(NSFW Images) The Prince and the Fortune Teller [[Giantmutantcrab & Bellatrixxx]]

[Giantmutantcrab]

Theme song for the introduction

Our story is set in Arnonas, but not in the dreaming West.
This record is waved far to the East, beyond the small maps and small minds of Western Arnonas, to lands undreamed of.
Places of great beauty and great savagery, of sensual intrigue and fraught with dangerous adventures.

Our account’s first breath is taken in the country of Shem.

In the vast land of Shem, despotic kings rule majestic provinces in luxurious, sensual splendor within walled palaces in the west.
Lean, hungry-eyed nomads in camel's hair tents rule the arid desert sands and oases to the east.

It is in the city-state of Shushan where the chronicle is undertaken.

Shushan, where its people dress in barbaric splendor, is the largest of the city-states in the far east of Shem. It sits between the Choaspes and Shushan Rivers. Instead of kings, the rulers of this massive state call themselves sultans. Also known as the imperial city-state of Shushan, the history of this region stretches millenia, back to when it was the capital city of the Old Stygian empire, three thousand years past.

The imperial city-state’s ruler, Sultan Hamed, died suddenly and unexpectedly a tenday ago.

​

An examination of the body revealed no traces of injury, disease or poison. It was as if Fate itself chose to end the sultan. The religions of Shem teach concepts of predestination, resulting in fatalism among most Shemites. They believe that if their day to die arrives, nothing they can do will change it. The children of Shem do not struggle against fates regarded as inevitable. The eastern Shemites, in particular, pay homage to Fate and several of their gods are deities of fate and destiny. Traditionally, the eldest son would become sultan and rule Imperial Shushan, as well as all of its territories and vast riches.

The late sultan’s younger brother, the Emir Al-Kabar, chose to lay claim to the throne.
He arrived in Shushan less than a week before Sultan Hamed’s death.

Amazingly, he was supported in his usurpation by Sultana Hadeel, by the dead king’s widow.

Sultan Hamed’s son, Crown-Prince Haidar, refused to concede to any of this. Though he could not prove it, he sensed foul play. His father’s abrupt end, the timely appearance of his uncle, his mother choosing the emir over her own son for imperial succession. Going against Sultana Hadeel’s wishes, the young inheritor challenged Emir Al-Kabar to a duel for the title of sultan and for the right to rule the imperial city-state of Shushan. At the first rays of moonlight, the duel between usurper and inheritor would begin, under the watchful eye of Sultana Hadeel and an assembly of Shemite nobles, both of neighboring city-states and sheikhs of nomad tribes.

…And at long last, our tale begins.

~§§§§§§§§§§~​

From the great golden dome of the royal palace of the Imperial city-state of Shushan, a man threw himself through an immense, multi-colored stained glass window. The peace of early night time was shattered as thousands of pieces of eye-catching colors glittered like stars for a brief moment, before landing in a noisy cascade all around the daredevil. From inside the throne room, which was within the golden dome, chaos had erupted. The duel for the sultanate had been interrupted in dramatic fashion, mere moments before! An assailant, covered in form-fitting black clothing and wearing a featureless white mask, leaped from the shadows to strike! But no dagger did they display; no, this interloper wielded a strange staff with a rounded, platinum tip. They did not speak a word and made no sound as they attacked. The target?

Crown-Prince Haidar, heir to the throne of Shushan and son of the late Sultan Hamed.

Instead of stopping the duel, Emir Al-Kabar joined the aggressor, flanking Haidar and landing a blow that would have eviscerated the prince, had the warrior not deflected the jagged scimitar with his sword! But the attack had not been completely avoided and blood ran from the fresh wound along the muscular oblique abdominals of young Haidar. This was not a duel… It was an assassination! Taken by shock, the sultana rose from her throne and called out for her Queensguard to stop the intruder. In response, the Emir summoned his own men, hidden amongst the Shemite aristocrats that had assembled to witness the duel. In the confusion and cacophony of orders, the crown-prince leapt through the nearest window, to the roof of the royal palace. He grabbed his right shoulder, shaking his arm as if to try and awaken it. His teeth were bared, his face contorted in confusion and pain. How had his arm been rendered limp? The white-masked, black-clothed being had simply poked Haidar’s shield arm from behind with that strange staff of theirs. There had been no pain, there was no bruising. So why could he not use it? After a few moments, he could start to feel a tingling sensation in his fingertips, a hint that whatever had happened began to dissipate.

But there was no time to wait. There was a soft crunching noise that snapped Haidar’s attention back to the here and now. He instinctively rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a blow to the head. The black-clad killer was there, that staff glinting in the moonlight. It was only by the noise of them walking on broken glass that the crown-prince had been alerted. With all that had happened, he could not even say for certain if the stalker was a man or a woman! They were tall and gaunt, androgynous in their skin-tight black clothes. Their snow-white hair was a contrast to their odd, cat-like eyes, which had no visible sclera and were solid green, with slitted pupils. Theirs was a menacing presence that pushed Haidar to run, to run for his very life! From the site of the broken window, a pair of cold-blooded mercenaries under the orders of the emir had broken off from the melee within the throne room. They drew their Shemite bows and fired, aiming to end the young prince’s life on the rooftop of the royal palace of Shushan. With a useless shield and with a white-masked, cat-eyed killer hot on his heels, Haidar rushed towards the aerie, the highest and largest building of the city-state.

As the prince ran, he drew a hand-made whistle and blew with desperation.

The sound was high-pitched, nearly-identical to that of a hawk’s cry.
A massive shadow departed from the aerie’s uppermost perch.​

An arrow caught Haidar’s left shoulder, but had deflected against the armor he wore. Another grazed his thigh, opposite of the deep cut in his abdomen. He could feel the sting of the cuts on his face, as sweat mingled with wounds. The whistle blew again. The feeling in his left arm was enough that he could clench his fist, but still held his left forearm with his right hand, to keep his balance during his sprint. The crescent moon itself seemed set against him, half-hidden by opaque clouds. In a few moments, he would arrive at the edge of the rooftop; no place to run, nowhere to hide. The killer in black still ran after him, without a single sound. Were they even human? With a third, final blow of the whistle, Haidar reached the edge of the rooftop… And jumped off, as far and as high as he possibly could, with his arms spread wide, like a great bird taking flight. At that precise moment, the shadow that had vanished from the aerie surfaced beneath the fleeing, wounded fighter.

Young prince Haidar had landed upon the back of Rafiq, his giant golden hawk.

The marvelous creature was about 10 feet tall, with a 20 foot wingspan. The giant bird continued its course, moving so deftly that the two archers could not aim accurately. A final glance behind and Haidar saw his would-be assassin standing where he stood but a moment earlier, gripping its platinum-tipped staff tightly. It was motionless, save for its head that looked at him. Those green, cat-like eyes! They were fixated on the young prince as he and his mount flew away from the royal palace of Shushan. Haidar had not known such a fear before! The man - if it was indeed a man - had shown no fear, no hesitation. How long had they been skulking in the shadows of the throne room, waiting for a chance to strike? Why were their eyes so bizarre? Why did they not utter a word, either while fighting or while running?

A sudden pulse of pain coursed through the young prince, who very nearly let go of the bird he held onto. Instinctively, he put a hand to his midsection. The wound had cut deep and with the dissipating adrenaline of combat, he could feel the injury much more severely now. “Rafiq, to the harbor.” Haidar spoke the words softly to his flying mount and without hesitation, the great hawk began a controlled descent to the south of the city, past a sudden rocky cliff…

Which ended in a small, long-forgotten harbor carved within the cliff face itself.

During the Old Stygian empire of ages past, Shushan was its imperial capital. From its immense aerie that dwarfed even the royal palace and its golden domes, great birds of prey were trained by Shemite falconers as both hunting birds and mounts for specially-trained warriors. The hawk-rider battalions of Shushan were feared and famed in their time, swooping down upon their foes with the speed of a raptor, breaking enemy ranks with talon, beak and spear! Such was their impact that they are referenced in near-mythological terms in the history of Shem and its people. Though there are no more squadrons of lance-carrying hawk-riders and their armored mounts, Shushan’s expansive aerie houses a cast of giant hawks that are trained to be both bird of prey and mount to a select few who have been trained in the skills of caring for, hunting with and riding giant golden hawks. The royal family of Shushan has a long and storied history of caring for the great raptors, and the crown-prince was a gifted hawk-rider.

His winged steed, Rafiq, steadied itself to a landing atop a horizontally-set, leather-wrapped boat mast, especially built as a perch for hawk-riders near the end of the harbor. Haidar dropped with a heavy grunt from the great beast’s back, falling to his knees before sitting down fully, dragging himself to the nearest wall to rest and breathe a moment. Gritting his teeth, he pulled a small satchel from his belt and produced a small bottle, breaking its seal. The container was filled with honey. He poured its content into and over the wound, before pressing multiple layers of linen and bandaging himself, tightening his stomach muscles to wrap it all as tightly as possible. Rafiq tilted its head to observe its rider curiously, letting out a chirp that seemed to ask a question. “Hah… I will survive. But you… Rafiq, you must return to the aerie.” The bird did not react to the command. “Please, go. I must leave Shushan for a time. But I will return, my friend. You will be safe here. Go back to the tower, Rafiq. Please.” A long silence hung between the two. Reluctantly, the giant raptor took flight and was soon beyond Haidar’s sight, having vanished back into the night. Giant hawks were seen as semi-divine in Shushan, as well as in the rest of Shem. To simply see one was a good omen, a sign of favor from the gods; none would willingly harm such grand creatures. Rafiq was safe here… but the prince was not. "Fare well, my friend. May Fate be kind to you." The prince whispered to himself, looking at the night sky and its absence of his trusty steed.

Haidar was able to staunch the bleeding, at least for a moment. The bandage was tight and held firm. There were other cuts and scrapes that stung, but the young warrior ignored them. The mastercraft armor he wore had deflected the arrow shot by a Shemite bow that would have punched through protection of a lesser quality. The prince noticed as he was wrapping himself up in bandages that his left arm was almost back to its full use and range of motion. Whatever vile magics that were laid upon the staff that grazed him were indeed dangerous! Haidar had so many questions to ask himself, but no time to waste on philosophizing. He needed to leave Shushan immediately; he truly feared for his life. Hoisting himself up and using the wall as leverage, he walked quickly and quietly to the pier’s end, where a small canoe was hidden, tied beneath the pier. Unfastening the ropes, the single-person raft landed in the water with a small splash. Slipping inside, Haidar pushed himself away from the pier and began a slow row. Escaping the harbor, Shushan, and those who seeked to end him.

The prince followed the mighty Shushan river as it traveled to the east, towards the very borders of Shem. He would have been unable to stop the canoe had he wanted to, anyway; the current was strong and he could only steer. He knew that further downstream was a waterfall, but knew of a small alcove where he could hide his boat and continue on foot, towards the east and into the great cedar forest that bordered both Shem and its southern neighbor, Stygia. The tiredness of the night’s events, combined with the stress and anguish of his father’s sudden death, made Haidar close his eyes and rest for a moment…

Until the rapids shook him awake.

No! He had overslept and passed the alcove! There was no way for him to reach the shore; he had to use all of his skill and both of his oars to push himself away from the rocks as they approached the waterfall. Try as he might, he saw no escape. Every moment brought a new danger, and he was on high alert. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears as he tried, as desperately as he could, to avoid a watery grave. One of his oars shattered as he tried to pry himself out of the water’s grip; the other one went overboard after the vessel slammed against a jagged stone. Now using his shield to try and cover the hole, he saw that they approached the edge of the waterfall. With a long, pained breath…

He jumped off, just as the canoe tipped over, careening one hundred feet straight down.

There was no reason to keep his eyes open, as he saw nothing but darkness and heard nothing but the crashing waters. Miraculously, he fell into the water safely. He was not broken against a stone, nor fell to his death against solid earth. But pain and exhaustion had taken the better of him. With all the strength he could muster, he swam and crawled until he could grasp a handful of roots, pulling himself out of the water. By the gods… He had nothing left. He was wounded, exhausted, and totally disoriented. Haidar tried to pull himself up to his feet but only succeeded in falling, face first, against a small patch of grass near a few cedar saplings, a dozen feet or so from the basin of the waterfalls. That he survived the night at all was nothing short of a miracle. But to die this way, with so much left undone… The prince closed his eyes, tears running down his cheeks. “Not... like... this…” He whispered, a hand holding tightly onto the roots…

…And darkness overtook him.​

 

[Bellatrixxx]

“You wicked...! Lying—" Sultana Hadeel, still adorned in her grand royal splendor, stormed into the private meeting room where she had been informed she would find the Emir. He was indeed there, surrounded by a handful of his most trusted men whom he had traveled with a week prior to Shushan, looming over a massive table sprawled with maps of the entire Arnonian continent. He had expected such a disturbance from the Sultana, anticipated it even, so when she burst in, interrupting the private plannings, he didn't bring his gaze up from the outlining ink of the world before him. Instead, he even allowed her to finish the insult targeted at his honor she had begun upon entering. "Backstabbing, despicable cur!"

It had been less than half a turn on the hourglass since the disaster in the throne room where her son had been very purposefully, and publicly, attacked. The masked assassin had initiated the chaos, moving with the speed, silence, and instruments that were from sheer legend, but the interruption had proved to be an effective interlude into what she could only assume was Al-Kabar's plan all along. So she came to confront him, dignified custom be damned as she stood there in the doorway, beautifully furious and clutching a long, thin needled blade in her right palm.

She was shaking. Shaking with fury, shocked horror, and fear. Any mother that had made great pains to save her child only to almost witness their brutal murder would understand such a state, especially when a twist of gutted guilt was present in the too-late realization that she, herself, had likely set the wheels turning to such an end when she sent a very particular letter a month ago.

The late Hamed: Sultan, Father, Husband, Imbecile had grown fat and lazy with the period of peace his state had enjoyed for the last few decades with his marriage to the Sultana, and as an extension, her people. It had not been a marriage of choice by either of them, but rather a union of resources, lands, and armies. Promised only to Hamed because of his firstborn status, Hadeel had very quickly learned who the rightful ruler of Shushan deserved to be. And it was unquestionably his younger brother, the Emir.

Al-Kabar was everything a ruler should be except for the second-born blood that ran in his veins. He was a warrior, a conqueror, while his brother had proved to be a diplomat, the exact opposite Hadeel had expected when coming into the arrangement into making Shushan stronger. She had been poised and promised to become the next Ubara, the greatest one history had ever seen, even greater than Ubara Divijah, the Lily of Old Stygian's past. And she had done -everything- right! Her virginity was given on her marriage night to birth an immediate son nine months later, a blessing by the Gods themselves, a true Sultan if the world had ever seen one. Haidar shouldhave been given an empire to rule, to expand, a place to carve his name into the stone for all of eternity, and when Hamed was failing in his wife's eyes to provide such, she sought out the alternative she recognized from the start: her brother by marriage.

For years, Al-Kabar and she had planned in secret, had conspired in secret, and had even bedded in secret. Hamed was growing old and pathetic, his wife hating him more and more each day that passed. The plan was to wait for him to die in his sleep, snuffed out by the wine he often gorged himself with after dinner, maybe even help him along with some extra drops of Milk of the Poppy, but all of that went up in smoke when Hadeel realized that she was pregnant. And it wasn't the Sultan's child.

The letter, sealed with royal secrecy, was delivered to Al-Kabar with the news. His affair with the Sultana had planted a seed in her womb. The time to act had come. No more waiting. No more procrastinating. For if they did, she would be executed for not remaining faithful, and with her life went Al-Kabar's royal heir. So they set the stage for tonight, a compromise for both of their dreams: after Hamed was dead by the means of which they carried through a week after his brother's arrival, her dear son would be exiled to the outskirts of Shem. Hadeel knew her son was too honorable, too intelligent to give up his own right to his father's throne, a literal role he was born and raised for, but her heart remained to Al-Kabar's claim, as it had begun so long ago when she first met him. Yes, the Prince would be cheated. He would suffer. But Hamed's line was simply not the one to create what she had been promised, so while she loved her child, she was a royal courtesan first, and a mother, second. But at least he wouldn't die.

At least, that had been what she and the usurper had -agreed- on. They had agreedthat Al-Kabar would defeat the young and grieving Prince before the elite, spare his life, then send him to the sanded wastes to live out the rest of his days, never to return to Shushan under pain of death. Hadeel had loyalists set up in the area, already waiting for Prince Haidar to take him to a comfortable estate near the northern border to be safe. He may never be Sultan, but he was still a Prince by birthright— he deserved to live his days out in luxury.

"What have you done?" She demanded, winded with scorn, still standing in the doorway with her eyes blazing in rage. The Emir still didn't look up as he stated his next words.

"Leave us."

One by one the men there retreated, walking past the Sultana with a trained silence despite the armor they wore. They all exited, following the order without question until the last one closed the door behind him, leaving the two alone in the room. Hadeel immediately stormed over to her conspiring lover.

"We had a deal—we had a plan!" She fumed, raising her tiny little dagger into the air with the intent to drill it into the muscle of his arm. Al-Kabar still wore his battle metal from the duel, so even if she struck it would simply scrape off without harming the man. That, and the Sultana was no warrior by any means. A dignitary, yes. A hostess, of course. A jeweled womb for great men to extend their legacy within, absolutely.

But a warrior? Laughable.

Before the blade as thin and as effective as a letter opener could make contact, the man snapped his hand on that side, quick as a sand viper, to grab her delicate wrist in his battle-hardened grip mid-strike. He caught her attack in the air, pausing to sigh like this interruption was beneath him, before moving and rising to stand up straight, towering over her. He turned slowly to look down at her, his eyes calm, calculating, but stern with purpose. Hadeel grunted and tried to rip her wrist from his hold, but it was like a cuff of steel. She couldn't even budge his arm. He made sure to wait until her struggles stopped before speaking.

"Does the lion not destroy the cubs of the last before he takes over the harem?" He asked, his deep voice ringing the Sultana's ears despite being almost whispered. She grimaced. "Does not the Jíra of the great hawks dash to pieces the fledglings of his predecessor before establishing his own?"

When Hadeel tried again to rip her wrist from him, the Emir turned to her and tightened his hold so hard her hand shook open, dropping the small dagger to the ground to clatter against the clay tile. He raised it high, forcing her to step forward and against him, bringing her close enough so that now his other arm wrapped possessively around her waist. She gritted. "Where is my son?" She demanded.

The Emir gave her a weasley smile before his eyes dropped down to her belly that was still only softly rounded and still easily dismissed as either food growth or covered under loose clothing. "He's there." He said, referring to the tiny life being woven together presently in her womb. "Growing stronger every day. I plan to give him everything he deserves, everything that was almost denied to him as it was me. I will not fail him as Hamed has failed his son. As he failed you." Finally, at that he released her. Hadeel took a stubborn step back out of his reach, her left hand protectively over her pregnant belly as she glared at the man before her as he blithely poured himself a goblet of wine.

"Where...is my son?" She repeated the question, knowing the Emir was stalling as he took a comfortable swallow of wine. "Where is Prince Haidar? And who was the white-masked warrior that attacked first?"

Al-Kabar turned to walk towards the balcony to look out into the night. The room they were in looked over Shushan, it's thousands of torches dotting the city below, flickering away and dancing in the cooler desert air. "I don't know who the masked assassin was."

"Liar." Hadeel bit out. He ignored her and continued.

"And as for your disgraced son for running instead of standing foot and dying with honor, he was last seen flying towards the harbor."

"So. He's alive?"

The Emir shrugged and turned to look at her. "An unfortunate fact that will soon be corrected, my dear. His only hopes before going over the Turaji Falls is to try and land somewhere downriver and then head south towards the border into Stygia. My men are already in pursuit."

"No. You can't. I order you to st—" Hadeel was suddenly silenced by a wickedly cruel look from him. A look she had never seen before from the man she thought loved her. The words turned to dust in her mouth as it seemed the word "order" cast a dark shadow over the usurper's face. She recoiled in honest fear when he took a single step towards her.

"You have no 'authority' here tonight, Hadeel." He stated her name with hostile firmness. "I do not take orders from you. Now. Get out of my sight, and do not trespass on my patience again. Or I might forget you carry my son..."

~§§§§§§§§§§~​

On and through the wind traveled, down the river of the mighty Shushan to flow through an unconscious Prince's locks before traveling onward, moving by the eastern current. The cedar tree's leaves rustled in its breeze, carrying the sharp scent of its greenery forward a short distance before it dissipated, consumed by something stronger.

Meat. The warming aromas of turmeric, cinnamon, pepper, and chilies grabbed the air with a fiery passion and didn't relent as the goat flesh roasted on its spit over the flames. They danced and licked at the dripping fat before it sizzled to the hot coals, turned occasionally to be cooked evenly on all sides. There was music in the air, the reed zurna blew to the beat of the daf drum, and glittering through it all were the jingles from a tambourine. The tiny metal clasps clashed with each pound of the player's palm as she danced, a few onlookers clapping with the mallets of the Daf while the rest of the caravanning community enjoyed the night.

There on the eastern edge of Shem, with its south the face of Stygia, and to the east, the Far east, beyond the cedar forests and continuing on through an ocean of sand, lay the city-state of Ajbathar. Once also a part of the empire from history's past, it had always been harder to hold under control due to its location, naturally protected by the vast nothingness that surrounded it. It's people, descendants from the coal-skinned warriors of Kush, were hardy, steadfast, and mighty horse riders, known for their powerful steeds that could cross the desert with the ease of a camel but with the speed of a hawk. Pushed up against the edge of the map, built where the Shushan river poured into the Sapphire Sea, the horse-riders of Ajbathar were content to themselves, letting Shushan play its political game with Stygia and faithful to their natural guardian, a 100 mile desert that kept them apart from the others. The only ones nowadays who braved the mighty trek were the nomadic peoples of wandering tribes that never really had an established home. Ancestors likely driven from places in wars past, these ones typically found each other from all over, and recognizing the desert for what it was, very often combined their resources to ensure their survival.

This caravan was one such collaboration. Kushites, Shemites, Ajbatharians, Jebusites, even a few descendants from the northern regions of Fjordland were among this band of close to 70 people, all traveling, all living together, all surviving. They made a risky living crossing the barren strait from Ajbathar to Shushan and beyond, trading the rare items from both countries and earning. Their exotic and cultural collides also made them a wonder to behold, and with their strange evolving music, foods, and interrelationships, in time these Venatori, as they came to be called by the established city-states, became mystical to those that looked upon them. Rumored to combine Magics, folklore, and customs, they inadvertently in time became as foreign to the areas around them as they had originally to each other. They were strange, yes. Misunderstood. And sometimes even persecuted for their curious ways. But they were also incredibly, and beautifully, wonderful.

Amid the music, dancing, and meal preparation, there was a particular single woman among the encampment, a golden creature with skin deeply caramelized by the sun, eyes like jade stone kissed with honey, and long loose hair made of curly ribbons as dark as chocolate. She was deliciously resplendent, an innocent beauty that had miraculously continued to be untainted by the cruelty and hard world that surrounded her. Many referred to her as The Gypsy, while others, including her Mother before she passed, insisted on calling her Taj'Mara, meaning "Magic Woman" in the Ajbatharian native tongue. But to those who knew her well, she was simply Hyacinthe.

Hyacinthe was pitching her crimson tent for the night which was rounded in a circular design. Everything the Venatori owned were usually in bright fabrics to radiate color across the desert and make them seen from far away. Since she was alone, having joined the caravan a few months ago with her mother as they had fled from raiders up north, her living arrangements were modest and humble. She only had a horse, no wagon or camels, so everything she owned had to fit on Sahra's back while also carrying her. Inside were all her belongings such as her bedding pillows, supplies, and clothing, as well as intimate items of personal importance. At the moment the entire doorway to her tent was rolled upwards to allow the air to flow through, and when she was finished lighting a few candles to place them in their protective caged lanterns, young Fatima rushed in with her brother, Saleh. Both were children, eight and six respectively, and were like siblings to Hyacinthe, who had been all alone since her mother's death. Fatima and Saleh's Mother, Jiri, was a kind soul who often helped the young woman whenever she could. They were a caravan family, afterall.

"I saw him first! I want to tell her!" Saleh panted, trying to shove himself in front of his older sister as Fatima stood tall but was also breathing heavily as if both children had been running.

"Nu-uh! I ran faster! I got here first! I tell her!"

Hyacinthe, knowing the children well, knew a bickering fight was about to ensue, so to get the story out before it consumed the siblings, she stood and faced them both. There was a smile on her face, thinking what they were about to tell her was something innocent and frivolous. "Tell you what: Saleh, Tell me the big surprise and Fatima, you fill in allll the details. Sound fair?" When both children nodded, pleased with this compromise, she motioned for the boy to begin.

"We found a dead man." He blurted out, completely excited as if he had found gold. Hyacinthe's throat tightened but she made sure her expression didn't alarm the children.

"Where?"

Fatima pointed to the south. "On the riverbank. We were trying to catch frogs when Saleh tripped over him. We poked him but he didn't move. We can't find mama so we came to you."

Hyacinthe grabbed her shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders before taking hold of one of her lanterns. She remained a calm expression while jerking her chin towards the opened doorway of her tent. "Let's go find your mother. Then, you can show us both where you found him."




Jiri had been mortified that her children had stumbled upon an apparent corpse. Their father, Hakim, had traveled down with them, careful to make sure his two children weren't in any danger as they led the small search party back towards where the Turaji Falls broke into a glittering pool. The edge of the bank was covered with cedar and palm trees, built up by the water's edge. Fatima shouted with a pointed finger in a specific direction, and immediately Jiri scooped her babies up and returned to camp for Hakim and Hyacinthe to take care of whatever they found.

They found a Prince. They just didn't know it yet.

"Is he dead?" Hyacinthe whispered, her eyes scanning over the armored back of the man lying face down in the moist sand. Hakim rolled him onto his back as gently as he could and began to unclasp the metal that encased his body. Once his chest was clear he pressed his ear to the man's breast.

"No." He said firmly. "But he will be soon if we don't hurry. Fetch Hadar and Corin. We will have to carry him back and find a place for him to rest. We don't have any more tents, barely any food to spare."

Hyacinthe knew what to do. "He can stay in mine." She volunteered, continuing after Hakim gave her a look over his shoulder. "I will look after him and dress his wounds. He might be dead by morning, we will see. But I would rather have my last moments in safety and warmth then to die cold and alone. Wouldn't you?"


~~~~~~~



"I've...bandaged him as well as I could. He looks like he's been through the fire. Probably running from something, poor sod. But that might mean trouble for us. Best to send him on his way in a day or two.”

Hyacinthe knelt next to the strange man who was now reclining on the pillows of her tent. The flap was still open so the breeze wafted in, carrying the scent of the meal now being enjoyed throughout the encampment, and the two lanterns flickered, casting him in a warm, golden light. He had been stripped down to his undergarments, his pants made of basic linen and bare-chested, clean wrappings tightly taut around his midsection where a nasty gash had festered deep. He was covered in bruises, cuts, and scrapes. His armor was off to the side, a little damaged from going over the Falls, but clearly what had helped him survive. And every scrape of jewelry he had worn, cuffs or rings, had been 'confiscated' as payment by the people. The largest ring he had owned had contained a ruby, the band a golden serpent that wrapped around the exquisite gem, and was taken by Hyacinthe herself who currently had it on her right thumb due to its larger size.

The healer, a wisened man with skin the color of the night sky under a white turban named Nir, began to pack his things up but handed a final vial to Hyacinthe before departing.

"He should sleep the rest of the night. If he wakes up, give him half to allow rest to return until morning. It should also dull the pain he will be in."

She took the vial and then returned to kneel. "Thank you. I'll come to get food in awhile. I just...I just don't want him to wake up alone and with questions." Nir nodded as he left, leaving the gypsy alone with the stranger. Most were gathering around the bonfire for their meal, and it left the area of the encampment mostly empty where she had pitched for the night.

An owl hooted near the edge of the nearby cedar forest, and to its tune, Hyacinthe took a soft cloth from the bowl of clean water, wrung it of excess, then began to pat and clean the blood and sand from his thick and muscled left arm. Up and down she cleaned his skin off, turning it to make sure to get every angle. Upon turning his arm she noticed a peculiar mark that was like a burn mark. She softly wiped her thumb across its blackened smooth surface, wondering from what sort of weapon would cause such a mark before dipping it back into the bowl to rinse.

Moving gently, she worked the cloth across his chest, his other arm, and finally his face. Brushing his hair from his forehead, her eyes lingered on his features in the darkness. Searching, searching she wondered who he was. Where he came from.

"Who are you running from?" She asked, almost playfully to his soul as she leaned in so close her nose was inches from his. Her fingertips grazed down his sharp cheekbone, tracing his jawline.

Then, we leaned down to his ear, ignoring the healer's instructions and extremely curious. She whispered against him:

"Wake up."

 

[Giantmutantcrab]

He fell.

​

Through a fissure between the stars, he fell, floating and softly, through a body of water. From that water, he descended into the earth… And back out to the nothingness beyond. Floating, alone in absolute darkness, he looked around. Swirls of nothing formed into shadows, then into shapes. They were buildings in the background, but they looked sharp and dangerous, like the upturned claws of some cyclopean creature. He saw the royal palace of Imperial Shushan, with its three golden domes. He was on the rooftop of the main building, but the roof suddenly slanted and he began to slide towards the dome… Towards the being with the white mask and cat eyes.

The creature was tall, taller than Haidar could perceive. They towered over him, like some skeletal giant wrapped in black cloth that was darker than the night sky. Their mask was white, so clear and featureless that its surface seemed like a mirror, reflecting the prince’s visage, twisted by fear, back at him. In their hands, a staff that stretched to the horizon. And their eyes… Green balefire, with the inhuman slits of a beast. The inheritor of Shushan would have been less afraid, had he seen the face of a man or a woman. Instead, he only saw his own reflection within the mask.

The staff was brought back, its size beyond comprehension, and crashed through Haidar and the palace roof, sending him down through… But it was not a staff, it was a wave of white river rapids that pulled him over the edge of a waterfall, and down into a basin of ice-cold water. Eyes wide, Haidar pulled out his trusty whistle, attempting to call noble Rafiq to come to his rescue. But blow as he might, there was no sound that escaped him. Around him, waves turned to faces.

That of his father, Sultan Hamed.
That of his mother, Sultana Hadeel.
That of his uncle, Emir Al-Kabar.
That of the cat-eyed killer with a mask.


The visages stretched and turned into ghosts, wailing silently into the water around him. Bubbles blocked his vision, his senses, his ability to breath. With the desperate strength of a drowning man, Haidar tried to swim up, up to the surface, up to reach salvation, up to breathe…

…a voice called to him…
…the fortune teller told him to wake...
…and so, the prince awoke.


~§§§§§§§§§§~​

His head turned to the direction of Hyacinthe’s voice, and his eyes opened slowly. He saw a woman’s lips. Full, warm and moist. Coal-black hair was worn in loose, untamed curls. An aquiline nose, high cheeks and a delicate jaw. The skin tint of a nomad. Then, Haidar saw her eyes. Wide and deep they were, those emerald eyes with a golden ring around the irises.

For a moment they were there, a half-breath’s distance from one another, with her body curled up near his and her lips close to his ear… Until he had turned his head, and were now close to his lips. Nose to nose and eye to eye the two strangers remained, suspended and breathless. She had called to him, to return from the place of dreams. Now he laid there, resting upon a few throw pillows, bare but for those pieces of clothing that were not relieved from him. The way the fire danced around her facial traits, accentuating and covering in momentary shadows, like whisper-thin veils dancing across her visage.

Haidar was a pleasing man, though this situation may not paint him in the best of lights. His body was akin to one of the copper statues of the gods of Shem, sculpted with great care by adoring hands. Mighty without bulk to slow him down. There was no loose fat upon him, only lean muscle that gave him a firm, feline quality. He was tanned, as would befit any of the children of the eastern sands. But it was clear Haidar was not of pure Shemite stock. His own mother, the tall and pale sultana Hadeel, had a long lineage of Stygian ancestry, though her family left Stygia generations ago. The warrior had bright amber eyes, complemented with a mop of hair the color of dark silver. Flat black eyeliner, made of kohl, had been applied by a trained hand, to both protect his eyes from the sun and to enhance his already striking eyes. There were wounds upon his face that were freshly healed. These were but small cuts, nothing to disfigure him. But they spoke of a harsh, recent conflict. And what to say of the blow at his midsection? Honey had been used as wound dressing, while the whole thing had been covered with linen and wrapped tightly. It was clear he had applied the treatment to himself.

And what to say of his vestments? He had the gear of a warrior… and ‘twas fit for a king.

The breastplate was like the wing of a great bird of prey wrapping around the shoulder towards the chest, covering the vitals of its wearer while allowing room to breathe and maneuver. The armor-clad shendyt, that kilt-like garment worn by men and women in isolated Stygia, was as elegant as it was functional. His bracers felt like they could deflect anything, yet had craftsmanship that would rival that of nimble-handed sculptors. His shield, emblazoned with a golden scarab, had seen years of work yet still looked fresh and new. The swords, an identical pair of gladius swords, were sharp enough that one could shave with it and with a triangular point to thrust through heavy armor. None of the colors were worn, there was no fraying nor dulling to be seen anywhere. The detailing of the armor pieces was stunning; these were works of art.

~§§§§§§§§§§~​

These… …had been forged in the city-state of Akbitana!

Oh, fabled Akbitana! The City of Steel, the City of Forges! Known throughout the world for its fine steel weapons and armor. Its blacksmiths were, simply put, the best in the world. Forges great and small lined many of the streets, and the heat there rivaled that of the surrounding deserts and plains. Would-be apprentices from many lands travel here in hopes of learning the skills of the Akbitanan smiths. Oh, fabled Akbitana, with Its zikkurat of impressive size, design and multiple colors, a shining beacon to its patron goddess and chief goddess of Shem, Ishtar.

But the stories and intrigues of the City of Steel would wait for another time.

~§§§§§§§§§§~​

So the man with gold eyes and silver hair gazed at the woman with emerald eyes and coal hair.


With this, the spell was cast.


Slowly and deliberately, the warrior raised a hand to gently caress her cheek, his thumb tracing a line down her jaw to the tip of her chin. “I heard your voice.” He whispered the words instinctively in his native Shemitish tongue. ‘Twas a language used far and wide in the lands beyond the dreaming West. Shem’s population was thrice that of its southern neighbor, Stygia. Besides, Stygia was an insular nation, suffocated under the coils of Old Set and his priesthood. Few spoke Stygian, other than the erudite and the well-connected. By comparison, the Shemitish tongue had traveled far and wide, used by her mercenaries and traveling scholars, as well as by her sailors, navigators and tradesmen. “I heard your voice… and I awoke.” The same thumb brushed the gentle skin beneath her lower lip, observing just how truly stunning this stranger was. Haidar had seen beautiful women before, no doubt. From self-confident dancers and serving-girls in the taverns, to the sacred prostitutes of Ishtar and the well-coiffed, well-dressed ladies of aristocratic heritage. But her? There was something enchanting, hypnotizing about her. The crown-prince of Shushan would be hard-pressed to find any flaw concerning this woman, who caught his whole attention and wore common vestments.

Easing himself up to rest upon his other elbow, that hand which touched her visage slid to brush past her ear, to feel her locks of lustrous, smooth hair. “You are real.” He stated, his words almost dreamy. Perhaps the sight of such beauty had made him believe that he had been carried to the land of the dead by some wondrous maiden, to be judged by the gods. His golden eyes moved from her hair to her face, down to her lips and back up to her eyes. “You… Cared for me. Cleaned my wound… Bathed me.” Bringing a finger to her chin, he lifted it up until she was resting upon her knees and not crouched down over him. He sat, one leg stretched out to minimize the strain upon his abdomen. The prince kissed her, with a tender ease of lovers that seemed to have materialized out of thin air. Was it his near-death experience? The joy of being alive? Did he need to be cared for… Or was it simply that he saw her, here and now, having dressed him down and cleaned his body, cared for him… saw her beauty, her allure, how viscerally he was attracted to her and this was the only way he could show all of this? Lips pressed warmly to lips, that one hand of his sliding from her chin to her neck, palm brushing against her throat before gliding along her arm, to her hand. When he reached there, he broke the kiss, a thin layer of their saliva dabbed upon one another’s lips. He had felt something curious upon her thumb, something that felt familiar, somehow…

Haidar’s head looked down, focused on the ruby ring with the gold serpent. He looked at it, wrapped around her delicate thumb, and a shadow of a smile crossed his handsome face. He looked up at her from beneath his eyebrows, still smiling lightly. Haidar recognized it instantly. The ring had been a gift from his mother, the sultana of Shushan. Hadeel came from a long, illustrious lineage that stretched back dozens of generations. Her ancestors had once been kings and queens, ruling over Stygia centuries ago. She had given him this ring, one that she had inherited from her father. It had significance for the crown-prince… But not as much now, especially considering the latest events. Still, it was his… Or was it?

She had saved him. How easier would it have been for her to simply strip him naked, push him back into the dark waters and let nature take its course? No, she had cared for him with delicate attention. He was clean, smelled good, and his wound had been treated by one who held medical knowledge. Perhaps she was a herbalist, or a traveling physician? Did these treatments not deserve recompense? Bah… These questions bored him. There would be ample time to think of such details later. No, at the moment Prince Haidar’s interests and desires were much more immediate and… primal. She was here, he was here. Two beautiful, warm-blooded creatures separated by a few clothes. Gazing back to her eyes, he kissed her for a second time, speaking warmly against her lips. “I have no wish to return to sleep.” A third kiss, lips barely touching. Their bodies were close to one another’s. He was warm, firm, and his eyes yearned for her. He had a sampling of her taste, and he wanted more. His golden eyes roamed over her figure, from hair to toes and back again.

"Keep me awake 'till dawn."

 

[Bellatrixxx]

​

Her words were magic, just like the rest of her.

Hyacinthe's fingers did not move, her tongue did not dance, and her form did not bend without magic. It flowed through her veins as small, plentiful, and numerous as the cells of her blood, so when she whispered to the man to wake up, it was really more of a spell than a command.

For pleasure or pain, for wonder or horror, for bliss or terror, or for better or worse his eyes opened and Hyacinthe's entire life’s trajectory changed, even if she didn't know it just yet. Thick lashes lifted to open to pools of molten amber, and they continued to rise until he saw her, hovering over his face so closely. His own wonderment was mirrored in her gaze, a look of sheer awe that he was alive and responding so well despite being assumed dead less than an hourglass turn before. There was something about him, a gentleness under the powerful exterior that drew her closer, a pull that had her bringing her warmth to him as if she were to learn who, or what, he was by sensory contact alone.

For a few breathless moments the two took the other in. While she tried to put together the pieces to his mysterious arrival together, he would see her as the wandering woman she was.

​

Her clothing was that of a desert woman when the fiery sun disappeared and the land cooled dramatically. While during the day she would typically be covered from neck to ankle in dark clothing, protecting her while traveling, now she was adorned more comfortably and leisurely in her tent. The linen wrapped around her skin like a lover, it's color a rich orange with golden and bronze accents sewn in with exquisite detailing. It was a long skirt that reached her currently bare hennaed feet, the copper paste that darkened over time on one's skin in spiraled patterns drawn artfully by hand. Toes, sides, and top, the design dotted, spun, and wrapped all the way up around her delicate ankles like ivy on a stone column, the hem so light and airy it would sometimes expose the art and copper anklets as she shifted and moved to get closer to her strange guest.

The top she wore was simple, coming forward to cup only her breasts as it ended along the ribs ribs to leave her smooth, concave belly exposed. In the center hanging at her naval was a gold balled piercing with a tiny jade stone that dangled distractingly. Jade was the semi-precious stone from the southeast region of the continent, from the jungle mountains that bordered Shem and the exotic change of scenery of Himalya. She had traveled far and been to many places as bits and pieces of her person would reveal to him.

​

She was no one from nowhere, almost a mirage of innocent light that beamed down at him with wide and beautiful eyes. Her lean arms were toned from work and her hands matched the exquisite designs of her feet, darkened with the henna-art as it twirled around her fingers to end just above her copper-cuffed wrists. There were bronze hoops through her ears, eyes outlined with kohl like his except hers were drawn thicker, and as she leaned close he would be able to catch the scent of Ilutu-Lili, the lovely jasmine oil with which she anointed her throat and breasts after she washed from the day. Her salty-sweet skin, her heat, her intrigue drifted around him on a waft of sultry air, practically inviting that he touch her. So he did.

When her guest raised his hand to her face, Hyacinthe made no move to retreat. Her left hand still held the moistened cloth but her right rested on one of the pillows closest to his chest. She was lounging along her right hip to his side, upright to be over him during her work of cleaning him after his armor had been removed. Hyacinthe understood his need to touch her, to speak of hearing her voice that had called him back from the brink. He was likely dazed and confused, needing to know what was real around him. And his touch was gentle despite the battle-hardened callouses on his palm and fingers.

He traced her lovely jawline and lips, her mouth parting naturally in a soft exhale as he explored her features both physically and visibly. This close and now alert, speaking, Hyacinthe received the opportunity to appreciate his strength and beauty in return. While he was covered with injuries, both minor and major, there were very few scars marring his skin. The comb of his hair showed how usually kept it was, the coloring strange as it was like tarnished silver that reflected the flickers of her tent’s lanterns. He was strong but not bulked like a mercenary or warrior, yet neither would explain the immense wealth that was taken off his person piece by piece. He was clearly someone of importance, perhaps a Noble's son or a Diplomat. The lilt to his accent revealed a highly educated person of Shushan, and his armor dignified one of supreme status, perhaps a General? No. He was too young. Unless he was promoted due to connections despite unworthiness. Whoever he was, he was a mystery Hyacinthe dared to unravel, so when he guided her by chin into position as he sat up, she did not retreat her lips from his despite seeing the kiss coming a league away.

Many men had kissed her, much to their detriment. One knew the tales and stories of magical women stealing breath, wealth, and whole souls from those who fell under their spell. This one much be truly a sheltered soul, to see her and either not recognize her for what she was...

...or not care.

​

His lips were warm and hungry as they pressed to hers, melding them together so suddenly that even Hyacinthe fell into a trance and slowly closed her eyes to focus on the single point of contact. They held together, mouths pressed tightly until she parted her softness that invited him to do the same. Whether or not he complied her tongue pressed gently, just the slightest and gentlest of touches along the curve of his mouth, tasting as if whether or not he was someone worthy of such attention. The gypsy nomad was often the one to control the situation of pleasure, simply dancing across people's consciousness and tugging their spiritual reins in any direction she wished for them to go, so it was a soft alarming surprise that her body -shivered- when his large hand slid over her shoulder to cascade down her arm. Goosebumps bubbled her skin despite the warmth felt below the surface, this man's nonchalant touch igniting her in a way she had never felt before. Down, down he caressed, Hyacinthe's hand even lifting a bit when he reached her wrist for him to take it in his, and she was so clouded from the euphoric reaction her body was having that she completely forgot about the ring she had pilfered off his finger as he lay practically dying a short time before.

Hyacinthe froze, rigid in a small amount of fear at his potential reaction. The gold alone could likely fetch a price that would feed the entire caravan opulently for a year, and that didn't include the large ruby that was centered on top, cradled by a serpent. And it had just been the one thing she had grabbed off of him. Aside from his armor that was off to the side and understood to perhaps be going a bit too far if stolen, the guest's jeweled and gold bits he had on his person were presently all over the encampment in various people’s possession, slipped from around his neck, wrists, or ears to be sold or traded for things their families needed. The majority of the items had been smaller and fairly universal, but Hyacinthe had spotted the ruby ring and immediately knew it's surpassed value. But now, he was awake and staring down at his ring on her finger, and she held her breath for him to yell at her, chastise her, or even strike her. Her other hand flexed on her other side, ready to reach for something to potentially defend herself when...he smiled.

The man looked up at her with clear amusement in his golden eyes as if the ring had somehow found its place where it had meant to be all along. The magic girl blinked at his second kiss, stunned a second time before she shook her head at his denial for sleep. He needed to rest, Nir had said as much before his departure, but the man was seduced by her lips, clearly not wishing to be parted from them long, his deep timbered voice begging for her to stall the inevitable slumber his body likely needed.

But oh, what an invitation! Hyacinthe leaned close with a predatory smirk, her nose brushing his in a playful manner but dodging his kiss if he tried again. A soft cat and mouse game began where she would turn or dip her head just enough of a degree when he tried to steal another taste, her lips always dancing -just- out of reach of his, and when he got the tip of her nose one pass, the girl giggled.

"You must be nobility," she purred, smooching his nose in return with a quick peck as fast as a viper's strike. She was taking advantage of his weakened and injured state; he was but a victim to her charms and games. "For all the common men know," she whispered under the flickering lights in her tent, all alone with him as her cheek came down to press against his to be near his ear as if to tell him the most intimate of secrets. "One should -never- trust the kiss of a gypsy. And yet...here you are...drinking from the well of my lips as if it were your last drink alive." Her left hand came up to cup his cheek opposite of the one she pressed against, and gently she lifted to look at him. As she spoke, that hand slowly slid from his cheek down to cup his strong jawline, physically instructing him to look straight into her gaze and not break eye contact.

"The actions of either a desperate man or a fool." Hyacinthe searched his handsome face for clues as to who he was. "And by the quality of the Akbitanan armor you were found in, you are no desperate man..."

He was a fool. A seduced fool that was handsome and interesting enough to keep her engaged. She smiled at him as she released his jaw before leaning back and moving to stand. The woman then walked around him to the small table that was a short distance away given the size of her singular tent. On the surface was a bowl with a red savory curry and filled chunks of roasted goat meat and spices. It was poured over golden rice with barberries and a round of flattened bread with char marks around the edges. With the bowl in hand and a skin of fermented cactus-pear wine in the other, Hyacinthe returned to his side to sit upright and cross her legs. She handed him the skin as her delicate fingers plucked a top resting bit of meat to then lift it to her mouth, sucking lightly on her finger with pouted lips of the rich and spicy sauce that briefly coated its tip. She gave him a thoughtful smile as she chewed, casually sitting there as if they were old friends instead of very much the strangers they were.

"Its unclear how long you were unconscious before we found you on the banks of the Shushan River where it feeds the nearby oasis," she spoke softly, tearing off a corner of bread to bite into it. "But we found you just in time. You wouldn’t have survived the night. The Gods watch over you, zesú." She called him the Ajbatharian local term for 'drifter' as a pet name, a nod to how he was found as if washed up from the waters like a piece of flotsam, or driftwood.

Hyacinthe handed the bowl to him. "Are you hungry?" She offered him food. "You and I will share tonight. Our caravan doesn't have much but we take care of those we come across. Every one of us was found close to how you were: alone, in need of help, running from something." She kept the bowl of warm comfort food lifted until he either took it or refused.

 

[Giantmutantcrab]

The Prince chuckled quietly at her words concerning the divine powers and their observation of him. “If the gods were smiling down on me last evening… I daresay they were laughing and pointing as well.” The events of the previous night had left many questions in Haidar’s mind. There was a weight now that would, one day, need to be lifted. Wrongs that would be set right. A city-state to return to, a sultanate to reclaim and people to face. But it would not happen here and now. He was safe here, as safe as one could be in the current circumstance. The crown-prince had not been bound or gagged. His possessions had been taken, but mainly to inquire upon his health. His wound had been treated. His blades were within arm’s reach. So… He could release that weight, at least for a moment. There would be time enough to stew in righteous anger and bitter indignation at a later date. Currently, he could even find levity in the whole thing. Oh, what drama! A sword-fight in a throne room for the rule of a kingdom, an assassination attempt, betrayal by his kin, a daring escape from a rooftop, a flight upon the back of a golden hawk and a death-defying leap over crashing waterfalls a hundred feet down!

‘Twas the stuff of theater, of operas.

A small breath escaped his lips as he moved to sit upright, bringing his left leg under but keeping himself stable with his right leg, his foot planted firmly upon the tent floor. This was a telltale position of someone who had martial training. By balancing one’s weight this way, the stranger could suddenly stand, and be prepared for action. Plus, if one was wearing steel upon one’s waist, that weapon could be used. He would not have to clumsily pull his legs from beneath him; a shift of weight and he was in a kneeling position, his hip open to pull a weapon and strike as he would rise to his feet. But this was not an aggressive posture. He was obviously not looking for any kind of conflict. He was half-alive, and half-dressed.

“Foolish or desperate… Are those two the only options?” Haidar spoke with a soft tone as the woman moved with the easy grace of a rolling wind upon a dune. She had taunted him a bit, taking advantage of his dulled reflexes and senses to toy with him, much like a cat would play with a captured toy. But there was no viciousness behind her words, nor her actions. She did not seem like she was planning anything devious; she was just enjoying this moment. He squinted a touch at the word she used… “...gypsy?” He seemed to be searching his memory for something about that expression, then snapped his fingers and nodded. “You are of the Domari, the walking people.” He dismissed her old wives’ tales surrounding her embrace, shaking his head and moving his hand as if he was shooing away a fly. “I am not as superstitious as most children of Shem. Merchants, caravans, travelers… These are the lifeblood of my nation! Every city-state is like a garden, and they are pollinated by those who move from one kingdom to the next. I do not fear the kiss of a Domari. What I fear… is the kiss that is not returned.” He grinned lightly at her, remembering how her tongue tasted when they shared that last kiss. “You have assuaged that fright.” He was beautiful when he smiled fully, his hair glittering like strands of delicate silver upon the flickers of the fire inside the tent.

She moved and spoke like music, smoothly and effortlessly. During that easy spectacle, he leaned back against a triangular pillow beside him, allowing his mind to drift for a moment. Her words about what brought him here stirred memories.

His thoughts went to his youth, and his father.

~§§§§§§§§§§~​

“Everyone is desperate for something, my son.”

They walked upon the colorful garden of the imperial palace, the sultan and his son. In this memory, he was a youth of 12 summers, at most. His father had already begun graying around the temples and flickers of white began to appear in his neatly-trimmed beard. Sultan Hamed walked with his hands behind his back, stopping to smell the intricate scent of royal jasmine, of midnight black orchids, of violet roses and of golden lotus flowers. His clothing of silk and cashmere, gold and white with bands and decorations, were highlighted by the sun of the early morning. He leaned forward and closed his eyes, allowing the fragrance of the flower bush before him to fill his nostrils. Once he was satisfied, he turned to look at his son, young Haidar, who was awaiting further words from his father. He was attentive; he was listening.

“The underprivileged are desperate for wealth from the privileged.
The privileged are desperate for the influence of rulers.
The rulers are desperate for the love, family and kinship found with the underprivileged.”

A moment’s pause, to gather his thoughts. “What… what does it mean, father?” Sultan Hamed gently brushed the petal of a large flower, before beginning to walk again, looking over his shoulder to make certain that his son was following him. “It means, my son, that regardless of our station in life, we all yearn for something. Riches, power… Or love.” Youthful Haidar had not noticed the inflection of his father’s voice at the last word of his sentence, nor the hidden meaning behind it. The young man looked down at his feet for a moment, then back up at his father. “That sounds unfair, father.” The sultan, looking both curious and amused, wished for his son to continue his thought. “So… everyone wants something they cannot obtain? That is unjust, unfair. Why would the gods allow this?” Sultan Hamed laughed softly, brushing his son’s hair. “If life was just and fair, my son… If everyone had all that they needed and wanted… The gods would have no one to serve them. But if you are a god, and you claim to own that which people desire… And they can *only* obtain that which they want by serving you… Then you will have worshippers and servants forever.”

It was the first time that Haidar heard his father speak this way about the gods.
It would not be the last.

~§§§§§§§§§§~​

She had settled near him. Haidar moved closer, enough that they had the bowl of food resting upon a part of both of their thighs. She gave him a small container of pear wine while she tasted the fall-off-the-bone meat of the colorful bowl, allowing it to color her beautiful lips before she licked them clean. Of course, she had made certain that they locked eyes when she did it. She enjoyed these provocations, evidently. Their proximity was such that they could brush against one another’s shoulder. Golden eyes looked upon the curry that was offered… And a cunning look flickered in his eyes. Turning his upper body to face her more, he took a small swig of the wineskin and set it beside him, taking the time to swirl it quietly in his mouth and roll it over his palate, brushing his lips with the side of his thumb afterwards. “...Delicate.” He said softly, before taking the bowl in his hand, as well as her right hand.

“Thank you for saving my life.” The words needed to be said, and he did not care if he was repeating himself. “I would ask for your help again, sayeda.” The proper Shemitish word for “miss”. How very polite. “In my fall over the rapids of the Shushan river… I have lost some of my gear.” He pointed with his chin to the pile of armor and weapons near the bed of pillows where he slept. “My weapons and my armor were found easily enough. But I’ve noticed that my jewelry slipped from my fingers, my ears and from ‘round my neck.” Such diplomacy, explaining the situation as if these were but things he had lost, and had not been pillaged. “Most of those I can live without. They will fetch good prices if sold to jewelers and goldsmiths of renown. But… There are things that I wish to retrieve. They have meaning to me.”

“First is a brass whistle, plated in tin. The etchings are crude, made to represent a gust of wind.” He said that with a big grin, reminiscing on some souvenir. But he returned his look at Hyacinthe. “I am a falconer, and I use that whistle to call upon my winged ally, Rafiq. The crafting of that whistle, by hand, was the final test in my training.” The whistle did not seem particularly valuable, so it should be fairly easy to recuperate it. Besides… Would they be so spiteful as to refuse a falconer his falcon-calling whistle? Would they refuse a fisher’s rod, or a seamstress’ shears?

“Second is a old signet ring. It is a band of iron with a hawk etching on the plate. It is a gift from my father, an heirloom of my ancestry on his side.” A simple request as well, especially since iron was commonplace and fairly cheap. Few people wore ornaments of such a simple, matte metal.

“The third piece of jewelry I wish to retrieve is another ring. It is a thick band of gold, with snake engravings on each side. A royal cobra, with crystal eyes and golden scales, is coiled around a large ruby. The ruby glitters like fresh blood when next to firelight. It is a gift from my mother, an heirloom of my ancestry on her side.” Well… It was quite easy to determine who held that particular piece. But the prince continued, feigning ignorance. “I’ve an idea of where to find the last one, so I am unworried about seeing it vanish. Which only leaves the whistle and the signet ring to find. When next we leave this tent… Would you aid me, sayeda, in uncovering those two trinkets?” He did not threaten, nor lean towards a blade and go out hunting for gold and gems. Haidar was attached to things of importance, less so to the obvious wealth that he had carried with him over the border of Imperial Shushan and of the kingdom of Shem.

Gently, he made Hyacinthe dip three fingers into the curry to scoop another cube of well-cooked goat meat… And guided her fingers to his lips, where they parted and slipped betwixt. She felt his tongue wrap around the meat and pull it into his mouth, licking and deliberately cleaning each one of her fingertips before moving her hand away with a slow and easy motion, chewing and looking Hyacinthe in the eyes. Apparently, the mysterious woman was not the only one who had an inkling for this slow, easy, lazy seduction. Being a playful sort, a smile grew as he chewed and swallowed, taking a breath before bringing his fingertips to her chin, raising it ever so slightly. His chin lifted with hers, at the same time, and he touched her as if they were in a garden and she were a rare, sweet-smelling flower. Only the gentlest of caresses, the softest of pressures. For the callouses and scars and armor and weapons… He seemed apt to be delicate as well.

There was no need to tell her to part her lips. She could see him slide his index finger into the curry bowl, slowly rolling it around, hooking it up and slowly bringing it to her lips. Haidar leaned in just a little, to keep eye contact with her as he made her suck upon his finger. Once she was finished, he brushed a small drop of the sauce off of her lower lip, licking it off of his own finger. Then, he dove two fingers into the warm curry, retrieving a small length of meat and offering it to her lips. He held the boneless piece by the sides, so she could easily bite into it if she so pleased. “Tonight… We share.” The words had a deep meaning now, with their proximity and their intimate ease with one another. That mischievous glint shined in his eyes. Was it the obscure concoction he swallowed in his unconscious state that made him so daring? The lighting? Her? A combination of it all? Perhaps it was after risking life that one comes to appreciate it all the more.

 

[Bellatrixxx]

The way he spoke of the Domari people under the flickering warm lantern-light had the girl turning to look at him with an finely arched brow, but an amused grin tugged at her mouth. "'Your nation'?" Hyacinthe laughed as she sat down at his side with the food, her back against the pillows as she leaned and got comfortable, then waited until he went still as he scooted beside her. "Do you lay claim wherever you walk? Do the sculptures of Asgakin belong to you when you step through their gates? Should Stygia be warned lest you step across the border?" She giggled at the thought, amused that he had such pride to act as though a whole nation and its people belonged to him. Who was this man? "I think you bumped your head harder than you might realize, zesú. I don't recall returning -anything- of note. I was simply providing comfort to an injured man in my care, nothing more..."

The beautiful, filthy liar she was! Acting as though she hadn't parted her lips for him quicker than a devoted whore of Ashtoreth who hadn't been paid in a week. Acting as though she hadn't shivered at his touch, hadn't leaned in close to dangle more before skittering away like a desert mouse. And yet she was, happily sitting there, eating and acting entirely obtuse on purpose, making him think it was all in his head. The playful tilted smirk at the corner of her lips hinted she knew what her act was accomplishing, but the playfulness never subsided. If anything it increased when he took his first sip of the pear wine before taking the offered bowl from her, along with her hand.

It was a stunning thing to see her hennaed hand, delicate and dark, held softly in his much larger palm. Despite his very obvious higher strength, everything about his actions were graceful and controlled. Hyacinthe's eyes lingered on their hands together for a few moments as he spoke of certain cherished items he specifically needed to find with her help. He referred to the jewelry very much stolen from his unconscious body as lost, as if they were swept away by the current when he fell into its pull, but those were trinkets that would be a fine prize to whomever found them. But they were trivial, and not what he desired back. Whether he was just so elated to be alive that he didn't care for opulent material possessions, or if he was so wealthy that such gems could easily be replaced once he returned home, Hyacinthe didn't know. And what was made even more odd was the fact that, aside from the fat-rubied ring that was presently on the thumb of the hand he held, the two other accoutrements seemed tame in comparison. Easily replaceable. They clearly had extreme sentimental value if he was willing to let his emeralds, silver, and heavy gold loose in the hands of the encampment but definitely needed back a whistle and an iron signet ring.

She knew where the whistle was exactly. That would be fairly easy to get back depending on the mood of its current owner, but the signet ring? She had watched as one by one his items had been removed and distributed, remembering each piece as she surveyed the options available before snatching the golden serpent. But she didn't recall seeing an iron ring with the imprint of a hawk on its flattened surface. Hyacinthe snatched her hand from his when he spoke of knowing where the third item was and twisted her torso a bit away from him as if to hide the ring from his sight. Her left hand cupped over the jeweled thumb and she gave him a haughty tilt with her chin.

"I know where your facloner's whistle can be found, but the one who has it can be...difficult. You must prepare yourself for battle if you wish to see it again. Your iron ring, I am afraid, is lost. I can certainly help you find it but we might need some help in that regard. Do not ask questions on my methods, however. If you wish to ever see it again, you must do exactly as I say. Understood?" She waited for his nod before continuing. "And concerning this 'third piece of jewelty' of yours...If I, perhaps, have something in my wares that you wish to purchase back I -might- be open to negotiating." Her tone was overly serious, the role of slick merchant rising as if she was setting up selling his own golden heirloom of priceless worth back to him. Even when he took her hand back to dip into the bowl, guiding her hand by her wrist, she continued to speak.

"We shall deliberate all night, yes?" She questioned softly, her emerald eyes watching very closely as he brought the bite up to his mouth she held before consuming her saucy fingers, meat, tips, and all. "See what the men of Shushan are made of. How well they negotiate? Test to see how badly you want your precious ring back..." Hyacinthe's tip of her tongue swept across her upper lip as she observed him, sinfully playing along before her gaze rose to his as he sucked her slender digits clean before pulling them from his mouth. Her index finger hooked round his tongue to playfully yank him forward a bit only to release it for him to chew. She leaned closer with a giggling smirk, their foreheads almost together as he brought up her chin. Her mouth tensed for a kiss but it never came. Instead they just...circled the temptation. They were testing the other. Teasing.

She never broke her gaze from his when he brought his own coated finger up, and with a languid parting, Hyacinthe took his thick finger in and easily pouted her lips around it. The fullness hid his finger from his sight as she made a suction around it, slurping the curry from his skin, the flexible tip of her tongue twirling....twirling to clean him from every angle. When he pulled it back she increased the pressure so an audible *pop* occurred. When he cleaned a drop from her chin to bring it to his own mouth to taste, Hyacinthe felt her nipples tightening at the sight. She smiled, sucked her bottom lip inward to bite down on it, and made a sneaky little giggle as he brought a bite up for her to enjoy individually.

She -liked- this game. It was strangely sensual to feed each other by hand, rather intimate to do with a stranger in her tent. He was likely very dangerous based on the armor he wore and the injury he had sustained, but she liked danger. 'Danger' was adventurous, heady, and his gentleness towards her revealed that he was much more than he seemed. Hyacinthe parted her mouth and came forward, tongue looping around the cube of meat between his two fingers but lips closing around all three attendants. It was a big bite but she was really illustrating something else to him in that moment, something a little more...inappropriate.

Her tongue was strangely acrobatic in its sweeping motions, moving in ways almost magical. The meat was stolen from between his fingers and she pulled her head back, taking all the curry from him as well, and began to chew slowly, her eyes still deeply held within his. Without breaking away, Hyacinthe reached to the bowl to take the naan, and with a tearing motion ripped a corner off to dip into the bowl before bringing it up to his mouth. The moment he opened, where he had been gentle before, she playfully -stuffed- the entire bite, filling his cheeks with the bread -and- her fingers. Index and middle curled inward and -hooked- along the bottom row of his teeth, effectively capturing his lower skull. She yanked him forward by his jaw until their foreheads and noses were pressed tightly together, her breathing hitched a bit as her wild excitement escalated in the moment.

"I see your close encounter of death has made you bold, zesú." She whispered intimately, the tip of her tongue sweeping in a tease over his lower lip and up the bridge of his nose. "You hunger for more than food, you thirst for more than water. If I were any bolder, I might just decide to give you exactly what you don't know you are asking for, take full advantage of you hour after hour, steal your every offering until you -begged- Ishtar to make the sun rise quicker." Hyacinthe's voice had turned to velvet at this point, her fingers still hooked around his jaw, preventing him from chewing the bread in his mouth and responding. She nipped at his nose with her teeth.

"She won't listen. Not to you. Not to one who laid in the tent of a Domani and so recklessly challenged his fate. Not to one who so—"

Whoooot whooooooot. The airy sound of a whistle being tooted on poorly interrupted Hyacinthe's sinful revelry, and with a jump back, more for the audience she knew was approaching and not because she had felt like she had done anything wrong. Her fingers slipped from his jaws and she leaned as she turned towards the still-opened flap in her tent. The scurry of little feet were approaching, along with more hoarse notes, and they had seconds to right themselves as the two children from before, Fatima and Saleh, burst inside.

"He's awake! I told you he would be!" Fatima glowed in excitement as she stood at the stranger's feet as Saleh tried to blow into the very whistle he was seeking out. His little cheeks puffed up, failing to make a considerable sound because his placement and tongue were incorrect, but that didn't stop him from trying. "Ooh," Fatima's eye's focused on his waist wrappings and how extensive they were. "You're hurt really badly."

"Mesadí!" Hyacinthe laughed at the sight of them. If they had been adults it would have been fairly clear what had been going on in the tent moments before, but the ignorance of children was sometimes a blessing. "What are you doing here? Where is your mama?"

Saleh just stood there, blowing stubbornly as his sister responded. "She's helping Father set up beds for tonight, but I told her I'm not tired! I'm older now, I shouldn't have to go to bed the same time as him." Her face scrunched up as she referred to her little brother next to her. "Besides, I want to meet the stranger." Her bright and curious eyes turned to the man. "Are you Asshuri?" She didn't pause to let him answer. "Father says you might be. He said your armor and weapons probably puts you far away from here, and we need to send you away because more bad men might come."

"No, no," Saleh piped up finally, still clutching the desired whistle in his little hand. "He doesn't have a helmet. A REAL Asshuri wouldn't lose his helmet."

"Yeah, but he could have lost it over the falls! He could have—"

"That's not how..."

"Yes, yes, yes."

"Babies, shhhhh," Hyacinthe moved to her knees and smoothly reached towards a bundle behind a few pillows to take out a small satchel. It appeared as though she was used to being the emotional mediator between them and knew exactly what to do to get them to stop fighting. Parting the satchel and unfolding the cloth inside, she revealed Ma'amouls, buttery cookies that were folded atop a paste made of dates and wild honey. They were small, and broken into smaller pieces due to travel, but Hyacinthe had made them only a few days before so they were still very fresh. Both children stopped bickering immediately and had their hands out for one, but Hyacinthe shook her head and pointed towards the whistle.

"I'll give you each one for the whistle you have. We will trade." Saleh grimaced and shook his head, his hand dropping while Fatima nodded as if for him. He held the whistle to his chest. Hyacinthe sighed. "The whole bag?"

That was tempting, his eyes gazing at the cookies but still hesitating, apparently already attached to the tiny item that he couldn't even make a proper sound on. Hyacinthe looked slightly exasperated at his refusal, at a mild loss as she had nothing left to offer. But that didn't stop Saleh.

The young boy turned to the man he didn't know was a Prince, lifted up his little chin and demanded proudly. "What will YOU give me?"

"Saleh!" Hyacinthe gasped dramatically at his little audacity. "He's a welcome stranger of our camp. We have shared food with him. He's injured. It's rude to treat our guests in such a way..." The irony was COMPLETELY lost on Hyacinthe that she had just tried to do the exact damn thing with him, haggling for his attention if he wished for his precious items back.

Such a fact didn't deter the child eithe, who simply stared at the Prince, unperturbed. He didn't seem concerned that he was bargaining with a man down on his luck. It seemed like Saleh had a few more lessons on honor to learn.

Hyacinthe sat back on the pillows beside a man she had shared more kisses with than information, such as his name, and turned to give him an amused smirk on her gorgeous lips. She waved casually towards the child with a flick of her fingers while looking him straight in his golden eyes.

"You are on your own, stranger. I told you to prepare for battle if you wished for your whistle-trinket back..."

 

[Giantmutantcrab]

He had very nearly slipped.

In their shared arousal, here in this tent with the smell of jasmine emanating from the perfume splashed upon her breasts and the taste of her tongue still in his mouth, Haidar had spoken of his nation. Of course, many speak of their homeland as their home, their place of birth. But for the crown-prince of Shushan… It was a very real thing to say. It was his… Or it would be, when he will triumphantly return and claim his sultanate, leading the people of Imperial Shushan, where people dress in barbaric splendor, into a golden age of prosperity and peace…

But the Domari woman laughed his comment off. Good. It was easier to dismiss as a simple slip-of-the-tongue than to express, on their first night together, that he was of Shemite royalty. Besides… It was quite possible that she would not believe him, even if he told her. No… This little cat-and-mouse game, slipping cryptic information back and forth was much more enjoyable than the official meetings in a grand hall, with bows and official titles and greetings and so on. This was so much more enjoyable. The way her mouth swallowed his fingers with ease, and the way she stared into his eyes… He could imagine her swallowing much more of him, with their gazes locked in ferocious desire. The effect she had on him was evident, the loincloth he wore did little to hide his excitement and arousal besides her. "You lie as easily as you breathe, sayeda… And yet I love hearing you pant so quickly, so… breathlessly."

Slowly, yet quickly, the feeding process became more erotic. Fingers, lips, foreheads, brushes of skin on skin… Their lips moved like magnets, orbiting around one another, coming closely and circling off, but always returning. The more turned on she became, the more she spoke. The woman spoke of herself in the third person, like some ominous, sensual threat.

Perhaps she wanted to make him believe that she was both sensual flame and mysterious smoke, incarnated in one woman, where her natural habitat was dancing in the center of a circle of tambourines and violins. Maybe she wanted to convince him that the fierce gaze of a Domari woman held the Evil Eye, dragging a poor soul with minor curses for years until they return, crawling and begging, to the site of the offense, where the witch would order a geas for them to accomplish in order to be purified and forgiven. But all of that was forgotten as they came closer and closer, a hand naturally moving around her waist as they were about to kiss once more. Oh, she had spoken of a demanding, nights-long session of negotiation. She was dreaming of it, very nearly drooling at the thought of it. Oh, she imagined herself, in all sorts of positions, wasn't she? Stripped of all her belongings, being made to take his arguments, again and again, until her mind went blank and her body undulated with the thrills, yielding and finally surrendering to it all…

…And then the whistle rang out, subdued and wrong. And Haidar smiled, chewing on the mix of meat, sauce and bread in his mouth, raising his eyebrows at the woman he shared the tent with. A battle, eh? The man guessed that would not have to reach for his weapons for this particular encounter. He at least had the presence of mind to cover his lower body with a nearby blanket. Two children rushed into the tent, a brother and a sister. The sister was the elder and the leader of this team, while the boy was very busy attempting to work out the intricacies of the tin-plated, brass whistle he held. A small deluge of questions and comments were asked in rapid succession, as the girl was having a small conversation with herself. Of course, both bickered about anything and everything; had the boy said yes to the bag of sweets, the girl would have probably told him to refuse the offer. There was an entertainment value, if nothing else. It was useless to complain about how they had been interrupted before they even began. They had all night; he needed only to make sure the children left the tent happy and with a satisfactory exchange. The girl was easy enough to please; she would be convinced with sweets. The boy, however, had taken enough of a focus to the whistle to demand something in return.

He turned to look at the Domari woman he would soon share more than goat curry and naan bread with. "Do not worry, sayeda… I know how to deal with those that would take advantage of a wounded, vulnerable man." His eyes stayed locked to hers for several moments, a mocking smirk on his lips and a glint in his golden gaze, as he made sure she understood the not-so-subtle, but subtle enough for children to miss, message that he was passing. Winking at her with a grin, he could not even pretend to be angry or offended. So he turned to the boy and girl, moving to sit with his legs crossed, moving the blanket around as a loose kilt around his waist. "You wish to haggle, but you are too blunt." Haidar's voice was soft, gentle. "Negotiations are…" He took a moment, glancing at Hyacinthe and tapping his chin with his finger, an exaggerated pose of deep thought. "Have you ever caught a yarbū with your hands?" He saw the looks of confusion on the children's faces. "...Jerboas. The little hopping mice with the big ears in the desert." Ah, now they understood. He smiled and looked at the Domari woman once more, speaking to the children but looking at her. "If you simply reach out to grab, demanding what you want…" He did move his arm out to grab Hyacinthe, without any warning. Naturally, she leaned back. Haidar stopped, looked at the children, and wiggled the fingers of his outstretched hand. "...What you seek will move away." He then retracted his arm and slowly, imperceptibly moved closer to the woman. "But… If you take your time, make the focus of your interest feel comfortable, feel secure…" As he looked at the children, the same arm had moved but slowly, in a different angle. And now, his hand held Hyacinthe's, and he lifted both hands up, his and hers, with a smile and a shrug. "It is better to get what you want by asking, not by demanding." He let go of the woman's hand and now motioned for the boy to come closer, to sit besides him.

They shall negotiate, indeed.

"The first rule of negotiation? Know who you speak with. Your name is Saleh, yes?" He awaited the confirmation. "I am Haidar. It is good to meet you, Saleh." The prince nodded slowly. Then, a hand was extended towards the child. "The second rule of negotiation? Greet those you speak with properly." He took the boy's hand in his. "Grab my hand, Saleh, and squeeze." He tilted his head a little, as if evaluating. "Harder." Then, he lifted a finger up with his free hand. "A little bit softer." Satisfied, he gave Saleh's hand a firm grasp of equivalent strength, shook once, and then released. "A weak handshake is poorly received; a crushing grip is equally undesirable. You show firmness and strength of character with a good handshake… Yet, you are not made of stone; you can be flexible." Bringing his hands to rest upon his lap, he smiled conspiratorially at Saleh. "The third rule of negotiation? Present the offers clearly. You, Saleh, offer me a whistle." Haidar's hands were brought up to chest level. His left thumb lifted, presenting what the child offered. "I have given you knowledge on how to negotiate…" He brought up his thumb, counting one… Then brought up his index finger, bringing the number up to two. "...and I offer you secrets."

Secrets. Oh, the children's eyes glittered like silver coins in the moonlight. Haidar smiled.

"I will teach you how to identify the asshuri." The prince looked at the girl, not wishing for her to feel left out of the negotiations. "Fatima… Would you please bring me one of my swords, still in its sheath?" He watched and observed how she carefully picked up one of the weapons, covered in its beautiful scabbard, and brought it to him. "Thank you, Fatima. If you wish, you may sit next to us as well. This is an open negotiation, after all." The warrior winked at Saleh, as if he were in on the ruse. He held the weapon grip-side up, showing it to them. "This part of a sword is called a handle… And this…" He pointed at the rounded, golden, scarab-shaped tip. "This is called a pommel." He set the blade behind him, then slyly wrapped his arm around Hyacinthe's waist and pulled her close, until they were hip to hip. "Remember what I said earlier, Saleh? Patience will allow you to obtain that which you desire. There is no need to rush things in most negotiations." He was making an allusion to the capture of lovely little desert rodents by hand… But the way his hand lingered to the small of her back and her amazing backside, it was clear he wished to do more than simply capture her.

But Haidar continued, unfazed by whatever reaction Hyacinthe might have had at the surprise gesture. He kept that beaming smile on his face, the flickering candles making his dull silver hair stand out, as well as his golden eyes. "Firstly, you do not identify the asshuri by helmet, or armor, nor by the color of a blazon or a flag. You identify them with the pommel of their weapon. Their swords have pommels shaped as hawk heads, and the material these are made of displays the prowess of that warrior. An asshuri with an iron hawk has defeated ten men in battle. A bronze hawk, twenty men. A silver hawk, fifty men. The gold hawk is for those who have bested one hundred men in combat." He nodded slowly to them, allowing them the time to absorb the information. "Secondly, asshuri do not identify themselves as Shemite. They are members of whatever region they belong to. They are not Shemite, but the asshuri of Nippr or the asshuri of Eruk." Another nod, another moment of wait, before he reached back with his other hand for his blade, keep his grasp on Hyacinthe's waist soft but present. The Domari was not going anywhere. "Thirdly, asshuri never travel alone. They go forth in companies or battalions, with cold hearts and hard steel, to wage war for whoever hired them."

"As for me… I do not own hawk-headed swords. I am a son of Shem. I have traveled alone. So…" He gave them a breath or two to arrive at the same conclusion… "I am no asshuri." He shrugged apologetically, his hand slowly dancing up Hyacinthe's back, back down along her side, to feel and touch her even as he was speaking with these innocent children. "But I will leave you with a warning, Fatima and Saleh; if ever you DO see a formation of men with hawk-headed swords heading somewhere, make certain not to go in the same direction." He nodded knowingly to them, with a very serious face… But then reached over to Hyacinthe and picked up a maamoul cookie, still nodding, while lobbing the sweet in his mouth and eating it. It had been a while since Haidar had spent time with children, and these bright-eyed youth were charming in their nosiness and curiosity. The Shemite rested somewhat against Hyacinthe, comfortable with her, that same hand of his gliding beneath her thin clothes to feel her warm skin and the goosebumps their proximity caused.

"So, Saleh of the caravan… Is my offer enough to exchange the whistle? Or… Should I teach you how to create your own, so that you may make a whistle suited to your tastes?" Haidar made a soft gasping noise, looking at Hyacinthe with wide eyes and a false sense of shock. He turned back to the young man. "The forth rule of negotiation? Listen much, speak little. You are a good listener, Saleh! You have let me talk myself into a corner. Now… I *must* show you how to make your own whistle, and how to use it." He grinned widely at the children, giving them this victory over him with grace.

"Would the two of you please fetch the satchel from my gear, over next to my armor?" Quickly, the youth got up and almost ran to the armor, involuntarily getting into each other's way as they were moving pieces of armor around to find a small bag. As they were doing this, Haidar turned to Hyacinthe and kissed her, hard. His tongue slid effortlessly inside of her mouth, with sealed lips and the clear intent to steal the very air from her lungs. One hand slipped easily beneath her robes and between her legs, caressing her mound over whatever underwear she was wearing. His other hand? Well, he did something very inappropriate and took her hand, making the palm of her feel his crotch. Haidar was… Well, perhaps the most dangerous weapon he possessed was hidden beneath his loincloth and her blanket. He was hard as the steel of his weapon, and throbbed with bestial arousal. For several seconds there was no sound as Haidar tongued, kissed, groped and was groped by Hyacinthe, while the children had their backs turned. As soon as one of them spoke of their discovery, the crown-prince broke the kiss and brought his wet lips to her ear. "You have a sharp tongue, sayeda… I look forward to feeling it upon me." As he said the words, he made sure that her hand was filled with his hardness, and that her little tongue and throat spectacle of earlier had not gone unnoticed. A final caress, a slow lick of the side of her neck, he made her squeeze his groin with fully extended fingers before moving her hand away, while he observed the kids coming back to sit down in front of the adults, with a warm smile upon his face. His hands were near his lap, the blanket was placed as it were a moment earlier, and he looked at her with a soft grin and brushed a droplet of saliva from her plump lips, bringing it to his mouth and licking it away.

"Now, I will teach you how to make and use a whistle."

 

[Bellatrixxx]

Children's curiosity often frustrated adults when their minds were in other places, but despite her guest showing great interest in her offered game, he showed no signs of hostility or disappointment in the youthful interruption. In fact, he seemed to match it with his own playfulness, and soon Hyacinthe had to snap herself out of the fantasy that this was -her- family's tent, that this man was her love-mate and Saleh and Fatima were the seeds of that union. The sensational scene, however, was set so flawlessly as he kept turning to her with a warm glint in his eye, with a wink and a display of grabbing her suddenly as an illustration to catching one's prey slowly and delicately. She did indeed jerk her arm by instinctively, her body unaware at first to what he was doing and naturally going on the defensive and thus, quite beautifully, proving his point to the children. Yet soon enough the man changed his tactics, showing how to be patient...to be slow and slithering, and Hyacinthe found her hand in his, raised in triumph at her capture.

An odd feeling blossomed deep inside her gut just then, her stunning face turning to look at the man's profile as he settled into the role of storyteller, creating a memorable interchange with the children. He allowed Fatima to bring over one of his priceless blade, Hyacinthe getting nervous watching the young girl struggle under its considerable weight before handing it to him. He taught Saleh the noble act of greeting, to make a grand first impression whenever one met their equal. She watched as his massive hand held the little lad's tiny one, giving him the lesson with firm eyes yet a kind voice, and the Domari woman laughed in delight at the offer of secrets.

Haidar. It was a noble name, one of greatness and prestige. Hyacinthe's mind worked through its memory, fervently trying to remember where she recently heard a name similar in her travels. Her caravan was a center for gossip and news as they traveled far and wide across the sands to many of the great and small city-states, and they had only recently ventured into Shushan's borders. Not even the recent death of the Sultan there had reached their ears, let alone what had happened earlier that very night, but where had she heard the name in recent months? A wealthy merchant? A new betrothal, perhaps?

Oop! She was missing the tale. The lesson. Haidar's arm was around her waist, hand boldly cupping a soft handful of what he could fill his hand with, and yet Hyacinthe wasn't put off by it. It only added to the mental illusion that they had been together for years instead of minutes, that instant fire igniting between them in layers deeper than superficial mere beauty. His words coincided with his hidden hand movements, at one point stroking her backside and making her sit up just that much straighter, clearing her throat to hide the soft sound that almost exposed them to the children. She was sensitive to his touch, flexing to try and stay sitting still as his fingers danced all down her spine, but when he grazed the inside of her clothing to actually touch smooth brown skin, she did make a shiver there as if cold. She wasn't.

If there was an adult in the tent that night that was actually growing in frustration with the children’s presence, it was becoming her. She ached to explore and earn a few secrets of Haidar for herself, to have him whisper lessons in her ears as his hands swam across her body under the lanterns. He was so incredibly handsome, his shimmering silver hair strange and wonderful in the low lighting, and his gentleness, patience, and accommodating nature with the children exposed traits of him that she particularly appreciated. He may be dangerous, his injury, strength, and armor not coming by peaceful means, but he wasn't a 'danger'. He may very well be trusted yet.

And Hyacinthe couldn't -wait- until she was alone with him again. Things seemed to be wrapping up and her wild thoughts were taking over, her boldness as she envisioned the very steps she would take the moment Fatima and Saleh scurried off. She would yank the corded knot keeping the tent-flap open, closing them into privacy together and creating a world blessed by fire and inhabited by only them. Then she would undress. Slowly. Deliberately. Make him observe her from every angle in appreciation. Maybe even ask, no—demand that he describe his favorite parts of her. Would she allow him to touch her just yet? Hyacinthe contemplated as Haidar asked if the knowledge shared, along with the cookies, likely, were enough for the whistle. Hrmm. Maybe not. The Domari mouse was a mischievous creature, and she would wait until he reached out with both hands pleading for her to step closer. And she would. Taking him by the back of his hair, she would—

"Yyaaayyy!" The cheer of the two children interrupted her erotic reverie, almost startling back to the present as she had fallen deep into the fantasy. Hyacinthe looked up just in time to realize that both children were running over to his belongings again, to get yet another item for him to show and teach. Her face fell in very clear spoiled disappointment, irritation cresting her brow at the further delay of her plans, and when he turned to her quickly, the little backs turned as they rummaged, Hyacinthe parted her mouth to voice such irritation to him in a sharp, biting whisper.

But he was much faster. Silencing her bickering demand was easy with his mouth on her, his tongue slithering an invasion that had her eyes closing almost immediately. A tingling sensation twisted behind her belly button, and the woman tilted her head back and to the side, clearly not even caring at that moment if the children observed them. That was...until he cupped her, his hand flush against her clothed mound so suddenly that she made a soft and vibrating "Mm!" against his lips, her breasts arching forward naturally. He took her one hand, and as he guided her to him her other hand grasped against his broad back, fingers curling into the layer of muscle there before she was suddenly very aware of him being a man. Under the blanket and between his thighs hid a bar of incredible hardness that almost exposed them because while Haidar was quiet, learning and mysterious, Hyacinthe was not. Her fingers curled almost aggressively around him, feeling how richly he filled her palm and even tugging at him, inciting a possessive sound from her to be sent down his throat. By the Gods, he was blessed, undoubtedly the largest she would ever be with, and her skin tinted with a rosy hue in a heated flush as they toyed with one another. Haidar broke the kiss, leaving Hyacinthe panting with barely opened eyes glazed over as she blinked up at him, slowly. He challenged her, made the proposition clear that what was on her mind was also on his for tonight, and when he initially tried to remove her hand from his rod he would find her fingers locked as a child's would over their new favorite toy. Haidar would have to pry her fingers off, one by one, forcibly as the fortune teller's lips suckled the side of his neck closest to her, burrowing away and kissing deeply, making him work for his escape from her grasp. She had found something she liked, and she was not accustomed to giving it up so easily.

A challenge was issued, and Hyacinthe smiled supremely sweetly, a chuckle melting through her husky throat as she finally turned to him with burning eyes after the kiss ended. The children returned, but not before he dabbed at her full bottom lip to allow him a last taste, Fatima actually catching the act and wrinkling her nose in confusion. She said nothing, and by the time the adults had turned their attention back to her and her brother, she was back to being enthralled at the offer of crafting her own whistle.

During the lesson as Haidar instructed the children as to what to do, showing them proper form and correcting them when needed, Hyacinthe slowly made her way behind him. In a crawl as predatory as a desert lion through the reeds, she moved, his broad back shielding her from considerable sight even as her lips found the back of his neck. His hair was gentled folded aside like a curtain, a light kisses were issued along the sensitive flesh from the base of his skull to the top of his spine. A dainty tip of a tongue would linger to sample the salt of his skin, drawing little circles as he spoke of the history of whistles and their hawks, spiraling in an attempt to make him stumble from the distraction. Soon she was slowly, wetly kissing the side opposite of his turned head towards the two children, lingering....curling down to his shoulder to kiss there, then rising to exhale softly along the shell of his ear. Her mouth brushed the outer rim, nose poking near his temple.

"Powerful challenges from a man almost dead but an hour ago," Hyacinthe kissed his inner ear before whispering even softer. "Let's see about resurrecting you even further........ Children!" This last word was barked, her head turning at the last second so as not to shout directly into his ear. "It's time for you to return for bed. You mother will be looking for you."

"Awwwww!!" Both children protested verbally, Saleh shaking his head and turning to Haidar for an alliance in staying. "But I haven't gotten to carve mine yet!"

Hyacinthe didn't let his protests sway her. She stood up from the her guest’s back and walked over towards the tent flap, motioning for them to go through. "You can come back tomorrow, but for now our guest needs to rest. Now say 'goodnight'."

 

[Giantmutantcrab]

…was this moment in time…
…a glimpse of what a family is supposed to be?

Haidar had effortlessly slipped into the role of instructor to the two children. They both had calmed down enough to sit and listen to him, without fidgeting or bickering between themselves. He had close physical proximity to the traveling woman besides him, always touching in one way or another. The candles gave a soothing, relaxing atmosphere. The cooked meal that they had shared before the two kids burst in through the tent flap filled the air with a gentle, pleasing aroma. Everyone present felt at ease, peaceful… Safe. The world outside had diluted and dissipated into a thin mist, blown away by a warm and soft wind from the deserts of Shem. In a sea of chaos and brutality, the four of them had created their minuscule island of tranquility. While the children rummaged through unknown gear in search of an unknown satchel, the adults had stolen touches and kisses from one another, much like how those who care and desire one another would do.

As the offspring returned, they worked carefully with Haidar’s guidance. The pack was well-folded and as it was opened, the children could see a small array of tools and materials. Step by patient step, they were shown basic safety and how to use tools correctly. The warrior had shown the children how to manipulate the hack saw, the hand drill and the wood carving knife. They had both been given a glove of chainmail to cover their hand while they worked. Slowly but surely, the whistles were taking shape. Holes had been drilled out, air holes were punched and the rough shape of each whistle was beginning to form. Of course, the term “whistle” was a generous one here. These could be called ocarinas, or even flutes. Hollowed-out instruments that could fit in a child’s palm, with one hole in the back and two in the front. But the sounds were high, crisp, and clear. Haidar had made certain to show the children how to make thin, elongated mouthpieces to be able to blow simply and efficiently. The ease of use would make these things exciting to use and, in turn, would perhaps push their curiosity towards other instruments.

As for the woman the crown-prince had kissed and caressed behind the children’s backs? She had decided that these actions needed retaliation. So with the sensual ease of a great cat she crawled up behind him. Kisses, breaths and licks upon his skin and muscles were offered. Haidar had spoken briefly of why he himself carried a whistle, what a falconer is and does. She… made it difficult to do so. Instead of telling her to stop, the man had instead worked around this threat, by speaking in shorter sentences and allowing the children to speak up as well. He swayed slowly as they worked, maneuvering imperceptibly to have the best of both worlds; have Hyacinthe continue to rain her adoration upon him, yet be able to fully communicate with the children. Lips close to a sensitive spot didn’t strike quite as true as when that kiss hit with pinpoint precision, after all. But his would-be lover’s patience had been frayed, and she spoke of resurrection to the back of his ear with lustful desire. She wished to see him rise like a phoenix, flaring with the fires of passion. But the little broodlings prevented such base hunger to be satiated, and so the would-be mother shooed them to their own temporary domicile.

The children wished to continue, of course, but the would-be father refused such tergiversations. “Another rule of negotiation…” Haidar looked over to the tent flap, into Hyacinthe’s emerald eyes. “Respect the host, and respect their wishes. If they deem that tomorrow is when the exchange will be fulfilled, then tomorrow is when it shall happen.” He turned back to the children, smiling at them both. “Be not sad! Allow your minds to wander in sleep, little ones. What shape do you want your whistles to have? Thin and airy, like a gust of wind? In the shape of a bee? Would you add color to them, or allow them to be painted by their use? Think of what you wish them to be, what they will represent to you both. These are yours, after all.” He clapped his hands twice, softly. A signal that for now, the workshop was finished. The tools and gloves, as well as the unfinished works of art, were set in the pack, which was folded twice onto itself. Tucked away, it would remain untouched until the hostess would have chosen that it was time to return. With a broad smile, he nodded to them both and waved as they left. The children would be greeted by their own parents a few tents away, loudly explaining what had happened and what they were doing.

While the small spectacle happened, Hyacinthe would feel his hand slide over hers, and his other hand would glide over her backside as he stood behind her. She could feel him… all of him… against her, gently moving the tent flap closed with her, as lovers would do when the children slipped away for bed. A small leather fastening on each side would secure it against all but a sword hacking through the tent wall. Now those strong hands were upon her, his lips burning against the side of her neck. Grabbing at her hips, rolling over her curves, the warrior’s erection was threatening to tear through his clothing and hers. “The children have left for bed.” He whispered the word to her shoulder, kissing it while a hand hiked her skirt, feeling the warm strength of her bared thigh, as well as the tantalizing curve of her ass. “Come... let us do the same. Let us keep each other warm until daybreak.” But by the way he moved to unfasten her belt, her shirt, her everything… Perhaps they would find themselves naked while standing in the middle of the tent. No more patience, no more toying, no more teasing. The man with the golden eyes was burning with want, and she would feel his heat both inside and outside of her, until the moon fell back o’er the horizon.

 

[Bellatrixxx]

Haidar, with eyes filled with molten golden fire, understood the assignment. While it wasn't particularly late, the children needed to go. It would be rude to keep them until it -was- late, Hyacinthe still needed to really settle in for the night, and their guest needed to rest. While that last reason would be entirely ignored by the magic woman herself, the other two were very valid concerns. The man's arrival had interrupted her preparations for the night, the camp's concern over finding a potential corpse nearby halting progress, and while everyone else had gone back to their lives and familial duties when it was assumed he would sleep the rest of the night, Hyacinthe had not.

Where the deep need to test and taste him stirred from, she may never fully understand. He was different from the nomadic men and women who normally joined the caravan, their circumstances dire as well but their character, wit, and gentleness far different. He had allowed her to keep the priceless ruby ring on her thumb, for now, and had entertained not only two children that peppered him with questions, but had done it while she had purposefully sought to distract him. Haidar had the strength to force his will and way, and his valuables still conjured up many, many questions, but perhaps that was part of the thrill. The caravan was used to its strangers with secrets, so there would be no interrogation here— well, not one in the traditional sense. Hyacinthe planned to have quite a few questions she had in mind answered tonight. Very...very thoroughly.

Fatima and Saleh scampered off to excitedly show their parents what they had been doing for the last half hour, and Hyacinthe moved to secure the tent only to be conquered from behind so suddenly that she actually gasped in a startled flex.

Damn, she was jumpy around him. Why was her heart suddenly pounding against her rib cage? She went rock-still, eyes downcast to watch how his massive hands took hers and lightly guided them to drop the curtain and secure it with ties for the night. The outside world closed off from her view, the texture of the camel-skin fabric inches from her face as the tent was considerably darkened with just the three small lanterns inside to give them flickering, golden light.

His chest was warm and broad against her back, and the moment they were alone and hidden from the campsite, Haidar's hands pawed her hips as his handsome face went deep into the side of her neck. Hyacinthe's hands rose to link her fingers through his, keeping him locked to her curves as she dropped her head back against his left shoulder, exposing the full length of her swan's throat with a sigh. Her eyes fell closed, and he would feel his seduction working as a single shudder wormed through her at the reminder that they were, indeed, alone. A whisper of cooler air caressed her right leg as he tried to lift her skirt up higher, his calloused fingers grazing the under-curve of her buttock before he suddenly grew very determined.

It may have been his close contact with death that made him super appreciative for life. Or maybe he was used to getting his way in such an intimate dance, being a man of clear stature and status. Regardless of the reason for his exuberance, it was clear the Domari woman had to remind him that he was in -her- world; her tent. With a spin within his embrace, Hyacinthe shirked her arms between her own body and his hands before shoving them outwards, cutting his touch away from her with a simple motion. He wasn't acting as though his injuries were slowing him down in the least, so she wouldn't let them slow her down either. With a rise on her toes, her opened mouth sealed theirs together, the kiss holding almost nothing back as her tongue stroked boldly against his, but it was used as a distraction made obvious in the next moment.

With firm hands placed on his pectorals, Hyacinthe guided him backward, back towards her pillowy bed with a push, her purring lips never breaking from his. When she gave him a shove it wasn't so violent as it was playful, Haidar really needing to fall back on his own rather than solely relying on Hyacinthe's strength in aggression. Their lips broke apart with a wet pop, detailing how deep it was, and when he landed back she remained standing before him, the wild look in her eyes mirroring the hungry smirk on her mouth.

She chuckled.

"Are you so entitled to a lover that you seek to control her? Even in her own tent?" She asked in a husky voice, her chin tilting upwards while she glowed down at him from the tip of her nose. As she spoke her fingers came up in dainty, dancing movements to her shoulders to her top, tugging the light fabric down her shoulders until they continued to descend down her toned arms. "You are at my mercy tonight, zesú. My generosity. A proper guest thanks their host in a way most becoming to their clearly apparent skills." Now, the garment lower on her arms by her elbows, Hyacinthe rose them high above her head, pulling the top over in a silky motion that had her hair swaying across her now-bared back and her full breasts falling from their material support. She tossed it aside to a discarded fashion, no longer needed this night, but kept her arms lifted like a dancer.

Music played between them, issued by the beats of their intertwining hearts. Her blood sang as his bones strummed, and to the rhythm of their bodies they could only hear between themselves, Hyacinthe's wrists twisted elegantly. Left arm high as her right hand slid down the lithe limb, copper-hennaed fingers curling around her deeply bronze skin, she gave him a stunning view of her elevated nudity up top. The position lifted her breasts high, their mahogany crowns peaked and pointed above her taut belly with glimpses of abdominal muscles as she flexed in her stimulating movements. Reaching back she lifted her wild mass of deep brown curls up, turned to give him her sculpted back, smooth and elegant with its spine's valley splitting her flexed shoulder-blades down the middle, then dropped the curtain of curls to send a floral and spicy aroma back in his direction.

There may have been a spell working here, issued by the way her hips moved in runic patterns. Left and right hip bone lifting and dropping smoothly in ways that were incredibly flexible, her core tightening and loosening as she willed it, moving and bending her spine in liquid motions meant to light a man's fire. He was truly a Prince there, being seduced by the most beautiful woman he had ever seen slowly and purposefully as he lounged back on his divan.

Then, the next stage was set when her thumbs hooked into the upper rim of her skirt. With slow, swaying movements from left to right and sometimes circular, she slowly....slowly pushed her skirt down with her back facing him, down over the top curve of her ass...then both smooth globes...down her thighs and slenderly sculpted calves until the fabric pooled in a circle around her tiny ankles. But she froze there, just like that, completely bent over and touching the floor before her toes, presenting him with the full view of a lifetime. The rounded cheeks of her ass were just as brown as the rest of her body, smooth and scented from the oils she massaged into herself earlier. Yet there, directly underneath and peeking from between her thighs at him was a mouthwatering glimpse of her plush and warmly sweet pussy. He would be able to easily notice it already coated in a light sheen of aroused moisture for him, the trimmed curls shorn short for cleanliness out here in the hot desert, the lower lips together and really hiding her cherried center from his view at the moment since her thighs were close together. With a dramatic rise, Hyacinthe lifted her upper body back up until she stood tall again.

Nonchalantly naked except for her ever-present gold anklets, wrist cuffs, and now his ruby ring, her inky hair swaying with the motion, Hyacinthe turned around to face him.

​

She had changed. Her cheeks were rosy with warmth and her eyes had darkened to a deep muddy green. They gave him a dark and slumberous look, and in that moment she looked every bit the Shemite goddess she seemed to be emulating. He now got the glorious full view of her front, her naval jade piercing dancing on the surface of her lower belly as she walked forward with the smooth hurriedness of walking through water. Her breasts lightly bounced with each step, as did what softness she had around her thighs and buttocks, but all throughout her body was a taut build displaying of her rougher lifestyle out on the hot sands.

"Domari Tradition demands the guest shall also receive a gift," she whispered, swaying ever closer. By now, Hyacinthe was standing directly in front of him, naked and commanding, the front of her mons less then a foot away from the tip of his nose. She gave him a dark smile from up above, and if he reached up to try and touch her she would -smack- his hand away. Her right hand then slithered down the front of her belly until it lingered down between her thighs. "And look...I do have something for you," she whispered a bit breathlessly, now excited beyond any doubt. Her fingers played upon the playing ground of herself, dipping an index and middle finger down her slit to then part herself with a V of her fingers, now brazenly revealing her opened pussy to him. Haidar would be able to smell her body and its luxurious oils, the scented aroma of jasmine and desert lilies tickling his nostrils as the heat between her legs ignited its waves. Below the manicured triangle on her mons was the peek of her clit, already engorged and ready, and there, dangling lightly, was a spot of sparkling metal.

Her little clitoral pearl was pierced.

Allowing her actions to answer the unsaid questions, Hyacinthe stood with her feet further apart, openly and lewdly, and allowed the unknown Prince of Shushan to get a front-row view at the silver hoop waiting for him.

"I believe it is past time you thanked your gracious host for honor of this gift." Stepping forward, her feet now standing on either side of his thighs on the pillows, Hyacinthe stroked the top of Haidar's silver head with her free hand before threading her fingers through the silky strands. With an uncompromising tug, she pulled his face forward while simultaneously stepping even closer. It took a second of maneuvering, but soon enough she had him right where she wanted him: seated, standing over him, both hands now in his hair cupping his skull, his lower face nestled between her folds, hoop piercing on his mouth. The magic woman moved her hips a bit while holding his head against her, strong thighs shaking slightly as she was finally getting what she wanted from her big, handsome stranger.

Hyacinthe's beautiful face fell back for a second as she moaned softly. "You're going to 'thank' me all night, zesú. I can be a -very- demanding hostess, but the Gods placed you here in my tent for a reason..." Her head rolled back forward so she could look down at him, her hair falling forward a degree. "Look at me." She whispered the command and waited for him to obey her. "Start off with a single slow lick, a single taste, and then tell me where you are from. Then lick me again." The instructions made her giggle a bit as she stroked her thumbs along the back of his head in a comforting motion.

She groaned, deeply, clearly a generous vocalist, her bottom lip bitten before she demanded he do it again. And again.

 

[Giantmutantcrab]

…was this moment in time…
…a glimpse of what lovers are supposed to be?

Together, alone at last. The children had scurried off to bed, the world was closed behind tent doors, the soft oil lanterns drew long and comforting shadows upon the leather walls. This universe had slipped into an intimacy that they had only tasted a moment earlier. Her, and he. Emerald meeting gold, as gazes were held. They kissed once more, but oh - she grew tired of her own games. No more allowing this brazen, sculpted Adonis of a man to paw at her like some lecherous youth behind the temple before the weekly sermons. Oh, no. That would simply not do. She had chosen to take command. Breaking his loving embrace upon her, she forcefully kissed him, nearly making his knees buckle. Shoving him back, the crown-prince followed through and now he was sitting, aloft in a small puddle of pillows, while the desert nomad stood before him, above him. Towering over him. Though she wore no crown or tiara, he saw something regal about her.

The queen of her leather-walled kingdom spoke with a voice that was drooling with want. She had been fantasizing about this since before the adorable little brats came in and broke up her little ritual. But now, alone, the temptress was unhindered… And the spell was weaved. She undulated like a great snake, curling and gyrating in a way that Haidar could only describe as hypnotic. Finally, her beautiful clothes began to peel off, revealing bronzed perfection underneath. The prince of Shushan had visited many temples in the kingdom of Shem; they all displayed statues of the myriad goddesses and gods of their pantheon. These statues, often of bronze and copper, were lovingly molded by hand to give each physique its uniqueness. She, this yet-unnamed woman dancing before him, could have very well been one such statue, blessed with life by the gods. Hyacinthe could feel golden eyes rake over her body with sexual hunger, while she danced and displayed herself. The spell was cast, for it was the witching hour. She moved like the shadows of the fires around them.

Was she not Ishtar, dancing and disrobing? Was he not Adonis, her lover, himself almost nude and simply waiting to consummate their desire together? It was all melted into his memory; this tent, the lanterns and their fires, and her. The warrior caught himself and took his own hand back to press it against his lap, preventing himself from touching her. For he so very much desired to do just that. To take her, to embrace her again, to bruise her lips with his kisses, to…

The queen of the leather-walled kingdom spoke now, snapping him from his waking dream. She spoke of the Walking People, her people known as the Domari, offering gifts to their guests. This was common; nomads lived with their traditions and expressed them without hesitation. A gift given was a sign of honor; a gift received was a sign of trust. All the different nomadic families, tribes and nations had their specificities, but these were cultural traits that united them all. That she spread her lips and presented a small, glistening ring that pierced her sensitive clitoris made him smile widely. Of course, she would offer a gift that would benefit herself! He looked up at her from behind heavily lidded, hungry eyes. She demanded for more now, whispering instructions at him. When, finally, they arrived at the crux of her desires… Haidar eased himself to sit up straight, so that she would be comfortable. Oh, she tasted sweet there, as well. Her body was hairless, as was his. In distant Stygia, they use scented oils and salves to remove body hair and to keep those bodies hairless. Haidar, having part of his ancestry from that old country choked in the coils of Father Set, was used to such things. His own form was slick, smooth, from neck to feet. It allowed for ease of movement in water and in the air, riding his golden hawk.

She ordered him to look up at her, and look up he did. His hands were to her ass, her hands to his head. She demanded for a single taste… So he reached beyond her sex, setting her tongue between the curve of her ass-cheeks, and dragged his tongue up, over the lips of her entrance, making damn sure that he coated her sensitive, pierced clit with the entire length of his tongue. He brought it up and over, curling it away when he finished, landing a soft kiss above her mound. Back up into her eyes he looked, and she had demanded to know where he came from.

“Shem.” Was his answer. And he grinned. It was a non-answer, as deceitful as the self-absorbed “gift” of her own body, that she now made him caress with his tongue. Strong hands rolled over her taut thighs, grabbing her ass greedily, feeling the firmness and the softness. Oh, he wanted her… Almost as much as she did. The heat, the warmth, the familiarity and complicity between them… Haidar had never believed in Fate. The idea of predestination, of the fatalism so common to the children of Shem, the inevitability of one’s end… But this, now? Here? It was hard to *not* feel like this, like THEY, were fated to meet and to be.

The gods work in mysterious ways.

Oh, yes. He had been distracted again. Another loving lick, only this time he moved backwards. From the edge of her pierced navel he traveled down with his tongue, letting it drag effortlessly and creating a double-wet patch of flesh upon the flawless Ishtar to his Adonis. Back over her clitoris and the gentle jewel that decorated it, between her moist lips, and it curled off, back into his mouth, where he proceeded to give her sex a gentle kiss. All the while, he had kept his eyes locked to hers. For the moment, he was content to be here in this position. Hyacinthe’s body was sexual fire and she needed soothing. It was his duty to relieve her of such quivering needs. It would simply be uncouth to do otherwise. “Ask your questions, sayeda… And you may yet have answers.” That smirk hinted that while he would absolutely give her all that she needed… She might not get all that she wanted. Besides, she enjoyed the mystery and thrill of it all. The woman had not even presented herself properly. Hyacinthe had learned of his name as he presented himself to the children, showing them how to properly meet and greet strangers. The impertinent, beautiful harlot with smoky eyes that sparkled like perfectly-cut gemstones…

How could it not be Fate?

Haidar, though, remained a man of his own free will. So he did not add another lick… Instead, his tongue eased itself between the lips, into her love tunnel, to stir her warm, wet, moist honeypot. Of course, she would not allow this. She needed to be in control; she was, after all, standing over him and demanding that he pleasure her to her satisfaction. But… What’s to say a slave can’t have a bit of fun with his queen’s demands?

 

[Bellatrixxx]

"Ohh," The mystical woman couldn't help the soft sound that melted from her throat when she felt him follow her challenging command a little too well. He was a stranger in her tent, possibly a dangerous mercenary cast adrift on the Shushan River in hopes of death enveloping him into its depths, only to be pulled away from the brink by her people. She shouldn't have volunteered him to stay with her. Haidar should be spending his night in an elder's tent, questioned until every ounce of truth was squeezed from his mind...not lapping at her sex in a way that made her lose track of her thoughts.

He would be able to tell very easily what she liked and what she -really- liked. When his tongue searched deeper down past the center of her cavern, Hyacinthe found herself spreading her knees a degree more as an invitation. When he dragged the firm muscle back through her slit, teasing her dripping entrance before bathing the warm piercing with the entire rough surface, the woman’s head fell back as did her eyelids. And when he kissed her, crowing her gates with a tender sensation of worshipful affection, that's when she made the purring sound above his head. Her fingers tightened in his long mane, not painfully just...present. Fingertips massaged against his scalp, musing his silver hair through her knuckles as the globes of her ass made occasional deep twitches in his cupped palms. He played her game with wisdom, giving her the broadest answer he possibly could other than 'Arnonas' itself, so when he whispered Shem's name, Hyacinthe couldn't help but chuckle as she tilted forward to look down at him, thumbs caressing his temples ever so lovingly.

"Well, Of -course- you are of Shem," she countered softly, her smile beaming, watching him closely as his tongue danced under her naval before traveling downward to disappear deep again. "No one is so foolish to....no one....to believe....auhh," her brows furrowed above her deep sparkling eyes as she lost her line of thought, yet again, when he passed over her clit, the piercing allowing exactly what it was supposed to allow. She gave a shiver, licked her lips, then started again, her fingers moving deeper in his hair. "No one is so foolish to believe a man of Stygia could do this well. Or the laughable men of the West." His kiss was reversed this time, for instead of ending up top to kiss her mons, this time in his backwards crawl, Haidar ended up kissing directly against her soaked entrance.

There was never a time in her life she could recall ever desiring someone with such intensity. Her body was literally dripping down his scruffy chin, filling his mouth with soft, silky flesh from her grinding movements as he told her to ask him anything. "Mmmhm, I like it when you call me that," she purred, hips going still when she felt him return deeper, now moving on his own accord without instructions or orders. She smiled down at his
handsome face between the valley of her breasts, their beaded peaks a rich copper, rising and falling as her breathing deepened. Hyacinthe understood that Haidar was at a slight disadvantage here because he still did not know her name, calling her a respectful honorific instead of asking for it. For the Domari, that was perfectly fine. There was power in a name, and the mystery between them only made the depth of such intimate connections more astounding. They were operating with such little information about the other, other than pure compatibility. It was potent. Raw. Organic. If she had a clear and focused head, the little desert witch might have concluded there was magic at work here. She opened her mouth to speak out another question, deciding instead to move a piece across the proverbial checkered longboard of senat, when he suddenly decided to mildly cheat and spear the thickness of his tongue right through her juicy center.

"Ahh!" Hyacnthe's mouth dropped as if in shock as she watched him from above. His mouth was hidden from view, nose almost poking her pierced hood, yet she could -feel- what he was doing. A expository tremble quaked through both of her smooth thighs briefly, her body locking in before she gripped his hair and...and—

Haidar won this round, moving his ivory piece across the senat board and catching her off guard. The small tent was filling with the sounds of both her labored whimpers as well as the moist slurp of him moving inside of her, revealing how responsive she was not only to what he was doing, but to him specifically. It shouldn't have been this easy for a man to steal the wind from a Domari woman's lungs, but there he was, his hands filled with her taut, rounded ass and tongue as deep as a tent spike in the sands of her pleasure.

Suddenly, Hyacinthe took his hair and yanked him back and away from her, breaking his oral contact and ending his explorations quite abruptly. She didn't explain why she had done this, likely because it would be obvious by the slightly concerned with a hint of shock look on her face as she peered down at him. There was a glowing hue of rose filling the layer of her darker skin, a blush of heat that exposed the extent of his effects on her. By the rigid abdomen flexed through its cut muscles, her dangerously hard nipples, and the fact that she -still- hadn't steadied her breath, Haidar would understand all too well what was going on. Hyacinthe was trying to play the role of commander here, yet he had found a secret of hers all too quickly for exploitation. There was a reason she had instructed him to go slow with single movements, after all...

"Eso, eso..." She chided him like a child who hadn't followed directions, but there was playfulness in the pull of her full lips. "Just like a man, so quick to not listen. Greedy." Taking a small step back so she could bend at the waist and lean down closer, Hyacinthe maintained the grip she had on his hair but now she hovered only an inch above his face, bringing their noses very close.

"You wanted to be kept awake until dawn, yes?" She whispered softly between them, nose brushing his. This close she could smell herself on him, her personal sweet wet scent adorning his cheeks, mouth and beard. Her tongue extended to sample away a taste, stroking her smooth surface across the corner of his mouth before kissing at the curve of his chin. "To lay in my lounge, to be warm with me...?" Her lips kissed again at his jawline, collecting her own essence on them before slowly licking them clean. Her head barely lifted apart from him, dragging her mouth along his skin before breaking away a hair's breadth when she reached his own. The woman gave a soft and sweet exhale across his lips yet still just hovered above, teasing him with a focused kiss but not giving it to him yet. Her eyes burned into his. "I accept your invitation, zesú." She purred, knowing it was a nod to the activities of their evening. "You will not leave my embrace until the sun rises."

Hyacinthe sealed her mouth to his, hands now cupping both of his cheeks firmly as she deepened it, moving with him, tasting every corner of him until her chin and the corners of her cheeks were prickled by his beard. She was claiming him for the night, enraptured and in awe of his strength, beauty, and mystery. Haidar's past would eventually catch up with him, this a fact too well known in the roaming caravans of Shem's deserts, and likely he would be out of her life in a day or two. They had nothing to risk.

Or so she believed at the time.

When the kiss broke and Hyacinthe stood tall again, it was with a different tone in the air. There was no question to the expectations for this encounter. They could be as secretive or as honest as they wished, as open or as closed as they wanted. She pulled his head to her lower belly, turning him at the last minute so that his cheek was flush against her naval and tummy, the jade stone lightly poking him, her mound against the front of his neck, her arms cradling his skull in comfort as she stroked through his hair like a tender lover.

"What shall we be tonight?" She whispered down to him, keeping him hugged to her as she remained standing. Her touch was thorough and gentle, her painted hands and fingers caressing his head, his hair, his cheeks, his shoulders and upper back. She was offering for a veil to be placed over their night, a scenario established. They both had profound secrets to hide from the other, and as strangers there was a freedom there that presented a rare opportunity. "You are no longer the lost man we pulled from the riverbank, dying and running from danger and pain," her voice remained soft as she spoke, still holding him against her as she cupped his cheek and thumb-stroked along his cheekbone. "You are here, with me, in the tent of the Domari. You can be -anything- with me tonight. Say it, and I shall believe you." Her long fingers trailed under his chin, and there they hooked gently before lifting up to tilt his face up to her hers. Hyacinthe gave him a beautiful smile.

"Tell me, Haidar of The River— who are we tonight? What wish, in all the land, do you desire granted?"

 

[Giantmutantcrab]

What honey tastes sweeter than the one harvested at the tip of one’s tongue? Their gaze kept, even as he darted into her love tunnel, tasting the wetness hidden inside. Oh, how supple and firm she felt in his hands. Oh, how warm and inviting she was on his tongue. What greater supplication than the willing one, prostrating oneself before the divine? What greater divinity was there but this, but her? Was this carnal desire, budding love, or erotic worship? Yes, the answer was yes. Yes, he was from the grand kingdom of city-states of Shem, where sexuality was celebrated. Where the women of the West blushed and stared, wide-eyed, at half-naked belly-dancers imitating sexual positions and sacred prostitutes offering themselves as avatars of their goddesses, as well as teaching young men and women how to fornicate in order to maximize pleasure. Where the male priests take barren women, pray for them in elaborate rituals to gods of fertility, before copulating with that woman repeatedly, in order to give her a child blessed by the gods. Where annual festivals are orgiastic affairs, with beautiful men and women fucking before massive brass statues, emulating the erotic stories of their divinities. In Shem, sexuality was lauded and desired. It was their duty, of divine right, to give and receive pleasure in sexual things. How else would a land of desert and oases be filled with so many Shemite city-states, brimming with people of all hues and shapes? Where even the harsh sand dunes were populated by numerous clans and tribes of camel-riding nomads.

The queen of her leather-walled kingdom stood and, of course, admonished him for having obeyed too well. He had listened and did what was demanded of him, and so, of course, the woman needed to remind him that he had done something wrong. Nevermind that she did not actually explain out loud what he had done wrong. Given her too *much* pleasure? Drank *too* deeply of her lust? Haidar’s lips curled into a wide smile as she kept her grip on him, lazily moving his head up, impotently attempting to feel her lips upon his own once more. He tasted her breath upon his face, felt her tongue and her lips over him. Finally, she kissed him and their pact was sealed. The world vanished outside the leather walls of her tent. There was but them.

Before he fell backwards into her kiss, she returned him to reality, making him nuzzle her body and its perfect form. His lips were close to her pierced belly button, dragging butterfly kisses upon her flawless skin. She desired for him to express himself, to state what they were for this night. They were malleable things, primordial starstuff, to be shaped as he saw fit. He was like a god, seated before the Mother of all that held him lovingly to her sex, wishing to learn of his deepest desires so that she may grant them.

Golden eyes flickered up to her, and he kissed the jewel of her piercing in the same way one would kiss the ring of a sovereign. But the questions of the desert temptress rang softly through his being. He could be what he wanted… She could be what he wanted…

…What *did* he want?

Wealth?
Vengeance?
Political power?
Death upon his enemies?​

…No, the prince wished for nothing of that sort. The noble djinni that embraced him so tenderly, this granter of wishes, knew it. So what was it that he saw when he looked up, into the pools of glittering jade that were her eyes? Did he see her as a lover? Did he see her dressed in flowing layers of silk and satin, standing barefoot in the desert with him, with only wild camels as witnesses to their marriage? Did he imagine her with a swollen belly, soon-to-be the mother of his children? Did he visualize them together, older and with laugh lines, living out happy days reminiscing two lifetimes of wondrous adventure, as children and grandchildren moved around them?

He saw all those things in her eyes, and more still.
For ‘twas the witching hour, and the spell was cast.​

“Yes.” He finally replied, speaking to her navel, his tongue brushing against her soft mound, kissing at the very edge of her sex. Perhaps his addled mind needed a moment to recover, still. “We will be lovers.” Another kiss, a gentle brush of his tongue against the surface of her lips. “But no mere strangers upon a forest stream, no. We shall be as the gods. You will be my Ishtar… And I, your Adonis.” A gentle curling of his tongue against her clit ring, allowing the small thing to move just a little bit, to give her a different kind of pressure and pleasure. “Adonis, consort of Ishtar, died. Killed by the celestial bull he hunted.” A warm caress of his tongue to her sex… Before slowly moving, dipping between her legs further. “Ishtar, goddess of fertility, of war, of sexual fulfillment, chieftain of the pantheon of the gods of Shem, refused to accept his fate." Haidar suckled upon the ring of her clit. "She traveled alone, without her handmaiden Ashtoreth, to the seven-layered hells to return him to life. Ishtar passed through the seven gates of the Underworld, shedding her clothing and threatening the demons that guard the gates as she went.” A long, gentle tongue stroked between her pussy and her puckered anus, until a line of saliva linked his lower lip and her glistening skin. The crown-prince moved between her legs with shocking grace, moving slowly and with the intense proximity of a supplicat, groveling betwixt the legs of his goddess made manifest. He continued the tale, now positioned behind her. "The Lovers returned to the heavens and copulated, again and again, until their pleasure rained upon the earth... And spring rose, breaking the hold of cold, infertile winter." He exhaled breath against her asshole, teeth grazing her firm cheek before tongue-kissing her entrance. “The love between Adonis and Ishtar sustains the world. Neither requires human sacrifice, nor even animal sacrifice. For every coupling, every man and every woman who experiences sexual gratification… Prays to them. Theirs is worship by moan, by thrust, by trembling orgasm.” That dangerous tongue glided up between her perk, supple ass-cheeks and he kissed her anus, before sliding his tongue inside with surprising depth.

“Come, my Beltiya, my Ishtar.” Ah… Perhaps a clue to his origin. The divine name of Beltiya was not used commonly in Shem. “Worship your Adonis, as I worship you.” Again, he plunged deep into her rear, invading her anus and pushing deep, until his neck tensed as he could not reach any further. His tongue flattened against one side of her walls, dragging back… Before doing it again, on the opposite side, ending with a stretched lick up to the small of her back, curling his tongue back into his mouth. “Let us not be aspirants, kowtowing nude before brass statues. Let us be the Lovers themselves. We will conduct our own rite, our languid orgy... the two of us.” His tongue reached between her legs, covering all of her sex, dragging it back between her lips, upon the sensitive skin between, between her ass-cheeks, and back to the small of her back. “The Lovers need not temples and zikkurats. Every bedroom in the world is our temple. Our bodies are our temples; we will worship as gods do. Until Ellael, the sun-god, rises on the morrow. And at that dawn, with our final orgasm… I would know your true name, my Ishtar.”

"Free your Adonis from this prison of cloth, my Ishtar..."​

He rose to his feet, planting hot kisses upon her bare ass, back and shoulders. “I would know your name, so that I may burn it upon your body with my lips. I would know your name, so that I may moan it in your ear as our pleasure make our bodies quiver and shake the pillars of the earth. I would know your name, so that I may speak it until my voice breaks and my throat is hoarse.” Turning her head to look at him over her shoulder, he gave her a deep, sloppy kiss, holding her by her throat with one hand, and by her hip with the other. Spit lines hung between their lips. “Come, my goddess. The cult of Ishtar teaches us to approach her in the nude, does it not? Wearing clothes in her presence is tantamount to lies, to deception.” Taking a step back, he eased her to her knees before him, to that glorious maleness that was hidden behind clothing that seemed almost to insult them with its mere presence. “Free your Adonis from this prison of cloth, my Ishtar… And worship me, on your knees, as only a whore, a queen, a goddess can.” Haidar spoke the words of a man possessed, or delirious, or more. Perhaps they were the Lovers, reincarnated as gorgeous, desirable creatures of flesh, to walk Arnonas once more together. Perhaps these were star-crossed lovers, whose story was recounted one hundred thousand times before, and this was but the next page, the next chapter. Theirs was a raw, organic sensation. "Tell me your name, so that I may whisper it to your ear while I release inside you, over you, wash the perfection that is you with my seed again and again... And say mine name, my goddess, each time you fall headfirst into the sweet oblivion, gushing with your satisfaction..."

Theirs was the night; may it last forever.​

 

[Bellatrixxx]

Haidar was no simple man. With each word he spoke and touch he bestowed upon her, Hyacinthe was actually starting to be convinced that he was no avatar of Adonis as he might wish, but rather a familiar of Bel, himself. What else could explain the perfect way he spoke and consumed her? How he seduced and chained her? This must be some sort of trickery, a test sent to see how she would thrive against the Gods’ challenge, and she wasn't doing well. Instead of standing firm and maintaining control, the woman was slowly losing the battle to pleasure. When he kissed her skin, her proverbial walls crumbled. When he moved his hands along her body, touching where he wished, she felt her knees buckle and go weak. And when he dipped lower, sampling the her melted desire to suckle her piercing, her hands could do nothing else but hang on to his hair and pray to the heavens for strength.

By Ashtoreth's strength, how was she to resist!? His tongue wrote the greatest love story ever told directly to her womb, using her arousal as the paint to make it all come alive. Instead of moving away and demanding that he go the pace she allowed, Hyacinthe found herself spreading her thighs wider, bending her knees a degree, and pushing her pussy into her new lover's mouth between his words. The heat inside the tent increased as she panted through the first half of the story, groaning her head to the tent’s ceiling when he focused on that sensitive stretch of skin between her two entrances, lingering until it actually tickled her and made her buck away in pure instinct with a throaty chuckle. Haidar slipped from her hands when she did this, allowing him to prowl between her spread legs and evade recapture. Hyacinthe's eyes charged open, certain she had crossed a line somewhere and now her guest was fleeing. She began to turn with a mild dose of fear, wanting him to do anything -but- leave, but when she saw him position himself behind her, her eyes gave a wicked twinkle of understanding.

Her guest continued his story, the tale of how their Crown-Goddess went through the deepest pits of the Underworld in search for her lover. As he spoke, Hyacinthe reached back with her hands to capture each bronze cheek of her ass before pulling them apart and leaning forward a few inches. Delectably warm was the flesh she exposed to him, a deep cavern from the rounded thickness of her ass that hid the tight anal star that Haidar kissed directly as if it were a tiny mouth. Hyacinthe gasped softly, the entrance of her cunt flexing in direct response against his scruffy chin, and she ground back lightly for more of that delirious friction.

Haidar's actions were...surprising, to say the least. Who knew that within a few hours of being pulled from the river would he be worshiping at her earthy alter? A sharper sound was made when she felt the strong muscle -sink- up inside of her tight little rectum, probing so deep she actually lifted up on her toes in a mild manner of escape and yet still he advanced, pushing himself until he could give her no more. Hyacinthe arched, steadying her feet to prevent herself from losing her balance as her thighs made a single tremble. He held her there, impaled in place, tongue bolted up inside her ass, and she released her cheeks so that they fell to either side of his face, enclosing him entirely until all one might see would be his long hair and tensed neck. She felt him move, wriggling his tongue to stroke down through her walls and her thighs shook again, calves flexed from being lifted on her toes. Her hands, now free, smoothed up her belly to cup her own breasts tightly, her lips so dry from her heavier breathing that she licked them.

"I pulled you from the river..." her voice was velvety and sinfully seductive as he rode her valley up to the small of her back. "Ereskigal saw your name appear on her ledger, preparing to greet you at the gates," she paused to moan softly when his tongue returned to the apex of her sex, the warm hoop piercing being fluttered briefly before traveling backwards once more. She squeezed her aching breasts before continuing. "I -am- your Ishtar. Your Goddess who went in search of you to deny the Underworld your name and soul. You thank me the same way as Adonis could only thank his Queen. The only—" she stammered with a frown on her face as her head felt a sense of lightheadedness, swaying as he rose to his feet. "The only...way she would accept..."

Hyacinthe fell back against Haidar's chest as he stood, now towering behind her. Head tilted back on his shoulder her throat was exposed for his firm grip and her mouth was already parted for his fierce kiss. She could taste herself on him even more now, like a rich dessert shared between them as she burned his lips with the vibrations of her moans. The woman was clearly a vocal lover, a little noise-box that reached up to cup the back of his bent head to keep his mouth to hers for as long as possible. He petitioned for her name once it broke, and she only smiled at the reminder that he still didn't know it. Her body was gently turned to face him, and his hands pressed down on her shoulders to kneel.

Hyacinthe went willingly, crouching before Haidar in her own tent as he looked over her, casting her lovely face in an intimate shadow. Ever so slowly she broke away from watching his handsome face, gaze dipping lower and lower until she was eye to eye with her treasure. Her hands lifted to his wrapped belt, the intricate knot that kept his linen trousers up. Again he requested her name, his pants falling down loosely to bunch at his ankles, punctuating the request with the sudden exposure of the part of him that distinctly made him a man.

With the excitement of the two children when he offered to show them how to make their own whistle, Hyacinthe was finally getting -her- 'whistle' from him. A private lesson, and she gripped him suddenly in her right hand and brought her face forward with a gasp of wonder. Haidar was, to put it simply, a God among mortals, standing there with perfect muscular stature, poised and magnificent, his rod of masculinity jutting and pointing towards her in an accusatory fashion. Adonis himself either crafted him from the Red Clay of Dawnstar, or was fiercely, fiercely jealous.

Her right hand coupled with his thickness as her left hand smoothed up his thigh and across his pelvis along his lower belly, careful not to disrupt the bandages that were still wrapped around the center of his torso. Her mouth parted in an exhale, mouth already salivating as she leaned in close, but right before she made physical contact, a single word was offered up to the idol before her.

"Hyacinthe." She whispered, before planting a devoted kiss directly to the soft helm of his exquisite cock.

Hi-ya-SIN-they.

Hyacinthe.​

The moment their flesh connected, the rounded tip squishing under her roaming lips with a hint of salt coating it, a dream suddenly ignited, and the witch kneeling froze for but a moment:

~It was warm, content. The bedroom was large and spacious, coolly decorated with deep cobalt, cream, and silver, an adornment of silk and flowers covering the walls. An incense cone was burning, filling the air with a haze of cedar and lilac, and yellow beeswax candles floated upon nothingness in the air at the corners, casting the room in soft light.

Hyacinthe looked around the cloudy scene with curiosity, her eyes growing wide as she spotted an incredibly beautiful man in the center of a massive bed, waist down hidden beneath the covers. He was bare chested, but Hyacinthe had a feeling he was completely naked under the rich silk sheets as he arched back, his muscled arms above his head gripping the sturdy headboard, head thrown back, mouth open in a long gasping groan as his eyes rolled back before falling closed.

Hidden further under the covers, at about his hip level, was a mass that appeared to be a figure. This mystery person was crouched between the man's spread thighs, head shape bobbing up and down, the movements making him extend his neck before he made a strangling sound of release.

"Ohh, my love!" He cried in his climax as it became clear the mystery person was sucking him still even as he filled their throat. Hyacinthe, standing off to the side, glanced around nervously, seeking an exit but seeing none. The man's cries grew deeper and more intense as she sought and sought, but the walls were solid with neither windows nor doors. But then, there spotted at the foot of the bed on the floor, discarded as if unwanted refuse, was a staff made of gold. It was long and slender with intricate designs woven at the top before two winged rays sprouted from the peak. And there, directly under it on all sides, beheld four rare deeply crimson gems known as the Eye of Ishtar.

Ishtar.

Hyacinthe belatedly realized that this was a vision into the heavens between Adonis and the High Queen. She had experienced this once before, about a year ago on a particularly stormy, thunderous night, but she had been given a sight into her throne room, that very staff high in her right hand. This time instead of a throne, they were in Lady Ishtar's bedroom in the heavens, caught on a moment when she was worshipping her mate just as Haidar had commissioned her to do. When the God finished, drained thoroughly, Ishtar, who had indeed been under the covers, threw the sheets back with a giggle before climbing up her lover's limp body to straddle him, cupping his face with her dark hands as she kissed all over his face. Her eyes beheld the literal stars of the night sky when she opened them, and Hyacinthe saw that Adonis could not look away from her, his hands cupping her bottom, claiming them. "You wear me out, woman."

The goddess chuckled as she kissed each of his eyes, than his nose. "What would your manly worshippers say if they knew their God King could be milked so easily?" She kissed his lips briefly before settling herself on his lap with a sigh. "They would be horrified. Mortified."

"Or..." Adonis added after he wrapped his arms around her. "They would follow my example if they know what's good for them."

Ishtar laughed richly and loudly as she rolled to the side, laying her head on the pillow next to him, her eyes sparkling with starlight. "I would imagine so, my Heart."

Adonis smiled at her words, stroking her face gently with the back of his knuckles. Hyacinthe stood, feeling like a trespasser on the edge of the vision, being granted a peek into the very Gods that Haidar wished to emulate. Was this a blessing as these two called upon their names? A demand that if they wished to be the avatars of the most Holy Love and Intimacy in the land, then they had better take the task seriously?

The answer came when Adonis leaned down to Ishtar's ear and whispered softly as if to tell her a powerful secret, yet his bright sapphire eyes darted towards Hyacinthe directly, acknowledging her for the first time. The desert witch took an alarmed step back, but the God King only smirked wickedly, his expression revealing that he had always known she was there and seen but ignored up to that point. The human witch gasped as she was suddenly ripped from the dream altogether, slipping......falling.....those eyes of the Diety challenging her directly as his words followed her as she tumbled back to the mortal world.

"You will be as the creatures were when we, the Gods, walked the Earth..."~​

Hyacinthe's eyes cracked open, and when they looked up to Haidar they were changed. No longer were her pupils filled with the green of moss and the gold of honey. Her vision, while it had seemed longer to her, was only an actual few second pause in real time. She had kissed his staff, closed her eyes...then opened them to him, now filled with the starry night, mirroring Ishtar herself.

Pools of glimmering galaxy with a sea of stars blinked up at him, all surrounding the black hole of her pupil, revealing that perhaps this was no ordinary woman who was kneeling before him, but someone secret with an immense amount of power.

"Adonis," she hissed his name, calling him such and knighting him as her love and mate just as he had wished. Hyacinthe's voice was deeper with an almost echoing effect to it in her throat, and with a resplendent smile, she dropped her gaze down to the cock that awaited her. "Just as I remember. Just as I love." She leaned forward to press his warm length against the right side of her cheek, sighing as the memories filled her. "I could -never- exist without you. You are all I ever want, could ever want. The humans may worship us...but I would trade every one of their souls for yours with a single unhesitating word." Turning her face now, her mouth kissed the side of his bar. Down...down...down she reached the base of him, nuzzling against the crook of where his thigh met his hip, her tongue stroking his skin to get a raw flavor of him at the purest source. Her other hand moved from his waist to around his backside, lovingly cupping that firm buttock before giving it a squeeze. "Do not leave me again, my sweet," she spoke commandingly, dipping under and kissing each rounded teste with a worshipping kiss. "I will not be so lenient and gentle when I come for you a second time..."

If raiding the Underworld naked was "lenient and gentle", then woe to the realm if she had to do it a second time. Ishtar, or rather Hyacinthe, then opened her maw wide and moved upward to lovingly engulf the entirety of his testicular sack into the wet warmth of her mouth.

She remained there for a few minutes, suckling softly and working her lips in a way that allowed her to whip her tongue across the seam and all along the textured, taut skin. The woman's eyes rose to watch her Adonis very closely, her hand leisurely stroking him for several minutes before releasing that portion and running the thick wetness of her tongue from base to tip along the underside of his shaft. The thick vein that fed it with hard blood pulsed under her touch, and she explored every dip and ridge as she passed, including that fleshy V directly under where the tip flared outward into softer flesh. With a delicate motion, her head moved sideward and her hand positioned him forward, and just like that the sensitive tip of him was popped into her mouth.

Mmmm, what a lovely moment, that first taste along her tongue as her eyelashes fluttered to halfmast. Hyacinthe lavished it with her tongue, swirling around its circumference in a circular motion so that underneath would feel the rougher surface, while the top would be swept along the silky underbelly of her tongue. Her hand held his cock steady she she pressed her lips down and around, stretching the soft pillows around his girth as she began to push her head forward, pressing him further into her hungry mouth.

Warm spittle dripped down to the base of him, coating him in a layer of saliva, her mouth reacting hungrily to him. Hyacinthe stopped at his halfway point then pulled back until just the tip remained, boldly tonguing the delicious hole directly to taste a drop of his cream. Dipping down a second time, she continued, going forward slowly and with care until her nose touched his pelvis and the head of his cock pressed into the back of her throat. Hyacinthe made a swallowing gesture, the muscles at the back of her throat massaging his tip. She was testing her limits, pushing herself to throat the thickest man she had ever seen let alone been with, and she overestimated her own abilities. The next second was interrupted with a soft gagging sound as her throat was stretched, and her eyes watered a bit as the choking sensation filled her. The greedy woman pulled back very slowly, sucking hard and loudly slurping off the throat slime that was churned up from the depth he reached, then repeated the action, deep throating him over again.

Her dark hands where on his sides, freeing her mouth up to continue its powerful work on its own, palms and fingers caressing up and down either side of his waist in a comforting gesture. Occasionally she scraped her nails down his skin with her excitement as the sloppy, wet sounds of her worshipping him only grew in both volume and intensity in the middle of the night, fingers gripping him to her when she finally had to slide off to gasp for air. Those magical eyes looked up at him, her breasts pressed to the front of his thighs as she hugged him close.

"Mistüva le'cast yú, Adonii..." <You are mine, Adonis> she whispered in Ancient Shemite, a language long forgotten but known by a scholarly few. Those words, if the final words of the vision told to her were true, would have been the exact words Ishtar would have whispered to Adonis the first night they had copulated and she lay claim of him, forever. Whispered in the ancient language when the Gods themselves had walked this plane.

"Was there ever any doubt, my love," she whispered back in the common tongue, both of her hands now lifting up so as to cup either side of the shaft. "That I wouldn't come for you? That I would never find you?" Ishtar here was asking Adonis his mindset as he drifted in the Underworld, not knowing if this was the end of his tale, or not. Hyacinthe placed the pads of both her thumbs on either side of the gaping slit across the soft, dark mushroom head, still speaking softly as she dotted divine love upon him. "Was there ever a moment where you believed I could go on without you? Where you felt forgotten and alone? Tell me, so that I may shatter every one of those lies with my body, wash them away in our joined release so that they never resurface again." Tenderly parting the slit open to its natural limits by spreading her thumbs, the woman wrapped her lips around the helm, and used the pointed tip of her tongue to dig, dig, and tickle his taste forth as her smoldering eyes continued to watch for her man's reaction and answers.

 

[Giantmutantcrab]

Finally, he was freed.

Liberated from the prison of cloth that was wrapped around his waist. This stranger, with whom he had shared so much in so little time, took it upon herself to rescind the position of demanding goddess and slip into the role of the supplicant, kneeling before the object of her adoration, preparing for worship…

And worship she did.

At the first touch of his engorged member upon her lips, she fell into a trance. Had it been so long since she had tasted a man this way? Was she… …The Domari woman, whom he now knew as Hyacinthe, returned from her absence… but was different. Somehow. When she looked up to Haidar… Her eyes had changed. The man blinked ignorantly, tilting his head at an angle, as if it would allow him better comprehension of what he was witnessing. Done and gone were the disks of vibrant jade, dancing like green fire with a mischievous smile with lantern light. Now… her eyes were windows to the cosmos. Each eye was like a galaxy onto itself, a circular and swirling mass of colorful stars and constellations, with each dark pupil now a small black hole, around which those tiny galaxies pivoted. The crown-prince of Shushan could see those celestial spirals ever-so-slowly pivoting around her pupils, as if they were indeed reflections of the rotation of the earth in the unending universe. When she spoke of the name of Adonis, whispering sweet things to his massive member, her voice was near-identical to that of Hyacinthe… And yet the imitation was imperfect. There was a… an echo? A booming quality to the voice, like thunder softly rolling o’er the horizon. The way she spoke to him, spoke to his cock as a lover spoke to another… The way she moved her lips and tongue over him with such familiarity… How she named him Adonis, but not in a playful way. She uttered the name of the hunter-god, the sex-god, the fertility-god, the semen-god, the consort to the lustful Queen of the Cosmos… Haidar was not convinced that Hyacinthe was the woman kneeling before him, at least not fully. And yet this was not Ishtar, chieftain goddess of Shem, at least not fully. This hybrid woman tasted him, spoke to his glans as if it were his mouth, kissing it gently and easing a minuscule taste of his arousal as she tried to penetrate him there with her tongue, in the same way he pleasured her but moments ago.

Why, then, did he not react? The prince could not answer, even if that question were asked to him. Was the sexual tension too thick to avoid, too delicious to abstain from? Was it the upbringing he received, where the otherworldly was not seen as some horror to denounce and destroy, a thought process that ran opposite to the near entirety of Western Arnonas? Was it that the way Hyacinthe-Ishtar spoke to him called to him on a level that was both mundane and divine? Would he play the role of Haidar-Adonis? Are they both but the avatars of the Divine Lovers, made to fornicate forever, to moan and to sweat and to pleasure and to orgasm like only the two sensuous god-mates possibly could? Would his semen be the rain, drawn forth by Ishtar’s efforts, to fertilize the earth? Was it the moon, the celestial ballet of stars and planets that influenced him to speak as he did, to view Hyacinthe-Ishtar with astonishment and interest, rather than fear or shock? Or was it even simpler… She was Female, he was Male, and they would mate together as only sexual energetic lovers would.

Whatever reason pushed him to continue, there were no doubts left lingering. Only the perfection that was her, kneeling before him, begging for him to tell her all of his desires so that she may grant them. No fool, not even Haidar, would ever hesitate with such an offer.

“Again.” He whispered to her, a strong and steady hand moving to glide through her dark locks, now made even curlier because of the sweat and heat in the tent they shared. With the caring of a great lover, he moved her hair out of her visage, wrapping it in a ponytail as well as a makeshift rein. Easing her perfect lips forward, he made Hyacinthe-Ishtar swallow him once more, only it was far slower. Their eyes never lost contact, even as his magnificent cock stretched her throat and her nose pressed to his skin. She could feel his swollen balls pulse against her chin. A sharp intake of breath followed a body-wide shudder, as his own mouth made an O shape, feeling all of her wrapped around his girth. Slowly she was made to pull back, allowing her to breathe once more, but without the chance of cleaning up all of the thick saliva that coated his member. It oozed from her plump lips as breath filled her lungs, multiple lines of her spit still joining his tip and her mouth. For a moment he could see her throat still with his imprint from within, the glistening of her cosmic eyes and the hunger of her mouth. Hyacinthe-Ishtar, the whore-queen-goddess on her knees, desired for it again.

Haidar was warm. Hard. Covered in a sheen of sweat and thick spit. His eyes were balls of golden fire. His hair was a short cascade of dull silver. He was Shemite. He was Stygian. He was of some other place as well, some long-forgotten tribe of the far East, beyond the mapped world of Western Arnonas. A culmination of a thousand years of intermingling, with tanned skin and supple muscle. Only the bandages across his waist hinted at any kind of imperfection. Gifted with genitalia that would make mating bulls envious. The strength of a circus acrobat, the hands of a lover and a warrior, the words of a virile god and a bowed suppliant. Tenderly, he made the avatar of the Shemite chieftain goddess nuzzle his crotch, before leaning her head and allowing her to caress his sack with her tongue. No feverish lapping, no! Slow, deliberate strokes of an organic paintbrush, his balls were her canvas and her long tongue was her brush. Each inch was coated with three, four, ten coats of her spit. There was a soft squelching noise of wet flesh against wet flesh. The prince moaned softly with each caress, making her reach back, behind the sack, to the tender perineum and over to the base of his erect mass. Oh, what a spectacle. He guided her with her impromptu ponytail, inching her head to an angle, then another. His toes tried to dig into the ground with each brush, his free hand moving across his brow to wipe the excess perspiration off. He tasted of salt, of sweat, of sex, of lust, of her own spit, of his traces of semen she tasted earlier. Forever did she lick him this way, even making her reach further back. His wet balls pressed to her forehead as he made her lick between his firm ass-cheeks, to his own earthen altar. “Nnngh.” He grunted, and his stomach tensed. Bringing her head back, Hyacinthe-Ishtar could see a glob of honey thick pre-ejaculate roll down along the underside of him, down over the thick dorsal artery of his length, where she could taste his pleasure at the very source.

For other gods, ambrosia was the nectar of choice.
For the Divine Lovers, one another’s climax was their favored drink.

How deep, how far she went. No timid lover was she; his balls rested at the very back of her tongue, the length of it lovingly coating around every part of him she could reach. His moans were primitive music, and Hyacinthe-Ishtar made him sing a symphony of ecstasy in her name.

Haidar, rushing headlong into release, made the painful decision to pull her away, just enough to avoid the lashing, loving, lolling tongue of hers. The prince sweated like a divine man-whore of Adonis, having spent hours confirming the adoration of female followers. Hyacinthe-Ishtar was his pet, his pleasure-slave, his goddess and his plaything. She took this role willingly. And so again, she swallowed him. But even slower than the time before. A low groan that grew more and more guttural the further he went down her throat. His neck stretched back and his head tilted backwards, but he forced himself to look down at her, keeping a hand to her throat to feel the bulge. And what a bulge it was! This sculpted beauty, salivating over him, sloppily deepthroating him like a sacred prostitute of Shem. He could not breathe when his heavy sack, wet with her split, stroked against her chin as she tried to fit more of him, all of him, in her throat. His eyes rolled in the back of his head and he clenched his jaw, back arching and holding her to him, as the Queen of the Cosmos worshiped this mortal being before her.

Later, far too long and too short a time later, he willingly released her. Oh, how beautiful she was. How alluring her eyes looked, those slowly-twisting universes highlighted by the kohl around them. Her lips, warm and soft and darkly colored, glistening with her spit. Her tongue, that tongue! A weapon that would bring any man or woman to their knees in thanks, ready to strike and stroke at a moment’s notice. Her eyes, those galaxies of lust, filled with a desire and an adoration he could only barely comprehend. Haidar kneeled before the whore-queen-goddess, so that they were eye to eye. He kissed her, tongue warmly stroking her tongue and the roof of her mouth. His hands were everywhere on her. Wet sex, hot skin and taut muscle explored under shaking hands. Hyacinthe-Ishtar found herself on her back, on the small bed of pillows she had made for him. Eye to eye, body to body, he moved to his knees, so that she could gaze upon the golden-eyed, silver-haired, brass-bodied colossus that was He. Her legs were lifted, bent at the knees, and he kissed her feet.

Then, releasing her legs, he looked down into her eyes. She parted her legs open, holding them up in a display of easy flexibility and strength. His most dangerous weapon, that spit-covered, cum-tainted length of steel-hard flesh, rested against her bared stomach. Haidar felt her muscles contract until his mass and very nearly released, right there and then. Instead, he dragged it over her pierced clitoris. Instinctively, he covered her mouth with his hand, to silence any uncontrolled lustful moan. But he did not relent; not yet. Fourteen more times did he stroke his length over her swollen nub. For seven of these strokes he licked her left foot, tongue circling between her toes, running it along the length of the sole of her foot, kissing along the sensitive edge. For the other seven strokes, he licked her right foot, giving the same attention to her toes, to the edge and sole of her right foot.

Why did he caress her most sacred of nerves with himself with such an exact amount?

Was fifteen not Ishtar’s sacred number?

Finally, his purple tip, swollen and thick, pressed against her drooling sex. Though Hyacinthe-Ishtar had swirling universes in her eyes, it was Haidar who was made to see stars with the sensation of their first full penetration. Her insides, so snug and warm and... Oh, that sound! Wet and slick. With what was perhaps his last thought before losing himself to lust, the crown-prince took his loincloth, rolled it, and made his lover bite into it. Now, she could moan and shout and curse to her divine heart’s delight. And what a view, to have him holding her by her ankles, legs spread apart wide, buried deep into her. His eyes were fixated to her stomach, and he could see her abdominal muscles clutching around the bulge his length formed inside her. He was so big, and yet fit so perfectly! His tip pressed to the very back of her tunnel, nestled in her womb. He throbbed, he *pulsed* in her, his pounding heartbeat emanating from each vein of hos cock. His balls, heavy with need and seed, sloppily brushed against her firm ass. Sweat rolled over his muscles, which tensed and released with each breath. Finally he looked back up to her eyes, kissed each malleolus of her ankles, and began the divine ritual. The thrusts were slow, paced out. Pulling almost all the way out, he thrust inside her with the same slow speed, committing each detail to muscle memory. All of his senses were overloaded with her, and nothing mattered but their orgiastic pleasure. When he pulled the ad hoc gag from her mouth, it was only to seal their lips and taste her tongue around and against his. When he had stolen her moans and breath to his satisfaction and he kneeled back upright, he gasped with loud need of air. Oh, to drown on dry land with one's lover! He would stuff her gorgeous mouth with the loincloth again, so she could keep tasting him in her mouth, even as he filled her insides. Hyacinthe-Ishtar’s love honey coated him generously, overflowing and splashing droplets to his lower stomach and the erotic V-shape of his obliques. His sweat ran freely, his body moving to the silent music of sex. He undulated with his thrusts, holding her by her ankles, her thighs, her waist, anywhere he could hold her. Each breath was labored, each motion an effort of exquisite, wanton pleasure. His noises were throaty and low. “Aahhhh…”

Hyacinthe was worshiped with each thrust.
Ishtar was worshiped with each thrust.