. She needed her skin, no matter what stood between her. She would just have to chance it.

Get out, grab it, then jump overboard Asherah told herself, shifting in the barrel and pressing gently against the lid. It moved easily, proving nothing had been set on top of it yet. She breathed out a sigh of relief, but there was no telling how long these particular circumstances would last. Xeris protect me, and help me get back home she prayed silently.

Then like a jack-in-the-box, she popped out of the barrel and sent the lid flying across the deck. Grabbing on to the rim of the container, she easily levered herself out and landed barefoot on the deck, grains still clinging to her bare stomach and arms while her breasts heaved against the tight linen binding them. Ignoring what a sight she must have been (and the understandingly shocked gaze of several nearby crewmembers), the selkie's pale eyes swept the figures for any sign of her lost skin.

There! One of the men nearest to her was holding the silvery, scale-covered wrap in his large, rough hands. It seemed slightly dulled in the daylight though, and Asherah realized in disgusted that someone, probably the fellow holding it, had used it like a common towel or rag, wiping the grime of the day on its otherwise flawless folds. Snarling like an animal and breaking out in a fresh coat of saltwater that darkened the scant white clothes she still had on (turning them almost transparent, shockingly enough), the selkie darted towards the man and grasped at her wrap like a greedy animal.

"That's mine," she hissed, her long nails almost wound in the silver skin. "Give it back this instant!"

 

[PatricianHavelock]

Shocked but not at all perturbed by the presence of the stowaway in the container, Darious could not suppress a vicious laugh as his intended quarry at the start of this raid leapt from hiding onto the deck of his vessel and made for him with jealous intent for the prize he had taken. Already they were a good ways away from land, the smoke rising from the temple he had sacked the only indication of where they had departed, and even it was rapidly fading over the horizon. No, his attention was fixated on Asherah as she lunged towards him in a half-feral frenzy, enraged not just about the pillaging of Xeris' sacred sight but . . .

"You can't mean my new cleaning rag!" The corsair barked at the selkie gone savage, as he realized what it was he must be holding. Dancing away on agile legs, raised on the waives as he had been, Darious kicked one leg out, aimed at tripping her over in her mad dash. Had he only known . . . but now that it was beginning to dawn on him that the Priestess was no mere mortal, like himself, the stories and legends of what it meant to be the holder of a selkie's sacred skin boiled over in his wicked imagination. "If it's so precious to you, then I presume you would hate to see it sundered . . ."

The jeering and crowding of the crew around them in a loose circle, some armed, other content to point or murmur at what was transpiring in front of them did not help. Holding the selkie-skin in front of him like a bull-fighter of the eastern isles might taunt his quarry, Darious weaved and whirled in and out around Asherah, the priestess finding thatwhere she flitted too close in her pursuit near to the men around her, grasping hands sought to tear at her dewy gossamer robes, only for others to push her back into the circle, off balance towards their captain. Having encountered only wild selkies a handful of times before, the Corsair Prince was intrigued by the appearance of this one, up close, and who had apparently fooled the followers of Xeris that she was civilized. The way her skin shimmered in the sun, the agitation was obvious, he knew this to be a sign when selkies had their ardor up.

Cutting off a prolonged chase, Darious took the scaled garment in both hands, close together and made as if he was about to tear it. He was unsure of the clothe's strength, but the Axefather had seen fit to gift him a strength beyond mortal mien, especially when he himself was in a frenzy. Now he was merely threatening though, and even if Asherah were able to get in to seize the skin where he held it, his hold was firm, and she would risk it being damaged if she were to apply her own strength in tearing it away from him.

"Looks as though a wild selkie has stowed away, men! No doubt she heard what fine and furious warriors sail under my banner and seeks to have herself a strapping sea-born child!" The Corsair called, to the cheers and raucous taunts of his men as they took up lecherous catcalls towards Asherah.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Asherah's pale eyes flashed with rage at the pirate's mocking tone and the casual way he was flinging about her skin. He couldn't hurt it, not really. Even if he tore it into a thousand pieces, the fragments would eventually grow and knit together until the fishskin was the size it was now, provided she was still alive. But even though the wrap was separate from her body, she could still feel it, and any damage it took. A tear would hurt just as badly as a cut with a dull knife, permanent or not, and the indignity of seeing it tossed about like a toy was just as insulting as the hands grabbing and pushing at her body.

The one saving grace of the situation was that she had at least avoided tripping over the captain (at least, that's what she she assumed the brute holding her skin called himself) as he attempted to sweep her legs out from under her. She could feel the rhythm of the sea below her like a primal dance, and easily leapt over his leg. Unfortunately, she had worked herself up into such a state that her body was positively soaking wet by now, her thick hair plastered to her skull as though she had just emerged from beneath the waves, and her sopping bare feet slipping on the surface of the deck. One hand went down to catch herself, and while she was able to keep from falling on her face, she was left in the precarious position of her rounded ass high in the air and legs spread wide to balance. It was like she was practically inviting them!

Two dark spots colored on her cheeks as she scrambled back into an upright position and forced herself to take a deep breath. They were baiting her, just like they would a bear or a wild boar. But I am not a wild beast Asherah confirmed, ignoring all men except the one holding her skin. "Sir," she forced between clenched teeth. "I am a Priestess of Xeris. The temple you just sacked was in my charge, and the men you killed were my subordinates. The Goddess will punish you severely for these deeds alone. Do you wish to add to that punishment by insulting and debasing one of Her chosen handmaids?" The selkie even managed to flash him a dark smile. "It will be a miracle if your ship ever reaches land again at this rate. I wouldn't be surprised if you and your treasure were both at the bottom of the sea in three days, with hungry selkies gnawing on your bones."

Of course that last bit wasn't true--well, mostly untrue. Supposedly there were some particularly savage tribes in the most isolated depths of the sea that feasted upon land flesh, but as a whole her people were peaceful, if a bit wild. Asherah tried to force that wildness into her gaze as she approached the leader, holding out a hand in expectation. "If you give me back that skin, I will return to my temple and assure the Imperatrix that your ship is long gone, and that none of the residents of the island ever saw a name upon it. The Goddess may not forgive what you've done, but the Church does not need to know." Her voice dropped to a whisper as she looked the captain in the eyes.

"But if I am missing from the temple? They will know you took me, and possibly assume that you've killed me. Do you think you will find a welcoming port then? No, every temple will be on the lookout for you and your despicable crew. And once the Imperatrix learns you have attempted to impede the Church's authority, then they will send their own ships after you, crewed with more than two guards and a single priestess. They will slaughter every one of you," Asherah hissed defiantely. She was close enough now that she might have been able to snatch the skin from his hand, but as she glanced downward she saw these were not the hands of a weak-wristed temple scribe. He would easily tear it, and probably laugh while he did so.

She took a step back, then bowed her head a moment, drops of water still clinging to her chest as she took another full breath. "The choice is yours, sir. Give me back what is mine, or suffer the wrath of Xeris and the Church."

 

[PatricianHavelock]

Before Ashreah could right herself fully, there were more than a few wolfish whistles as he quite shapely rear was raised into the air as she went into a three point position to steady herself. One of the corsairs even managed to reach out and snap the rag he had been cleaning the deck with so that it cracked without much force but quite an audible sound at the cusp of her nearly exposed cheek. Raucous cheers went up as the Captain cackled madly along with the rest, raising his hands, and the selkie-skin over head to settle them down, even as Ashera assumed a more poised demeanor, despite her humiliation. The alluring way in which her naturally slick skin had whetted her hair and clothes was not lost on Darious, his eyes roving her up and down as with dexterous fingers he handled her skin, rubbing it's pleasing texture between his thumbs, grasping at it, and as she centered her gaze up on him, lifted it to his cheek, his less than clean-shaven cheek rasping against it as he watched for her reaction.

"Sir . . .? I do you not know to whom it is you speak, oh lofty handmaiden of Xeris!" The man before her swaggered a step closer, drawing up to his full height, and casually stuffing her skin part of the way into his breeches so that it now draped low from his waist like a decorative sash, "I am no 'sir', I am the master of this vessel, those who reside upon it, and everything between it's hull and the horizon in every direction. That your temple fell within my demesne is but the fate of the wind and tides, over which your Goddess has no more sway than my Lord Varok! I am his Champion-at-Sea, Darious the Reaver, Prince of Corsairs. I fear not the wrath of your Goddess, nor the vengeance of her servitors, let all come to try my blades, and if this ship sinks beneath the waves . . . I will fight the selkies tooth and claw with vengeance of my own. Conflict, vengeance, violence begotten, this is the way of Varok, Father of Blades, and it will please him as greatly to see me cut down with the scuppers of this vessel awash in the blood of foes, as it would to see me triumph."

Such assurance as he spoke, it was difficult to escape the futility of threats against a man who welcomed war and death. Worse still, his zealotry seemed to be catching, as the men who surrounded them seemed only emboldened by his declaration. They huffed and tensed, and in their eyes lust for battle gleamed at the prospect of what might come for them. Between the choice of even certain death and peaceful conduct they would doubtlessly all choose to side with their captain.

"You are in no position to make such ultimatums." Darious said simply as he took another step forward, keeping one hand firmly gripped around the skin as with the other, he reached out and made to tilt Ashera's lovely visage up to face him, by her chin. "When the Imperatrix sees fit to threaten me herself, I will consider it a grand proposal . . . but she is not here, and you are. I hold your skin, and with it, your hope of ever reclaiming your place as a daughter of the sea . . . Selkie she-beast that you are."

Darious leered as he loomed forward towards her, and then suddenly swept past, shouldering her aside, the skin brushing past Asherah as he did so, though his grasp was firm upon it, as his men parted before him, awaiting orders, "Fetters for our guest! Asherah the Priestess of Xeris! Then have her suitably attired and sent to my quarters!"

Hands were laid upon Asherah from every angle, rough iron manacles as well as she was hauled upwards by a sea of corsairs each seeking to seize the opportunity in their Prince's orders to have a bit of fun for themselves in groping or fondling even the barest hint of her skin, even through the sopping gossamer folds. Departing belowdecks, Darious did not even glance backwards as his men took up jeering as he departed for his captain's cabin, a luxurious space to say the least, and taking up a shelf laden with silken mats reclined, taking the selkie's wrap up and letting the sunlight shine upon it through the window but for a moment, began to strip himself of his armor and clothing, draping it over his shoulders and letting the feel of it suffuse through his skin most pleasingly. He wondered at what and how much she could feel in turn, if all the surrounding legends were true, of his musculature and the infernal warmth which pulsed within him.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"Varok..." Asherah murmured at the name of her Goddess' chief foe. "Varok is a liar and a pretender, and if you are his champion you're no better than a common thief and murderer. Xeris will cast you both into the flames of the underworld before long. She is a Goddess of Justice, and sees that all evils are punished in their own due time." But despite the venom in her words, her composure was visibly shaken. To see him fondling her skin so carelessly, to feel the stubble on his face like a tingle against her hips and legs, even though he hadn't laid a hand on her yet. That was soon remedied though, and while she was for a moment taken aback at his hand on her chin, she wasted no time in pulling back and even spitting at his feet.

It was a bad move. Before Asherah knew what was happening, hands had seized her all over, jerking her limbs backward and even lifting her off the ground. For a brief moment, she saw Darious passing by, even felt the touch of her skin brushing against her thigh, before a huge, rough hand clapped over her eyes. "Stop it! Let go!" she shrieked, only earning herself a roar of laughter from the men for her efforts. She could feel the bandeau torn clear off her chest, exposing her full, slightly-paler blue breasts with their sapphire-colored nipples hardening in the breeze of the deck. Some cruel hand (though not the one currently blinding her) took the opportunity to bestow a few sharp pinches and squeezes here and there, and she even felt a tongue on her neck, following another coarse laugh. "Tastes like fish all right!"

Meanwhile, another set of hands had yanked down her leggings. The priestess had expected they would then set about spreading her legs and helping themselves to her quivering, hairless, dripping cunt, but curiously enough she simply felt a pair of heavy cuffs being locked around her ankles, and a quick little smack on her ass from, she suspected, a giggling cabin boy. She was completely naked now, but after another pair of cuffs had been locked onto her ankles, the laughter died down somewhat, and she felt herself being lifted and carried away.

"There now lassie, don't you mind them none. Ain't no one on this ship gonna take you until the Cap'n's had you himself. Though then I'm sure they'll be lining up to get their turn," a low voice chuckled. The hand that had been covering Asherah's eyes moved to the back of her head, and with her vision restored she could understand why. The person carrying her was a giant of a man, and with her slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, he needed to protect her head to avoid knocking her out against the doorframe. The selkie thought the man was taking her directly to Darious as instructed, but instead he carried her into what appeared to be the ship's galley, locking the door behind him.

"Now ya slippery miss, I'm gonna set you down, but Imma warnin' ya, don't try no tricks. I know where all the pointies are in here, and I'll not wait to use 'em if needed. Cap'n'll be upset, sure, but what's he gonna do, starve?" The man chuckled again, and as he set Asherah down she finally got a good look at her current captor. She was so astounded at his appearance that, for a moment, she forgot to cover her nakedness, which only made the man laugh all the harder, then toss a scanty dishtowel towards her that would cover her chest or her pussy, but not both. Feeling a fresh humiliating dew break out on her skin, Asherah quickly used the rag to hide her breasts, while sitting awkwardly on a barrel and closing her legs tightly to conceal the rest.

"I'm Brander, the cook. Hungry?" the man asked. She should have guessed he was the ship's cook; he had a huge gut that probably could have housed a full roast dinner and a dozen potatoes along with it. But there was no mistake; his legs were well-muscled, and his heavily-tattooed arms even more so, and the selkie had no doubt he would have been able to break her in half with little trouble. His face was somewhat intimidating, but that was probably due to skull tattooed on his bald head and the prodigious mustache stretching all the way to his gold-ringed ears. Still, there wasn't anything particularly threatening in his movements, as he pulled an apple out from somewhere and began deftly slicing it with a wicked-looking knife. "Ought to get something in you. Cap'n likes to give his guests a workout, and he don't appreciate 'em faintin' in the middle." He placed the apple slices on a plate and handed it to the woman.

Not wanting to cross him, Asherah reached for the plate, but as she did so one of Brander's enormous hands closed around her wrist. He didn't pull her any closer, but his eyes were fixated on her sharply, starting on her face and drifting lower. "By the powers...you are a pretty one...shame what they'll do to you when Cap'n's had his fun." He released her wrist, then set about preparing another plate of food.

"They?" the selkie asked, setting aside the plate and attempting to dry some of the wetness with the rag while Brander's back was turned.

"The crew. Cap'n always gives his girls to 'em when he's done. Or whenever he feels like it, really. But they'll all get their turn, sooner or later. That's why they wasn't in too much of a hurry to take you on deck. Good things come to those who wait, as my wife used to say," the cook replied.

A little wing of hope began to flutter in Asherah's heart. Was it possible even in this horrible place, she might have found an ally? Brander had treated her gently so far, and he had a wife (or at least, had one at some point). Perhaps he'd be willing to help her? Or was he too just waiting his turn at her?

"And...what about you?" the priestess asked.

Brander wiped his hands on his pants then looked back at her. "Me? I'd be at the front of the line for a piece of ass like you," he grinned, taking a slow step towards her. "Matter of fact, only reason I'm not balls-deep in you right now is that I knows my place. But oh lassie..." One huge hand rested on the side of her head, the scarred and rough thumb teasing at her lips until they opened almost automatically. The cook grunted softly, and in his thin trousers Asherah could see an absolute monster of a cock beginning to grow. "I'm so tempted."

Suddenly two blue hands shot up to grip his wrist. "Will you help me? Help me get my skin and escape? Do it and I'm yours. Whatever you want of me," Ashera said quickly, even turning her head to take his thumb back into her mouth and sucking gently for a moment.

The cook was silent, then pulled his hand away, grinning and shaking his head. "You're no selkie, you're a siren," he smiled. "Like I said, I knows my place. But I'll think on it. In the meantime, we ought to get you dressed for the Cap'n." He crossed the galley to the corner that served more or less as his bedroom, with a berth large enough to support his massive bulk, and a few locked chests underneath. Pulling out a smaller one, he unlocked it and pulled out what seemed to be a collection of jewels and silk all tied together. "Put this on. Cap'n likes his treasures polished. After that I'm afraid I'll have to chain ya, but if you behaves real nice he might let you walk around free. Course that's his business, not mine."

A loud thump came from the door to the galley as Brander dropped the garments into Asherah's lap. "Best get a move on."

A few minutes later, the door to the captain's cabin opened following a knock, and while it took a bit of maneuvering, Brander stepped through, holding a plate of cold meat, fruit, bread, and a jug of wine in one hand, and Asherah slung over his shoulder yet again. "Afternoon Cap'n," the cook said cheerfully, setting the plate and jug down on a nearby table. "Brought ya a bit of supper. And dessert." Brander's thick brown eyebrows waggled mischievously as he set the priestess down in front of Darious.

She was dressed now, but somehow managed to feel even more naked than before. The garments the cook had provided her considered of a tiny white silk top encrusted with white glass beads and cheap blue gems that just barely covered her breasts, and a matching skirt so short it barely concealed her lips and left most of her ass exposed. The iron cuffs on her ankles had been fastened together with a short length of chain, enough to allow movement, but nothing quick or graceful. Her wristcuffs were fastened to one another directly behind her back, leaving her torso completely exposed and helpless as she was forced into a kneeling position in front of Darious. The key to unlock both sets of cuffs was set alongside the plate the cook had brought, just in case the captain was feeling generous.

The priestess' cheeks burned red with shame, and the beads and jewels were shining with the wetness they'd picked up from her body. And worst of all, she could now see and feel the captain wearing her fishskin around him, making her entire body shiver and tingle not unpleasantly, but almost arousing her, and adding all the more to her humiliation.

"Will ya be wantin' anything else at the moment, Cap'n?" Brander asked, stepping back from the girl in a disciplined, almost military fashion.

 

[PatricianHavelock]

To say that Brander was sorely tempted in the moment was an understatement. The smooth and glistening form of the temptress already within his grasp was one thing, but that she did not flaunt it, the awkward charms of a woman who was earnest and vulnerable and more than a little inexperienced in seducing a man outright . . . that desperate innocence about her, was something that Brander would have enjoyed claiming and even betraying . . . Darious not the master and commander of this vessel. Fear of the Corsair Prince was well warranted, dread tyrant that he was, but all the more, the "cook" had once been a much feared and successful captain himself, until he was bested, defeated, laid low by Darious himself, his vessel captured and now part of the fleet, and he made to be a ship's cook in service to the demon of a man. He had chafed in his new lot, at first, but Darious apparently had precious little interest in humiliating a fellow terror of the seas and often relied on him for counsel, his years experience and favored him with more than a fair share of plunder. Truth be told, it was more of a 'retirement' than most men in their profession could hope to find, and Brander found it suited him well, even allowed for a bit of mischief.

Capricious as he was, Darious enjoyed a challenge, a contest, thrived in the backstabbing environment of a pirate fleet. It was one of his greatest strengths that he commanded loyalty not through rote repression, but that no one could be sure whether any mutinous conspiracy was legitimate, or just another game the captain was playing at.

Whether this Siren would prove a chance for something like that remained to be seen, and Brander was sure to keep his hand perched on her rounded rear as he hauled her onto his shoulder, massaging and kneading beneath the beaded lower garment of the 'clothing' picked out for her, thick and calloused fingers keeping a taut grip that secured her most humiliatingly as Asherah was brought to the captain's quarters along with a choice repast.

"Brander! Good on you! Didn't I see your wife in such finery not too long ago?" Darious said, taking a swig from the jug of wine and clapping the cook on the arm before offering him a drink as well. Asherah was ignored for the moment, save for the Corsair's hand finding its way to set upon her head, massaging her scalp and coursing through her hair as if she were little more than a pet while he conversed with the galley mate. "I don't think I'll be needing ought for a while, though keep the drink coming. I won't be locking the door."

Brander nodded and with a glance down at Asherah, and a shrug of his shoulders to her as if to say 'sorry' carried right along. "Aye cap'n, and if you be wanting to see my wife again any time soon, you know which port to call on. I reckon she could teach this saucy bitch a thing or two herself, and I wouldn't mind at all. At your leisure of course, cap'n."

The cook didn't bow as he left, but Darious hardly seemed to stand on ceremony, or insist on pageantry and deference. Quite the difference from the civilities at the temple which seemed weeks away by Asherah's estimation, and yet, it was only this morning she had risen with the sun for the daily oblations. How quickly fortune had changed for her only offered hope that it might shift again, if only she could make it through the next hour, the next day, until the opportunity for freedom arose. At the moment though, the only thing rising seemed to be her captor's ardor as he turned his eyes upon her and saw fit to drag his hand across her cheeks and down her shoulder, meandering around to behind her to take her in, kneeling upon the cabin's deck, a bit of carpeting saving her knees too much strain till he was out of sight but his calloused and strong hand still felt.

Next she could feel his features burying themselves in her hair, against her neck as he closed his hand around her throat, loosely, but menacing and setting aside the jug of wine, saw fit to trace his fingers over her tapering ear as he whispered to her. "Do you dance, Priestess of Xeris? Does your goddess allow for such sinuous delights?"

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Asherah immediately wanted to rise to her feet as soon as Brander was gone, feeling a bit emboldened by the giant's absence. But Darious himself was no laughing matter, and she could still see his weapons close at hand. Fettered as she was a fight was out of the question, which meant she just needed to be patient until he could be convinced to unlock the cuffs from her wrists and ankles. It was most distracting though, feeling him touching not only her fishskin (which he had the gall to wear around his shoulders, as it were nothing more than a scarf he fancied!), but shuddering at the feel of his hand on her now as well. She had calmed somewhat while she was in the galley, but feeling the cook's powerful hand stroking and squeezing her ass had caused a fresh sheen of moisture to materialze on her skin, and the captain was only making it worse now.

"Take your hand off me," she tried to growl, but with his hand on her throat now she didn't dare raise her voice too loudly. And there was something else that was beginning to annoy her as well; a strange tingling in the pit of her stomach that immediately dropped between her spread legs at his sensual whisper. Oh Xeris protect me the priestess prayed in sudden shame and terror. Was she actually feeling attraction to this brute, after he had killed her guards, sacked her temple, and stolen her most precious belonging? It was the worst of her selkie blood rising up, she knew that. So far from dry land, it was hard to control her desires, idiotic and self-destructive as they might have been. But she had to try, and she had to pray for the Goddess' aid.

The selkie took a deep breath, then tossed her head with as much arrogance and dignity as she could muster. "The sacred rites of the Goddess are not for the likes of you to watch, heretic," she sniffed. Besides, the dances performed for the Goddess required at least three priestesses, all moving in perfect synchronization. But the dances of the selkies...now that was a different story. Wild, sensual, animalistic even, selkies danced for one reason and one reason only: to attract a potential mate. For Asherah, that would be even worse than allowing her captor to witness the solemn, holy dances performed for Xeris alone.

Xeris give me strength to withstand these torments...

Child, I shall.

*****
​

More than a thousand miles away from Darious' ship, on a towering hill rising out of a lush green island, a temple very much like the one that had been in Asherah's charge stood shining white in the late afternoon sun. Not a single human--not a single mortal--dwelt upon this island, but the temple was bustling with the activities of nymphs and lesser spirits, all attending to the domestic duties assigned them by the temple's primary inhabitant.

Xeris herself stood before a long, still pool in the middle of the temple, watching the scene unfold between Her priestess and the pirate with more than a little trepidation in Her glowing blue eyes. She had often watched Asherah in the past, had wished to see her succeed and had been proud of all the progress she had made in overcoming her more base instrincts. But Varok...damn him and his Champion, all of that work was going to be for nothing, and it wasn't even the poor selkie's fault. For a while, the Goddess had considered sending a mighty wind and a storm to wreck the ship entirely, but if Asherah's skin wasn't returned to her, there was a good chance she would die in the process as well. So for the moment, all She could do was send Her will and enough power to Her priestess not to give in to the seducer, and to give her the patience and clarity of mind to take back her skin when she could.

And when it was all over, Xeris would definitely be having a conversation with her brother about interfering with Her church. It was bad enough Varok had men like Darious terrorizing the coasts and islands, sacking and raping not only Her own temples and followers, but those of any deity they passed. And yet only She ever spoke out against Her rival War God in the hopes of turning the rest of the pantheon against him, but so far to no luck. Xeris had tried reasoning with Her brother as well, but it seemed all Varok ever listened to were the begs and pleas of his victims, or the blindly loyal cheers of his followers, and the Goddess of Justice would do neither.

Her reveries were interrupted by the call of one of her servants, a thin, silvery-skinned nymph who was breathing hard and seemed to be adjusting her loose gold robes around her slight frame after some strange dishevelment.

"My Lady..." the nymph gasped, falling to her knees before the towering Goddess. "Your brother, Lord Varok...has arrived in the temple. He wishes to speak with you."

"Of course he does," Xeris grumbled, rolling Her eyes slightly and giving the nymph a look of warning. The servant blushed and immediately departed, while the Goddess picked up Her heavy white staff of office from the pillar against which it rested. Turning to face the door, She awaited Varok's arrival with more than a little impatience, which was expressed by the bolts of blue lightening that seemed to flicker over Her bared arms and midriff.

 

[PatricianHavelock]

There was laughter full of honest and earnest mirth from behind Asherah as she spat back her retort, just before she felt Darious hauling upwards on her manacles with one hand, and holding his hand around her neck with the other until she was standing, facing away from him, her hands entirely too close to the loose wrap he wore around his hips and thighs and loins for comfort. The swaying of the deck beneath them was soon accompanied by a sway of his own as he began to roll his hips in time and dragged her into the same rhythm, keeping an uncompromising but painless hold upon her, front and back, as the mention of dancing now became a threat, with Varok's Champion forcing her to move with sinuous grace and no small amount of agility on his own to tuneless but inexorable rhythm of the sea.

"I am not speaking of what's sacred to your Goddess, my priestess. Just the opposite." He spoke with bated breath against her ear his teeth finding the tapering tip of it for a playful if predatory nip as he spun her around to face him quite expertly and pressed himself too her with his knee parting between her thighs, switching his grasp to he back of her neck. The ridiculous costume she wore was no help at all, accentuating the curvature of her body, making a sound like falling rain upon the surface of the see as he forced her to pose with him, precipitous of exactly what she feared. Worst of all was the way the draped skin over his shoulders brushed against her own where her skin was exposed, and yet with her hands fettered behind her back, she could no more grasp at it than she could the long knife on the table behind her, just out of reach.

"You're strong to deny it, I know; the urge you must feel deep inside. You see, Priestess . . . I've seen them. The Selkies of the Sea as they lure men to their doom and others to delights beyond the mortal pale. It was a test, I set myself . . . mastery over the sea and all which dwell in it. I made the Selkies come to me . . ."

With a snap of his fingers, an ornate lyre positioned across the cabin sat itself up and began to play for them; an enchanted instrument the likes of which could only have been plundered from another temple, so sacred and powerful an artifact, now being made to strum lurid and sordid melodies for Darious to sway in time with his captive priestess to.

******

Varok burst into the room and strode over the threshold just before the nymph could make her escape, and the poor creature was momentarily trapped, as in her attempt to bow and sweep past him through the door, she was suddenly transfixed, a cry of alarm and of anguished pleasure choked off as she bit her lip. Without looking, Varok's hand had shot backwards, steely fingers closing with a vice-like grip, unerringly to enclose her pert and rounded cheek, caught like a frightened deer in a trap as she could not extricate herself from the god's inexorable hold, requiring only seconds to knead her tender flesh into a state of pliancy. It was clear now the source of her dishevelement, and in truth the Blade-Father was not attempting to hide it as he stared boldly up towards Asherah, sweeping into a kneeling position before her, without loweringhis eyes or relinquishing the nymph, who was forced to go down to one knee as well.

"Dear sister, it has been too long!" Varok barked with a jovial air and a broad smile; neither of which concealed the smug gleam in his eyes or the obvious lust in his gaze as he took in the sight of the most imperious Goddess in the pantheon, echoing her father's stately grandeur and in many ways, all the more imposing for it. His gaze made it clear that the nymph he was accosting was only a stand-in for the one he would truly rather be feeling up without regard for civility or propriety.

With a squeak of relief, the nymph was released as Varok stood and swept towards Xeris with open arms, as if to embrace her. "You've no doubt seen the fruits of my efforts? Tell me you are not pleased!"

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Xeris' mouth twisted into a frown of disgust at Her brother's entrance, the blue bolts flashing more quickly and with brighter light as they crossed Her body and illuminated Her narrowed eyes. The nymph, sensing her Lady's displeasure as the Blade Father squeezed and teased her fragile body, wriggled against him in an attempt to get free, but either due to his immense strength or her own secret unwillingness, she was unable to get away. The moan she let out was supposed to be one of supplication to the Goddess as Varok dragged her before his sister, but it ended up coming out much more lewdly than the poor nymph had intended.

A little bolt of light finally shot out of Xeris' eyes, illuminating the nymph's entire body for a moment before the victim disappeared entirely, teleported safely to a more secure part of the temple. That business attended to, the Goddess gripped Her staff sternly and turned Her displeasure on Her guest. "Varok, I have told you a thousand times. Keep your hands to yourself when you're in my temple. Is it not enough that you cannot even follow the terms of our agreement, you need to flaunt the rules of my house as well?"

Stepping aside a little, she gestured at the still pool in the center of the room, where the image of Darious quite thoroughly exploring the body of the poor priestess was as bright and clear as though it were taking place in the room with them. "You sent that miserable pirate to Valoras on purpose, didn't you? You knew the priestess at that temple was a selkie, and sent him to take her skin so he could get an unfair advantage over her. That's practically rape, Varok, which you know is against the rules."

Oh, if only poor Asherah knew how little faith her Goddess had in her, and indeed Xeris felt a little bit guilty about not trusting Her priestess more, but when she saw the panting lips of the girl, the wide eyes, the undulating hips, the shimmering sheen of wetness on her skin...and if she had allowed the image in the pool to make a sound, the Goddess had little doubt she could hear the soft, plaintive whines emitting from the priestess' thoat. Instead, she turned back to Varok with fresh indignance on her fair face.

"The agreement was, brother," she practically spat the word. "If three of my priestesses WILLINGLY forsook their Goddess and their vows of chastity for your followers, then I would acknowledge you as victor in our little contest. But Asherah is not willingly making such a fool of herself. If your so-called 'Champion' were to return her skin to her, she would depart in an instant, and you would lose this round. Then again..."

The Goddess' lips curled into a bitter, vindictive smile. "What battle have you ever won fairly? None that I can recall."

*****
​

Despite the fact he was nowhere near the size of Brander, Asherah was shocked at the ease with which Darious lifted her to her feet, keeping a firm grip on her neck but not so tight that it seriously impacted her ability to breathe. And as she felt him press his body up against hers, it almost would have been preferable if he had choked the consciousness out of her, rather than leaving her grasping fingers with nothing to reach for other than the rough cloth draped around his hips. The priestess' cheeks burned, knowing that if she dared grab at the wrap she would only decrease the barriers between his skin and hers, which was probably his intention. So instead she curled her hands into fists, haphazardly attempting to cover her round buttocks where the short strings of beads had ridden upwards, exposing more of her flesh to him.

It did little good though, and her body was already responding to the suggestive rhythm he was forcing her into, and Asherah realized with horror that the wetness was not only on the outside of her body now, but on the inside as well, dripping out from between her legs and leaving an embarrassing damp spot on the pirate's knee as he spread her legs. "Please stop..." she gasped softly, desperately wanting to press her legs together again but somehow finding herself unable to. Her hands too relaxed, the fingers unfurling like the petals of a flower in bloom, but as he turned her around he left her with nothing to grasp but the edge of the table behind her.

Facing him now, Asherah could see her skin draped over his shoulders, only inches away. If she leaned forward, she might grab it with her teeth, but in the end what would that accomplish? She couldn't put it on without the use of her hands, and it would only serve to make her look more like an animal in her captor's eyes. Oh she couldn't bear the thought of that humiliation, which meant all she could do was stare helplessly at the object of her desire while Darious continued to grope and play with her body as though she were nothing more than a doll.

Still, if she thought this last act of resistance was going to save her dignity, the selkie was horribly wrong. At the sound of the lyre playing on its own, her body seemed to go into full rebellion, no matter how her mind begged it to obey her desire to remain still. With the table behind her to stable her balance, her hips began to move along with the rhythm of the music, sliding so closely against the man's that Asherah could feel the cloth of his hip wrap brushing over her lips, making her shudder and gasp. Her back arched as she leaned backwards, the heavily beaded top cutting tightly into her flesh. It was perhaps a size too small on her full breasts, and the metal clasp between them that held the garment in place threatened to pop off every time she bent or twisted her torso too far.

"Please, make it stop!" the priestess begged again, though the words were more moaning than beseeching. She rolled over slightly until she was on her stomach bent over the table, her ass now bouncing and swaying with the music in front of him as she pressed her face into the wood, too embarrassed to look up anymore.

 

[PatricianHavelock]

Varok's beaming smile did not falter in the slightest despite his sister's scathing rebuke of his behavior, the sum total of which, he had to admit, was quite dastardly. It wasn't merely the defiant thrill of flaunting the ever growing body of rules which plagued their realm, or even the delicious way Xeris let her stoic mask slip when he did so. Varok pushed past the seemly and destroyed boundaries of propriety as a matter of course, but for the sake of the repressed servitors of his sister's temple, he was willing to go a bit further. It was not that he presumed to know better than they or their goddess, but the perfectly poised facade of it all . . . it demanded that he flaunt his power as much as it was an exercise of her own.

Still, this was her sacred demesne, and he was bound by it's rules.

"Of course, sister. I will be only too willing to apologize to her, and make recompense . . ." Then with a wolfish grin and a wink, he leaned forward slightly and drummed his fingers on the hilt of the First Blade, "Perhaps you are eager to dole out a suitable punishment yourself?"

He knew as much as anything would rile her, as unlike his own brand of 'discipline', Xeris was ever insistent that such things should be done dispassionately. She accused him instead of having a sadistic streak, and who was to say she was wrong, any more than they could blame her for looking to draw out the same in her? Their mother certainly never seemed to complain. In fact, he never would have come up with a few choice ways of bonding with the much beloved Goddess of Lust were it not for inspiration drawn from the creative means of punishment which Xeris had begun to adopt for entirely more 'civilized' reasons. Having Xeris impugn his honor as a warrior though, was another matter entirely.

The earnest enjoyment drained from his features as he scowled and with one foot sliding back, settled into a more dignified, and at-ready stance. His gaze narrowed, reflecting the steely will of his sister's limpid sapphires with his own burning, amber scowl. His heel planted in the marble of the temple floor threatened to crack with the weight of his potential for violent recourse at such an insult. It was not that Varok was in any way above duplicity, that he did not routinely implore every method of cunning in contests of might or mettle, and implore his greatest champions to do the same. There were many and more brutes and butchers among the mortals who payed homage to him, but the Blade-Father considered such acts of barbarism only ever an indulgence, or else demanded they serve some purpose of intimidation or terror against one's foes. 'All strategy is based on subterfuge'. Was his maxim, and not for the first time he considered the necessity of putting such precepts into a more rigorous and lasting format . . . as Xeris did with her teachings.

One more reason he needed to win this bet.

"If her maidenhood is taken from her by force, then it is hardly that she has given up her vow. Isn't that right, sister?" Varok spoke through gritted teeth. This was the crux of their gamble, and it was the first of which he had thought to exploit when setting his mind at how to bring about a fittingly sordid end. Relaxing just slightly, a hint of a smirk returned as he rolled his broad shoulders downwards and brought his hands up in open relinquishment: "I make no claim to her, or a point in my favor, until she is a willing victim to lust; Her own, or my champion's. By all rights, she could spend the remainder of her days his captive, in denial of her own pleasure, and a constant state of penance towards you for her weakness. This would be no victory for me, and only leaves more time for your own champions to make good her rescue. Assuming that is, you wish to escalate this little contest and put them at risk of becoming captive themselves . . ."

At this, Varok was practically salivating as he strode over to the pool and it acquired a slightly rosier hue and their viewing of what was transpiring could continue.

********

As his captive priestess writhed and rhythmically swayed against him, Darious was entranced with the sight of her; the hue of her skin the sheen of shimmering with her body's betrayal. The feeling of her nectar between their thighs was such sinful triumph that he was moved to gnash his teeth like a beast in rut himself and run his hands up and down her arms, then her shoulders, working inwards to knead and massage the tenderness from her breasts where the fabric of the beaded top was clearly too tight for her. Shifting his hold to the back of her head, fingers massaging her scalp, he pressed her cheek briefly to the scaled-skin against his shoulders, a relaxing kiss of the familiar even as he rolled his hips and drove the pulsating ever-hardening heat of his manhood up against her groin, the silken sheen between them threatening to make the scant cloth between them slip away entirely.

But then she was groaning, begging, arching herself back towards him as she leaned over the table, hands grasping at nothing as she seemed incapable of stopping her luscious ass from its gyrations as he looked down on her with voracious lust. Her words reached him through a haze, but snapped into place as he blinked through the growing frenzy of pent-up desire to simply tear their clothing apart and take her violently upon the table: 'Please, make it stop'. Not that he should he should be the one to end his efforts, but that he should make an end of it for her. Darious doubted she knew what she was saying, but he knew how to make it all the more thrillingly twisted. The sound of something shifting behind her could be made out even with her face pressed to the table, eyes tightly shut. Then came the press of sudden heat and terribly aching hardness between her cheeks at the same instant Asherah felt the corsair's fingers entwine with her own in a tight grip, holding her arms taut.

A glance backwards revealed he was now completely naked, her skin having been sloughed onto the table next to them as he pressed his gloriously nude shaft with the rounded head between the valley of her cheeks and began to grind away; she could feel all the more distinctly her whetted thighs brushing against the weight of his balls beneath that terrible member as he did everything but fuck her for his own relief. "Do you think . . . your suffering will end with the music, with your freedom? That you will never again have the ache, the carnal needs you feel now, if only you can but take your skin and flee my ship?" Heavily he enunciated over her, his breathing and words matching that of whispered nothings to a lover, "Asherah, there is but one way to quench the fires of lust."