As The Goddess Wills (Tender x darkest_fate)

[TenderAggression]

Rillifane Rallathil, the goddess of life, fertility, abundance, and harvest. To be under her gaze was like that of a mother's warm embrace. Though she wore many forms, none were quite so prolific as that of a buxom, voluptuous woman, clad in vines and surrounded by life. It was said that when she once walked the earth, flowers and grass would sprout at her feet. All children, no matter what race, were born of sound mind and strong body. While all knew of her, none idolised her nearly as much as the elves. Their inclination towards nature kindled a strong affinity towards the Earth Mother, and once every few generations, a child bearing her gifts and talents would be born.

This child carried her physical perfection, body endowed with both the strength to survive and the fertility to procreate. Their mind was keen, like that of a predator, yet their heart was warm, infinite and bounding compassion for all life burning like a hearthfire. None embodied Rillifane's ideals as much as her chosen progeny today, Princess Rallathia Silverwood. An exemplar of the elves and all living beings, Rillifane had entrusted Rallathia to be her herald and bearer of her will.

Appropriate then, that Rallathia would come to be the bearer of her vices as well.

The existed beings before the gods. Beings of primordial emotion. It was from them that the base needs of all living beings sprouted. Hunger, lust, greed, and security. Their names had long been forgotten, lost to the sands of time, and yet, still they continued to live, dormant and unrecognised. Yet, at the moment of Rallathia's birth, one of these beings stirred, ever so briefly. In the faint murmurings of its dreams, a splinter consciousness fractured, and split away from it, manifesting itself as a mere shade.

In the Astral plain, it began to fester and grow, suckling on the nascent desires of all beings, absorbing the essences of dead and forgotten gods. As it grew, so did its strength of purpose. Thought and sentience began to develop, warped around a singular purpose. To reproduce, thrive, and survive.

When purpose formed, a plan soon followed. It surveyed the outer realms, and gazed upon Rallathia. She would serve its purposes well. Benevolent intent could be easily twisted to suit its needs, and years of peace had eroded any sort of vigilance she may have once possessed. She was content with maintaining the status quo and admiring the life she had spread across the realms. Perhaps idleness and arrogance would be the cracks needed to worm its way into her being.

And so it went, slinking and squirming its way through cracks and shadows. As Rillifane dozed off to content slumber on her throne of vines, the shade found itself at the foot of her throne. So insignificant it was, a mere speck of dust to her incomparable power. Yet the shadowy tendrils slowly wormed their way up her warm, tanned ankles, coiling about her inner thigh, and slowly vanishing into her womanhood, impregnating her with the nascent seeds of desire. She would awake, nothing physically changed, yet unsettled with a faint discontent in her heart. She gazed then to the mortal realms, eyes falling upon her beloved champion.

 

[darkest_fate]

The monsters had been growing more restless of late. It was said that some old primal god, a force of chaotic creation or destruction, had awakened the frenzy within them. Princess Rallathia Silverwood, heir to the throne, Embodiment of Rillifane Rallathil, champion of nature and her people of course led her forces against the worst of the encroaching monstrous horde. Her curved blade of divine wood bit into the foul flesh of these beings, be it orc, goblin, hobgoblin, or fiend. She'd driven them back, and had led her people to do the same.

Yet the violence was not the most worrying part. Again and again, Rallathia had witnessed monsters rutting with her people, had seen the raw desire pouring forth from within. Once a female elf, freed of the monsters, had begged the princess for healing. There had been a strange mark upon her lower belly, above where her womb would lie. Her pupils had a strange heart within them, almost glowing. Of course Rallathia had channeled the divinity of Rillifane, calling upon her patron goddess to heal and restore, using one of her most potent spells to attempt to lift the curse. It seemed to work to some strange degree: the symbol faded, but there was still a look in those eyes. The elf thanked her, but it felt... empty, hollow.

Not to mention that Rallathia had seen her female guards eying their male prisoners time and time again. It was said that they'd once had to pull one elfish warrior, a lieutenant with a husband and family, from a half-ogre's truly disgusting, overlarge member, and that the female had cried out at the loss, as if she were being dragged from said family instead of a creature. The warrior had apologized later, describing the strange musk, and how the closeness of the cells had amplified it to unbearable levels.

All of which proved that something had stirred the monsters to a new type of destruction, one that sought pleasures of a sexual nature. The very thought disgusted the pure and purehearted cleric, drove her to strike out each time she heard of a particularly powerful force, hoping to find the leader dwelling amongst them, or even one of their shamans or priests. The only time she'd gotten close, one of her own force had felled the foul creature. The loss of life was acceptable: it had been an orc, after all, but the loss of information had been dire.

So it was that the cleric prepared herself. She removed even her ceremonial armor, divesting herself of the blessed protection that came from the hardened wood and loose metals provided by her goddess. This bared the beautifully sculpted body below. For the princess stood tall and lean, every inch of her a testament to the glory of the wood elves. Her flesh had an almost greenish tint to it, speaking to the connection of the woods. Hair of flashing copper, streaked with gold, cascaded down her back, now freed from its battle braid to settle about her like a flaming halo of dawn. Clever hazel eyes looked out from a face that looked sculpted by the gods, her sharply pointed ears sticking out. Only a light robe covered her body, demonstrating the fit slender curves that lay beneath, even her modestly bountiful bust and slightly flared hips.

Both were amplified as the cleric anointed herself in holy oils and perfumes. The modest clothing clung tight enough to her to almost suggest more lewdness and display than her naked flesh would have. It even showed the slightly darker patch of her pubic hairs. She hardly noticed: none would disturb her from this commune. Instead she knelt before the shrine to Rillifane, arms spread, eyes closing as she entered into supplication with her goddess, seeking answers to the troubles that plagued her and her people.

 

[TenderAggression]

The supple lips of the goddess curved upwards in a slight smile. Her champion and herald never failed to bring a swell of pride to her heart like a cresting wave. Like golden sunrays the goddess's gaze fell upon her, warm and full of love. Rallathia had been valorous in leading her kin against the creatures of the dark, unmatched in combat and undaunted by all odds. Yet, Rillifane was no war goddess. Somehow... something was missing. As she observed her champion's childbearing hips and voluptuous figure, an idea formed in her mind.

"As admirable as your efforts have been over the past few days my child, I am no goddess of war. Yes, mothers protect their young, and all life must struggle to survive, yet I cannot help but feel that in your crusade against the things you proclaim filthy or debased, you have hardened your heart. I hope that you can grasp a dove's feather just as easily as the soldier's sword. In light of that, I shall lay a stepping stone down the right path."

Visions of a being then manifested before her. At first, the torso of a strong, robust man. Barrel-chested and broad-shouldered, with an ebony mess of hair and a full beard. His emerald eyes gleamed with mischief, yet carried wisdom beyond their years. He was fit and toned, with muscles bunched like steel cable. Yet his well-cut abdomen gave way to the lower half of a magnificent stallion, with a glistening black coat, blemished by a single scar across his flank. Across his back lay a massive stone greatsword, more club than blade, his rippling biceps hinting at frequent use.

"You will find this one to the east. His kind are known to be fierce warriors and stalwart companions, and have stood favorably in my eyes for a long time. It would do you well to befriend them."

The centaurs roamed in nomadic tribes, around a hundred per group. They welcomed all to share in their feasts and revelry, being known to save travelers on the road from bandits and beasts alike. More salacious rumors had been spread in the past of more than a few non-centaur women joining their tribes for weeks at a time, though they were often dismissed by the centaurs themselves.

"Do not stray from what we stand for child."

With those parting words, the warm gaze of Rillifane vanished once more, leaving Rallathia to gather her thoughts.

 

[darkest_fate]

The call for compassion surprised Rallathia, if only slightly. Had she perhaps strayed overmuch from the path of nature? From being the representative of fertility and compassion, the true cycle of the world around her? She had thought it necessary, still did, given the situation, the corruption she saw seeping into the world. She would do what she must for her people, to walk the fine line between the path her goddess set before her and the one her lineage demanded.

The vision that flashed before Rallathia's closed eyes seemed something of an answer. Of course the elf knew of the centaurs. They and their kin, satyrs, dryads, and the like, had been long ago allies of the wood elves. They frequently dwelt even further into the woods than did the elves themselves, and were even more fierce protectors of their lands. The elves had pulled back from them in recent times, not out of suspicion so much as a desire to stay true to elfkind. Elves were the first born among the lands, the pure embodiments of many of the founding gods and goddesses of creation. They needed to keep themselves at least somewhat removed.

"I shall seek these allies," agreed Rallathia, putting side those other thoughts. "I myself shall venture forth as an ambassador to their people, and prove myself worthy of your name," she said, before again bowing her head in supplication. She thought she heard a tone of reprimand in Rillifane's voice at those last words, but surely Rallathia had not ventured too far. The goddess must simply be watching out for her, worried about her and her people. The princess sighed, spending several more minutes in fervent prayer, casting blessings to the elfish goddess from elfish lips. It would be some time before she removed herself from that sanctuary.

The moment she did, however, she called for a messenger. They would send for a missive to the centaurs, beseeching a formalized alliance and requesting for Princess Rallathia Silverwood to spend some time to cement such an arrangement, serving directly as her people's ambassador. There was some worry about losing their commander to such a mission, fear that the champion of the elves would be gone during this time, but Rallathia promised them that this alliance would be necessary, and that the Rillifane Rallathil herself had come down, blessing her namesake with this vision and mission. The more fervent elves went along, and while there were still those skeptics among them, even they would follow the proven warrior princess.

Even though such things took time, Rallathia would attempt to hurry the process as best she could; she may even set out early, should the signs prove favorable.

 

[TenderAggression]

The missive would be responded to swiftly and diligently. The centaurs were a carefree, easygoing species during times of peace. Their aid was given without strings attached, and they thought nothing of it when the elves had decided to limit contact with them. It was surprising to see the messenger return not on elvish horse, but clinging to the bare chest of a dashing centaur scout. He was respectful and deterrent to Rallathia's authority, though occasionally furtive glances could be seen being exchanged between the female elf and scout. A verdant tattoo was worn across his arm, a ring of flowers that was one of Rillifane's common emblems.

The scout spoke on behalf of Estan, current Plainslord of the eastern tribes. He welcomed the elvish people with open arms, and looked forward to exchanging pleasantries with Rallathia and her people. He described a festival that was commonplace during diplomacy with other kingdoms, and gave a brief outline of the 5 day festivities that would occur during her stay with the tribes. He also apologised for Estan's absence, stating that the Plainslord would have chosen to appear, had he not been fighting off an incursion of poachers at the time. He did however assure the Princess that Estan would be well and present at her arrival.

Once the logistics of the trip had been prepared, it would be only a few day's journey to the meeting site between factions. The centaurs would arrive ahead of time, setting up huts and tents, preparing provisions and various amenities for the processions that would take place. It would be in the middle of an open plain, with tepees made from animal hide and wood. The accommodations for the elves were made in a much more painstaking manner, efforts taken to ensure their tents were cleaner, and more rigidly constructed. Most of the centaurs wound out sleeping in the outdoors anyhow and paid little heed to their own sleeping arrangements.

Upon her arrival, she would be greeted by Estan, the centaur she saw in her visions. He stood a full head over his kinsmen, still bearing the same smile. His teeth were pearly white, though his shoulder bore a dressing from what appeared to be an arrow wound. Even on horseback, she was still shorter than him by a considerable amount, his stature dwarfing both steed and rider. But he was gentle as he helped her down from her horse, large hand supporting hers gently. His frame belied tender chivalry, and he spoke with her with all the respect that her position demanded. "The centaurs welcome you, Princess Rallathia. May Rillifane smile upon us this day. Come, we have much to discuss."

The air here was heavier, thicker almost. The scent of stud was rife in the air, and there were far more stallions than mares within this particular gathering. It was almost heady, the way the musk hung in the air, making one think slower, and drawing their eyes to places inappropriate. While not full-on monsters, centaurs still did possess strong scents that many women could find potent under the right circumstance.

Things would only escalate as the first ritual of the night drew close.

 

[darkest_fate]

It salved Rallathia's nerves when she finally met with the scout. Certainly there were some odd looks, but as soon as she saw the flowery symbol of her deity, she knew that she'd followed the right path. these warriors may follow a more primal variation of their patron goddess, but they fought for the same goddess, for the same goals. Her demeanor eased, a nearly warm smile lighting up her face, making her hazel eyes seem to dance with the colors of the forest.

Ceremonial armor, agian carved primarily from supple, yet magically hardened wood, covered most of the princess's lean body. Her cuiress circled around, attaching to what was nearly a collar, her religious symbol large and prominent around her pale throat. The wood followed her elfish curves, but the firm protection hid the more feminine slant to her body, the top not form fitting like fools may expect of armor for females. The bottom flared out, again covered wood, but forming almost something of a battle skirt, with intricately sewn patterns indicating her lineage and following. Underneath she wore only slight rough elfish breeches, and even further underneath, the most plain of elfish undergarment, almost utilitarian in their brown make.

Thus garbed, Princess Rallathia approached the centaur. Her head canted only slightly toward him: by her accounting, she technically outranked him, but respect was due. She allowed him to aid her in dismounting, though she could handle it herself. "May Rillifane smile upon us all, and bless you and yours with bounty," she said, nodding. Though given the thick musk she smelled, Rillifane had already blessed them. Were the centaurs in a mating season? it smelled not unlike horses when they were feeling such, though with a strange, almost appealing earthiness to it. Rallathia could almost taste it upon her tongue.

"It is good to be greeting one another in harmony like this," she said, smiling and gesturing. "It is my hope that we can forge a new, longlasting alliance. SO naturally we have brought our own contribution," and she nodded, gesturing as her guards would produce the several casks of the finest elfish wine, brought forth for celebration. This was one of the hardier brews of her people, though with the same delicate taste that elves so enjoyed, a drink for celebration to be shared.

 

[TenderAggression]

Estan nodded at the guards, striding over to help them unload the casks from their wagons, as did several of the centaurs about the place. In tandem with the elves, they carried it to the central bonfire of the camp, where several large, flat-topped stones had been hauled, alongside smaller ones to act as seats for their elvish companions. Once there, he set one of the casks beside the central table, while the others were taken away to be carefully stored.

Dispensing a glass for both of them, he returned, gesturing for her to take a seat before handing her the drink. Raising a toast, he took a deep swig of the wine, a sigh of appreciation leaving his lips at the fine brew. It was potent for elvish drink, something that surprised him. The centaur's contribution would come later that night.

With great care, Rillifane began to massage the memories and traditions of the centaur people. The rituals that were to come remained the same in meaning, but different in practice. The centaur's musk began to permeate through the camp, stronger than ever, and the scent of summer was rife in the air. It smelled of dandelions, citrus, and warm sand, soothing the nerves of all present. Everyone in the camp was embraced in the gentle bosom of Mother Rillifane, and in such safety and placidity, stirred the thoughts that followed.

Procreation.

Aided by the alcohol, the gaze of Estan began to wander. Despite her armor, it was clear from her face alone that Rallathia was a thing of beauty. He eyed her plump lips and pale tongue, pondering their taste. His tail swished and flicked at the air, betraying his slight agitation, though his expression remained relaxed and welcoming.

"It was been many summers since the Elves have last graced our people with their beauty. Our forefathers wrote song and poem about your people in the past, and I see now that their embellishments were not unwarranted."

"On the first day of meeting, we must cleanse our bodies after long travel. It is custom to assist each other in grooming and cleaning, and for rulers, it is a sign of common respect between two factions." He spoke the words naturally, as though they had been custom for generations, yet never in the past had such rituals been present. Originally, it was simply meant to be the exchange of drink and pleasantries. A faint doubt bloomed in his mind but was swiftly swept away by the comforting sweet nothings of Rallathia.

 

[darkest_fate]

The arrangement matched what Rallathia and her people knew of the centaurs. She saw the various tables, some more oddly shaped than others. It was unusual, but she thought she saw some that were truly oddly shaped. For it looked as though there were one or two that seemed to be of appropriate height for the elves, but with a strange circular indentation. It was as if an elf could brace herself against one and be surrounded on all sides by table. There appeared to be a strangely positioned bench just behind, but in order to reach the table, you'd have to nearly kneel on it and stretch toward it. Such a strange setup; perhaps they weren't aware of how the elves usually sat? Or maybe it was for some centaur ritual, maybe even their colts.

No matter. Rallathia focused on watching the centaur, who she was assuming was their leader, sample the wine. She smiled, nodding and raising a toast to match. She took a swig, knowing that on this first toast, she must empty her cup. The princess was a little worried about imbibing too much wine, even if such practices occasionally were blessed by Rillifane. She hardly wanted to dishonor or insult her host, after all, and she could always bless herself should the need arise.

Strange, but the must thickened. That equine scent remained, a strongest undercurrent, but much of the rest reminded Rallathia almost of the herbal perfumes they used in the temples. Perhaps they had done so to help sooth the elves' senses against the musk? It wasn't as if the odor was too unpleasant, though Rallathia saw some of her more... refined companions wrinkling their pointed noses.

She looked up at her host nodding at his comments. "Many thanks for your praises," she offered. She hadn't quite known about the grooming, but it didn't strike her as that unlikely a ritual. She'd heard of footwashing before, and she knew that frequently natural beings like the centaurs had a more open, primal way of doing things. "Naturally, we would be honored to accept such ministrations," she said, careful to choose her words. In truth, inwardly Rallathia found herself fascinated. Just what sort of rituals did they have? Was it connected to her goddess? She almost wished she had a parchment and quill to begin chronicling this. It could widen their understanding of the centaur people tremendously. "I certainly wish to learn of your customs, to further deepen the bonds between our peoples in this time of great strife."

 

[TenderAggression]

Estan's smile broadened at her words. Rare it was to find an elf interested in talking to other races, rarer it was that they would be interested in foreign customs. Rallathia was an outstanding individual and made it obvious as to why she was a paragon of her people. He set aside his glass, knowing that the time for drink would come sooner rather than later. He spoke to her of war, and conflict among their borders. He mentioned the vicious barbed arrows of hobgoblin make that pierced his shoulder, and the painstaking process needed to remove it. He described their Great Hunt, an event that happened every fifty summers, and the great beasts that would awaken during the half-century event.

"We do not know when we might be able to see each other again. The next five nights, however, will etch the friendship of our people in blood, and in stone. Let this be the revival of a blessed harmony that aligns with Rallifane's wishes." He paused, seemingly lost in thought, then spoke once more. "Tradition dictates that we don paint for tonight's festivities. Veridian green for you, and crimson for us. If you'd like, I could accompany you to your tent and help you apply it in correct fashion. My men would be more than happy to do the same for your escort."

A small voice questioned the audacity of his request, essentially asking if she would allow him to paint her body, but once again, it was dismissed as quickly as it came.

 

[darkest_fate]

Rallathia had her own stories and tales of valor and woe to share, of course. She readily conversed with the centaur, relying mostly on the Common Tongue, proving herself to be fairly fluent in that. Of course, she could also speak Sylvan, the tongue of the forest, demonstrating this and offering to use either (or Elfish, for that matter). Regardless, she was able to share of her own wounds, though she lacked scars for the most part. Strong armor and stronger prayers kept her body in a near pristine shape. "My people sometimes say it's the goddess's blessing, but it mostly comes down to being the one wielding healing magic," she said, trying to keep that light.

She nodded in agreement as he spoke of meeting, of how they must use these nights well. His mention of the ceremony had Rallathia thinking on her vision of the goddess, of the way the divine being had spoken. She would have been intrigued regardless, but knowing that she had that extra push made her almost desperate to prove her worth. If this was some sort of test, then Rallathia would rise to the occasion, taking in the studies and information she needed in order to make sure that she not only succeeded, but excelled. There would be no other option for a princess of her caliber.

"Ah, I recall reading something about the paints for certain ceremonies," she said. "We had some old scrolls and at least one tome on your people that I studied on the way here," it helped when you only needed to trance for a few hours a day. "I don't recall reading about guest painting, and it seems rather fitting that it's the lush green for me," she flashed a smile. "I'm quite certain that would be acceptable though, ah, perhaps it would be more appropriate if one of the females were the one doing the painting? I wouldn't want to create any tension or anything."

Because there was something in the centaur's tone that made her wonder. Likely they were quite used to nudity among their people, but not so among the elves. Then again, she could simply be jumping to conclusions. He hadn't mentioned a need for her to remove much of anything as of yet. Perhaps it would merely be painting her face and neck. And it had to be done between leaders because of the respect, or something along those lines.

 

[TenderAggression]

Estan entertained her the best he could in Sylvan, explaining that many centaurs had passed the tongue down from generation to generation, viewing it as a language of beauty, if nothing else. Despite their nomadic ways, they had an appreciation for the cultures of others, the elves being no exception. Centaurs had always admired elves and their noble ways, and it was said that many years ago, there were elves who rode astride centaurs, a devastating maelstrom of flashing blades and trampling hooves that no mortal could touch. On his shoulders weighed a responsibility to reconnect these two races, for he was the first Plainslord to receive an Elvish delegation in what felt like aeons.

He paused and blushed at his foolishness. Of course, they were man and woman, and there were basic boundaries that needed to be respected. Silently, he reprimanded himself, though a ball of disappointment did momentarily sink down his chest. "Of course, of course. A female attendant will be with you shortly before the celebrations tonight begin. Now, as much as I would love to continue our conversation, we should both attend to our responsibilities so that we may enjoy ourselves without burden tonight. I'll see you soon." On that note, he clasped her seemingly tiny hand between his and nodded, before turning to leave, possibly to hit his head against a wall for his brashness.

Shortly before the festivities of that night, a mare, bare-chested and covered already in crimson paint, entered Rallathia's room. Eyebrow raised, she professionally requested for Rallathia to strip, as though it were obvious. With two fingers, she expertly painted the muscular curvature of Rallathia's body. The designs accentuate her hips, and highlighted prominent areas like her collarbone and eyes. Lines traced straight up over her nipples and pubic mound, granting the slightest modicum of decency to the elf. Strangely, the mare drew two circular patterns that connected right above her womanhood, where the womb would be. The designs of her bodypaint were decidedly sensual, a complete opposite of what she usually wore. The mare then informed her that all attending the festivities would be similarly nude to her, centaur and elf alike, though those who chose to opt out were free to do so.

"For the next five days, we are equal in the eyes of the Earth Mother. Our hearts and truths lay bare for all to see, so that we may come to accept both the flaws and virtues of each other. Only once the revelries have ended, do we wash away the paint and don our clothing once more."

At sunset, revelers began to gather, small-talk and hushed words exchanged before the arrival of Estan and Rallathia. There, he would escort her to the center table, almost akin to that a sacrificial altar, upon which sat several scented oils. Estan's designs were almost beast-like, a horizontal line across his nose, and two diagonal strips trailing from his forehead to opposite sides of his jaw. His body was similarly decorated, highlighting his rock-hard abdomen and beefy chest.

"Tonight, we begin the 5 Days Of Revelry. Princess Rallathia, I, Estan of the Plains, welcome you to our sacred lands. Allow me to soothe your body and soul, so that you may forget briefly the worries of the present. By doing so, our people may bond through want, rather than need." As he spoke, he offered his strong arms, ready to lift her onto the table.

 

[darkest_fate]

"Thank you for your understanding," said Rallathia, breathing an internal sigh of relief. She doubted Estan would actually be all that interested in her. His top half may be humanoid, but his bottom clearly possessed that animalistic leaning. Obviously he would preferred his mates to match, and there wouldn't be any possible way for his equipment to fit. Rallathia pondered the geometry for a fleeting moment, before shaking her head, dismissing the intrusive, though perhaps not entirely unwanted, thought. She took the offered hand, giving it a squeeze, before gesturing for her own retinue to break up. Rallathia reminded them to be on their best behavior, but that none would have to break any of their own cultural taboos or wants unless they so desired. They had all been hand selected for this mission, yes, but the selection had been hurried.

Rallathia established her own camp, arranging the arguably too many garments that she'd brought with her. Her handmaidens and squire had worked together to provide everything she might need (and she still strongly suspected the two took too much enjoyment in playing dressup with their pretty princess). She had debated between garments, before laying out a forest green tunic and breeches, figuring that while she may be quite uncomfortable without armor, she wouldn't want to offend her host by suggesting the need. She'd handle her own hair, brushing it out before twisting it into a formal, tight bun of copper behind her head.

Thus she thought she was ready for when the mare entered. She flashed a smile, and followed through with at least the first part of the command. The outer garments were divested, leaving Rallathia in a loose cotton undershirt and a pair of looser shorts. It would actually take some convincing to coax her out of this, only for the mare to likely laugh as there was another set of undergarments beneath those: a pair of sensible breast wrappings and something akin to shorts on her bottom. This took considerably more convincing, and only the promise that all the centaurs would be equally nude made Rallathia remove that.

Bared, she felt decidedly, well, naked. She did insist upon still wearing soft boots, if only because she didn't want to accidentally step on something. Plus she needed to maintain her symbol of Rillifane, along with her ceremonial signet ring. But otherwise, only the paints, which at least were covering her major areas of openness. True, her lightly furred sex, with the finest of elfish hairs, was still a little noticeable if you looked, and the paints did seem to want to make one look. But at least the patterns covered chest, thick paint obscuring dusky nipples, and the pants below made it difficult to determine where, precisely, her sex actually was without a good deal of staring.

Still, Rallathia felt more than a little uncomfortable as she waited for gathering, a cloak over her mostly nude body. Her handmaiden had been equally painted and nude, but still seemed shock at the gorgeous princess's condition. Rallathia ignored it, walking with dignity toward the arranged meeting, seeing the offer. The cloak left behind, baring her flesh, but Rallathia reminded herself that they likely weren't interested, and that this was a cultural celebration. She'd gone sky-clad for religious ceremonies before; it was just like that. There was even an altar.

"I, Princess Rallathia Silverwood, Heir to the Throne, Embodiment of Rillifane Rallathil, gladly and warmly accept your hospitality," she announced, her voice only trembling a little from her nerves. "To strengthen the bonds of our people," she realized what he wanted and, while she flushed, she still nodded, taking the arms slightly to help brace and rise on the table, letting out a soft gasp as the stone kissed bare flesh, be it as cool as expected or warmed by magic, fire, or fading sunlight.

 

[TenderAggression]

The gasp that escaped her lips was decidedly delicious, caressing his ears like a mountain breeze. Smiling, he confidently guided her onto her front, pausing to retrieve a cushion to support her rather busty chest. Around them, similar actions were being taken by other stallions too, guiding nervous or giggling elves onto their own tables. Some of the luckier ladies even had multiple studs to themselves.

Once the princess grew comfortable, Estan's coarse hands dipped themselves in warm oils and began their carnal work. Thick, powerful digits kneaded into soft, yielding flesh. First, her bare shoulders. His thumbs worked her tight trapezius, loosening them quickly with swift, practiced pushes. The heel of his palm addressed her upper back, digging in and washing away the pains of prolonged combat and extended travel. As his hands kneaded and move southward, his digits coated the sides of her breast with oil, mere centimeters away from caressing her nipples, but dancing away as swiftly as they came. For her lower back, he used a combination of knuckles and elbows, the amount of strength used measured exactly to prevent any sort of discomfort.

 

[darkest_fate]

It still felt decidedly odd being worked like this, touched by a male while wearing nothing to block them. Rallathia couldn't even recall being in such a place for a physician's examination or religious ceremony; females or those of neither gender were always selected for such tasks. Yet this male handled her with confidence and ease, his thick, calloused hands shifting her body. She could feel her breasts pushing against the table, the relatively modest bust squishing slightly against stone. Another little gasp went up, particularly as she felt her nipples tease the material, but she could handle this more or less.

Warmth hit her flesh, starting at her shoulders. Rallathia could feel the oils sliding down across the pale skin. They ran like little rivers of warmth, spreading internal heat to match. Those calloused fingers dug into her, and she could feel them pushing hard against taut muscles. Considerable tension met the press, as if she were quite literally carrying the weight of her people on her shoulders. It certainly didn't hurt that the military life the princess led had left her with fine muscle tone, a body lean and as fit as any warrior's. One that now he worked with practiced precision.

At least Rallathia could stop herself from releasing more embarrassing noises. She did heave to bight her lips, particularly as the hands slid lower, fingers dangerously close to her breasts. She could feel the material sliding across her, almost mixing with the paint into something that nearly tingled across. For a few moments, the princess nearly panicked, thinking the oil would slide the body paint from her flesh. She reassured herself thinking that surely the centaurs would be prepared, would make certain that what they used to cover her would mingle well with the oils.

All which meant more tension, which she released with a slight moan as his fingers dug into her lower back. Was she supposed to say something for this? Reply? Rallathia curled her toes in her boots, trying to think of a path, or, really, trying to think of much of anything beyond the fingers pushing into her soft, yielding body.

 

[TenderAggression]

Unfazed by the slight pushes and squirmings of the princess, Estan smiled as he heard her moan, thick shaft beginning to slowly harden and erect. The princess was a work of art splayed across the altar, and his fingers moved to smooth out any imperfections, easing pains and soothing aches. His hands pushed into her lower back and as they finished their work, moved on towards her shapely rear. He began kneading her arse-cheeks almost like dough, digits digging in and squeezing the toned flesh. Smiling, a hand raised and came clapping downwards onto her rear, open-palmed such that there was no real force or pain behind it, but enough to produce a shock and sound.

Making sure every inch of her was lathered in oil, his index and thumb worked to pry her cheeks apart, exposing her slit and arse to the cool night air. Reapplying his oil, he rubbed his fingers against her slit and puckered up rear hole, making sure to pay the duly needed attention to her nether regions. Once satisfied, two hands ran down her thighs simultaneously, generating friction and warmth as he slid down them. His rock-solid horse shaft began to unsheathe itself, hanging between his hind-legs and oozing precum that dripped onto the grass below, filling the air with thick musk. The feeling of her two holes beneath his fingers stirred deeper hungers, causing salacious thoughts to run through his mind. His hands carried on to her calfs and feet. The work here was simple and efficient, tugging her toes firmly such that a 'crack' was heard, loosening the joints worn out by miles of travel.

Work here was done, and with little warning, he gripped her by the shoulders and thighs, flipping her onto her front. Smiling, he started from the top once again, this time letting his large palms engulf her pale breasts. Groping and moving in a clock-wise motion, he kneaded her mounds over and over, squeezing and massaging them. Occasionally, he would pinch and tug at her nipples, tweaking them as he went.

"Enjoying yourself so far? It'll be your turn to tend to me soon."