Category Archives: Shackles of Hate

Shackles of Hate. Chapter 20: Sorceress, Whore, Soldier, Spy

By: SinfulWolf

Walking the streets of Driftafay had been horrific. There had been no battle, only scattered skirmishes through the streets as the Elvish soldiers butchered those few humans who dared resist even after the gates had been opened to them. Lelthina had no love for humans, and their petty attempts to claw for something resembling power, but the gore of combat disgusted her. Still, it had been necessary.

She wished she had had her coach, instead of the single pure white horse, that she might shut out the scenes of carnage as the Elves took their revenge. Standing now in a lavish room, her new chambers in Driftafay, she stayed away from the balcony. Instead staring at a painting upon the wall depicting a beautiful Elf man bathing in a river. Letting her eyes roam over the exquisite perfection of his tight body, she used it to drive away the visions of slaughter. The hard ridges of his chest, the dark brown of his nipples, begging to be nipped on. The surface of the water teasingly hiding his cock from view, showing only the small tuft of hair just above it, those delicious indentations of the hips that so defined his abs peaking above the water. Lelthina’s imagination filled out the dimensions for herself, and it was perfect.

The only way she would take them.

Lelthina had never liked being anywhere near the front. Or whatever might resemble a front in this war. War and battle was not her specialty. Politics, diplomacy, and intrigue were her battlefront, her tools.

At least she had been able to take a bath and slip back into a silk dress. She felt back in her element at least. No need to sit in a saddle anymore, or eat the poor rations of the soldiers, or suffer the stench of latrines when the wind changed. Though the city currently stank from the pyres of the dead, it would dissipate soon enough. Besides, she had perfumes and incense to ensure her little haven was pleasant enough.

She let out a sigh, rising from her seat and finally pulling her gaze away from the beautiful man displayed upon her wall. With measured steps she moved towards the balcony, the world barely hidden behind the sheer silk curtains. She could see the dawn on the horizon, those first rays of the sun making the brilliant colours of her curtains all the more spectacular.

She ran her fingers over the silk, smiling to herself. This had been Sarya’s room until earlier today. It had seemed such a soldier’s room, with weapon and armour racks, a simple chest for her belongings, the dresser full of plain tunics. But the centurion had surprised Lelthina with her silk curtains. It seemed that some of the more noble traits of Goldulin culture had seeped their way into the soldier. And from the tales she’d heard, of the whore that spent more nights in this very room than the brothel, the councillor guessed that Sarya might be more in line with the nobility than she would like to admit.

That or Lelthina overestimated a soldier’s need for the rudimentary.

Leaning forward, letting the silk caress her skin, Lelthina watched the sun rise for a few moments. The streets were already teeming with activity down below. Elvish soldiers organizing the still living citizens into working groups to clean the streets, of blood, rubble, and bodies. Crows circled overhead, waiting for the corpses to be dumped and clear of people that they might come down to feast. And of course, Telva’s insistence on public displays of the executed. Swaying from the gallows erected in the market square. A once teeming market square, but war and rebellion have turned it far from that purpose for some time now.

The sound of her door opening caught Lelthina’s attention. It was quiet, but she knew of only two people in this city who would dare walk in on her without announcing themselves first. One she accepted, the other was simply to annoy her. And Telva was never so quiet. She smiled to herself, not moving as Pharno came up to her. He smelled of soap, and the image on her wall came to mind again as his hands ran over her open back to her shoulders.

Slowly he pushed the straps of her dress off, and slowly guided them down her arms.

“I have an appointment soon,” she said, smiling and turning her head slightly, but making no move to stop the spy, even as the silk slipped off her breasts, and continued downwards. His hands surprisingly soft against her sides until they settled upon her hips.

“Not for two hours,” he said, his lips playing along the back of her neck, tongue teasing at her skin as the dress fell from where it was at her hips, and puddled on the floor. She groaned softly, as he pulled her back against him, feeling the fine clothes he wore against her body.

“A more personal appointment. You are not my only lover,” she said with a sly grin as he guided her to the bed. He spun her around then, so her breasts were crushed against his chest. She couldn’t help herself, her fingers already rising to the buttons of his tunic to open them, to peel the soft fabric open and reveal that hard chest to her bosom.

“No, but I am the only one in Driftafay,” he said with a smile as he grasped her hands, dragging them along his own form, letting her feel him, until her hands reached his trousers, her hands immediately began to work on them, pushing them down off his hips. His hard cock sprang free, dragging along her thigh.

“For now,” she said, grinning before he pushed her back, landing on the bed. She propped herself on her elbows, legs closed, smirking. She would let no other lover treat her the way Pharno did, and that’s what made him special. That he was able to so easily seduce her, to get between her legs. How many lovers did he have in Driftafay already she wondered, feeling his hands grasp her calves firmly, and start to pull them open. Revealing everything to his hungry eyes.

She was nothing to him, she knew, except a good fuck, and a source of payment. He liked the power he held over her in these moments, and Lelthina let him have it. She wasn’t sure if he was truly in control, or if she let him pretend to have it. His interest continued for much the same reasons. Again and again he came back to take her, to ravish her. The one woman he wasn’t sure he could truly take.

But he smiled, crawling between her legs, one hand on her breast and pushing her onto her back before his fingers closed in a firm squeeze, feeling her nipple against the palm of his hand. Then his hips thrust forward, and she moaned, back arching, pushing that breast even tighter into his grip.

Their hips began to move, as Pharno stripped away the nobility, and left them as but two naked elves fucking each other, their moans mingling as his cock rammed into her. Their flesh slapping through the room as they let themselves enjoy this base instinct. This need.

With only the sun to look upon them as it rose up into the morning.




Rania’s lips had been pleasant as she whispered the word from the sentries into the ear of her mistress. The soft nibbles and caress of tongue even more so. The concubine of course had been emboldened by the soft groans of her mistress, letting her hand slip over the corset armour, and into the cup that held her breast, squeezing firmly, even finding a nipple and pinching it, earning herself another soft moan as reward.

“A dragon has been spotted on the horizon mistress,” Rania whispered, each word letting her lips graze Lillium’s ear, her tongue flicking again to enforce it all.

“Good. Make sure the hall is prepared for our guest, and that the entertainment is ready,” Lillium said as she looked out the window of her chambers, towards the rising sun that hovered above the horizon.

Pulling away, with some disappointment, Rania bowed to her mistress, and quickly left the room. Rising to her feet, Lillium moved to the window, and leaned against the sill to look across her town. The one she was raised in, and the one she conquered. Cut off from the Kazdruk advance, but too far deep for any proper Coalition army to get to quickly. Unless the Elves finally mobilized.

Fingers curling into tight fists, Lillium thought back to the day her clan was nearly destroyed on the Plains of Atzgol. To seeing the Elves retreat under the orders of that bitch of a Princess. Telva Winterstone. Letting out a long breath, Lillium turned away from the window and started to make her way down to the grand hall of the keep where she’d greet her escort. Vengeance would be hers someday, and it would taste sweet on her lips.

Heels clicking on the stone, Lillium entered the hall, glancing over the currently empty tables, before she seated herself on the throne constructed on the dais that overlooked the room. Behind her, the large stained glass windows that had once depicted the glory of Oan and the Cozlak clan now held dark red glass, with black Morkaten designs. Helots stood on guard, standing rigid with their spears pointed towards the ceiling, while a pair of slaves wearing nothing except sandals and violet loincloths stood near the entrance to the kitchens.

Crossing one leg over the other, and pulling her blade free, Lillium watched the entrance to the hall. Her blade’s point against the floor, she spun it by the pommel, keeping her face neutral.

The doors opened, and two helots entered, escorting a large brown skinned kazdruk warrior. A wicked war scythe was resting on her shoulder as her hooves clacked against the stone floor. A single eye stared at Lillium as she came forward, a tan scar running over the opposite brow, the eye there milky white and useless.


“Baroness Lillium. I am Velkra, your escort to the spire,” her voice was deep, impatient, but Lillium gestured to one of the tables with her free hand.

“I guessed as much Velkra. But what kind of host would I be if I did not offer refreshments first,” the succubus purred, one of the slaves stepping forward to pull out a chair for the Kazdruk.

Raising the eyebrow of her ruined eye, Velkra looked towards the chair, then back to the baroness.

“I’d rather we leave now.”

“It is a long flight to the spire from my understanding. A quick meal, and a bit of a show, then we shall depart.”

With a grunt, Velkra moved towards the chair and sat herself. The slave trembled slightly; likely the first time she had seen a purebred Kazdruk. Especially so close. At a snap of Lillium’s fingers though, the two slaves vanished into the kitchens.

“It is not wise to delay succubus. Aeltha summoned you, and Yuldasha herself wishes to meet you,” Velkra said, placing her scythe on the table, her hand never straying far from the shaft of the weapon.

“Nor is it wise to ride alone with a hungry Kazdruk.”

Velkra let out a laugh at that, before the slaves returned. One holding a plate of bloody meat, the other holding a large tankard of ale, the foam spilling over the rim and dribbling across the floor. The slaves set them down in front of the Kazdruk, who reached out and grabbed one by the ass. Like a good slave she didn’t squeal, though she did look to Lillium while the other scampered away.

Lillium smiled, her fingers dancing on the pommel of her sword, spinning it in place. She knew what Velkra was doing; that grabbing the slave wasn’t just out of lust. It was an act of dominance.

“Enjoy her,” she said, lifting her free hand and snapping her fingers again. Two naked helots came in from the opposite door of the food and beer. Velkra grinned, baring her teeth as she forced the slave under the table, lifting up her own heavy and plated loincloth to reveal her snatch. The slave had no illusions of what she was to do, pressing her face forward, and drawing a low rumble of pleasure from the Kazdruk as tongue found the tangy folds of the warrior.

Velkra and Lillium both thought let their attentions turn to the two helots, who were pulling a woman in behind them on a chain. She followed meekly, obediently, her flesh bared for all to see.

“This is Viviane. A former knight of Oan,” Lillium said, making her new whore blush as the helots pulled her before the throne. If the hall were full, everyone would be able to see. Lillium had impressed that into Viviane before now. The whore blushed, but Lillium could see the excitement in her, her submission so complete that she took enjoyment even out of her own humiliation.

“Now my whore. And here to be fucked, for your enjoyment,” Lillium said as Velkra tore into the meat that was provided.

Meanwhile the helots pressed themselves against Viviane’s body, holding her between them. The front one grasping her thigh and lifting, feeling her leg bend over his arm before he thrust his hips forward, plunging his cock into her slick cunt. The whore let out a hungry moan, her head tilting back.

Fingers sliding along the grip of her sword, Lillium watched the display with her lips curled. Watching as the fallen knight draped her arm across the back of the other helot’s shoulders as his cock thrust forward as well. The whore’s eyes clamped shut as his prick pushed into her ass with little resistance. Her fingers curled tightly as the two helots let their hips thrust back and forth, plunging into her. Her nails dug into the back helot’s shoulder, her juices dribbling along their cocks as the fucked her for the entertainment of their baroness and the Kazdruk who watched eagerly.

Drinking her ale, and eating her gifted meal with one hand, the other was beneath the table, pulling the slave into her loins. Smearing fluids across the woman’s face, letting them run down her neck to her swaying breasts. The sounds of lust filled the hall, the smell of sex. Lillium leaned back and soaked it all in, the helot guards around the edges of the room standing at disciplined attention.

What surprised the succubus though, was that while Velkra seemed to be plunging headlong into hedonistic enjoyment, the Kazdruk had subtly examined the room. Taking in the guards, the entrances, the window. This one was playing the game, and Lillium didn’t like it.

The moans from the whore continued, getting louder and louder as the twin cocks plunged into her. Her juices dripping onto the stone floor from the same pricks that drove into her. Her nails close to drawing blood as the helots roared out their pleasure, feeling the succulent flesh against themselves. One lowered his maw to Viviane’s breast and bit down firmly, drawing thin trails of crimson that flowed over the swell of her tits.

Their orgasms drew forth loud moans and screams of lust and pleasure. Pain and desire. Cum quickly began to leak from the whore’s cunt and ass, running over the cocks that slowly pulled out until Viviane was dripping onto the floor, panting as she recovered from her orgasm.

Velkra though stood, surprising the slave whose face was glistening, painted lips smeared. The tankard was empty, the plate holding only small scraps and tiny pools of blood. Adjusting her loincloth, the Kazdruk gestured to the main doors of the hall.

“I thank you, baroness, for the hospitality. But now, I insist we depart,” she said.

Lillium stood and smiled, sheathing her blade as she walked down from the throne. This time, she made no delays. Velkra had seen everything Lillium wanted her to. Hopefully no more than that.




Walking up from the sand of the beach behind her helots, the Kazdruk warrior looked to the fortifications and barricades the humans had erected just on the edge of the wood line. Axe resting on her shoulder, she frowned, walking past the point where every other attack had come under a hail of crossbow and arrow fire. Not this time though.

While the helots continued on ahead, grunting and snarling at each other, weapons bared and ready for the flesh of humans, the Kazdruk moved slightly more cautiously behind them. Something wasn’t right here. She couldn’t believe the humans defending this point to be so cowardly as to just leave.

They had passed the barricades, the small stone towers. They could see the tents and firepits just inside the wood line where the human soldiers slept and ate when they weren’t on watch. The place looked deserted. Though, the leading Kazdruk noted the trebuchets further back. She cocked her head, wondering when the humans had brought such machines forward, and how they hoped to use them. Their use would be severely undermined in the woodline with trees to block so very many angles.

Another step, and the kazdruk felt the ground give slightly. Confusion crossed her features as she looked down at her hoof.

“Now!” Commander Mikel roared, throwing open the trap door he was hidden under, leaves and fallen branches scattering as soldiers did the same for over a hundred paces in either direction. The pits dug but two paces from each other. Short spears thrust up first, goring the helots that were nearly upon them. Then the crossbowmen stood, their bolts launching in a deadly volley. The sound of metal punching through metal and into flesh filled the air. The kazdruk screamed as they died.

Not even the kazdruk stood a chance, her body riddled with bolts that sank deep into her flesh as the humans scrambled up out of their holes. With spear thrusts they finished off any Kazdruk invader that still drew breath, staining the ground with their filthy blood. Not a single human had been felled in the quick and deadly ambush; but they were not done. Those with crossbows were already reloading, placing a single foot in the step at the head of their weapons, turning the powerful cranks to draw back the strings. It took a few moments, and watching it, Mikel hoped it wouldn’t be the cause of too many deaths for what was about to happen.

Drawing his sword, Mikel swiped it down to point forward, towards the beach.

“Forward. For the Coalition. For freedom. For the Langal Clan!” Mikel screamed, and led the charge, his soldiers following closely behind. As instructed the crossbowmen pushed out in front, leading the way over the barricades and down the short hill towards the beech, maybe ten hundred paces away.

Hundreds of helots and dozens of Kazdruk sitting around their campfires, eating, sleeping, fucking slaves. Behind them, the afts of their boats bobbed in the water, the bows lodged firmly in the sand. In the distance, Mikel could see the great war ships anchored off shore that had brought them all here.

The angry war cries of the charging humans though had them scrambling for weapons and armour. Kazdruk were roaring out at their minions, hitting some. Mikel saw one even grab a helot by the throat and toss him towards the others that were trying to establish some kind of line.

As usual though, the helots were disorganized. Their bloodlust taking away any true intelligence from them. They charged, swords and axes held high, spears levelled towards the charging humans. Mikel felt his heart pounding as the Kazdruk stormed over the sands, leaving behind a few human collaborators armed with whips to watch the slaves.

As the scrub and tougher dirt of the land gave way to the shifting sand of the beach, the helots nearly upon then, Mikel called out his next command.

“Loose!” he roared, junior officers down the line in either direction ensuring his command was carried on to everyone.

The crossbowmen came to a skidding stop, and squeezed the levers on their weapons that launched a volley into the charging helots. Almost the entire front line fell, their bodies twisting as the bolts punched through armour and into flesh and bone. Whether they were killed didn’t matter yet, the fallen being trampled by their uncaring comrades.

“Spears, forward,” Mikel shouted, the crossbowmen already reloading as the other soldiers slid in between them, picking up speed as they broke into a full charge with Mikel leading in the centre. This was it, where all the planning and tricks couldn’t fully save them; the melee of battle.

As the two sounds met, the cacophony was nearly deafening. Screams, war cries from both sides, armour rending, steel clashing steel, flesh tearing, bone breaking.  Mikel couldn’t pay much attention to his line now, more concerned with his own survival as he pushed a helot’s spear aside with his shield, and plunged his sword into the beast’s neck. Blood spattered his face when he pulled the blade free and the creature fell, clutching at its wound, but Mikel had moved on already.

A sword hit him in the shoulder, scraping along his armour, forcing his body to tilt. He moved with the motion, swinging his shield around in a wide arc that crashed into the side of the helot’s head, sending him stumbling to the side. His sword swung, hitting the creature in the gut, bashing against its own armour and doubling him over. Enough for a swift kick to the side of the head that sent him sprawling to the ground, where another human soldier plunged a spear down into his neck. The soldier though then took an axe to the chin, splitting his head open, blood and brains splattering down to the ground as the humans tried to push the helots further back.

But all momentum had stopped. Sand turning to mud under all the shed blood, fallen bodies, dead and wounded, made each step ever more treacherous. And the purebred Kazdruks were coming now, marching into the rear of their helot lines and forcing their way through, tossing some aside to get to the human’s stuck in the quagmire of battle.

The whistle of crossbow bolts overhead was a relief, even as they struck many of the Kazdruk and some of the helots. Nearly twenty of the kazdruk fell, their bodies riddled, crashing down onto their own troops, forcing helots to struggle out from beneath their bulks. But there were still more of them.

As Mikel took the head off a helot beside him, sending a spray of blood upwards, he saw a Kazdruk grasp one of his soldiers by the head. The woman scream out, trying to stab with her spear, but the short weapon that had been so advantageous in the pits could barely reach the towering monster. The point barely cut the Kazdruk’s muscular chest. A vicious twist of the arm, and the woman’s body flopped violently like a doll, snapping her neck. Her body then tossed into the melee.

All around him, helot and human clashed violently, as the once rigid lines of battle fell into chaos. The smell of blood washing over him as he fought his way through to get to the Kazdruk purebloods. A spear hit him in the chest, the point digging a groove in his armour as it slid off to the side, Mikel responding with a quick stab into the helot’s face. It gurgled for a moment, its eyes rolling back in its sockets, before Mikel kicked the enemy free.

Another volley of crossbow bolt were loosed into the enemy. More Kazdruk purebreds falling, more helots. The beach was quickly turning into a quagmire of blood and corpses. Mikel’s sword and armour were smeared with gore, he could feel it trickling down under his tunic. Hot and sticky against his skin as a soldier next to him had their head caved in with an axe. The fallen was avenged quickly with a spear thrust that went under the helot’s armpit and into his heart.

After smashing a helot in the throat and crushing his windpipe, Mikel found himself face to face with a towering invader. Looking up at the dark red skinned tower of muscle, his face contorted in blood lust and rage, Mikel quickly threw himself to the side. The falling axe meant for his skull sank into a corpse’s chest.

The kazdruk let out a roar of anger, grasping his axe with both hands to wrench it free. Mikel acted quicker, his sword swinging down onto the bastard’s elbow. Flesh and bone split and broke. The kazdruk twisted away shouting in pain, arm dangling from the wound by strands of skin and muscle. His fist swung around, catching Mikel upside the head and sending him to the ground.

As his vision swam, Mikel started to get back up, only to find a hoof stomping onto his chest. He gasped in pain, his armour denting slightly. Fingers reaffirming their grip on his sword, Mikel watched the hoof rising again, shifting for his head. Rolling out of the way, sand bursting up around the hoof, Mikel felt the impact on the ground. Twisting onto his side he swung his sword, felt the edge bite deep into a calf, earning another loud scream of pain. The kazdruk fell to a knee, blood spilling from its wounds.

Managing to get to his feet, Mikel thrust his sword into the kazdruk’s neck. Felt steel scrape spine. A final choke, and the kazdruk fell dead, nearly dragging Mikel with him before the commander pulled his sword free. The bottom of his boot helping.

Around him, the clash of battle was nearly silent, leaving only the screams and moans of the wounded and dying. Around his bodies littered the beach, as soldiers moved through the battlefield to finish off any invaders. The few that Mikel had held in reserve were rushing down the hill now carrying stretchers for those that could be saved.

Hand rubbing across his chest, Mikel made a note to visit the blacksmiths later. For now, he wasn’t done.

“Get the trebuchet’s down here,” he shouted, one of the reserves nodding, before rushing up the hill while Mikel looked out to the warships floating out in the ocean. The engineers were soon pushing the great siege machines down the hill and into range of their targets.

A great roar got his attention, and turning, Mikel looked to the sky to see a dragon flying over head. For a moment Mikel’s heart was pounding with terror in his chest, but luckily the beast seemed to have no interest in what was occurring on the beach below. After tossing an outward facing extended pair of fingers towards the dragon, Mikel turned his attention back to the ships.

“Sink them.”




They saw the aftermath of the battle, and Lillium watched as the trebuchets launched chunks of flaming rock out to sea, and the warships anchored off shore. Whoever was manning them was good, only barely missing, one of the rocks that went too high clipping one of the warship’s sails. Chunks of wood fell to the sea as helot sailors rushed to put out the flames that had caught, and to draw up the anchors.

Velkra said nothing, keeping her eyes straight ahead. The massive saddle that was strapped along the neck of the dragon was long enough that the succubus wasn’t pressed against the kazdruk, though she was in arm’s reach.

“Why are we not going down there?” Lillium said, having to shout above the roar of the wind and the powerful flaps of the dragon’s wings.

“This dragon was given very specific instructions by Aeltha. I do not command it,” Velkra said, scarcely looking over her shoulder to regard the succubus. It certainly explained why the kazdruk wasn’t holding onto the reins, which Lillium had to admit to herself, had made her nervous when they first took off. Though, she had refused to comment and show that.

Still looking down, where the human soldiers looked so small, stacking the corpses of the invading Kazdruk, Lillium watched as the next barrage of rocks went sailing out to sea. Luckily, the dragon was high enough to not be in any real threat.

The second barrage launched outwards from the shore, and a few rocks crashed into the ships below. Hulls smashed to splinters, masts crashing down into the waves, as the sailors were tossed into the sea. Lillium watched it with a frown, seeing three of the five ships begin to sink beneath the rolling surface. The remainder were struggling to turn, one of them missing a mast, some with gouges dug out the sides.

It wasn’t long before the third barrage was flung out, and the last two were smashed to pieces, vanishing from sight to settle on the sea’s floor.

Then the dragon was out over the wide expanse of water, the shoreline dwindling into the distance. Velkra seemed tense, her shoulders sitting higher, her arms flexed as she grasped reins that wouldn’t help her in the least. She had wanted to be down there, fighting. But instead she was on an escort mission, an unwitting pawn. Lillium hadn’t decided for whom though.

The two didn’t speak to each other as they flew across the ocean to the island that had once been the centre of the Goldulin empire. The wind ensured they would have to shout, and neither felt like there was anything to say to the other. So Lillium watched the ocean, and saw a fleet of ships.

Squinting, one hand above her brows to try and block the glare of the sun, she tried to see whose they were. They certainly weren’t of the clans or the Coalition, but neither did they look Kazdruk. More like large floating rafts than ships proper, covered in what appeared to be tents, with sharp angular sails. Lillium didn’t bother pointing it out to Velkra though. The woman would likely just say the same thing she had when questioned about going down to the beach.

So Lillium watched, soaring over them, until they were but pin pricks on the horizon, and looked ahead again, waiting to see the next shore approach.




The ambush had gone off without a hitch. There was only a single survivor of the helot patrol, the rest laying dead on the forest floor. Kira watched as some of her little band of refugees turned insurgents carried their dead away, melting into the forest as if they were never there. Others were picking the dead clean of weapons. There were not many black smiths at the scattering of camps Kira had throughout the forest, and they needed more weapons. They were still getting more, trickling in as battles went bad along the coastline, or fled the Elves of Winterstone.

After watching the wounded and the dead be carried off, Kira then turned her attention to the surviving helot, forced to his knees, a dagger under his chin, the blade against his throat. Moving towards him, Kira knelt so she was at eye level. The helot stared back at her, defiance in his gaze, but he said nothing, and did nothing.

“Tell me. Where are the other patrols?” she asked.

The helot just stared at her, blood flowing from the wound in his belly. He held it, palm tight against the wound, but otherwise he ignored it.

“Without some kind of attention, that wound will kill you. We can get you that attention if you speak,” she continued. But the helot did nothing still. Just stared.

“That’s fucking unnerving,” one of the insurgents muttered as he watched the kazdruk soldier kneeling there, bleeding. Not roaring madly. It was a kind of discipline they hadn’t seen before in the cannon fodder of the invader’s armies.

“You are willing to pass on life then?” she said, and got the first reaction out of the helot. A sneer, showing teeth, but he said nothing. Letting out a sigh, Kira wondered what to do with the beast. There wasn’t anywhere to really keep prisoners back at the camp, and she wasn’t willing to risk him escaping. Rising to her feet she looked down at him, and regretted that she had to give the order she was about to.

At what point did the justification of defending your own lands stop being enough to differentiate you from the enemy.

“Kill him,” she said.

The helot raised his head slightly, offering more of his throat as the insurgent behind him swiped the dagger to the side. Blood immediately began to pour from the split in the skin, bubbling out as breath escaped the slashed windpipe. There was a moment of fear in the helot’s eyes, but he didn’t resist, or react otherwise. Just died, slumped on his knees.

“What do we do with the bodies?” someone asked Kira, as she looked around the small patch of woodland, at the corpses stripped of any usable items, any valuables they might use, even their armour, leaving the bloody corpses laying naked beneath the boughs of the trees.

“Leave them. It’s our offering to the forest. The wolves need to feed,” Kira said, turning and moving back towards the camp herself. She frowned as she walked, the rest of her insurgents melting into the forest around her to head back to camp, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Lillium was still her in mind. Slithering through her imagination, and after she had the helot’s throat slit, she had imagined her sister beaming with bride. It sent a shudder down her back that was partial revulsion, and partial arousal.

Even last night in her tent when she was making love to Thaden, she’d had him turn her over to take her like a beast. But the truth of it was so that she could imagine her sister behind her. That the flesh and blood cock thrusting into her had been a exceptionally carved piece of wood. Kira was starting to fear the next time she encountered her sister.

She had kept her doubts hidden, buried as everyone around her looked to her as hero and saviour. How would they react knowing that she wanted to sleep with the most powerful Kazdruk commander in the area. The only Kazdruk commander in the area.

No, not sleep with. That was too innocent a word. Fuck. She wanted to fuck Lillium. She wanted to fuck her sister. Taste her, hear her moan, be made to moan by her. Another shudder.

Stopping to lean against a tree, her fist pressed firmly against the bark, she opened her ears, listening for anyone near by, smelling for them. When she was confident in her privacy, she let a hand slide into her breeches again, let her fingers find her slick cunt, and started to fuck herself, imagining Lillium’s fingers.

“I hate you, and I love you bitch,” she growled, angry, and horny, and ashamed, as her juices rolled down plunging fingers.




Waking up just after sunset, Sarya noted that Isilde wasn’t around. Her things were still there, unpacked, and the centurion rolled her eyes, before she started to pack the makeshift camp. No fires, only bedrolls and packs with dwindling food and water. When she finished, waiting for the whore to finish her piss, or her shit, or whatever it was she needed to do, Sarya looked to the sky. It was harder to look around her, at the visible corruption of the land that grew ever more obvious the closer she got to Volgras.

It wasn’t Kazdruk corruption though. This, was something else. Familiar though. And she was still a day away from Innisgar.

Voices pulled her from her thoughts, snapping her head down as she lay in the grass just on the edge of the wood line. Male, and, a female. Enemies maybe. She pulled her spatha free, just in case.

She could hear them coming closer, could see figures moving along the open fields, and heard movement in the forest. They weren’t being too quiet, but quiet enough that they had gotten close enough that she couldn’t slip away without being found.

Definitely male voices, and one female. She listened carefully, straining, and recognized the gruff speech of helots. So they were enemies. Then she heard the woman’s voice again. Far too familiar.


Sarya’s blood ran cold, fury growing in her heart. But she breathed in deep, calming herself as the helots came ever closer. The whore had betrayed her. There was no other explanation for it, not with the calm almost flirtatious way she was speaking with the helot. Not with the way they were coming directly towards Sarya’s position.

As her breath came out even, her pounding heart slowed, Sarya stood. The first helot was only ten paces away. He called out his warning, foolishly turning his head as he did. Sarya took a few steps before lunging forward, feet just above the ground as she jabbed her sword forward, felt it plunge into the side of the helot’s neck. With a jerk of her arm, she freed the weapon out the front of his throat. Blood sprayed from the wound, pattering over the grass and trees as Isolde yelped.

While the whore scampered away, the helots came forth with blades drawn, but three of them held weighted nets. She eyed them all cautiously, slowly backing away, starting to move faster as she noted them running.

But when a sword slashed to her face, making her twist her body to the side before parrying, they took advantage of the distraction and surrounded her. Fourteen of them left standing now.

A slash from behind towards her calf, so she turned her leg, and caught it on the rim of her greave, her own sword gouging across the armour of his chest. He stumbled, but a lunge from behind had her spinning, catching the side of the blade and swinging it out far. A blade drove into her back, scraping over the layered plates. Stumbling forward, a sword tip slicing open her bicep, Sarya tried to spin again to face another threat and caught a slash to her calf. She felt blood trickling over her limbs, and caught another blow before a kick to the back of her knees had her spilling to the ground.

Nets flew over her, the heavy metal weights at the corners thudding into the ground as one of them stepped on her elbow, making her wince in pain. He grinded the joint into the ground, until her fingers opened, and another helot kicked the blade away.

She could see Isolde now, staring at her with concern on her face. Sarya’s own expression turned to fury.

“You fucking backstabbing cunt,” she snapped, and Isolde fell to her knees.

“I’m sorry mistress. It was the only way. You would not listen otherwise. You must be… perfect,” the whore said, and clutched her face in her hands, sobbing. Not because of guilt Sarya knew then, but because she was angry with her.

Somehow, Lillium had gotten to the whore. Sarya snarled, before a heavy blow from a sword pommel sent her plunging into darkness.




The dragon’s landing had been surprisingly smooth, though both Lillium and Valkra were jostled slightly as it landed on the large pad stretching out from the spire. As the succubus looked around the tortured sea, she was reminded of Thorlgruz, of the desolation brought onto the land itself by the Kazdruk. Of course, Thorlgruz had been a great cathedral built by humans. The spire’s grandiose mocked it as assuredly as the landscape.

The dragon had crawled back to its roost in the spire itself before Velkra and Lillium dismounted and started into the spire itself. Through twisting passages lit by violet torches. Helots, Kazdruk purebloods, and other creatures roamed the halls, interrupted occasionally by stairwells. Velkra seemed in a hurry, likely to get back to her Talon. Lillium could understand that, especially after what they had seen on the beach the day before.

As they neared a doorway guarded by two fully armoured helots, Lillium noted a Kazdruk storming down the halls. She looked beaten, with blood still dripping from her nose.

“Wulfshn,” Velkra had called, but the Kazdruk didn’t stop. Just threw them a glare that seemed equal parts angry and shamed. Velkra watched her depart, before grunting and continuing on their path. Lillium raised an eyebrow, taking in the display, before continuing to follow through the door.

They stepped into a long chamber, bordered with pillars but otherwise undecorated. At the end was a flickering field of green energy that broadened at their approach. They stepped through without hesitation, and Lillium gasped as she stepped out feeling cold and a tingling sensation running beneath her skin that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

Whether Velkra felt it, or was too used to it to care, Lillium couldn’t tell, but the Kazdruk didn’t stop. Just kept marching. When they reached a rather ornate door, Velkra paused, then glanced back at her charge.

“Aeltha’s lab and chambers. She’s expecting you, I’m sure,” she said, and turned and left without further words. Lillium didn’t bother watching her go. Instead she slipped inside, and came face to face with her creator. Her mother in a sense.

“Hello child,” Aeltha purred, sitting on a tall chair, fingers running over a skull on a table beside her.

“Mistress,” Lillium said, dropping to one knee, and Aeltha smirked. It had become a game, and not true submission.

“I have a small task for you, before you meet Yuldasha.”

Shackles of Hate. Chapter 19: Ink on Silk

By: SinfulWolf

The harsh rattle of metal links pierced into the silence. Whatever dreams might have plagued her mind were scattered, dried leaves on the wind, as consciousness began to return to her. Viviane felt pain in her wrists, cold metal pressing upwards into the joint of her thumb, but nothing beneath her feet. Just that ache in her wrists, cold air upon her skin.

Opening her eyes slowly, she glanced down. Her feet were but inches from the stone floor, but it might as well have been miles. The chill she felt, seeping into her bones, was explained by the lack of even a single stitch of clothing. The only spot of skin concealed was her wrists, trapped in manacles. The only light was from a pair of torches that flickered in their sconces on each wall. There were no windows, only a single thick wooden door. Blood and cum stained the stones of floor and wall around her, telling their own small tales that kept Viviane’s mind reeling.

Then came the soft sensual purr from behind her, the click of those sharp heels on the stone. A shiver crawled up Viviane’s spine, making the chains holding her off the floor rattle again. Lillium came closer, the points of her claws pressing into the soft skin of her rear, and dragging along her flesh to her hip.

“Knight of Oan. Forsaken and entrapped. You are not the first faithful to enter here,” Lillium’s purr was achingly sensual. A dark sound that slithered into Viviane’s ear. She tried to pull away from that soft touch, but there was  nowhere to go. She simply swayed in the chains, as the succubus let her claws her upwards, along her firm belly to the swell of her breasts.

Then Lillium squeezed harshly, fingers splayed out, claws digging into skin to draw small rubies of blood.

“Nor the first to fall. Have no doubts of what is coming knight. That title will be forgotten soon enough. All that will matter is that you, are my whore.”

“NO!” Viviane’s shout went ignored though, the succubus moving in front of her now, letting the trapped knight gaze upon her. Upon the snow white skin, perfectly smooth, stretching over the hardness of a warrior’s muscles.

Lillium smiled, released Viviane’s breast and gently patted her cheek. The glimmering points of her fangs showed, promising more pain.

“That defiance will soon be gone. I’m just curious if it will be fear, or lust, that breaks it first,” Lillium said, turning then, her skirts flowing around her legs, the long slits up the sides showing the toned legs beneath.

Tearing her eyes away from those swaying hips, Viviane felt shame crawling beneath her skin; that she had watched this monster’s walk with anything close to envy.

The door opened then, and Lillium beckoned in the elf concubine. Viviane glanced over, watching the elf sway in, pushing a cart before her, a large cloth draped over it. When the concubine stopped, the cart just a few paces in front of the dangling knight, she looked up at Vivian. A sadistic grin curled her black lips slowly, her fingers toying with the edge of the blanket. Lillium slowly ran her fingers up Yannifer’s front, teasing at skin and leather in intervals.

“My dear Yannifer does have a glorious set of skills that she’s been perfecting whore. But no worries, she’ll not be practicing them on you. As of yet anyway,” Lillium said, flicking her gaze to Viviane, daring her to contradict the new title.

For her part, Viviane clenched her fists, but it only sent more pain through her thumb and wrists. She grit her teeth and stole herself against the pain, refusing to make a sound, but her show was for naught. Lillium laughed regardless, and the sound sent tingles down the knight’s spine.

“Good slut. It’s a start. You can feel the cracks starting already. Can’t you?” Lillium purred, gesturing to Yannifer who yanked the blanket from the cart, revealing a display or sexual toys, and torture tools. A shiver of cold fear ran through Viviane’s veins as she looked down at the display.

“I’m not going to tell you anything. I am a knight of Oan,” Viviane cried out as Lillium’s clawed fingers danced across the display of toy and tools.

The succubus softly shook her head, tongue clicking behind her teeth.

“Two lies my dear whore. I don’t take well to my subjects lying to me. Don’t worry though. I’m not going to question you,” Lillium said, her eyes narrowed as she looked at Viviane. Fear gripped the knight’s stomach.

“But you must be punished whore. You are not a knight of Oan,” she said, her fingers curling around a thick butt plug, exquisitely carved from wood and lacquered. The tip dragged across the metal tray it rested upon as Lillium picked it up and moved towards her captive. Hips swaying, breasts moving with each clicking step in the confines of her corsetted top. It was an enchanting sight, and Viviane was trying so hard, so very hard, not to take comfort, or pleasure, from the sight. But it was a faltering battle in her mind.

“And you will tell me everything I ask of you should I merely request it.”

The succubus pressed the plug to Viviane’s inner thigh, the wood perfectly smooth on her skin, before it started to drag in a slow arc over her hip as Lillium moved around the hanging knight. There was no doubt to Viviane where the plug was going, and she closed her eyes as Lillium left her vision, trying to prepare herself for what was to come. She bit her lip as she felt the toy trailing over the top of one cheek, and clenched her eyes even tighter as she felt it pushing down her cleft to her rear entrance.

Lillium though did not allow her any further preparations. The succubus made a soft groan that sent an unwanted shiver up Viviane’s spine before the toy was slowly eased inside. Each inch that entered pushing the knight open wider and wider, pain flaring through her as Lillium’s tongue slithered over a shoulder blade. Deeper and deeper the toy went as Viviane stifled her cries of pain by biting her lip harder, not wanting to give Lillium the satisfaction. She only hurt herself more, pain flaring in her lower lip as the plug slid deeper and deeper.

Finally, it was done. Fitted inside, pushing her open, and holding her there. She knew better than to argue, but when Lillium began to twist the toy, Viviane almost cried out. Her fingers curling in on themselves until her nails were pressing into her palms.

Then Lillium was moving again, leaving the plug where it was. Buried deep inside her captive. She dragged her claws over the knight’s lower back, harsh enough that it very nearly drew blood. Standing once more before her, Lillium’s fingers dipped lower, between Viviane’s thighs, and began to gently tease at her cunt, gliding along the lips of her entrance.

“You’re very wet whore,” Lillium stated, withdrawing her fingers, and showing Viviane her glistening digits, strings of juices connected them as the succubus spread her fingers wide. Slowly, she brought one to her lips, sliding it into her mouth and let her eyes flutter as she sucked it clean, moaning softly as it emerged clean of her lust.

“Would you like a taste?” Lillium asked, and Viviane shook her head. The succubus just flashed a fang filled grin and pushed her fingers upwards towards Viviane’s lips. The knight twisted her head away, clamping her mouth shut.

Until the vampiric seductress grasped her hair, and forced Viviane’s gaze downwards. Straight down into the shadows of Lillium’s inviting cleavage. The succubus continued to grin, running one finger over Viviane’s lips, smearing her juices across them, making them glisten in the flickering torch light. Until Lillium pulled harder, pain flaring across Viviane’s scalp, and making her wince and gasp in pain.

The fingers slid inside, between her lips, across her tongue, making her taste her own tart flavour. Smearing across her tongue. She thought about biting down, but the sensation of claws in her mouth made her consider otherwise.

As Lillium withdrew her fingers, Viviane spat, trying to clear out the taste. Worse, she, kind of liked it. As her spittle spattered across Lillium’s cheek, the succubus wiped it away and licked it clean with a smirk.

“Such actions do not disgust me whore. It is, however, a sign of defiance against your mistress. And that I cannot allow,” and the succubus held out her hand towards Yannifer, who unravelled the whip she wore around her waist and draped over her hips, coiling it in her hand before holding it out for her mistress.

Lillium gently took it, running her fingers over the supple leather, feeling it upon her own skin, eyes closed as she savoured such feeling. Tongue flicking over her lips, she glanced to Yannifer.

“This might be a favourite of mine. Soon, it will be yours too,” Lillium purred, starting to move again, letting the whip uncoil until it tapped against the floor and the succubus vanished from sight once again, the last sight of her being the tips of her wings pulling out of view, and the whip sliding across the floor like a tail.

Clenching her eyes shut once more, Viviane braced herself for what was to come. Her muscles tightening along her back as she awaited the harsh kiss of leather.

It didn’t come, and it only made the knight more nervous. Slowly she opened her eyes, bringing Yannifer into view, the Elven concubine standing there, hands crossed beneath her breasts, watching. But not even a sound from Lillium.

The slick wet touch of a tongue came then, trailing along Viviane’s spine to the base of her neck. Lillium’s lips pressed softly to her flesh, kissing her like a lover. And despite the protests of her mind, she enjoyed it. She let the soft groan inside her spill out as Lillium began to kiss and tease at Viviane’s neck, fangs slipping from behind those lush lips to tease at flesh.

“Tell me what you are,” Lillium purred into Viviane’s ear, nipping softly at the lobe, pulling gently, demanding the attention of her senses.

“I am Lady Viviane, Knight o-” she started but was interrupted by the crack of the whip, the leather lashing across her back.

“Lies again my whore,” the succubus hissed, and the whip struck again, making Viviane scream out, shaking in her chains, swaying above the ground as the whip made another red mark along her lower back and the flesh of her rear. A third time it lashed out, guided by Lillium’s hand expertly. Viviane could feel something hot and wet trickling over her skin from where the whip had kissed her.

“Again. What are you.”

Viviane hesitated this time, the pain in her wrists only growing as her back throbbed in agony. She closed her eyes, trying to find a centre, but the plug in her rear was a constant reminder of her vulnerability. Of her failure. Of Oan’s abandonment of her

A quick succession of strikes from the whip had her screaming. She wanted the lips and tongue back. Wanted an end to this. But there was only one way to do so. And that would be to betray everything she’d stood for.

But could she fake it? Pretend? Just to stop the punishment.

Tears rolling down her cheeks she looked over her shoulder, twisting in the air to see the woman behind her. Grinning with those moist lips curled. Glistening fangs protruding from behind those tempting lips. An image of lust. Of corruption. And for all the strength she had thought she had, Viviane was tempted. She had never faced such strong temptations before.

The whip lashed out again, its leather kiss bringing another flash of pain followed by the warm, almost soothing, trickle of blood down her back. Viviane screamed out, unable to bring herself now to call for her God.

Moving forward again, Lillium raked her claws down over Viviane’s back, her ass, and she grasped the plug shoved up inside her.

“When your mistress asks a question whore, you would do well to respond. What, are, you?” the succubus said, somewhere between a purr and a growl. She began to twist the plug, and Viviane couldn’t help but gasp, caught between pain and pleasure. She was surprised that her body enjoyed this strange sensation. It was sinful, but it felt… so good.

Slowly, the plug started to draw outwards, and Viviane felt herself relaxing as it drew further back. Until of course it was shoved firmly back inside. She let out that screaming moan of pain and pleasure again, her back arching, trying to get away when there was no escape.

“I’m a whore. Oan forgive me, I’m a whore mistress,” Viviane cried out, hoping for an end to it all.

“Oan will never forgive you. But you have no need of his forgiveness whore. You have me, and you have Morkate,” the words came from Lillium’s mouth before her lips pressed softly to Viviane’s shoulder, tongue gently easing at the broken skin she had caused. Viviane found herself relaxing again, bidden into the temptress’s graces.

A hand began to wrap around Viviane’s belly, claws gentle, teasing, working downwards, shifting towards her cunt.

“Forsake Oan. Turn from him my whore,” Lillium purred, stopping just above the dangling, self-admitted whore’s clit.

“I can’t… I can’t do it mistress,” Viviane said, forcing the last word out, hating it less this time.

“A pity. And you were doing so very, very well.”

Lillium pulled away again, smacking her palm against her whore’s ass, and letting the whip slap against the floor once more, letting Viviane hear it, letting her know her education was about to continue.




The candle on the desk glowed gently, providing the light for Aela to read. Her lips moved silently as she pored over what was written in the grimoire, penned by the sorceress Aeltha. So much information, so much knowledge. And now it was to be Aela’s, to be used in service of Morkate, and her harbinger, who was now on her second day of playing with the woman who had once been a knight.

Carefully, hunched over her desk, took in the words, each note Aeltha had written down, each diagram she had drawn onto the pages. Translating it was tedious, but very rewarding with each secret unveiled. Bringing the Harbinger back from the brink of death had been but the first.

Succubi it seemed were wholly of Aeltha’s creation. Her first project to rival her mentor’s breeding of the helots. Shaped through corruption and lust and moulded into the perfect creature of beauty, lust, and temptation. Mostly humans were taken for such experiments, only the occasional elf.

There was a note on shaping only the willing. Twisting their own desires to suit Kazdruk needs. It made this new species much more loyal than fear and oppression had with others. Corrupted and then sent out to operate on their own.

There of course had been failures. Flesh had twisted into grotesque abominations, pained creatures either dead or kept in the dungeons of the spire howling in unending torment. If they had working tongues that was, or hadn’t taken their own lives. All of them stepping stones on the path to learning the marriage between human and elven anatomy, and Kazdruk corruption.

The first true success had been Ryeesh. Sultry, ambitious, and according to Aeltha’s notes, now working out to the continent in the west. But there was another, noted here. A bridge between this success and the twisted creatures that had come before.

Niseht. Shadowy, opened flesh, metal bolted to her in brutal mimicry of what was to come.

Aela frowned as she read the notes about this spy, who was as much shadow as flesh and blood. Unreported and unknown even to Yuldasha. A servant to Aeltha alone. The priestess pondered the implications of this. There was no notes of where this Niseht was, or if she was even alive. It was possible though, that the machination was working in Volgras, keeping tabs on the Harbinger. Reporting all to Aeltha.

Lillium and all those in Volgras had already acted openly against Kazdruk influence once. If Aeltha caught wind of much more, it could crumble what the Harbinger was trying to build before the foundations were even complete.

Leaning back in her seat, Aela reached for the carafe of wine, only to find it empty. She reached for the small bell on her desk and rang it. Within moments, a young woman, naked save her sandals and the black loincloth hanging from her waist, entered the room. Her skin still healing from the fresh tattoos swirling over her body, marking her forever as a servant of Morkate.

She bowed before the priestess, saying not a word, and for a moment Aela looked upon her young beauty. The fullness of her breasts, her slim waist.

“Wine acolyte,” she said, handing the carafe to the woman, who wordless took it, and turned away. She did not scamper, or scurry, as a young nervous acolyte of Oan might. No she walked with confidence, her hips swaying, while still knowing her place in this world.

For the moment anyway.

As the door closed, closing the wonderful view of the young woman, Aela turned back to her studies. She would have to ponder Niseht later. It was in a few pages she finally found something incredibly exciting; Aeltha’s discovery of vampires. The discovery of the last remaining of her kind.

The Empress Nera of Goldulin.

It was her blood that had helped give birth to the Harbinger. It seemed Aeltha believed vampirism to be the perfect method of bringing together Kazdruk corruption and human flesh. She had notes on Nera, the old religion of Morkate. Lillium was the most successful of her succubus experiments. But the sorceress feared she might have been too successful. Leaving Lillium the only one of her kind.

Aela grinned as she started reading into the procedure that gave birth to who was now the Baroness of Volgrass.

She would not be the only one forever.




Leaning against the sturdy trunk of a tree, Kira stared into the night. She was not looking at anything in particular. Not the campfires that dotted their little camp amongst the trees of this great forest. Not the guards who performed their patrols in search of any Kazdruk, becoming stealthier and sneakier with their movements each night. Not even at Thaden who sat beside her, spooning a thin stew into his mouth.

Eventually Thaden broke the silence, setting his empty bowl on the ground before speaking.

“You need to eat.”

Finally Kira turned her head to regard him, taking in his scent as much as the rugged features of his face. She let out a low sigh.

“I’ll hunt when I’m hungry.”

“You have to eat something now. You may not be hungry, but you’ve barely touched anything since Volgras.”

Kira didn’t have any answer for him. Nothing that would make sense to even her mind. So she simply shrugged, unable to push away that image of her sister. Comparing what she remembered of Lillium before Atzgol, and what she had seen in the keep of their former home. The words that had come free from her lips.

And worse, the temptation she had felt from her.

“There are others that need it more than I do,” she said, pushing herself back into the conversation she had started to let slide. Her sister was almost like a toxin; she could see the fanatic loyalty her concubines held for her. That even the slaves held. Volgras had become a surreal town of carnality, and it beckoned to her. Her animal side almost salivating at the idea.

In her moments alone since the flight from Volgras, her hand had slipped down between her legs to find herself slick and wanting. And it was always her sister that flittered through her mind.

“Bullshit.” Thaden’s voice pulled her back to the present, letting those other thoughts turn to dust and fog.

“These people look to you for hope, and guidance. And after what happened at Volgras they need you to stay strong. Otherwise it will have been for nothing. And I hate having done things for nothing,” Thaden continued, and Kira leaned over, resting her head upon his shoulder.

After just a moment of hesitation, he reached up, starting to stroke her hair. Too many had died in that attack. The knights were gone, and word from her scouts told her the elves were ready to march into Driftafay once more. Kira was having some difficulty finding pity for them.

But it was all leading to one inevitable end. A Kazdruk victory.

She pondered something Lillium had said back in Volgras. About humanity surviving in the darkness. Could her sister be plotting some kind of strike against the invaders from within? Or was Kira just letting foolish hope enter her mind once again?

Reaching up to rub at her eyes she let Thaden’s scent calm her, the sensation of his fingers drifting gently through her hair.

“We need more information. Those helots in Volgras were not acting normally. They were organized, efficient. Tomorrow we need to start scouting again, and raiding. Hopefully we can stall them long enough for everyone else to stop fighting amongst each other and stand united against the Kazdruk.”

“There you are. I missed you,” Thaden said with a slight laugh in his tone, scratching behind Kira’s ear. She smiled gently and turned her head, kissing his neck softly, letting her tongue slide over his skin.

When she rose to her feet, she gave Thaden a nod.

“I’m going for a hunt, see you in a few hours,” she said, leaning down to kiss his forehead, and he gave her a playful smirk, as he leaned back against the tree, watching her vanish into the darkness.

The wolfkin had full intentions of getting herself a meal, of chasing down some prey. She knew to win, she would have to embrace the animal that pumped in her blood. When she slipped into the darkness of night alone however, she paused. Hiding herself in a thicket, the smell of deer telling her of recent passage, Kira shifted her pants down.

Laying on her back, legs spreading, she reached down to her slick cunt, feeling the heat on her fingertips before they started to push inside her. She bit down on a stick to stiffle the moans she knew she was going to cause herself as her hand began to pump into her. Her hips bucking back against the thrusting digits, making them slick with her own arousal. Her thumb canting up to find her clit and rub it firmly.

The juices of her lust started to run, over her skin, along the curve of her rear. Her tail flicked back and forth as her hips thrust upwards, the fur dampening as she continued in her lust.

There in the woods, alone, Kira masturbated. And thought of Lillium.




Flaring pain pulled a scream from Viviane’s lungs. The clamps on her nipples being pulled by the chain grasped firmly in Lillium’s fist. The succubus grinning as she watched the former knight’s face twist in agony. Nipples swollen, flesh of her breasts red and puffy from the abuses she’d suffered so far, her cheeks slick with fallen tears, Viviane struggled to cling to her faith. To that shield that had protected her for so many years.

But it was getting harder.

“That’s it whore. Let it out. Scream, tell me your agony,” Lillium purred, sending unwanted shivers of want down Viviane’s spine, the words punctuated by the succubus pulling hard on that thin chain again. The teeth of the clamps digging harshly into the sensitive tips of her breasts. She screamed again, the sound echoing in the chamber.

Then Lillium released the chain, letting it gently land on Viviane’s belly. Cool, almost comforting in a perverse way. Certainly more than the painful heat from her wrists, where the manacles continued to rub her raw.

Panting, eyes half-lidded, exhausted, Viviane felt hope slipping through her grasp, spilling away into the void. Swaying slightly in her bindings, making the chains rattle slightly, she clung to consciousness, her nipples throbbing.

A single step forward, and the leather encasing Lillium’s breasts was rubbing gently over her stomach and the chain draped over it. One wing curled around the captor, and Lillium’s claws began  a slow gently ascension along Viviane’s thighs. Her eyes fluttered, unable to force herself not to enjoy this soft treatment.

Despite the sin of it.

It was the only relief she had from the agony. The clamps, the whips, the plugs, or even the claws when something that truly displeased the corrupted warrior spilled into the cell. Her home now. She was always left guessing whether pain or pleasure would come next, and sometimes they mingled into each other.

Worn down, tired, the once proud knight could have trouble distinguishing the two, her world narrowed down into a singular focus; the whims of Lillium. She did not speak, knowing the title mistress would have to slip past her lips lest she invite more ire upon her flesh. And the more she said it, the more she called Lillium mistress, the more true it sounded.

The last time she said it, Viviane had believed it.

Fingers started to ease their way into the captive’s cunt, slick and eager for what the succubus could offer. Viviane’s body was falling to temptation despite her mind’s desperate and seemingly futile struggle against it.

The fingers stopped with claws pressed tight against the barrier of flesh. The physical manifestation of Viviane’s maidenhood.

“No, mistress, please,” Viviane begged, the title seeming real. True. Lillium was her mistress. There was no other way to describe the succubus.

“I would have preferred you given this to me willingly whore. But, I shall delight in taking it nonetheless,” Lillium purred, her red eyes flicking up to stare into her whore’s own, as the fingers plunged all the way inside.

A flash of pain as her hymen was ripped open, claws making short and easy work of the fleshy wall. Viviane screamed as she was violated, that last piece of her chastity the succubus had not yet taken was gone. Blood trickled over Lillium’s fingers, to her hand as she gently pulled.

Chains rattled slightly as Viviane came closer, her naked breasts pushed to Lillium’s face. The succubus let her tongue slowly roll over that skin, tasting the blood, the sweat on them. Her teeth teasing at the nipples and clamps that held them as she started to rub her fingers.

The pain was dissipating, and once more Viviane found pleasure. Pleasure from her own violation. She moaned then, unable to stop the sound.

“You are mine whore. It matters not what you wish to give me. If I want it, I will take it,” Lillium growled as she started to work Viviane towards her first orgasm.

“Yes mistress. It is as you say,” Viviane moaned, desperate now to get off,

“Forsake Oan, and embrace Morkate as your true  Goddess,” Lillium snarled, her fingers working faster and faster, Viviane’s juices streaming over the succubus’s digits.

“I…” Hesitation. Could she forsake Oan? He had left her here to rot. To succumb to the ministrations of a creature that spat in his face with the very act of breathing. Could she not lie? But, Mistress would know. She saw through it before. And the marks on her back still bled if she twisted the wrong way.

“I can not forsake my God mistress,” the captive finally said, her voice a mewl. Lillium pulled her fingers free from the whore’s cunt, and made a show of licking the digits clean. It sent shivers up her spine, and she watched with pathetic need. Nearly enslaved by her own needs that she had not known she had. Lusts that the succubus had brought into light.

Reaching over to her side, Lillium took up a bigger plug than last time and smiled.

“I do so love your education,” she said as she came up behind the captive, and thrust the plug in without hesitation, twisting it inside her whore who screamed again, swaying on the chains, violated again. And some part of her, slowly coming unburied, loved every moment of it.

“Yannifer,” Lillium called, and the fallen elf smiled her sadistic smile as she moved to the cart and picked up a short slender knife.

“Remind the whore of where she is, and who continues to leave her here in my care,” the succubus purred, turning then to leave, Viviane watching her swaying ass the entire time.

But when the door closed behind Lillium, the whore was left with Yannifer. And she begged to whoever might be listening that Lillium return to save her from the elf’s cruelties, just before she screamed out as knife pressed to the skin of her thigh.




“Quiet,” Sarya whispered, clamping a hand over Isolde’s mouth.

The centurion looked around in the dark, not even the embers of a firepit to light the night. She was still mostly dressed, and Isolde, while chilled, had stripped away her top in hopes of tempting the woman she wished to claim her would show an interest in her body.

It had not yet worked, despite the looks, despite the gentle gropes when they lay together at night. Sarya seemed single minded in this quest she had taken on for herself, and not knowing who she could trust except her whore, would not give any way for anyone to find them.

Isolde chewed on her lip knowing the truth of that last part. The whore would betray her soon enough, but it had to be done. Otherwise Sarya would die, and would never see her true potential. Never feel the simmering embrace of Morkate.

“What is it?” Isolde asked after a moment of silence. Not even the insects were out, just the wind.

“Something is out there,” Sarya said, leaning down to whisper this into Isolde’s ear, just before something snapped out in the woods. They were pressed together, Sarya’s breasts unimpeded by her armour, crushing firmly against Isolde’s.

“Probably just an animal,” the whore said, savouring the sensation for however long it lasted.

“Perhaps. But not all animals are peaceful either.”

Slowly, Sarya pushed off Isolde and reached over to pull her sword free. Moving carefully towards the tree line, Isolde watched the centurion move with sure purpose, the naked blade glinting in the moonlight.

It was just before Sarya vanished from view that a horrible screech tore out from the woods. The centurion shot straight up, sword before her as Isolde’s eyes went wide; she had never heard anything like that scream before in her life, and it sent chills down into her bone.

For a moment Sarya stood her ground, waiting for an attack that didn’t come. Eventually though, she pushed forward, into the thickets that surrounded their tiny camp. Alone now Isolde felt fear creeping up into her mind. She scrambled forward, slipping twice before finding her feet to follow Sarya into the darkness.

In the forest itself she looked around desperately, having to hold herself from calling out for Sarya, not knowing what was out there. The sound of something tearing filled her ears, but she couldn’t see the source. It was the only sound save the snapping branches she caused. Was it Sarya? Had she been found and slain?

Heart pounding like an anvil in her chest she continued to creep forward, trying to see with the few slivers of light that the moon provided through the trees.

A hand grasped hers, and yanked her down, another clamping over her mouth and cutting off her scream before it escape into the night. Isolde found herself staring into Sarya’s eyes, the centurion’s expression stern, a finger to her lips before she gestured in the direction that Isolde had been stumbling.

Curious and terrified all at once, Isolde leaned forward to see what Sarya had.

A deer stood above another one. The one on the ground dead, its guts and blood glinting much like the steel of Sarya’s spatha had. The still living one was shifting its muzzle through the massive hole torn into the side of the carcass, occasional ripping its head away, bringing hunks of meat away from the body. Strings of flesh stretching until they snapped apart.

Isolde stared, not sure what to make of what she was seeing. The deer snorted and looked towards them, its eyes glowing like two embers.

“This is not Kazdruk corruption. This is something else. Lillium is behind it,” Sarya said, and Isolde felt a shiver of pleasure despite herself. So, this was the touch of Morkate, twisting the world to her image.

“Come, there is little else for us to see here,” Sarya said and started walking away.

Isolde stayed for a moment, watching in something between reverence and revulsion, before picking herself up and following after Sarya. The deer merely bent its head back down into its meal.




Time had lost its meaning. Her world had become a swirling mosaic of pain and pleasure, the sensations starting to bleed into one. Breathing heavily, breasts rising and falling, droplets of sweat and blood rolling along her skin to drip softly on the stone floor beneath her swaying feet, the voice of the succubus slipped its way into Viviane’s mind.

Demanding attention.

“I am a whore,” she said through lips aching to feel Lillium’s again, to feel the soft caress of her tongue. The answer pleased the succubus; the whip didn’t come.

Day and night didn’t matter anymore, only the dark when Lillium was gone, and the light when she was hear. She lifted her head, weak, thirsty, in agony, aroused beyond her once prudish imagination. But these last visits, Lillium had broadened that imagination. Showed her a full world full of pleasure, and despite herself, Viviane was aching for more. Before she was left to the whims of Yannifer for displeasing her mistress.

“That’s right, good girl,” Lillium purred, her claws slowly dragging over Viviane’s rear, drawing forth a moan from her lips despite the pain. Lillium laughed gently, the whore before her twisted in her chains to get closer, instead of away from her.

“Very good girl. You’ve been learning well. It might be time soon to take you down from there… but not quite yet. Soon though.”

“Yes, mistress,” came the reply, with just a heartbeat of hesitation before the final word slipped free into the room. Lillium curled her lips and shook her head, as she stood behind the whore, reaching upwards to encircle her arms around the woman. And grasp her breasts tightly, fingers digging in, claws sinking into flesh, earning another moan of delirious hunger.

“Good. Good,” Lillium purred, grasping the woman’s nipples, and twisting harshly, earning a scream straddling pain and pleasure. Viviane’s mind split between the two forever more. Lillium slowly licked her lips, standing close enough that Viviane could feel the bottom of the succubus’s tongue along her shoulder blades.

“Do you seek forgiveness whore?” Lillium purred, and lashed her tongue along the whore’s spine, feeling her shudder. Her body had utterly given up hiding the lusts bubbling up through her soul, though her mind had resisted. For a time.

“I am unforgiveable,” Viviane groaned, and was rewarded by the plug buried in her ass again being twisted.

“I am forsaken. And so… I…” she stammered, knowing what her new mistress wanted to hear. Wanted to hear her sinful confession that would damn her forever. Viviane’s mouth opened and closed a few times as the words she had been told to say readied themselves on her tongue to be spit out into the world.

“Go on. Say it whore. Say your new truth,” Lillium purred, grasping Viviane’s nipples again and pulling on them, hard enough to actually pull her full form dangling from the chains. Viviane screamed out in agony, throwing her head back as her juices gushed down her thighs. Her wrists, rubbed raw, pulling harder against her manacles.

“I forsake Oan! He is a weak God, though I am just a whore mistress.” The words tumbled free, and Viviane had meant every one of them.

Lillium grinned wickedly, releasing Viviane’s nipples, letting her sway back and forth on the chains. She moved before her whore, bloody and bruised, and ran a single claw from her lips, along her neck to her navel in a slow teasing journey.

“Good girl. I think you’re ready to come down finally.” Lillium purred, spreading her fingers wide and running them upwards, along Viviane’s hands. The whore groaned, grateful to be let down, that she might serve. She had given up everything else, and bore the scars from knife and whip from her foolish resistance.

A knock at the heavy door before it opened though had Lillium pausing before she reached the manacles. The succubus looked back as one of her concubines entered and bowed. Mia. Lillium dragged her claws back down Viviane’s body until they were settled at the whore’s hips.

“Mistress. It’s, Aeltha. In the mirror.” Mia said, not raising her eyes as she spoke.

Clicking her tongue a moment, the succubus looked up at her new whore, broken and desperate.

“Yannifer. It seems I’m needed. Do keep my new whore reminded of the words she spoke,” the succubus said, starting to walk towards the door and Mia. Viviane couldn’t pull her eyes away from her hips, the way they swayed, the swirl of her skirts.

The elven concubine pulled her whip free and grinned.

“With pleasure mistress,” she said, readying her favourite tool. Then the door closed, taking Lillium and Mia into the clutches of the castle once more, leaving Viviane alone with Yannifer.

Viviane bit her lip then, anticipating eagerly what was to come.




With the little thieves Jelthra and Kamri to soon be taken care of, Aeltha turned back to her personal studies. Neicul’s beastly temperament was certainly a success. Now, she only needed to find how to control him. It certainly wasn’t that his will was made of iron now. No, it was simply that it was guided by instinct and rage. To kill, to fuck. There was little left of the old Neicul remaining, though Aeltha might be able to change that back.

If she wished it of course.

It would be interesting to twist him around her finger. It would be an easy process to domesticate him, much like the humans did with their pets. Reward good behaviour, punish the bad. But having him domesticated simply would not do. She wanted him feral. Vicious.

And when it worked, she’d give Yuldasha a regiment of savage and feral Kazdruk to be unleashed in the lands of the Northern Coalition. To run amok and ruin them behind their front lines. All of the efficiency of a Kazdruk soldier to destroy the enemy, and none of the ambition that would hamper command.

Only fitting Neicul be the first, since he had failed to get the Elves she wanted, to experiment with elven succubi.

She took up her quill to begin penning down her notes of the day, looking into one of her scrying orbs to watch Neicul in his chains. Still struggling to free himself. They had been reinforced after yesterday’s escape, as much as it had been important to watch him pursue the elf. It was not conducive to let the subject run amok of his own will. Especially when what little will was left was not the most controllable. Yet.

Then came a particular scent. Cold metal and old blood, wafting gently through the room. Her brows furrowing, Aeltha turned, and saw Niseht emerging from the shadows. The spy glanced once towards the scrying orb that peered upon Neicul, but said nothing. Instead she moved to sit on Aeltha’s desk, gently crossing one leg over the other.

“Karthelza is dead. Sacrificed by the priestess Aela to bring Lillium back from death.” the spy whispered quietly as if afraid that even in here she would be overhead. Aeltha though frowned as she took in the news. First it meant that Lillium’s people were willing to cross proper Kazdruk to fulfill their duties to their mistress; a lack of fear in their proper overlords. Secondly, it meant one of them had gone to Thorlgruz. Into her personal chambers.

Gaze turning towards the scying orb that showed Neicul, straining against his chains, veins bulging from his forehead as spittle flew from his mouth opened in unheard roar, Aeltha began to wish she was away from the spire again.

Left alone to work, to study, to advance her experiments. Instead she was here. In the heart of the vicious and violent world of Kazdruk politics. A world she made a point to excel in, lest she end up like Kamri and Jelthra.

“Does anyone else know of this?” Aeltha asked.

“No mistress. Lillium and her ilk have been careful to cover their tracks.”

“Good. My pet is starting to pull too hard on her leash and that may be expected; but it will not do to let it be known my dog escaped a bit her soldiers,” Aeltha said, nearly a whisper as she moved through these chambers that had been given her. Towards the corner where a large oval object was hidden beneath a sheet.

With a swift pull she revealed the mirror beneath. Lillium had one nearly identical in Volgras.

“Niseht, check in on Luzella and her uppity litter mate, and what they’ve done with the new toys they should have obtained by now.”

The metal and flesh succubus bowed and started to vanish from sight before pausing once again, her head tilted. Aeltha looked at her, eyes narrowed, waiting for the question she knew was coming.

“Mistress. Why involve the two warriors in this? Would it not be easier for you to deal with it yourself, or involve Yuldasha?”

Aeltha smiled at that, bearing her pointed teeth as she turned to the mirror, drawing a simple symbol across the glass to make it faintly glow green.

“Because if they succeed, they get what they want. In a way, they will owe me for it. If they fail, then it is simply more fodder for the debate I will have with our master for the need of feral Kazdruk.”

Niseht nodded once, and was gone just before the greenish clouds that had filled the mirror dissipated, revealing the young concubine that Lillium had taken. The one she’d tested Aeltha’s vampiric serum upon. It seemed to have worked wonderfully, though Lillium’s report on the matter had been frustratingly vague, and so Aeltha could not study for many effects.

“Get me your mistress.”




Bowing before the mirror, showing her mistress respect, Lillium sat shortly after and kept a plain face at the look of annoyance that crossed Aeltha’s face. A dangerous game, but she had set her pieces on the board willingly.

“Mistress, how might I serve?” Lillium asked of the sorceress, seated in the spire so far from Volgras, her image slightly hazy in the swirl of green magic that made the mirror glow.

For a moment the two simply watched each other, telling each other far too much with the growing gulf of silence. And both knew it.

“You continue to do well for yourself, my champion,” Aeltha finally said, though there was no look of pride in the sorceress’s face as there might have been. Once.

“I simply fulfill my purpose.”

“And yet lands around your territory continue to be plagued with resistance, the Kazdruk invasion still slowed despite you being buried like a tick. Caravans and platoons overrun, able sorceresses left dead in the road.”

“I do what I can with but a handful of savage helots under me. I have no true Kazdruk warriors. Nor any of the more unique servants that you once provided me. Allure only works so far,” Lillium was sure to put a bit of purr into her tone as she spoke then, feeling Aeltha’s eyes upon her through the magic mirror. But there was no lust there, and that worried the succubus.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps you have merely bitten off more than you can swallow. If your forces are as dismal as you say, why attempt to take Driftafay?”

“Not to take the city, but to help drive the Coalition apart. They have only resisted so long because of the alliance between the human clans and the Elven houses.”

At that Aeltha smiled. The succubus was clever, and her activities may well work greatly with the seeds she and Yuldasha planted in Queen Aria. Sailing home as she spoke.

“The time has come for you to meet your master my pet. To come to the spire and kneel before Yuldasha.”

Lillium looked at Aeltha, to try and seek the game she was starting to enter into. But she couldn’t; the rules were changing from what she thought she knew.

“Your escort will arrive tomorrow. Be ready to depart my pet.”

With those final words, the clouds floated across the mirror again, and dissipated, leaving Lillium to stare at her own reflection. Unsure of the mirror’s full power, she did not let her frown crease her brows until after she had stood and left the room. Two of her concubines were waiting outside, looks of concern and curiosity on their faces.

“Mia, Rania. You will tell Aela and Lorth that they will dine with me this evening. We have much to discuss,” the succubus said, not bothering to fully explain the situation. But the two concubines bowed without questioning. Loyal, perfectly so. As Lillium herself was supposed to be.

Quickly walking through her castle, back down into the dungeons, Lillium embraced the lust that had been rousing within her. With a new whore waiting to be taken down, and used. Viviane wanted it now. She was dripping for it. And now was the moment to break her.

When Lillium entered Viviane’s cell, the last notes of a beautiful scream were tearing from her lips as Yannifer pulled the whip across the ground, ready to lash out again. The once proud, chaste, and noble knight looked up as the succubus entered, and a look of lust, and relief, crossed her features. That very look made Lillium grin as she moved up to table, running her fingers over one last device; a thick metal collar and a chain.

Making a show of running her tongue over her lips, Lillium lifted the collar and moved up to Viviane, closing the cold metal around her neck. The succubus had her still clothed breasts pushed tightly against Viviane’s.

“I will serve mistress. Please, just let me down. Let me, prove myself,” the woman muttered, rather eagerly. So Lillium flicked her tongue over the woman’s dry lips, feeling her shudder through her garments.

“Yannifer,” the succubus purred, her eyes flicking over to the concubine who bowed, wrapping the whip once more around her waist as she moved behind her mistress.

Reaching upwards, running her claws up Viviane’s arms, dragging the new chain with her. Letting the new whore feel that cold metal gliding over her flesh along with the sharp points of the claws. All while Yannifer slowly began to peel off Lillium’s tight garments.

Gasping, Viviane’s eyes fluttered, feeling naked flesh against her own. A lustful sin that she felt herself craving. Needing. Even as Lillium’s hands found the mannacles.

“Wrap your legs around me whore. Or else you’ll fall,” Lillium purred.

“Yes mistress,” Viviane said, feeling a surge of pleasure as the word slipped through her lips. Her legs wrapping around Lillium, feeling the succubus’s powerful thighs, the tightness of her ass. The succubus grinned, before lowering her head. Her lips, her tongue, ran over the whore’s breast, leaving slick warm trails. Fangs teased along either side of her nipple, making Viviane moan hungrily.

When the first manacle came free, Viviane let her arm drop, curling around Lillium’s back, feeling the sensual sensation of her leathery wing, fingers gliding down to the base where demonic flesh met something once human. And it made Lillium groan softly, her fingers pausing in their work on the second manacle.

Blinking, the fallen knight felt a surge of joy at hearing that sound, even muffled as it was by her breast. Lillium and Yannifer had made her role in life very clear. Her entire purpose, was to serve the whims of her mistress, and her new goddess would deliver rewards. Mistress would not abandon her as her old god once had.

One the second manacle came free, Viviane lazily let her fingers trail across the woman’s back, her wings, trying to earn another such groan from her mistress. Lillium lowered the whore to the ground, and smiled down at her.

Clad in only the armour covering her shoulders and forearms, Lillium slid her foot between Viviane’s legs, the sharp bone heel scraping across the stone. With a slight twist of her foot and body that flaunted her form, letting Viviane gaze upon perfect beauty, Lillium pressed her heel to her whore’s thigh.

They parted for her mistress, revealing the glistening folds of her cunt. Eager for pleasure, though her mouth watered to pleasure her mistress more.

The succubus’s foot moved again, toes and heel gliding up Viviane’s chest until the sharp point was pushing against a breast and pushing her back to rest of her elbows. With Lillium grasping the chain of her collar she could not go back any further.

The succubus laughed, descending, letting her legs entwine with the whore’s.

“You’re all mine whore,” she purred as she pushed her own slick cunt tightly to Viviane’s, running her hands along the chain to take away any slack that might offer the whore relief. But Viviane no longer wanted relief.

Broken, twisted, she knew what her mistress wanted, and started to move her hips, watching Lillium’s perfect lips curl into a smile.

“Of course mistress. I’m all yours,” she said, letting herself say the words, making them all the more true, as Lillium groaned, her own hips moving. Mistress and whore ground against her other, feeling the wet heat of the other between their thighs. Feeling the pressure on their clits, on their folds. Viviane’s mouth dropped open, watching her mistress, her perfection.

A twisted form of love that would have once horrified her was growing in the whore’s heart. And she embraced it as her juices dripped down onto the cold stone floor her ass rubbed against. Her body was aflame with pleasure she could no longer with without. All while she stared at the demoness who gave it to her.

By breaking her.

Lillium breaks Viviane. Art by Lucien

Lillium laughed, suddenly pulling herself away, and pulling back on the chain, forcing Viviane forward and to the ground, her tits crushing against the floor and smearing across her own juices and Lillium’s.

“Finish me off whore,” Lillium purred, laying there with her legs open, inviting. And almost drooling, Viviane started to crawl forward until her mistress’s sweet musk filled her senses. Her nose gliding over her folds before her pressed her lips to the woman’s cunt, letting her tongue slip out. Tasting her, moaning at the flavour as her fingers slid down. Down between the floor and her body. Teasing at her own pussy, feeling the pleasure as she teased herself, easing the digits inside as her tongue slid inside.

“Not yet whore. Not until you’ve learned how to pleasure your mistress properly. You’re going to need many lessons,” Lillium growled, pulling again on the chain, forcing Viviane tighter into her twat.  Nearly suffocating her. But Viviane pulled her hands away, trying to concentrate on her tongue. To pleasure her mistress.

It was all that mattered.

Shackles of Hate. Chapter 18: From the Shadows

By: SinfulWolf

Author’s Note: Sorry all about the long wait. I could give excuses, but I know you don’t want to hear them. But, finally, I present to you Chapter 18. I do hope you all enjoy.


Isolde looked up sharply as the door burst open and Sarya stormed into the room. Blood dripped from her spatha as she looked pointedly at the whore. Questions started to bubble upwards from Isolde’s mind, ready to launch towards her lover, her client, the one she wished dearly to be her mistress.

“Don’t grab anything, we need to leave now,” Sarya said firmly, shutting down any questions before they had a chance to get out.

Nodding gently, Isolde was soon moving through halls of the palace. Fear clutched at her. Not knowing what was happening only made things worse. Sarya’s eyes were never still, flicking to each door, each offshoot corridor. Her features a mask of rage as the words ‘fucking cowards’ spilled from her lips every few steps. Like a mantra the centurion repeated them, grinding the anger deeper into her mind, and the fear into the whore’s.

“Sarya,” an armoured member of the Evermar guard stepped out from the shadows by a stairwell, his weapon drawn, nervousness in his expression.

“The rest of the guard is sided with the council. We need to get you out of the city,” the man said firmly, and it was then that Isolde noticed the blood spattered on his armour, and smeared along the otherwise naked blade in his fist.

“What of you Carter?” the centurion asked.

“My family resides here, there is no time to get them. I will remain, and accept whatever fate comes my way with dignity,” the silver plated guard said, and glanced down the stairwell.

“We best move then, before word gets out to the city guard,” Sarya said, and quickly began to descend the staircase. Isolde stayed close to her, not wanting to stray in the least from the warrior’s side. Carter took up the rear guard, as shouts carried along the stone walls of the palace hallways. While Sarya’s and Carter’s boots cracked heavily on the steep steps of the side stairwell, speeding down to the first floor of the Evermar Palace, Isolde’s simple shoes slapped upon the stone.

They emerged into a narrow hallway. One amongst many in the labyrinth of corridors that twisted through the palace. This one meant for servants, for whores to quietly sneak within to service clients who would rather keep their desires quiet. Especially with the perversions of the Kazdruk encroaching upon them.  A small door, guarded by two men stood between the trio and freedom. The men were clad in silver plate, and they glared at Sarya.

“Give yourself up captain.  There might be hope should we turn you over,” one of the guards said, as Sarya kept herself between Isolde and the guards. The hall was too narrow for Carter to stand beside the centurion.

“There is no hope of that. The Elves will not forgive what we did.”

“Regardless, it is the will of the council. Who are we then to refuse the council.”

Sarya wasted no breath on words, instead lunging forward, palm on the pommel of her spatha, and pushing it hard through one man’s neck. Steel scraped against steel, flecks of silver drifting down before being lost amongst the blood gushing from the man’s throat.

As the second guard slashed in a tight arc, Sarya released her blade and moved to the side. She slammed the flat of her palm against the man’s clenched fists. The sword drove to the side as it swept down. Sparks flew when the tip hit the stone wall. The guard grunted and cursed, already bringing his sword back up, only to feel Sarya’s hand clutching his helmeted head. The centurion’s thumb drove inwards beneath the rim, straight into his eye.

The man screamed in agony, one hand shooting up to his face. Still gripping the rim of his helmet, Sarya yanked back violently, cutting off the scream with a crack of bone.

Isolde stared at the scene, the second guard dropping dead to the ground, the first one gurgling as he died. Sarya pulled her blade free, boot upon the man’s chest.  More blood gushed as steel slid free from flesh, forming a pool around the body. Isolde had never seen such brutality up close, and her hand slid over her mouth in her shock.

But, part of her was excited about it, seeing the blood pumping free.  She felt the hand of her Goddess upon the events unravelling around her.

Sarya burst through the door, and the three were staring out over a city gripped in fear. They could see over the tops of the walls, the flickering bonfires of the Elven army waiting to descend upon them.  Only one of the many enemies Sarya now had. The centurion stared out over city and plains, her brows furrowed.

“If only I had I had one more life to give,” she said, the last words trailing off, before she started down the narrow staircase that descended into the city proper. This was one of the service ways for servants of the palace, and whores. Isolde knew that second part very well.

They descended quickly, soon amongst the buildings and streets of Driftafay. Sarya led them smoothly along the cobblestone roads, making her way to the southern gate. They walked with purpose, not bothering to hide. The few guards patrolling along the rows of homes and shops paid no attention to them until they finally reached their destination.

A single guard was leaning against the stone that arched over the wide gates, and he looked at the coming three with a frown.

“M’lady… what brings you here,” he asked, pushing himself off the wall to stand at attention before Sarya.

“I’m leaving. For the council means to surrender. Open the gates,” she said, and the man’s face paled at the statement as he looked between all three.

For a moment, Isolde feared what the guard was going to do, and she noted Carter’s hand straying near his sword.  Sarya just stared the man down, until he turned.

In the end it seemed he had much more loyalty to the woman who both doomed and saved the city, than the elders who preferred to bow and scrape rather than stand up for themselves. He opened a small door  built into the gates proper. Beyond was the darkness of night, the plains that had seen just a taste of the bloodshed to come.

“Take care of yourself out there,” the man said carefully.

Sarya seemed to want to say something, but no words came to her. She turned then to her friend and companion. Carter and the Centurion clasped hands firmly, and nodded their heads once. The guard showed a hint of confusion as Carter made his way back into the depths of the city, while Sarya took Isolde’s hand and started out into the wilderness.

As they left from under the arch, walls behind them, the small door slammed shut. The sound of shifting wood signalled it being locked, and Sarya looked up to the moon in the sky. Then started walking at a brisk pace towards the forest. Turning ever so slightly southwards.

Isolde smiled. Lillium would be waiting at the end of this path, and Sarya would see her full potential.




Crouching at the edge of the forest, Kira could scarcely recognize her old home.  Guard towers accentuated with wicked spikes along the supports and spiked heads were garrisoned by helot soldiers around the edge of Volgras. Humans wandered naked through the streets with leather collars around their necks and shackles on their wrists and ankles. Those that did seem free wore leather garb that accentuated their more sexual features. A style that would never have gained traction before.

New buildings had been hastily built, with strange markings painted on the front walls in red. The church of Oan was desecrated, two impaled bodies on either side of doors spattered with blood and cum. Kira looked away for a moment, closing her eyes to try and remember Volgras as it had been.

Before her sister ruined it all.

The shifting sound of plate armour behind her drew her from her memories, and Kira looked over her shoulder to the three knights crouched just behind her. Gauntleted hands clutching at the hilts of their drawn swords as they waiting, rather impatiently, for the moment to strike.

“Wait here,” Kira told them all firmly, the few that could fight from her gathering of refugees slithering through the shadows, daggers and crossbows at hand.

“We did not come all this way to watch,” Viviane said in a harsh whisper that was still too loud for Kira’s tastes. It seemed the knights were not one for subtlety.

“And you won’t. We’re taking out the guards so you can get into the castle. We don’t stand a chance against my si- Lillium, and you won’t get in there without being riddled with crossbow bolts. So be quiet, wait for my signal,” Kira said, the three knights having to strain to hear her words.

Without waiting any longer, the wolfkin slunk into the night, moving without sound to one of the guard towers. The helot within looked out from his vantage, peering into the trees and darkness of the forest surrounding Volgras, but saw nothing. Kira started to climb up one of the support s of the tower, her feet pushing off the spikes that sprung from the wood. The ladder would have creaked, but here she was soon slipping over the solid railing that boxed the watchman in. A slight creak and he began to turn.

Kira’s hand snapped forward, flinging a dagger directly into the helot’s neck. He tried to scream, but only blood gushed out from his lips, pattering on the floor. In a last ditch attempt, he raised his crossbow, but Kira was on him quickly. A second dagger punching into his wrist and dragging across. The monster’s fingers went limp, and Kira caught the crossbow before it fell.

Slipping one arm under the helot’s own, the wolfkin gently guided the now corpse down to the floor of the tower. Not one sound was made.  As blood soaked into the boards of the tower’s floor, Kira rose, new crossbow in hand, flicking her gaze to one of the other towers.

The helot there had turned his watch and spotted Kira. The refugee climbing upwards to silence him was only halfway there. A shout started to form in the helot’s throat as he raised his crossbow.

Kira was faster.

Her bolt launched forward, punching in the kazdruk foot soldier’s head, knocking him against the back half wall of his tower. There he sat in death, his warning cut off before it truly escaped. But it had been enough. A bell began to rang within the town that was once her home, and was now a den of evil.

Kira grabbed a torch near the ladder, and tossed it over the edge, signalling to knights to come in with their swords.




Leaning back in his chair, Bazk grasped the elf’s head roughly. He didn’t need to force the pretty little thing’s head up and down his thick shaft. The slave had been so utterly broken that the elf just rammed the cock into his own throat, and loved every second of it, even as he gagged and struggled with breath.

As cum began to pour down the slave’s throat, Bazk let out a heavy groan of pleasure eyes closing, head tilted to the ceiling. The slave didn’t pull himself free until that thick spunk had stopped gushing into his mouth.

Cock softening, Bazk looked to his bed, relishing the thought of climbing into it. Then the bells started to toll, their clang carrying through Volgras. The Helot officer jumped to his feet, knocking the slave backwards, sprawling across the floor. The slave was terrified. Bazk was just angry.

“Get my weapons,” Bazk snapped at the elf, who nodded, and whimpered his response while the helot donned his armour, feeling the leather lining the inside of the steel against his flesh. Within a few moments he was dressed for war, sword in hand as he pushed his way out his door and into the town.

Outside was chaos. Slaves running to and fro, desperately trying to quench fires that had sprung up amidst the homes, helots lashing out at whoever they could find, desperately searching for the attackers. Bazk saw a glimmer of steel from the corner of his eye. Three knights and something else scurrying up the road towards the castle. But elsewhere he noted humans in dark cloaks. Wielding knives and crossbows and torches. Flitting through the darkness they used the confusion to strike against the disorganized helots.

Bazk strolled forward and grasped the nearest helot who had a slave pinned under his boot, sword raised.

“You, start getting the others, form a shield circle at the crossroads,” Bazk commanded, pointing towards the centre of town. Anger flashed across the helot’s face for a moment, and Bazk drove his unhelmeted head forward. The edge above the helot soldier’s brows cut into Bazk’s scalp, blood immediately  welling up in the wound and running down his features. But the officer ignored it. Instead he pointed again to the centre of town.

“Now,” he demanded of the helot shaking his head to get his senses back.

“At once sir,” he said, finally lifting his boot from the slave’s chest. The woman coughed heavily, blood streaming from her nose. Bazk looked down at her, and she averted her eyes.

“Get these fires dealt with. Or spend the next two days on the post,” Bazk said, memorizing her face, before storming off towards the centre of town where armed and armoured helots was getting themselves in a tight circle. Swords and shields aimed outwards they broke ranks only to let their comrades in. And Bazk himself. He wasn’t sure where Kaln or Lorth were; likely at the castle. So this fell to him now.

And to good service went reward.

“Form two files, down each road. Rear file ready javelins,” Bazk commanded, and for a split moment the helots looked at each other, each desperate to spill the blood of those daring to invade their home. Then they quickly began to move, getting in their formations as per their orders.

“Try not to kill any slaves, but do not let any of the attackers live. Spill their blood, and cover the ground with their guts. Advance,” Bazk commanded, taking personal command of the group marching away from the castle.

Their boots made a steady thump against the ground as the four groups moved in their given direction, weapons gripped tightly, shields raised. From the darkness the occasional crossbow bolt whistled before sinking into shield or flesh. Whenever a helot fell, they quickly closed their ranks.

The rear ranks with javelins threw their missiles in return to the crossbow shots, occasionally earning a scream from the darkness. Figures flitted through, searching for an opportunity. These were not warriors; these were desperate insurgents. A rebellion against the rightful masters of this place.

“No mercy!” Bazk screamed out, stepping on the corpse of a fallen slave.




The shouted commands took Viviane by surprise. As she made her way up the road to the castle, she glanced back, beyond her two companions and the Wolfkin that followed. The refugees turned guerrilla fighters were striking against the enemy less and less as the helots organized themselves. Her heart pounded within her chest as she watched their window for success shrink. Never before had she seen helots organize themselves so efficiently. Like a true military force. Never had she seen anything like it. She started to think that she may not return from this mission alive.

Turning forwards again she steeled herself, inwardly clutching to her faith. If Lillium died, then her own life was of no matter.

“Faster,” Kira whispered harshly, picking up her own pace, leading the heavily armoured knights ahead.

Castle Volgras loomed  above them now. The portcullis was still raised before them, letting the gate yawn empty and black, leading to the halls and corridors within. Viviane glanced to Kira, saw the woman’s face hardened and twisted with rage. This had been her home, and now it was a beacon of all they fought against.

“Where are the guards?” Duncan hissed as the four of them slipped into the gatehouse. Above them were the murder holes that Viviane could not tear her eyes from; expecting at any moment for spears or oil to come tumbling down over them.

“Distracted; out looking for blood to spill. They’re only helots,” Morris responded quietly as he pushed through the gatehouse and into the small courtyard. Viviane was not convinced by the statement. Not after what she saw in the town itself.

Kira looked around the courtyard, at the gardens of wilting and dead flowers. It must have been beautiful once, for the wolfkin’s face was one of sorrow.

Boots clapping softly on the cobblestone path that led to the two oak doors of the keep proper, all four kept looking to the battlements, to the towers, expecting to see guards, slaves, anyone. But the place seemed deserted.

Opening the front doors, they all entered the great hall of the keep. The dual thrones of king and queen at the head of the tables replaced with a singular seat, decorated in a very Kazdruk manner. Kira had told them that the throne room itself was a few stories above them, and that the royal’s own bedchamber could be accessed from a stairwell in that room.

“This way,” Kira whispered, wondering why all the torches were unlit. Had this place been abandoned? It didn’t make any sense.

The wolfkin led her knight allies up a side stairwell, walking upwards in a circle around a central support pillar. Their boots echoed off the stone walls, stealth was no longer a concern. Lillium was sure to have guards there until she woke up. If she woke up. Sarya had said it could take some time, but it would eventually happen.

As they emerged into the throne room, they all stared at the throne. Sitting there, red eyes staring at them, lips curled in a fang filled smile, was Lillium. Her claws tapping at the ends of her arm rests.

“I’ve been waiting. Since the bells rang. Disappointing how long it took you to find me sister,” Lillium’s sensual voice said, seeming so loud after all the silence.

“And you’ve brought friends. A shame,” the succubus said, rising to her feet, heels clicking on the steps of her dais while the long skirts flowed around her legs. Glimmers of pale thigh showed above her tall boots as she stepped downwards to the middle of the room. Slowly she drew her sword, the dark metal etched with strange runes down the centre.

“We’ve come to end you,” Viviane said, getting over her shock at seeing this… monster, awake and moving. Lillium’s smile only growing wider. More menacing, more alluring. Viviane glanced towards the succubus’s perfect cleavage, and saw no scars, no marks that she had even been hurt. Much less on the verge of death.

“You’ve come to try,” she said, and Duncan, having heard enough charged forward. Morris shook his head was just behind his comrade when the crack of a whip sounded out.

While Duncan moved to clash with Lillium, their swords meeting with a loud ring, Morris was pulled off to the side. The long lash of a whip wrapped around his forearm, his loss of balance sending him to the ground with a crash, sword clattering from his grip. In the shadows stood an elf woman, clad only in bands of black leather, smirking.

Kira glanced between the two targets, even as another two women came out from the darkness.  Viviane gasped at the tattoos and mockery of a nun’s garb the one wore. Kira turned her head downwards at the sight of the other.

“Rania. What has become of you?” Kira said softly, though her hands were curled tightly around the two daggers in her hands.

The woman Rania said nothing, just hissed as the elf began to drag Morris towards her. Viviane took a step forward when she heard Duncan cry out. She spun on her heel in time to see Lillium pulling her blade from the man’s thigh, blood already flowing down his leg. Another look to Morris, and then Viviane was charging to Lillium.

Each thundering step seemed like an eternity as she ran, watching the scene before her unfold as she left Morris to the mercies of the three vampiric slaves, and Kira’s skills if she could shake herself free of whatever remorse had taken hold of her.

But their main effort was here, flicking Duncan’s hand out wide, opening his entire body to her next strike. Viviane was screaming now, point of her own blade aimed to Lillium’s chest. If she could only pierce the heart again.

Lillium’s next swing hit Duncan’s wrist hard, denting the metal of his armour and causing his hand to open. As the sword clattered to the ground, blood dripped steadily from within the gauntlet. Then Lillium had grasped him by a pauldron, forcing the knight to his feet. Duncan screamed, and Viviane had to bring herself to a sudden stop, lest her blade punch through him.

Spun around to face his companion, Duncan was at Lillium’s mercy. The succubus had herself pressed to the knight’s back, sword pushing up the visor of his helmet slightly, the blade against his throat. Her free hand slowly worked free the gorget that covered much of the man’s neck.

“Come now Knight of Oan. Strike me down. What is the life of one knight to all those I will end if you do not,” Lillium taunted, the gorget coming free and hitting the ground. Behind her, Viviane could hear Kira fighting, could hear a sensual groan coming from one of the slaves, a wet gurgle from Morris. But she dared not look.

Panic was filling her mind, her heart pounding. Her sword was aimed for Lillium’s grin, and she thought of thrusting it home as the succubus let that free hand slide downwards over Duncan’s armour, claws scraping at the metal, until she was reaching under his tasset. Blood still streamed down his thigh heavily, dripping over his boot to pool on the ground. His leg was shaking, threatening to give out, and if not for Lillium holding him up, he would have.

A reluctant groan of pleasure and pain spilled from Duncan’s lips, his eyes widening, and Viviane knew that Lillium was grasping his cock under his armour. The slight motions of her wrist told the knight that the succubus was stroking him. Whether through the pants, or if Duncan’s cock had been pulled free, Viviane didn’t know. Didn’t want to know.

“He’s getting hard for me knight. All those vows crumbling with the touch of a pretty woman. You could hold this power too. To feel someone else giving away everything they held dear, for just another touch.”

“Damn you Kazdruk,” Viviane shouted, as Morris’s gurgles finished behind her. He was dead she knew, and the grunts of pain behind her told Viviane that Kira at least was still fighting. She had to get herself together now. Plunge the blade home. She looked to Duncan’s eyes, his pleading eyes.

And then Lillium’s fangs sank into his neck, piercing his flesh, the arteries that ran just beneath the skin. A gasp spilled free from his lips, the act so spell bindingly sensual that Viviane felt a humiliating flash of envy. Then Lillium turned it from arousing to horrifying with a quick jerk of her head.

The growing arousal turned to fear as Duncan felt his life suddenly gushing out from his torn neck. Torn strips of muscle dangling from within the gaping wound. A cough had blood spraying from his mouth. A rough shove had the knight hitting the ground, and Viviane could not wait any longer. She rushed forward, bringing her sword down to Lillium’s shoulder. The succubus slid smoothly out of the way, the flat of her blade smacking against Viviane’s gut.

Viviane spun, weapon swinging with her, but Lillium met the motion. The succubus spun her sword in an arc above their heads, Viviane’s strike go wide. The sudden reverse swing from Lillium had that black sword crashing into the side of the knight’s head. Her ears rang and she stumbled, the helmet shifting and cutting off her vision.

She felt like a mouse. Being toyed with by a cat. Catching her own stumble she clawed at her head, ripping her helmet free, tossing it to the side. Eyes wild she regained her balance just in time. Lifting her blade she deflected a blow from Lillium and punched towards her gut.

The succubus dodged it though. Full of grace and skill she seemed to dance around Viviane, who let out a roar of frustration, her hope being crushed with every moment of this fight. She rushed towards her opponent, hoping to tackle her to the ground, to crush her to the ground.

Lillium moved aside again, sword slicing out. Pain flared in Viviane’s cheek as steel split flesh. Blood streamed down the left side of her face as she crashed into the ground. Desperately, clutching her sword, she flipped onto her back.

And felt the sharp edge of Lillium’s blade beneath her chin, the point just touching her throat. Panting, staring up at this creature of perfect beauty, Viviane felt her hopes wither and die within her. Lillium smiled, almost a smirk, legs spread to give the knight a peak behind her skirts. To see the flesh of her thighs.

“Yield,” Lillium said, and Viviane wondered what answer the succubus hoped would come. For a moment the two stood in silence, and Viviane managed to look past the succubus to spot Kira, bleeding from a few cuts along her face and arms. She was breathing heavily, above the body of Morris, the three brides of Lillium fanned out around her, staring at the wolfkin. She wouldn’t survive this either.

How could Oan let something like this happen? How could he let his people suffer and wither and die? This was no test of faith. How could faith withstand such a force as what stood above her. Viviane looked again to Lillium, at her beauty, the flesh pulled taught over muscles, the breasts pushing against their confines.

Art by Starklight

Art by Starklight


Viviane opened her fingers, and dropped her sword, and Lillium replaced her blade with a single foot, the bone of her heel pressing into the plate of the fallen knight’s armour. Viviane let herself be pinned, knowing death would not be coming soon for her. Inwardly she despaired, as her faith began to crumble around the beacon of darkness above her. With a swift move, Lillium kicked the dropped sword away, sending it spinning across the floor. For a split second her entire weight was one Viviane’s chest, and the knight was thankful for the armour lest that stiletto heel dig into her ribs.

“Sister. Why?” Kira said, limping forward then, and Viviane could see the cut along her calf. The wolfkin stopped to pick up Viviane’s sword, but she did not move towards the knight and the succubus. Instead she was moving towards the balcony.

“Why what Kira my dear?”

“Why do all this? Why let yourself become corrupted?”

Lillium laughed then. Like everything the succubus did it was sensual, with a tinge of dark menace beneath it.  For Kira, she wondered how far the succubus before her, was from the woman she had grown up with. For all the changes, for all the dripping sexuality, the woman still seemed so very much like Lillium.

“Corruption. It’s freeing sister. A breaking of the shackles of modesty and morality. Snapping the chains that have enslaved me to the will of masters as sinister as the Kazdruk are claimed to be.” Lillium said her foot sliding up Viviane’s chest until the toe reached her chin, resting against the blade still poised there.

“Without such bondage holding us back, we are free to be what we truly are. You call it damnation. I say liberation. And it is only through such that will humanity perservere,” Lillium purred as she looked upon her sister.

Kira glanced over her shoulder, a quick look at the three brides of her sister. Sexual servants enslaved to her will. But, from the looks upon their faces, they seemed happy. Which worried Kira more.

“Come sister. Stand with me now. Let us be sisters proper once more,” Lillium said, holding her hand outstretched towards the wolfkin who returned her gaze to the succubus.

“You know I cannot. I cannot let what’s left of my people fall to your advances.”

A short bitter laugh coursed through the room, and Viviane whimpered as Lillium pushed her toe upwards, forcing her head back. She was powerless beneath her strength. Oan had abandoned her in her greatest moment of need. In the moment that could have helped turn the tide. He had abandoned her, or worse, had been helpless himself.

“Cannot let them? Our clan is gone Kira. I am forging a new one. One that will let us prosper once again. Rise up and finally hold firm against the enemy that have taken everything from us and so many others. Join me sister, do not continue your foolish crusade, but take a proper stand. With me,” the succubus seemed almost desperate, her expression pleading. Kira stood still a moment, digesting what she’d been told. Slowly thinking it over. Eventually she shook her head slowly.

“No Lillium. I was chosen to defend our people. I’ve already failed at that. I will not fail the ones your masters have made homeless, on the run and hunted.”

Lillium’s hand dropped, and for a moment she looked regretful.

“Then I will break you my dear sister, and make you kneel, despite my love.”

Kira nodded, and lunged forward, slashing at Lillium’s gut. The succubus easily deflected the blow and raked her claws across Kira’s face. Flesh split beneath those black talons, splashing blood across the floor, but the succubus was off the knight on the floor. Viviane could escape if she wanted.

As the wolfkin and the baroness of Volgras fought, Viviane watched, curling herself into a ball, armour scraping against the floor. Utterly defeated. The three brides all hissed as one, starting to circle around the fight. Kira swung with a blade she was not used to, the long steel’s balance throwing her off. She could not win. Even if she somehow managed it, she would die here.

Leaving all those under her care to the mercies of those without any.

Grasping the taken sword, Kira threw it like a spear. Lillium’s eyes widened in surprise, the blade whistling past her as she ducked out of the way, the weapon cracking into her throne. She looked back at her sister, weaponless save the sheathed daggers. With one move she could fell Kira now. End it all. Sever the so called saviour’s head from her shoulders. But, she hesitated.

Kira took that moment of hesitation and turned, sprinting towards the balcony. Shouldering her way through the doors she found herself in the night. Without waiting for Lillium to catch up, or any of the brides that held no sympathies for the wolfkin, she leapt over the edge, keeping hold on the ledges.

Downwards she scaled, moving from outcropping to ledge all the way downwards. Into the night. An animal once more on the loose. The three brides howled at her escape, but Lillium just stared into the night sky through the open door.

“I wish it would have been different sister. I would have preferred you at my side, but you will be at my feet at the end of all this.”

Lillium turned to her new captive, curled upon herself, and smiled. With a few steps she was straddling the knight, running her hands over her armour before cupping her chin gently, forcing her to look upon the succubus. Lillium saw fear there, and also, awe. Slowly she let her tongue slide across her lips, and down her fangs in turn.

“As for you knight of Oan. I will show you a new Goddess, and I will break every pillar of your faith. As it comes crumbling down, you will want to kneel. You will want to serve. And you will give everything that was you… to me,” the succubus leaned down until their lips were just inches apart.

The two stared at each other for a moment, and then the succubus let her tongue run slowly over the knight’s lips.

Viviane knew then, that the succubus’s words were true. And she was ashamed that despair did not consume her.

Shackles of Hate. Chapter 17: Resurrection

By: SinfulWolf

The caravan, if it could be called a caravan, lumbered along slowly from an unnamed beach on the coast of DelHelshan, just west of the plains of Atzgol. A small squad of helots, armoured and carrying spears marched on either end of a wagon filled with grim faced slaves who had all but forgotten what freedom tasted like. Beneath the arching bows of forest trees they clambered along towards Innisgar.

At the head of the column, a pair of Kazdruk demonesses lead the march, cloven feet kicking up the dust of what would be an insult to roads to call it such. The tallest rippled with muscle, leather garments scarcely hiding her flesh, or the heavy cock swinging between her legs. She turned her head to glance towards her companion, heavy black braids of hair swinging with the movement.

“The corruption is slow spreading up here,” she muttered, and the other grunted, walking to a tree and plucking a leaf from a branch with delicate fingers curled with sorceress tattoos. Her soft hair swayed about her shoulders in the breeze, drifting down to the skirts she wore that fluttered around her lean legs.

“No, there is something wrong with the taint here Karthelza,” the sorceress muttered, tongue flicking across the plant before her.

“Vibrant, full of life, yet dark. Someone is slowly pulsing against the Kazdruk,” she continued, dropping the leaf and turning to the warrior, who was slowly running a thumb along the blade of a long hafted axe.

Karthelza’s nostrils suddenly flared, an unfamiliar scent catching on the breeze. She held her axe high, the troop of helots ceasing their march. Without the creaking wheels of the slave wagon or the stomping feet of marching soldiers, an uneasy silence settled over the forest. The rustling of leaves on the breeze was the only sound to break the eerie quiet. No birds sang, no insects chirped. Everything felt wrong.

The first volley of arrows burst out from the foliage. Black shafts tipped with wicked barbed heads, and fletched with raven feathers. They whistled out the shadows, striking through armour and sinking deep into flesh.

“Ambush!” Karthelza yelled out, snapping her soldiers from their surprise. She glanced to the sorceress, expecting her to be incanting a spell, but found a half dozen arrows buried in her. Two in her throat, three scattered across her torso, and one through her eye, deep enough that it had punched out the back of her skull dripping chunky blood. The sorceress wavered a moment, blood spilling from her lips, and slumped to the ground. The second volley tore into the caravan.

The black shafted arrows punched into Helots as they scrambled into some kind of defensive formation. They fell to the ground, abandoned by their comrades who finally got their shields up. Inside the cage, slaves screamed, or sobbed, and some pressed themselves against the bars to meet a quick end. The others used the bodies of dead friends, family, and new acquaintances of the shackle as barricades against the onslaught.

“Filthy humans. Kneel, and I may show a quick death,” Karthelza yelled to the forest, snapping the shaft of an arrow buried in her calf. She ignored the burning pain and the thin trail of blood running down to her hoof.

She moved towards the defensive line, staying behind the shields of her helots. She had heard the rumours of a gang of humans ambushing and raiding Kazdruk war parties, but Karthelza could not believe that Lillium was letting them range so close to her lands. The succubus was weak.

For a moment there was silence again save for the groans of some wounded slaves and helots. Karthelza looked to the trees, over her shoulders. Her hand shot out, grasping the head of a wounded female slave and snapped her neck. Her pitiful moans stilled instantly, and the others all scrambled to stifle the others.

The demoness heard it then; the soft scrape of steel sliding from leather scabbards. They were going to charge. A grin curled her lips, her cock growing thick and upright between her legs.

The sudden warcry startled the helots as the enemy burst out from the foliage, and made Karthelza blink. Helots were storming towards them, in a tight formation of overlapping shields. Karthelza saw her own line looking amongst each other, confused. It was enough for the traitors as the two shield walls crashed into each other.

Steel scraped against steel, and warcries turned to bellows of agony. Blades hammered at armour and slid into flesh. Shield cracked bone and rang out in a sudden cacophony of violence. Karthelza let out a roar of anger and leapt bodily over the line of her own troops. Her heavy two handed axe swung amongst them all; she could trust no one. Bodies were broken, armour snapped, limbs severed around her. Blood sprayed her exposed skin, and then she was swinging at nothing.

As suddenly as it began it was over. Karthelza’s own troops had backed away, forming another shield wall on the other side of the carriage cage, and the traitors were keeping a careful distance. Oddly enough, Karthelza did not see fear in the eyes of those staring at her from within their helmets.

One last one emerged from the forest, a black sash across his chest, a scar marring his forehead. Karthelza’s shield wall slowly dissolved into kneeling helots at the sight of this one warrior. Or was it the sash. The Kazdruk snarled with a grin, turning to face him, her cock throbbing.

“Perhaps you are a worthy opponent then. But I doubt it, helot scum.”

His blade came free, and he stepped into a circle formed of shields by the helots on both sides of the battle, penning both within.

“I am Lorth, and I will be the one to beat you… but fear not, for I will not kill you,” he said, gruesome mouth twisted in a mockery of a grin.

Karthelza cackled, and dove inwards, battleaxe swinging down toward’s Lorth’s chest. The helot jumped backwards, and suddenly two white hot points of pain flared in the back of Karthelza’s calves. Looking down she saw the point of a spear driving out through each of her shins and into the blood soaked dirt.

She twisted to face these two who would dare interrupt her glory, but they only twisted the poles of their weapons, forcing the demoness to her knees and causing more pain from the tearing metal of their spears.

All feeling fled the flesh beneath her calves, blood pouring out from torn muscle and shattered bone.

With a loud roar of anger, she tried to lunge for Lorth, only to have more spears come forth, ramming into her arms, severing tendons and cracking bone. She screamed in true agony, before a rope was pulled around her throat. She felt a boot against her back and pull. The rough rope scraped the flesh of her neck raw and cutting off the flow of air to her lungs.

She tried to struggle, but beneath those twisting spears she could not summon the strength. Her lungs began to burn, and darkness welled in from the edge of her vision. She glared at Lorth, who grinned.

“This is the Kazdruk way. You taught me this,” he said, before even he faded from view.



Banners fluttered on the horizon, as the distant columns of marching troops slowly came into view. As night began to descend upon the land, the glow of their camp fires could be seen from the walls of Driftafay.

Before the soldiers standing watch on the wall, a true army was being arrayed before them. Not the small raiding band of Lillium’s helots. A fully equipped and financed army, unafraid to stand in the open, their armour and spears would gleam in the morning light as they came ever closer.

Sarya swore as she looked out from her balcony in the Evermar palace; the Elves had come. Much sooner than she had been hoping. She wasn’t sure she could win this fight, or even survive it.  She turned, moving into her chambers, glancing once to the naked form of Isilda, sheets draped over her legs.

The whore let out a soft groan, as her eyes slowly opened, watching Sarya dress herself.

“What’s happening?” she asked, just as the Centurion pulled on her armour, propping herself on one hand, not bothering to conceal herself.

Sarya looked over at her again, and sighed.

“The Elves have come,” she said, tightening the straps of her lorica, that ancient symbol of Goldulin might, feeling the steel snug against her body. Standing, her leg began to throb with the dull ache from her wound. She grimaced, and Isilda tried to ignore it.

“You’ll beat them,” the whore said, crawling across the bed, sheets dragging off her legs as she lay near the end of the plush mattress, nipples just out of sight as her legs bent at the knee, crossing one over the other.

Slipping her belt over her hips, Sarya looked over at Isilda, one hand upon her scabbard.

“Not this time,” she said, as she pushed her spatha into its sheath, the hilt clacking against the metal rim.

Isilda rose from the bed smoothly, sheets trailing across the floor as she moved towards her lover, and in her own mind, owner. A sign of her grace, and the coin she cost. Pressing herself gently to the centurion, gasping as bare flesh pressed against cool steel, palm over Sarya’s unseen breast, Isilda kissed her lips softly. Rough hands slid over the whore’s hips, up her sides, as Sarya returned the kiss.

They broke it quietly, eyes closed.

“Then let’s run. Take me away from here. Make me your whore, and let’s live.”

Sarya shook her head sadly.

“And where would we run Isilda? North, to the Elves? South, to the Kazdruk? West? The nobles would turn us in to placate this collar of an alliance.”

She slowly pulled away from Isilda’s embrace, after kissing the top of her head. She started moving towards the doorway, the sight of a dead woman walking to her last stand. Before history painted her as nothing more than a crazed psychopath.

“To Volgras then.” Sarya stopped dead at the doorway, hand clutching at the frame, fingers digging into the wood as she slowly looked over her shoulder. Wrath burned in her eyes as she stared at Isilda.

“If you’re so determined to make a last stand and die with your sword in your hand. You might as well do it against Lillium. I may become a slave to her, but at least I’d be alive. I’m not so sure the Elves would be as kind to the whore of the woman who butchered a city full of them,” Isilda said firmly, staring at the Centurion as her fingers slowly released their grip on the door frame.

For a few moments there was only silence between them, as Sarya contemplated Isilda’s words. The thought of finally ending Lillium, of being reunited with her empress in the afterlife, of being free of the Elves. That’s what made up her mind.

“Pack light. Wear something good for travelling. We’ll leave tonight, at the latest,” Sarya said, finally turning and walking out the door. Hoping she would have today at least. If not, it would be a mad dash to escape.

When the door shut behind the centurion, Isilda felt her lips curl in a smile.

“Morkate hear me. I offer you this warrior to remold in your image. That she may strike down your enemies,” she said to the empty room.


“Tomorrow night then,” Kira said from beside the campfire, her eyes going to Viviane, and then to Thaden. Both nodded slowly as they looked down at the crude drawing of Volgras in the earth. Sticks and leaves marked locations for the refugee guerrillas that Kira had taken under her wing. Many of them had even shed Kazdruk blood at this point.

Yet Viviane remembered entering this hidden camp, shrouded by the thick trees of the forest. Hastily erected tents, dirty faces, hungry eyes. Some were already showing signs of malnourishment. The hunters could not keep up with the demands of the growing number that were brought to this place. And the Kazdruk war bands were ever at their heels. Having Lillium in Volgras, so deep into Coalition territory, made things ever more difficult for these downtrodden people.

“Tomorrow night. Lillium falls,” Viviane said, but Kira only frowned. The knight decided to ignore the expression.

“Just stick with the plan Viviane. It’s our best chance for success,” Kira said, getting to her feet, brushing dirt from her rump, and picking a stray twig from the fur of her tail.

“Get some sleep. We start moving at dawn. Trust me, it will be a long walk.” the Wolfkin said, before turning and moving to her tent.

Thaden tossed the knights still sitting around the fire a smirk, before following after the woman. Vivianne blushed when a few minutes later she heard the sounds of passionate love making, and forced her eyes to the camp fire.

“They need our help,” Duncan said, trying to make conversation to distract himself from the sounds of sex coming softly but steadily from the closed flaps of the tent.

“And we theirs,” Morris pitched in, the metal of his armour creaking as he shifted in place.

Viviane stood, and turned her back to the fire, looking out over the camp. The dotted campfires spilled little light beneath the canopy of the forest, illuminating few figures, and the fronts of some tents. Glowing red coals were nearly enveloped by nightfall, as people slid into their temporary homes to rest their heads for the evening. It left Viviane with only the memories of what she saw when she first arrived here.

The seemingly chaotic array of improvised tents, made from whatever these people had been able to scavenge or had carried with them when fleeing the Kazdruk. Linens, clothes, Sticks and leaves. Those who could fight stood guard as best they could, but the fear that the invaders would catch up with them kept the mood from rising much further than nervous contentment. Never mind all those that had to be left behind.

Viviane sighed, as she looked through the night. Kira’s love making had ended, and somewhere she could hear someone weeping. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her blade until the knuckles had turned white.

“It doesn’t matter who’s helping who. We’re all in this together. Damn Sarya and her short sightedness. It’s only helping Lillium,” Viviane said bitterly.

“You know killing Lillium will not bring these people home right?” Morris said softly, tossing a stick onto the fire.

Shoulders slumping, fingers relaxing, Viviane looked back towards her comrade.

“No. But it is a start.”


White hot pain flared through her, making her utterly aware of each limb as consciousness slowly returned to her. Karthelza let out a roar of agony and anger, and felt a fist strike her in the back, directly in the spine. Pain flowed up her back, torn feet dragging uselessly along stone floors as two helots pulled her along behind them.

As her vision continued to swim, blurry images of hallways and tapestries passing her by, Karthelza struggled to gain some traction. The torn flesh of her calves and forearms prevented her from doing anything except slumping in the grip of her captors. Of these, traitors.

Pain flared through her knees as she was dropped at the foot of a bed. Grunting, she blinked a few times, everything slowly becoming clear once again. Laying on her back, wings carefully folded along the edges of the bed, was Lillium. Karthelza snorted.

Until a palm struck her cheek hard. Turning her head, a snarl on her face, Karthelza turned to take in the topless figure of Aela, runes painted across her breasts and face with glimmering blood. Crimson skirts flowed around her thighs. She returned the hateful glare.

“You dare strike me? You pitiful worm,” the Kazdruk warrior said, spitting on the floor, before the crack of a whip sounded behind her, the leather soon coiled around her head, yanking her back. Aela held up a glimmering knife, as Helots rammed their spears back into Karthelza’s wrists, pinning her to the floor.

She did not yell out this time. She would not give them the satisfaction. Instead, only let hate pour upon them all. Yuldasha would punish them this transgression.

Mia and Rania stepped forward, thin crimson black loin clothes hanging from their hips, their own bodies marked just as Aela’s was. They whispered softly, too quiet for Karthelza to make out anything. They held bowls, filled with oils that they began to gently rub across Karthelza’s skin.

“You have been chosen as sacrifice Kazdruk. To let our Harbinger arise once more,” Aela said, and when Karthelza tried to speak, the whip around her throat tightened. Yannifer was behind her, pulling firmly upon the long leash.

“Your blood will give rise to Morkate’s champion. With your death we will rise,” Aela said. Rania and Mia pulled back. The helots twisted their spears, and began to pull the demoness up onto the bed. The coiled whip prevented her from doing anything to the seemingly dead body beneath her.

Now hovering above the succubus beneath her, Karthelza stared down at this champion of Aeltha’s. Did the sorceress know how powerful this bitch’s will had become?

A sudden sensation across her throat, and the Kazdruk’s eyes widened in sudden realization as her blood began to pour from her neck. It spattered over the vampiric creature, seeping into her wound, into her parted lips.

“Rise Harbinger, our mistress and saviour,” Aela cried out, as she cut again.

All watched as Lillium’s heart began to pound, muscles reknitting themselves as bone stretched out between the snapped ribs, and fresh flesh soon closed over the Harbinger’s chest.

What have you created Aeltha? Karthelza thought to herself.

Her final sight before death claimed her firmly within its dark clutches, was Lillium’s glowing red eyes snapping open.

Shackles of Hate. Chapter 16: The March, the Quest, and the Sojourn

By: SinfulWolf

The incense filling the room was pleasant, swirling across the senses and making everything in the room feel so much more alive. Slaves wearing gold skirts and bared breasts wandered amongst the guests, carrying silver trays full of grapes, strawberries, shrimp, and chalices of wine. Silk curtains hung from the walls, over the openings that led to the various other halls and rooms of the villa, gave the party an even more plush and exotic atmosphere.

Just how the nobility of Goldulin enjoyed it.

Sarya though, taking a bite out of a ripe strawberry, a chalice of rich red wine held firmly in her callused hands, kept her eyes on the scene in the centre of the room.

An indentation in the floor was swirling with cool, clear water. A dais in the centre of the pool held a collection of women. Their gilded gold skin was nude save for the black masks that covered their upper face. Lustful eyes with black painted lids gazed out at the audience, simmering with heat and base intent. Their hair was gelled and styled in a sleek wave down their backs. The women were an undulating mass of flesh, their bodies writhing amongst each other, gasping softly as hands and fingers drifting over painted flesh. Lips and tongues caressed breasts, necks and thighs. Sarya watched them, entranced by their beauty and their skill in the craft of sexuality.

Four men stood at each corner of the dais, a rounded pillar at their backs. Their faces were hidden behind masks of ivory, neither eyes nor mouths showing, only carvings of such, all the same identical clamped lips and wide orbs lacking detail. Their otherwise naked frames were painted a stark white, almost like marble, and, in their hands, fluttered long sheets of silk that flowed between them, occasionally obscuring the sight of golden women between them, only their silhouettes showing for a brief second of teasing.

Sarya sipped her wine, ignoring the rigid cocks of the four men, standing proud and ready to service at a moment’s need, enthralled by the pure beauty on the dais. She watched as one raven haired beauty slowly slid a palm down a golden haired nymph’s breast. The second woman’s back arched, her golden nipples standing proudly, allowing her paramour to wrap silken lips around the stiff bud

A silk sheet passed before them, and Sarya could only see their shapes moving, slow and sensual, stirring a heat between her legs.

“Centurion. It is not often we get one of the common soldiery here amongst us,” a man’s voice said.

Sarya cursed him in her mind as she turned away from the sight to view the man approaching her. A slave trailed behind him, massaging his shoulders even as he walked. The man’s eyes rimmed with dark liner, though not nearly as dark as what curled around his wife’s striking blue eyes. She stood next to him, red lips curled in a smile as she took in Sarya. The warrior had no doubt she made quite the impression, standing in full armour that had been polished to a splendour for this event, but still held the gouges of battle in the chest plate and pauldrons. A red cape tied around her neck, denoting her rank, hung down her back.

“It is not often I get such an invitation either,” she said politely, wondering as to the nobleman’s intent.

“Ah, but you of all of us deserve it. Fighting those foul Kazdruk hordes on the coasts. I hear it was your cohort that won us the battle of Tamarin,” the noblewoman said pleasantly, and with a bit of a seductive purr to her voice. Sarya’s lips curled into a coy smile at the thought of peeling off that vibrant red and violet dress she wore, and tasting what lay beneath. She was a beautiful woman, and she might even sleep with her husband to get her.

Culture was certainly different here than most places of Goldulin she’d seen. At least, different since worship of Oan had spread.

“It was my cohort. I have some of the best Legionaries in the empire under my command. The Kazdruk are vile, and a ferocious enemy but they bleed and die just like anyone else,” Sarya said patting the hilt of the spatha sheathed at her hip.

The two nobles laughed, sincere laughs, and the woman’s fingers grazed Sarya’s forearm pleasantly. The man paid no mind to it, as the slave behind her reached her own hand into his toga, and between his legs. The woman’s eyes were burning with unbridled lust, and Sarya wondered if her husband would be involved tonight at all.

The thought seemed so heretical, and Sarya loved every second of it. This was true Goldulin culture, not the watered down version that the last few Emperors have shown to the world.

“This must be so foreign to you though. The only screams, ones of pleasure… or ecstasy,” the man chuckled gently with a slight lilt to his voice as the slave’s hand worked beneath his garb.

“I admit to questioning the wisdom of spending precious funds on such lavish parties when armies are bearing down upon us as we speak. They will be at the gates of Goldalin within the month, and victories are few and far between,” Sarya said bleakly, fingers curling around her sword, even as the woman’s fingers curled around the Centurion’s forearm.

“That is precisely why we need events such as this. It gives us hope, and with no hope we are lost. Besides… may as well enjoy some of life’s, pleasures,” the woman said.

Sarya smiled again, letting her fingers relax. “Forbidden pleasures it seems.”

“Only by some.”  the woman dismissed.  “The foolish and the zealous of an overbearing God,” she continued. Sarya laughed, flicking her eyes once again to the women.

“Senator Gracus, Lady Amilia… absconding to your chambers with my special guest already? I haven’t even had the chance to speak with her,” a sensual voice slid over Sarya’s mind, and all three turned. The Senator and Amilia both smiled and laughed and said their apologies to the empress before giving their thanks to Sarya and taking their leave.

Sarya, though, snapped her heels together and punched a fist to her chest in salute. Those of the gathered guests who saw it laughed, but most were too pre-occupied. One man was conversing with his wife in the corner, with a slave’s lips around his cock, while another slave ran his tongue between the wife’s slick thighs.

“Empress. I live to serve,” Sarya said firmly to the woman before her, Nera, Empress of Goldulin, dressed in an opulent purple dress, trimmed in gold filigree, that clung to her feminine figure, leaving the expanse of her breasts bare. Her hair was carefully coiffed, a long braid running down her back, with a perfect bun resting on the back of her head.

“Sarya please. You are my guest, and in this house… there is no need for such formality. Look around you,” the Empress said, her hand sliding gently around the villa’s room, a den of carnality and other pleasures of the senses. A woman poured wine over her husband’s chest before bending down to lick it up. At least, Sarya assumed it was her husband. She couldn’t be sure.

“Formality interrupts such pleasures, and you are a hero of the Empire, and deserve such pleasures,” Nera purred, and slid a hand between Sarya’s legs, pushing the knee length skirt of the Legion against her thighs as she forced her legs out of the position of military attention. Sarya blinked; she had of course seen the Empress before, only at a distance, but never would she have guessed that she was so… delicious.

Nera’s hand didn’t move for a moment, but then slipped under the skirt and crept higher.

“Let an Empress reward the loyalty of a brave soldier, with what she craves,” Nera purred, her fingers deftly worming their way through the wraps of wool Sarya had around her hips, and plunged into her womanhood. The Centurion couldn’t stop the low moan that spilled from her lips, even as she started walking, following as those fingers led her to the edge of the room, and through a set of curtains.

She was alone with the Empress now, and the situation began to slowly sink in.

“Empress-,” she started before being cut off. “Nera. In the morning you can again let Empress slip from those pretty lips, but until then, I am your lover.”

“Nera,” Sarya said, letting the word slide off her tongue like rich honey. “What of the Emperor. I could be executed, this is a sin to Oan,” she said, her heart pounding with lust, fear, and excitement. Nera’s fingers twitched inside her, continuing to guide her along the halls of the rich and powerful until they reached a quiet room, far from the party. The bed was covered in silk and made of fine wood, carved with nymphs along the head board.

“This is my personal villa Sarya. The Emperor does not visit. He thinks I kneel before Oan here, but as you can see, that is not true. He does not sleep with me except when he wants to attempt to father an heir. I take lovers here… and fuck Oan. I know you also do not worship that oafish God,” Nera purred, slowly removing her fingers from within the Centurion, and slowly sucking the first of two digits clean with a soft moan, and pressing the other to Sarya’s lips.

Sarya confirmed Nera’s statement by taking the woman’s finger into her mouth. The Empress grinned and reached up with her free hand, and unclipped a small brooch behind her neck. Smoothly, the dress slid down off her body, exposing everything to the Centurion, who licked her lips at the sight of pale creamy skin that must not have felt the touch of the hard sun in years.

“We are being invaded by evil Sarya. And humanity will not stand in the light. Only in the dark can we thrive. So long as I live, Goldulin will live.”

Nera grinned, and pulled her finger free, starting to work on disrobing Sarya. Each piece of armour, each indication of rank, joined the Empress’s dress upon the floor, until Nera was pushing Sarya onto the bed, running a tongue slowly up her thigh, teasing her way to the Centurion’s womanhood. Sarya groaned.

“I know who you whisper to before battle, I know whose name you utter in the dark Sarya. It is why I invited you here tonight, to partake in her bounty. To show you the Goldulin that will live again. Tonight you will not whisper her name… you will scream it,” Nera purred from between Sarya’s thighs.

Sarya looked down between her breasts, across the rippling expanse of her stomach, at the woman to whose husband she had sworn her life. The woman who represented Goldulin. A saint to the eyes of the people, and saw the fangs of a vampire protruding from her lips.

Sarya didn’t have time to react before those fangs bit down into her thigh, piercing her flesh, letting blood flow into her lover’s mouth. Nera’s tongue slid over the skin that had been pierced, and her hand slid down to entwine in the Empress’s hair, and moaned to the ceiling.


Looking over the city of Driftafay, Sarya let her eyes open. She had been afraid that Lillium’s visage would taint such a sweet memory, her fingers gently drifting over the twin, pale pink scars upon her thigh. The power of a succubus could be strong.

She glanced over her shoulder at Isilda laying naked upon her bed, and for a moment wished she was painted gold, and wore a mask. But Nera was gone, Goldulin had fallen. Now there was only the Kazdruk, who had taken everything from her.

And Lillium. Sarya would see the woman dead, and every last Kazdruk dead upon her blade for what they did to her people.

Sarya would have her reckoning, even if it burned the world to ashes around her.


Night had long since fallen, and the columns of marching soldiers had set up their tents and cook fires for the night. Soldiers nursed their feet from the long day of marching, while the cavalry units tended to their horses. Sentries stood at their posts, firmly grasping their spears and staring

with vigilance out into the night as guards patrolled the perimeter.

Standing in tight Elvish breeches and a tunic that drew the eye, Lelthina was already missing the fine silk of her dresses, the caress of it across her skin. The heat of the sun that hung above their heads during the day, making sweat trickle down her back and itch in a most uncomfortable way, only to grow chilled when sun set to darkness,  was not how she wanted to spend her time.

Yet, what lay at the end would be worth all the discomfort. The horrible food and raw thighs from the saddle. Every step would be worth it.

Her attention was taken from the glow upon white canvas tents by the screech of a hawk fluttering in from the night sky, drowning out the low sound of soldiers’ conversations. Flexing her hand in the thick leather glove she wore, Lelthina held out her arm. The hawk’s talons dug into the leather as it landed upon her forearm.

Cooing softly, and offered the raptor a strip of hare meat. It snapped up the sliver of flesh in its beak with the viciousness of a hunter as Lelthina carefully slipped a hood over the hawk’s head. Her eyes drifted down to the small scroll held in a brass capsule tied to its foot. With the hood on, the hawk easily let her remove it, as a glove bearing servant came out from her tent to take the beautiful avian from the chancellor.

Unveiling the parchment strip was quick, the snap of the brass capsule quiet in the fire lit camp. Her eyes slid across the words written there, and nodded once to herself.

Brushing an errant hair from her brow, she never could get it bound just right out here, she turned from the view of the camp and the glow upon the white canvas tents, and towards the large pavilion that was Telva’s quarters and war council. She moved quickly, purpose driving her, sweeping the flap of the tent aside as she entered. The war council had been dismissed much earlier, and Lelthina came across the Elven Princess, topless upon her bed. A servant was above her, gently massaging her shoulders.

Telva opened a single eye, but did not command the man above her to cease. It bothered the chancellor, doubtlessly the effect Telva wanted, but it reminded Lelthina too much of the Goldulin, or the Kazdruk even, to be at all appropriate.

“Chancellor, I assume you bring news from Phano,” Telva said softly, her tone relaxed, soft, sensual even. If Lelthina had been interested in women, this scene could play out to be a very enjoyable one. As it was, she simply pulled up a chair beside the princess to speak with her.

“I have. He is inside the walls of Driftafay, and has found pockets of loyalists. It seems Sarya’s fear mongering has not been as effective as she thinks.”

“Humans are always so quick to grab at whatever scraps of power they can find. They are rather foolish that way,” Telva said with a smirk, her gaze finding Lelthina. “And that’s how we’ll always keep them in check. Tantalize with little, insignificant bits of influence, and they’ll lap from our hands.”

Lelthina said nothing, but nodded her head politely. Telva’s insights were nothing she didn’t already know well. The chancellor held her own smile; the Princess was a child playing at games she couldn’t comprehend and thought herself a master.

“But of course,” Lelthina said before leaving from the tent to leave the princess with her pleasures.


“Thorlgruz,” Aela whispered as she looked upon the cathedral. It had been a marvel of architecture and engineering. A beacon of worship for the faithful of Oan. A beautiful piece for the nobles of the land to be overly proud of.

When the Kazdruk had taken it, the anger and despair had flowed through the words of priests, pilgrims, and the common folk alike. It had stoked a fire of resistance through much of the lands that many Kazdruk commanders had not anticipated, slowing their advance to a steady crawl.

The priestess had never seen it, and now that her eyes were upon it, the tales of its marvel and beauty were utterly outdone. Though, she knew the desecration of the Kazdruk had more to do with her elation of its sight than what it had once been.

Yannifer let out a small sigh, hinting at sensual memories playing across her mind. Of course they would; it was here that the Harbinger had made her a concubine. Gave her empty life meaning.

The ramshackle village that had sprouted up around the cathedral had helots marching with firm discipline, spears resting on their shoulders. Large Kazdruk masters lashed the whips across the backs of empty eyed and emaciated slaves who toiled without any hope left in their bodies. Aela looked at them with pity, these poor souls who did not embrace the truth, who had refused to accept that their beliefs had made them weak, had led them down this path, and now left them as withered husks of what they had been.

But it was only pity that Aela felt, not sympathy; they had brought this sentence unto themselves.

As the two moved through the town upon their mounts, they earned suspicious glances from the helots, hard stares from the Kazdruk, and nothing at all from the slaves, who merely continued their toil, laying stones for road, fixing and upgrading once temporary huts, and carrying the resources from stockpiles upon their backs.

They reached the great doors of the cathedral, once carved with holy scenes, and now replaced with a darker one, carved with vistas of Kazdruk glory. Lust and bloodshed dug in exquisite detail. A shiver ran down both women’s spines as they gazed upon images of heavy breasted Kazdruk whipping slaves across their backs, some of the Kazdruk sporting thick erections. Aela took note that there were no helots in the carvings, despite the two live ones standing guard on either side of the door.

Their barbed halberds slid downwards, crossing before the entrance.

“What business brings you to Thorlgruz?” they demanded, and Aela looked to her companion. The Elven concubine slid from her mount and bowed slightly to both helots.

“I am Yannifer, first concubine to Baroness Lillium, who has sent me to gather some of her belongings from her chambers.

“Do you have proof of such?” the one on the left asked, to which Yannifer turned, parting the straps wrapped around her form to show a symbol inked into her flesh upon her lower back. The sigil of Lillium. The guard on the right straightened his halberd and stepped forward, his fingers running over the symbol, before firmly grasping the concubine’s rear while the other watched her face.

Yannifer’s expression did not change, even as the exploring hand dipped beneath more of her straps, running along her flesh and between her legs. Two fingers slipped into her slick cunt, and here her expression changed, a slight moan slipping from her lips.

“We have not seen the Baroness for some time. Nor Mistress Aeltha. Already the Kazdruk are scheming of ways to take this land for their own. Make your business quick inside, The Giver of the Black is not favored amongst the servants of Yuldasha’s host. Most see her as an arrogant upstart,” the one on the left said, while the other ceased his fun.

“The baroness will remember your loyalty,” Aela said with a nod as Yannifer stood and adjusted her perverse garb, ensuring the whip was still tight around her waist, even as juices of her lust slid down her thighs, unhindered by anything beneath the skirt of straps.

The helots both nodded, even as the horny one licked his fingers messily. Yannifer and Aela walked past them and into the great hall that dominated much of the structure. Aela had never seen the place, but it had changed much from when Yannifer was here last. The rubble and ruined pews had been cleared away, though blood and cum still stained some of the marble tiles upon the floor and stone blocks of the walls. Kazdruk statues now lined the walls, and a massive obsidian carving of Yuldasha, naked slaves at her feet, dominated the far end, where a altar sat dark with blood.

“The followers of Morkate and the Kazdruk are not so different,” Aela whispered quietly to herself as she took in the sights, tall candles replaced with the familiar violet torches, bodies hanging by shackled feet along the marble pillars. Some were no longer living, and the pitiful moans of those left certainly did not suggest much longer for those still cringing from death.

Yannifer licked her lips, the sight of dark decadence stoking her lust, her sadism. Aela set a hand upon her shoulder, squeezing gently.

“We must be quick, before our true intentions are discovered. Lead me to Aeltha’s chambers,” Aela said, and the elf nodded in reply. They found a small doorway off to the side, plain, and from the dust beneath it, unmoved in some time. Yannifer set her hand upon the handle, some spots of rust spreading across the metal. She pushed the door open slowly, looking over her shoulder despite the cathedral currently being empty.

Her hand came away dusty.

“A good sign,” Aela said as they slipped through the opening. They found the back hallways and rooms there, cobwebs dangling from the ceiling, dust motes floating through the rubble strewn corridors. There were a few hoof prints in the dust, but they seemed old.

Yannifer led the way, brushing cobwebs out of the way as they made their way towards Aeltha’s chambers. Yannifer stopped in front of another doorway, pushing it open slowly. The rust on the hinges creaked loudly, before they were able to slip within.

The chamber of the great Kazdruk sorceress was in much better shape than the rest of the back rooms. While there was some dust upon the furniture, and the bed looked pristine as if it hadn’t been slept in for months. Shelves crammed with books, loose pages with Kazdruk runes scrawled across them cluttered desks, a dusty mirror stood in the corner. Yannifer stood near the door, one hand upon the whip as Aela began to search, fingers dancing across parchment and leather bindings.

“Someone has been in here, many times, since Aeltha’s departure.”

Yannifer glanced over to the priestess who was flipping through a large tome, eyes pouring across its contents. She idly wondered how the woman was able to understand the harsh Kazdruk runes, but it was not her place to ask. Instead, she kept close to the door, ears attuned to any movements. She did not believe the helot guards would betray them, but this was the Kazdruk; it never suited to believe you would not be betrayed.

Aela’s sharp gasp caught Yannifer’s attention. The concubine looked to the priestess, who was gingerly lifting a book of black leather, and thick parchment, from a box hidden hastily beneath the sorceress’s desk.

“The grimoire of Aeltha the Sorceress,” Aela explained, eyes wide, wonder in her voice as she began to flip through the pages, eyes drinking in the forbidden knowledge scrawled within.

“Does it have what we need?” Yannifer asked, and the priestess grinned.

“Yes. And the path to having another ascend.”


The fire snapped, and a log shifted, sending a towers of embers swirling around the branches arched over their heads. The knights of Oan rested upon their bedrolls, armour carefully nestled in saddlebags beside them. All three were silent, staring into the flames as their horses nickered quietly on the edge of light.

It had been a week since they left Driftafay to search for the wolf kin. Each of them had heard stories whispered about such a creature when they were children, the priests pretending not to listen as youth dabbled in fantasy.

The time of innocence was long since past.

“We need to find her soon,” Morris muttered, eyes flicking up to dance between his two companions, neither of whom could find his gaze which soon returned back down.

“I know. But she’s good, and we are not trackers of any sort,” Duncan replied, tossing a stick absently into the fire.

Viviane said nothing, just felt the heat on her skin. It had seemed such a good idea when she was speaking with Sarya, but now out here, out of her element, she felt lost. Alone even with her companions. The thought if they felt the same flittered through her mind as Morris’s attempt at conversation sizzled away into silence.

“You are all rather stubborn,” a woman’s voice cut into the small clearing from the darkness of the trees. Immediately the three knights were up, their swords sweeping from their scabbards as they put their backs to the fire.

“Put those away, there’s a handful of crossbows aimed at you,” the voice said, a figure emerging slowly from the shadows. A tail flicked behind her, and the firelight caught the points of her canine ears emerging from her mane.

“The wolfkin,” Viviane said softly, sliding her sword back home. The other two glanced at her briefly, before following suit.

“I am. Was arrested for it too. And now here you are, hunting me, when the Kazdruk are hammering at our doors!” she said, face contorted in anger with those final shouted words.

“We are not hunting you. We were looking for you. For help,” Viviane said, holding out her hands; she could only hope Kira would see it as a peaceful gesture.

“You stand ready to execute me, now you want my help?”

“We had nothing to do with your trial,” Morris said, and Kira’s gaze snapped to him, eyes narrowed.

“Trial. There was no fucking trial,” she spat, before letting out a long slow breath, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides.

“Why do you need my help?”

“To stop Lillium,” Duncan said, his eyes never wavering from the trees, looking for the crossbows pointed towards him.

Silence reigned again for a few moments as Kira looked between them all. The fire crackled, and somewhere in the woods a twig snapped. Viviane refused to look though Duncan’s head snapped in that direction.

“Either you people have finally opened your eyes, or something’s happened in Driftafay to change your attitude so completely. I’m guessing you have a plan,” she said finally, and Viviane could hear the tension slowly releasing from crossbows in the shadows around her. Had those people been helots, the quest would have ended before it began properly.

“We do, join us by the fire so that we may discuss it.”

“Better idea, you come with us. Come and see the refugees forgotten. My army,” Kira said turning and starting to move into the woods.

The three knights looked at each other for a moment, before scrambling to douse the fire and prepare their horses for the journey.


Isilda knelt naked in the basement of her brothel. Sarya was above, in the palace, and Isilda had snuck down here, as she had been bidden. Around her candles burned softly, flickering lights casting shadows across the room, at the other women gathered around her, all nude, marks of crimson upon their bodies.

The woman from the outside, the refugee from the farms stood before a makeshift altar in the basement, intricate symbols drawn on her flesh from the blood of a sacrifice. The same blood marked the other women circling the room. The woman stepped close to Isilda, holding a bowl gently in one hand.

“Do you Isilda, accept Morkate as your goddess? To guide you through blood, into pleasure?” the woman said.

“Yes,” Isilda cried, holding her arms out wide.

The woman dipped a hand into her bowl, and placed a crimson handprint upon Isilda’s breast. The blood was warm, sticky. It felt, good.

“Do you accept Lillium as the harbinger of Morkate’s will? Aela as the mouth, lips, and tongue of Morkate?” the woman intoned, hand already slipping back into the blood.

“Yes,” Isilda cried once again, tilting her head back, and the woman smiled. Wet fingertips ran from Isilda’s temple and around the outside of her eye. They smeared across her lips, and Isilda accept them between, tongue rolling across the offered digits.

“Then rise, our sister, our lover,” the woman intoned, and Isilda slowly got to her feet, thin trails running down her skin before she joined the circle to watch as the next prostitute stepped forward to accept the touch of their new goddess.

In the darkness, where candlelight could not reach, red eyes stared at the ceremony. A shadow flickered with the barest of movements, swallowed into nothingness.