By: SinfulWolf

The wine was sweet, smooth and rich as it flowed down her throat from the rim of the silver chalice. The bottle sitting upon the marble table beside her cost enough that even a human king would clutch his purse and look elsewhere for his drink. Chancellor Lelthina however, didn’t think a human would even be able to appreciate such divine quality.

Standing in her personal greeting chamber in the palace of Winterstone, she listened carefully to the man before her, one finely manicured hand resting upon that marble table. She only took small sips as she listened carefully to each word that flowed from the man’s mouth.

The quality of his clothes was utterly horrid; a dull brown and tattered cloak with all kinds of patches sewn across the larger holes. A drab tunic of green, and breeches that had more dust on them than the dye used to give them whatever colour they had been. Normally, such a man she would not converse with, but one did not turn away spymaster Phano. She’d seen him in such a variety of clothes, and act in such a variety of manner, that she could not say for sure how wealthy he truly was.

And she was usually so very good at knowing that.

The story he told now though was incredulous. If he were not Phano, she wouldn’t have believed a single word of it; but the spymaster hated exaggeration. So, no matter how improbable what he was telling her to be truth, it was. It was shocking even.

“So we have lost Driftafay,” Lelthina said, her voice almost a whisper. She had never imagined this would come to pass. At the hands of a Goldulin bitch no less.

“Seems the humans have finally decided to overreach themselves. Any word from their barbaric clans on this… affront?” the chancellor asked as the spymaster moved to the table, and poured himself a glass of the deep red wine.

“None. They don’t even know it’s happened. Seems this, Sarya, has struck out on her own,” he said, slipping out of the grizzled tone of a street urchin he’d been using not two minutes before, and sounding much more like a noble Elf. It was off putting with the clothing, but Lelthina much preferred it. It sent a shiver down her spine.

Phano’s smile told her that he noticed. Of course he noticed, he never missed anything.

 “Stupid Human bitch. No matter, Driftafay cannot stand on its own. I will inform the king of this. I’m sure his daughter will want another shot at being the hero after the atrocity at Atzgol,” Lelthina said shaking her head, and earning a deep laugh from Phano.

He slid behind her, stinking of the road. She could feel him, so close to her, almost touching her fine silken dress.

“Bathe before you enter my chambers,” she said firmly, gesturing towards a side door, where one of her personal servants stood.

Phano glanced at another door, the one to her bed chambers. Where he would find himself soon enough.

“Very well chancellor. Enjoy your meeting with the king,” he said with a deep bow that was both mocking, playful, and respectful at once. Lelthina still wasn’t sure how he managed to pull that off.

Shaking her head, Lelthina drained the remainder of her chalice, and left the room. She’d be back soon enough, and on her back. Phano had a way with women… and men. He could have whoever he wanted, yet he liked to have her. Lelthina had a little smile to herself at that, putting a little extra sway into her hips as she moved through the corridors of the opulent palace of Winterstone.

Servants all bowed as she walked by, proving that they knew their place in this world. Lelthina ignored them otherwise, walking with her chin up as she moved with her perfect Elfin grace.

When she finally reached the throne room, pushing both thick doors open wide, she let some of her pride seep out of her stroll. For before her, on his throne of gold draped in the finest blue silk, sat King Apol. Lelthina was quick to bow before him on the plush rug that ran to the base of his throne, feeling the pale blue eyes of not just the king, but his daughter Telva as well.

“Chancellor. You have met with Phano then?” Apol said in his quiet voice, drained by age.

Slowly, respectfully, Lelthina rose to her feet once more. She turned to Telva and curtsied quickly. When the princess returned the gesture with her beautiful white dress, accentuated with blue sashes, Lelthina smiled and turned back to the king. Even amongst royalty she demanded respect.

“I have, your grace. It is as we feared, the rumours are true,” Lelthina started, before telling Apol everything she had learned. In the corner of her eye she saw Telva’s face redden with anger at the pure nerve of the Goldulin bitch.

When she finally finished her tale, the room was in utter silence. Telva stood stock still, shaking with righteous anger, and Apol silently tapped his finger against the armrest of his throne. From beneath his gray hair, his still perfectly blue eyes watched Lelthina. Finally he turned to his daughter.

“Telva. Prepare your army, you leave at dawn. You will take Driftafay, and you will fly the Winterstone banner from the Evermar Palace. We will run this Coalition now, and show the Humans who hold thoughts of turning against us, the power of Winterstone,” Apol said, an edge of iron coming to his usually soft voice.

“And those living in the city now?” Telva asked, with the slightest of growls. Lelthina listened carefully for the king’s answer as he pondered.

“Execute any who resist… then decimation. I’m sure Sarya will appreciate the humour in that,” Apol said with a humourless grin.

Decimation. Lelthina smiled. Finally the humans would be made aware of how insignificant they were to the world.

“Chancellor. You will accompany my daughter, as the new head of the Coalition Council. Obviously your predecessor did not perform adequately. That’s what happens when you get soft with humans.”

Lelthina bowed deeply.

“It is an honour, your grace.”

><>< 

“Morkate take my soul, as I give my life for your harbinger,” the woman said, holding a silver dagger in her upturned palms before her naked form. Kneeling before the priestess Aela, a silver bowl engraved with ancient markings of the Goddess of Lust and Blood.

Aela reached down and took the dagger from the hands of the sacrifice.

“May the shadows embrace you,” Aela said, and quickly slashed the woman’s throat open. She didn’t even make a sound as blood pumped from the deep wound, down her body, and pouring into the bowl. When life faded from her body and she started to slump forwards, Aela caught her by the head, holding her up until more blood had filled the bowl.

When the sacrifice finally stopped bleeding, Aela looked up to the Helot guards standing at the entrance to Lillium’s chambers. They’d been there since Lillium had been returned to Volgras.

“Take her to the temple. She is to be honoured,” Aela said, and one of the helots nodded, carefully taking the dead woman in his arms.

The helots knew better than to disrespect Aela and the customs of Morkate. The priestess smiled to herself; even many of them were becoming devout followers. The harbinger’s plans were coming along nicely, until that woman, Goldulin from what she’d heard, put it all in jeopardy.

With no witnesses save the single helot guard, Aela moved to Lillium’s bed. The succubus lay on her back, stripped down to only long leather skirts. There were no bandages over the hole through her chest, for she wasn’t bleeding. But, neither was it healing. Aela could see the snapped ribs, the marrow within them. She could see the heart, struggling to beat with much of it torn asunder.

Dipping two fingers into the bowl, Aela painted sigils on her own naked skin, connecting her to the Goddess. Moving onto the bed, she straddled Lillium’s form. Oh how she wished the succubus was awake for this. Looking down at her form, so near death that her breasts scarcely rose with breath, Aela could not help but admire the perfection of the snowy skin, the faint hints of blackened veins, the swells of her breasts.

“Morkate, hear me your servant. Give me the strength to bring your harbinger back from the brink, that she may continue her holy work,” Aela said softly, tipping the bowl so that blood flowed over Lillium’s unmoving lips, and into the hole punched through her chest.

Her own heart stilled as the crimson flowed over Lillium’s still form, dripping into her chest cavity. Aela’s lips moved in silent prayer as she watched. She could even feel the tension in the helot’s breast as they waited.

And waited.

Nothing happened. The heart still struggled, the exposed lung still barely expanded, and her beautiful eyes stayed closed. Aela hung her head. Until she heard the whispers. Her gaze snapped upwards, startling the helot guard.

“I know where our answers are.”

><>< 

“I saw you kill her, do you doubt your own hand?” Viviane said before the gathered officers and nobility of Driftafay, while Sarya sat to get pressure off her injured leg.

“I don’t, which is why I know she’s not dead. The one thing we didn’t know going out there, is that she’s a fucking vampire,” the Centurion said angrily, her gaze snapping at them all.

“I was about to cut off her damn head when your soldiers pulled me back. I wasn’t finished with her yet.”

Some of those who’d been around for some time, those that trained and led the very same men that Sarya had commanded in battle while they cowered behind walls, at least had the shame to blush.

“She can’t have been a vampire! We’ve all seen her, a succubus,” some noble with slicked back hair and a too well groomed goatee said. Sarya hated him on sight, purely because of all that grooming. Probably never saw a battle before. Even though that small skirmish outside might be considered one, he more than likely hid behind the skirts of a whore.

“I saw her up close. I saw her heal wounds that would have brought a succubus down. I saw her fangs, her hunger for blood. I saw this, because I fought her. We’re talking about the Kazdruk, not a clan of sheep fucking barbarians. They, do, not, follow the fucking rules of nature,” Sarya seethed, staring down anyone who dared doubt her. Luckily for them, there was only silence that followed her outburst.

“Nothing else to say? Than go… and get ready for her to come back,” the Centurion said, flipping her hand towards the door.

Most were quick to scramble away from the woman who had started a massacre in their very streets, and had braved the creature that had them terrified. Most, but not all.

Viviane remained where she was, standing proud and firm. Sarya let out a long breath to release her anger into the air. Viviane had been brave in the fight, hell just the fact that she fought at all meant the world to Sarya. For a moment she said nothing, just stood by the table letting Sarya calm herself.

The Centurion kept a hand pressed to her thigh, trying to ignore the throbbing pain. At least the apothecary had a steady hand with the stitching.

“How is it?” Viviane finally asked to break the silence, and Sarya let a humourless smile curl her lips briefly.

“Painful, but it’ll be fine soon enough,” she said, and looked down at the table before her, with its map of DelHelshan, marked with coloured pins for all the Kazdruk raids and attacks. The coast was getting hit hard, and with the Atzgol plains fallen the Kazdruk were advancing up along the Ruby sea.

Then there was Volgras, and Lillium. How the hell had she gotten so far into Coalition territory without being stopped? Why were those helots so respectful of her? Everything Sarya had seen of the Kazdruk grunts showed they would abandon their cruel masters at a moment’s notice. Not Lillium though; they carted her away. Was it her vampirism, or something else? Sarya stared at the map, cupping her chin in her hand as she studied it.

“We won’t get help here, we’re not the front lines,” Sarya muttered to herself, until Viviane’s cough reminded the centurion that the Knight of Oan was still standing before her.

“So Lillium is a Kazdruk experiment. We know she used to be human, but now she is some kind of… abomination. We need to go after her, and finish what you started,” Viviane said firmly, and Sarya looked up with a raised eyebrow. She didn’t want to admit it, but the knight’s determination impressed her.

“We don’t even know for sure where she’s holed up. My guess is Volgras, most reports suggest that. But, I can’t leave. Driftafay is on the brink, again. And I doubt anyone else is going to want to go hunting her,” Sarya said, hating herself for saying it.

To her surprise Viviane was nodding, and gesturing to Sarya’s leg.

“I don’t know if you’d be at top game anyway.”

Sarya laughed, a little bitterly at the comment but nodded. She pointed to Volgras.

“I won’t stop you. I want the bitch dead. We all need the bitch dead. Just… don’t get yourself killed doing it. I’m starting to like you,” Sarya said with a smirk, and Viviane smiled.

“I’ll see in I can find that Wolfkin that managed to escape. I’m sure she’s fled the city by now.”

“Take the woods then. I have a feeling she’s not that far away,” Sarya said, slowly getting to her feet.

The two warriors nodded to each other, then clasped hands firmly.

“Go with Oan Sarya.”

“Just kill the bitch.”

><>< 

Watching Aela pack a bag while draped in a long cloak that covered much of her form seemed simply strange to Mia. The temple was nearly deserted, save for herself, the priestess, and Lillium’s first concubine Yannifer. Even the sadistic elf had her attire of leather straps concealed beneath a cloak of black cloth, her eyes watching the priestess pack.

“Where are you going? The Mistress needs you,” Mia said pleadingly as Aela clasped her pack shut and threw it over her back. The woman said nothing for a moment as she stepped down from the dais that held the stone altar of Morkate up, before finally turning to the Harbinger’s concubine and acolyte of Morkate.

“Thorlgruz. Yannifer is accompanying me for she knows the way, and the layout of the cathedral. There is a grimoire there, the tome of the Kazdruk sorceress Aeltha, that contains all her secrets of corruption,” Aela said as she began to walk towards the front doors of the temple, Yannifer falling silently in step with her.

“Thorlgruz? A tome?” Mia asked confused, and Aela glanced at her as if a child.

“It will contain the secrets of how she created the Harbinger, and therefore the knowledge we need to bring her from the brink. Lorth will be in command while I’m gone… I need you to oversee the needs of the temple,” Aela said as Yannifer pushed open the doors.

All three stepped outwards and down the three steps to the dirt road running through Volgras. Two horses were waiting there, their reins held by the Helot captain, who bowed in respect to Aela as she emerged from her temple.

Yannifer quickly mounted while Aela fixed her pack to the horse’s saddle. Mia could only watch, feeling the weight of responsibility upon her shoulders. As Aela gracefully mounted she looked down upon her acolyte.

“Morkate has told me of this, and I must see it done. We will return as quickly as we can,” she said, as she took the reins from Lorth.

Concubine and priestess both kicked their heels into the flanks of their mounts, and without further conversation or proper farewells they were riding southwards. Towards Thorlgruz. Mia stood beside Lorth and watched them riding down the road.

“What if Aeltha discovers this?” she asked, and the helot snorted.

“Then you better learn how to kill.”

By: SinfulWolf

The sound of trebuchets letting loose their boulders, to sail into the city and smash through wall and roof, was scarcely heard. Almost drowned out by the crickets of the fields, uncaring for the corruption of the land. Staring to the north west, where any reinforcing armies would be coming from, the Helot sentry paid no attention to the siege. His only concern was to what may come, what he hoped would come. His cohort had not taken any slaves, their blades not tasted any blood. Instead they had marched away, out of sight, and now were hidden in the edge of the forest, amongst the trees and brush.

If the Elves or one of the human kingdoms came marching down that road, he would be there, with his brothers. To butcher them all.

Then his thoughts were sent into a torrent of chaos and confusion as a foot harshly slammed into the back of his knee. Starting to fall to one knee, a hand clamped hard over his maw and nose, but no warning shout was to come out even if the hand were not there, for the same instant a knife slammed into the side of his neck. Hot blood poured over his armour, before the blade cut outwards. The innards of his neck were severed, and death came for him quickly.

Kira let the body down slowly, balancing it upon her knee to prevent the armour from rattling as she set it down in the grass. The smell of freshly spilled blood filled her nostrils, and she felt a wild thrill running through her mind. A temptation to feast, but, these beings were corrupted, so she shoved that craving down. Not to think on it again.

Drenched in Kazdruk blood, the Wolfkin made her way into the camp, leaving two corpses on the perimeter. Dagger clutched firmly in hand she slunk through the shadows, scouting the tents hidden amongst the trees, counting the enemy, where they were positioned. There was only so much she could do before the bodies were discovered, and she was but one person. She could not take on the entire group herself.

It was only a few moments before she found what she was looking for, and not until she had nearly fallen into it. A small pit dug into the ground, a tarp draped over top and covered in brush and leaves to help conceal it. Their food supplies for however long they planned to be out here. With no visible commander’s tent, she knew that this would be the next best way to strike against them.

Without a sound Kira slipped beneath the tarp, pulling a vial from a pouch on her belt as she moved. She moved to the first crate, scrunching up her face as she pulled it open, the foul odor from within wafting over her. Whatever meat these guys were eating, it was getting much too ripe to be healthy for anything save Kazdruk foot soldiers. Popping the lid off the vial of poison, Kira suddenly froze when she heard footsteps just behind her.

Heart pounding in her chest, she gripped her knife tighter, not daring to move, scarcely daring to breathe as she heard someone moving past the pit she had hidden herself in. The slight rattle of armour told her it was another Helot.

Then he was gone, vanished into the night, but it may be relief for one of the sentries she killed; she was quickly running out of time. Upending the vial, she poured its contents over the meat within the crate, and carefully closed it back up, spending precious moments making it look as if it had not been tampered with.

Then she slid out of the pit on her belly, not daring to release her knife. She began to slide through the darkness again, darting past tents, thankful for the lack of torches but aware any helots not slumbering would be used to seeing in the dark at this point. She could not trust in the shadows entirely.

As she began to slide past a tent, the front flap opened. Snores from within slid out into the night air, but a very wakeful soldier, adjusting the strap of his helmet, slipped outside, his shield on his back, spear firm in hand.

Spinning on her heel she hooked her arm around his neck before he even fully registered her presence. The blade bit hard into the side of his neck, before sliding all the way across, opening it wide. A well placed kick to the knee took away his last moments of freedom, as he spent his dying moments falling to the ground, instinctively trying to break his fall, instead of fighting back.

“Tovk. What’s happening out there?” came a voice from within, much more alert than Kira wanted. Leaving the bleeding helot in the ground, she took off, as fast as she could without making any sound.

“Intruder,” she heard shouted from behind her, but she was already at the perimeter. A sentry was turning to see what the commotion was when Kira burst out from a bush. There was a look of surprise in the Kazdruk soldier’s face, but even so he tried to get his spear down. Kira was simply too fast, too savage, swiping his spear aside, and biting down hard over his throat. Her blade plunged upwards, into his armpit, where no armour protected, and more blood coursed over her hands as her teeth sunk in. Deeper, deeper, tainted blood flooding her mouth, until she yanked her head away with a growl. A chunk of meat tore away, and the Helot grasped at his throat, grasping for his sword, but life fled much too quickly.

A sentry hearing the commotion came storming over, but fell with a crossbow bolt in his eye. Thaden’s shadowy figure slipped into the trees once more.

Spitting the flesh trapped between her teeth to the ground, Kira slipped away, and left the camp in chaos, a few more crossbow bolts flashing through the darkness to find the flesh of their enemies.

><>< 

Pain flared through her fist when she slammed it into the table, but Sarya ignored it.

“No! We cannot sit idle.” She said firmly to the gathered war council. Many stared at her, surprise plain in their eyes.

“My lady, centurion, we do not have the forces to defeat the Kazdruk hordes. We should sit back, await reinforcements,” one of the gathered councillors said, struggling to think of Sarya’s title. She ignored the stumble, her own title wasn’t important; she wouldn’t be in power long enough.

“Truly? Reinforcements? From who? After the massacre that happened in these streets no one is coming to help us. You really think not a single person escaped that?  No, we are on our own. Besides, it is just Lillium out there, with her small band. Not the hordes that have been pounding the ocean shores,” Sarya said carefully.

“How can you know this?” Lady Viviane Stark said with narrowed eyes, suspicion clear in her words. Two other Knights of Oan stood just behind her. Hearing her suspicion, their hands drifted downwards towards their swords. Typical over zealous bastards, the lot of them.

“Scouts. Not all of us can rely on mere faith to win the day,” Sarya said, and Viviane narrowed her eyes.

“What is your plan then, to make up for this lack of faith?”

“I never said lack of faith Lady Viviane, I merely said more than. Cut the head off the snake, an old adage that works against the Kazdruk well. Their troops are barbaric, bloodthirsty, eager to rape. We kill Lillium, and we can lure her soldiers to our walls easily enough, where our archers can pick them off,” Sarya said.

“Easier said than done,” the councillor that had spoken up before had to hear his voice again.

“Lillium is a warrior. She will be on the front lines. My plan is rather simple, we march our soldiers out to meet her, focusing on the centre of the line, I push forward, and kill her myself. To give us some breathing room, that’s where the knights come in. If Lillium knows anything of your tactics, she will be ready for a full charge, not flanking attacks. Get them thinking about their flanks, and we have the centre to ourselves,” Sarya said with flashing eyes and a vicious grin.

There were some whispers, and officers began to argue over who would get which spot. But Sarya knew her plan would unfold, and her spatha would taste Lillium’s blood before the sun set on the morrow.

 

Lady Viviane Stark done by my lovely friend Stark

><>< 

Lounging amidst violet, satin pillows, Lillium groaned softly, as a slave kneeled between her legs, gently licking at her thighs, tasting the juices that had rolled down the succubus’s flesh through her early dawn tryst. The woman wore a collar around her pretty neck, and bore markings of Morkate on the back of her shoulder, marking her place as a whore.

A very skilled whore, Lillium thought to herself as her claws trailed through the woman’s silky hair. The succubus let out another low groan, her back arching, pushing bared breasts into the air. It was tempting to lay in here awhile longer, perhaps take this woman again. She was proving most enjoyable.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of her tent flapping open, Lorth walking in, in full battle order. He did not avert his eyes from the naked women before him, but nor did he stare dumbly. Even as Lillium slowly ceased to writhe beneath the whore’s skilled tongue, Lorth smashed a fist to his chest in salute.

“Baroness. The defenders of Driftafay are sallying forth. They mean to fight us with honour,” the captain reported.

With a press of claws until fine ruby droplets formed upon the whore’s scalp, Lillium ceased her pleasure.

“Well, we best not disappoint them shall we. Send a runner to Bazk, and we will sow these fields with corpses.”

><>< 

Sunlight brushed over the Helot’s face as he made his way quietly through the brush, ducking branches and skirting bushes. They could not see him from the walls, could not warn their allies on the fields of the flank attack to come. The warrior felt his mouth watering for the coming battle and the blood that would be shed.

The crossbow bolt that hissed from the foliage smashed his skull to pieces, and he slumped to the ground without a further sound. Brain spilled from the ruins of his head with chips of bone amidst the gray chunks.

As Kira and Thaden slipped out from the shadows of leaves of the early morning, looking down upon the corpse they just made, Thaden was quick to step forward, pulling his bolt from the mess of gore, flicking the tip in an attempt to remove much of the gunk. Kira let her eyes peer out from the foliage, stepping into thickets and brush, to see the city.

“They’re marching out,” she whispered, looking back to her companion.

“Driftafay is?”

Kira nodded, and the two looked down at the corpse by their feet. Doubtlessly a runner from Lillium’s main encampment.

“Seems our plans have moved up some,” the wolfkin whispered. Without further hesitation, the two stole back into the shadows, to strike at the camp they had poisoned in the night.

><>< 

The morning sun was climbing higher into the sky, its heat beating down upon the soldiers marching away from the safety of their walls. Sweat ran down the backs of their necks and their faces beneath the steel brims of their helmets. Dampening tunics stuck to their backs beneath their chainmail hauberks, and their skin was starting to itch.

Not one of them whined, too concerned with what lay ahead of them, beyond the rims of their rounded shields and the points of their spears. The lines of Helot soldiers, utterly inhuman beneath their dark steel plates, wicked swords in one hand, square shields with jagged bottoms and right rims in the other. In the centre of that beastly line stood the contrast. The agonizingly beautiful succubus, raven hair fluttering about her face; the woman they were here to kill.

Sarya gripped her spatha tight, her own Gondulin shield strapped firmly. The red painted steel, with its black dragon standing proud amidst the more ramshackle equipment of those she led. It felt good to be back on a battlefield, though strange that it was not her disciplined soldiers beside her.

Off to the side, hooves thundered as the heavily armoured Knights of Oan moved into a flanking position, white banners streaming from their lances held upright. Lillium glanced towards them, but did nothing.

“She has another force in reserve… she was ready to flank herself,” Sarya muttered, feeling her gut clench. Biting her lip she glanced towards the knights. If it was true they could well be massacred, but if they pulled back now, Lillium would continue to pound Driftafay into ruin.

Lifting up her sword, Sarya quickly let it drop, pointing the tip of her blade towards the enemy line, letting out a loud shout that ripped from her throat as she did. The answering call was deafening. Spears lowered, and nearly a thousand soldiers ran forward. To the side, lances lowered and spurs pressed harshly into the armoured flanks of warhorses. Dust burst upwards into the air, as the forces of Driftafay charged forward the final gap towards their enemies, shouts swirling amongst each other in a cacophony of fury.

The two lines of infantry met in a crash of steel and blood. Many shouts turned to screams, and Helots roared out their bloodlust as combat finally came upon them. Driftafay soldiers pushed the thrust their spears, spilling the dark blood of their enemies, even as the Kazdruk foot soldiers lashed back, opening flesh and spraying crimson in great arcs from their blades. In the thick of it, two women moved with confidence and surety that only experience brings.

Sarya stayed at the head of her formation, not getting ahead of those around her, lashing out with shield and spatha with deadly purpose. Seconds dragged out into minutes as the two small armies fought, and Sarya could already feel the blood running over the hilt of her blade, streaming down her hands to the bracers tied firmly to her forearms. She could see Lillium, dancing with beautiful yet deadly grace, blood trailing behind her sword, spattering on her dark steel and pale flesh.

To the side, Helots screamed out in frustration as the Knight’s of Oan crashed into their lines, impaling the Kazdruk warriors upon their long lances, before riding off again, some with broken lances, making them unsheathe their swords.

“Lillium!” Sarya shouted above the din of combat, smashing the bottom edge of her shield into a Helot’s neck. The creature scarcely had time to choke before the spatha lunged forward, slipping under its arm and into the small hollow beneath, directly through to heart and lungs. Blood frothed at its mouth for a split moment before it collapsed at her feet.

The succubus turned to stare at Sarya, holding a soldier by his neck. The man squirmed as Lillium’s thumb pressed into the front of his throat, blood bubbling around the claw that sank into his flesh. When he dropped dead, Sarya did not spare him a glance. He was gone, there were others still living she could save.

“You’re mine bitch,” the centurion roared, finally breaking free of the line, a soldier quickly taking her place as she pushed along the clashing warriors around her, shield and sword never still as she moved to meet the succubus.

Lillium grinned, tongue rolling across her lips, smearing blood across them, even as it ran down all over her form. Even from here, Sarya saw the fangs hiding behind those perfect lips. There was a brief flutter of fear within her gut as she recognized something no one else had said about the succubus.

Vampire.

Lillium dragged her line of death towards Sarya, that confident grin never faltering as she moved to meet the centurion.

Amidst corpses and severed limbs, the two commanders finally clashed, their swords ringing against one another as conqueror found defender.

><>< 

Sweat rolled under her helmet, yet Viviane ignored it as she charged with her brothers into the Helots a second time. She heard bones and steel crunching beneath hooves, even as she felt the point of her lance slam into one of the Helot’s chests, punching through the breastplate and impaling it upon the long staff.

With a loud crack, the lance snapped in two, leaving Viviane with a much shorter weapon tipped with ragged splinters. Beside her, Sir Bran was dragged from his saddle by a wicked scythe. The steel scraped against his armour but did not penetrate. Not that it helped him when he landed on the ground.

Whirling away from the clashing mass, Viviane glanced over her shoulder, and wished she hadn’t. A heavy axe was brought down on Sir Bran’s face, crushing bone hidden behind his helmet, blood spurting out his visor.

Gritting her teeth, Viviane tossed her ruined lance away, and reached down to draw her sword. She could not hear the rasp of steel against leather as it came free, but the familiar weight in her fist was comforting. An old friend in the fight against evil.

The remaining knights turned again a short distance from the battle. Viviane found herself at the head of the wedge, and holding her blade forward, pointing the tip at the enemy, she let her voice raise in a shout with those she rode with.

She didn’t truly see the dark shapes that flickered outwards, but she certainly recognized the crossbow bolts as three knights fell from their horses riddled with them. They dragged their horses to the ground under their heavy weight, and another knight stumbled as his horse’s hooves caught upon the writhing beasts struggling to rise. Sir Joran was flung into the Helots waiting for them this time with a scream. Blades and heavy feet descended upon him, and it did not take too long for them to find a weak spot to silence his shouts of righteous fury.

Viviane’s though still rang loudly. Her blade took half the skull from a Helot as she rammed through their throng. Already she was starting to pull back. There were too many to stay and fight. The knights were far too outnumbered. Another fell as they retreated, his mount’s head lopped off with a vicious strike from a two handed sword that left only a bleeding stump and the glimmer of spine in its wake. The next strike took his own head.

Now, at a safe distance again, Viviane looked upon her surviving brothers. There were only the three of them left; herself, Sir Morris, and Sir Duncan. Morris was clutching at his side, blood seeping through gauntleted fingers. A crossbow bolt had found its mark on him as well. When he saw her looking he merely nodded.

“I’ll live,” were the only words to slip out. Viviane nodded and looked back at the battle.

Sarya, and the succubus were fighting, each of them perfect in their forms. Sword met shield, spatha met bracer, parries and dodges for both blood soaked fighters. A ring had started to form around them, none of the other fighters wanting to incur the wrath of the champion of their enemy. The battle though continued to rage around them. Blood soaked the grass, and corpses littered the ground, forcing those on either side to step over friends and comrades that they may add the next enemy to the pile.

Human wounded writhed in pain on the ground, clutching at the stump where an arm or leg may have been, or at their torn throats, trying in vain to keep that precious blood within them, or a handful even clutching at their guts, trying to prevent them from spilling out any further.

The Helots though fought on despite their wounds. Viviane saw one swinging wildly without a weapon, the hand that had gripped it taken off below the elbow. Its demonic ichor spewing from severed flesh it punched and thrashed until spears stabbed it in the chest.

Viviane turned again to look at her own comrades, to prepare them for one last charge into the fray, to buy some time for Sarya, when she saw the charging band of Helots. Hundreds of them sprinting across the field. Spears and swords glinted in the sunlight.

“We cannot win this. A sacrifice in this battle will be in vain.” Sir Morris said glumly, looking towards the charging foe. Viviane looked back to the battle, then to the flanking Kazdruk warriors.

“Go. Back to the city, I’ll warn Sarya, we need to pull back now, before they get here,” she said.

With short nods the other two knights turned their horses towards Driftafay, while Viviane rode hard back to the battle.

><>< 

Watching them run towards the clash on the fields, Kira clutched her fists. There hadn’t been enough time to stop the Helots, and she and Thadon were not enough to stop them. They had needed more soldiers, and the refugees waiting in the thick of the woods were in no condition to fight.

After killing the runner, she and Thadon had returned to the camp. Darting in to kill two sentries, she quickly had ran back into the woods, leading a chase while she and her companion picked off the enemy with sword, claw, fang, and crossbow. A trail of corpses was strung beneath the canopy now, but even after a few dozen lay dead on the forest floor, their blood feeding the land they had sought to ravage, a runner Kira had missed came running back to the encampment.

After that, they forgot all about the wolfkin, quickly packing up and charging off towards the battle.

Now Kira watched, her claws digging into a nearby tree as they charged the soldiers of Driftafay to sway the tide of battle.

><>< 

Lillium’s sword flicked across Sarya’s bicep, parting the flesh and drawing a line of deep crimson, but the Centurion ignored the pain, the injured shield arm flicking the succubus’s blade out wide, and coming in low with a slash. Lillium’s bracer deflected easily, but it made the opening Sarya was hoping for.

A quick lash of her helmeted head crashed into Lillium’s face. She felt the cartilage snap, and felt a gush of blood over her face. The succubus surprised her though with a soft moan. So the bitch was a masochist.

With her own blood smeared over her lower face, Lillium kicked out. The sharp heel of her boot scratched Sarya’s armour, while the flat base pushed her back, making her stumble slightly. She quickly regained her bearings, blocking a vicious overhead chop with her shield before slashing at the pale exposed midsection before her.

She scored a deep hit, earning another groan that sent tingles down her spine despite herself. Worse though, was watching the skin reknit, healing before any true damage sunk in. Sarya let out a roar of anger and frustration, coming in with a whirlwind of blade strikes. Lillium blocked each one perfectly, her movements with the sword as close to perfect as Sarya had even seen.

She finished her wild attack with a shield bash, but Lillium stepped to the side, and pulled hard on the rim, sending Sarya past her. The centurion immediately rolled forward, knowing what was following, but felt the bite of Kazdruk steel in her thigh regardless. She howled in pain, but pushed it back into her mind as she rose once more to her feet to face her enemy.

“Helot reinforcements. We need to retreat!” Viviane’s call rang through the din of battle.

“Hold your ground! Hold!” Sarya yelled, moving fast despite the slight limp in each step. The flanking party, later than she expected, but still here. And Lillium still lived. This had to end fast.

The two warriors met again, swords crashing against one another as each tried to find the killing blow, but each finding the other a match. Around her, Driftafay troops were wavering, caught between utter fear, and the need to see this done. Some were already running, fleeing back to the city to let their comrades be cut down. Sarya couldn’t pay them any heed though.

The succubus’s sword arcing down towards her shoulder, Sarya gritted her teeth, and slammed the lower rim of her shield at an angle. The blade rocked against the plates over her shoulder, sending a dull pain throbbing into her flesh, but the succubus let out a shout of surprise as she lost her balance. A sickening crunch sounding from her knee that did not earn a groan.

Resisting the urge to say something witty, Sarya followed through with a vicious stab. The point of her sword split open the soft tender flesh of Lillium’s partially exposed breast, scraping against the edge of the steel cupping her breast. Blood gushed outwards from the wound as the spatha’s tip broke through the protective ribs hiding behind such succulent flesh.

Lillium’s red eyes went wide, as she looked down at the sword lodged in her heart. She coughed, blood spattered over Sarya’s helmet. It wasn’t enough though, Sarya knew it. She’d killed a few vampires in her time. With a kick to Lillium’s gut, she dislodged her sword, blood spraying from the wound. The vampiric succubus fell to the ground, gasping in agony, her strength fleeing.

One more strike, and it would be over.

Then arms grabbed her, pulling her back to her lines.

“No, no!” she yelled as Helots ran to save their baroness. The soldiers of Driftafay dragged Sarya away from the conflict, while Helots carried their commander off the field.

“They’re retreating, we’ve won. You got her,” someone shouted in Sarya’s ear.

But Lillium still lived, and the fact that the Helots’ bloodlust had been calmed by her fall rather than stoked, made her fear the woman’s power all the more. She stared at the backs of the retreating Helots, Lillium carried like a goddess off the field of battle, while she was dragged.

“This is far from over.”

><>< 

Standing atop the walls and watching the battle, Isilda’s hands hadn’t left her mouth, scrunched up with nervousness as she watched hundreds upon hundreds of men die. Their screams were distant, the ring of steel carrying on the wind, and she couldn’t see Sarya. Her stomach clenched, and she wasn’t able to eat, or drink.

Another whore stood beside her, gently rubbing her arm, humming softly to try and soothe her.

She didn’t know how long she had been standing there, amongst countless others from the city watching as their fate was decided. When it was finally ended, both armies simply, walking away from the other, Isilda didn’t know what to think. It was strange to see them simply break away, leaving a line of corpses that looked like a dark smear on the grass at this distance.

“She’s coming back dear. Come on, the new girl wants to tell us something back at the brothel. Let’s get you cleaned up for when Sarya comes calling,” her friend said, and Isilda offered a weak smile.

Sarya would be by soon, she would. And maybe listening to this girl, one of the refugees from outside the city, would help her calm down. 

By: SinfulWolf

The cottage door smashed open, a spray of wooden splinters flying into the room. Emily screamed from her place at the breakfast table, while her father shot to his feet, knocking the table aside. Bowls of porridge fell to the floor, shattering and splattering food on the wooden planks. A monstrous form stood in the doorway, its dark armour catching the morning sun as it hovered just above the distant horizon, and the wicked looking sword in its hand gleaming.

The Helot let out a mocking laugh as it stepped into the cottage, heavy boots making loud thumps, as two more followed it within. Emily’s father scrambled to the hearth, grasping for the sword hanging there, while her mother grasped her young brother, slipping in the porridge and tripping. While her brother ran, Emily stumbled back, glancing over her shoulder to the window. The bedroom door slammed shut as her brother vanished, but her mother was cuffed upside the head with a gauntleted hand, a spray of blood spurting from her broken lips as she collapsed again to the floor.

While her father charged at the first beast, Emily turned her back to the scene, and fumbled with the shutters of the window, her panic making her fingers clumsy. When she finally got the shutters open she looked back once over her shoulder, and instantly wished she hadn’t. Her father had been stabbed through the belly, his guts spilling out in greasy loops. He stared down with a blank expression as his blood mingled with the porridge already spilled.

“NO!” Emily screamed, and earned only a smirk from one of the helots, before its blade swung in a wide arc that took her father’s head from his shoulders, crimson spurting upwards from the stump before the body collapsed beside her mother in a gruesome heap. She wasted precious seconds watching as her mother crawled sobbing to clutch at her husbands ruined body, before a helot stabbed his sword down into the floor, and heaved the woman up onto the table.

With quick rough movements, the demon tore the dress from the aging woman, exposing her nethers, before it began to lift the cloths hanging from its hip. The second began to move towards Emily, but she turned once more to the window, and jumped out, rolling across the grass. Tears streamed her cheeks, and she felt a rock tear a rip down the shoulder of her finest dress; they had all planned to go into the city proper today, and visit the market. How quickly her happiness had been quelled. As she got to her feet, she looked around the handful of cottages that homed her neighbours, so far from the city walls.

People ran screaming across the fields, bloodied and dirt streaked. Homes were ablaze, the flames leaping from one thatch roof to another. Helots were stalking between the homes, butchering those that dared to run. Her breath taken from her at the horrid sights, she looked desperately across her family’s field of wheat, to the next collection of farmsteads, but saw the same fate had befallen them. In the distance the bells of Driftafay rang loudly, calling all the peasants back into its protective walls.

It was her only hope. Emily began to run, her young legs struggling to move in the dress, but when she turned around her cottage to get onto the main road, the sight of her friend Helena bent over the well, her dress torn so that only rags hung from her shoulders and waist, breasts swaying beneath her over the depths towards the water, stilled any thought of removing the garment. Emily felt sick to her stomach as the Helot standing behind the stripped woman, thrust himself hard and fast into Helena, her cries of anguish sounding above the screams of agony. Emily turned from the sight, and ran along the edges of the fields, moving around corpses of men, women, even children. There was no mercy from these invaders.

When she broke out from the last cottage, the flames consuming its walls heating her back, she jumped over an irrigation ditch and stumbled onto the road, feeling her dress rip once again at her knees. As she got up, her heart pounding within her chest, she saw a woman scrambling through the cornfield before her, before a Helot mounted upon a horse, its hooves trampling the stalks down into the dirt, tossed a weighted net at her. The iron weights clacked as some hit each other, before falling to the ground and dragging the woman with them, trapping her on the ground before another Helot came forward to drag her away.

Emily stifled a scream, not wanting to draw attention to herself, and looked back. There was no hope for her village. But she might still have a chance. She began to run, her shoes kicking up small clouds of dust as she sprinted towards the city, ignoring the burn in her lungs and legs.

Then a great pain exploded in her back. With a gasp of pain she came to a stop, unable to find the breath to scream. She felt liquid bubbling up in her throat, spilling out past her lips as she fell to her knees. Looking down, she saw nothing. Nothing to explain what had happened. But as she gurgled, struggling to find breath, the world slowly turned black. She could barely hear anything anymore, except the thud of heavy footsteps coming nearer.

Her head hit the ground, but she felt no pain. Not anymore.

Looking down at the dying woman, the Helot archer put his boot on her back. Reaching down he grasped his arrow close to her skin, and pulled hard. Vicious barbs ripped strings of flesh from her body. Blood frothed from the wound as she let out a final wheeze, and life left her form. The Helot merely snorted, and turned to watch others fleeing towards the city. He saw a young boy running through the wheat field, thinking the stalks obscured him. Notching the bloodied arrow and raising his bow, the Helot aimed, drawing the string back until he felt the fletching brush his cheek.

Then he released.

><>< 

Screams filled the air, and Lillium watched from a patch of high ground just south west of the city. People fled in droves, mostly the untouched little hamlets as the raided ones had very few survivors. Which was most beneficial as her own people ran from these places, dressed in dirtied dresses and trousers, moving towards the city. To hide, to spread her will. Lillium smirked, and looked down off the flat boulder she stood upon.

Lorth was overseeing a group of human engineers as they put together the large trebuchets. The Helots had plans for catapults, but when some of the converts came forward with plans for these much longer ranged siege weapons, Lillium had pounced upon the idea.

Kaln was returning from the raid, covered in blood and soot. He wore the grin of bloodlust upon his features. He pounded his chest in salute to Lillium.

“Baroness. The people flee to the city. We cannot pursue much further without getting in range of their weapons,” the lieutenant reported.

“Call your men back. Begin setting up the camp. I’m not sure how long we’ll be here,” Lillium said, and glanced back to a runner lurking at the edge of the woods. Lillium pointed towards him, and the Helot nodded, setting off at a run to pass on to Bazk to move into position with his cohort of two hundred, put together from deserters who sought a place in Lillium’s army, with stealth. She did not want those in Driftafay to know her exact numbers or positions. They would see Kaln’s own two hundred, and Lorth’s five hundred of the original Helots given to Lillium.

Kaln meanwhile brought a horn of bleached bone, from some animal that had been plentiful on their world, and blew a long deep note. Once, that note had sent shivers of fear down Lillium’s spine, but now it felt powerful. She stretched out her wings, wondering if someone from the walls could see her. Surely they had some kind of eye glass to see distances with, in that place.

And she wanted them to see her.

><>< 

A soft gasp slipped from Sarya’s lips, as gentle fingers ran along her naked back, slowly moving along the hard muscle beneath skin toughened from a life of soldiering, and over the two long scars earned from Kazdruk spears. The room smelled of sex, and the silk sheets caressing her breasts from beneath were damp from sweat, and juices. Still Sarya relaxed, savouring the afterglow of money well spent, as soft painted lips pressed to her shoulder, the whore Isilda no more anxious to remove her client than Sarya was to leave.

Skilled hands began to drift back downwards, sliding over the curve of hip and rear before moving down to thigh.

“I thought my time was up,” Sarya said, turning her head to look at the beautiful woman in whose bed she laid. Isilda smiled gently, the expression perfected from countless clients who had laid with her in this exact room, on these exact sheets.

“It is,” Isilda replied, leaning forward to kiss Sarya’s cheek gently, her breasts pushing into Sarya’s arms, stiff pink nipples gliding along a scar earned from an Elvish blade years ago. Sarya smiled, and relaxed into the sheets, eyes fluttering closed, as those delicate fingers traced designs absently upon her lower back.

“The amount of coin you’ve spent on me so far, I’m surprised you don’t just buy me,” Isilda said, biting at Sarya’s ear playfully.

“The thought is tempting my dear. But the Coalition had abolished any form of slavery, and I needed eyes within the brothel because of this Niseth you’ve told me about.”

“But we are no longer in the coalition,” Isilda said, and Sarya opened her eyes again, tilting her head to look into the other woman’s blue eyes, filled with warmth and hope. Sarya turned and leaned up, kissing those perfect lips, feeling that practiced tongue sliding into her mouth. When they broke away, Sarya opened her mouth to speak, but the bells of the city began their loud clamour. Sarya looked to the window,  gentle vines clinging to the other side of the glass.

A sigh slipped from her lips and she rolled out of bed, looking to gather her clothes, and armour.

“I will wait here for you to come back. And we can finish this conversation,” Isilda said, lounging on the bed, watching Sarya dress. The Centurion smirked gently as she buckled on her Lorica, and headed for the door, pausing for one last glimpse before slipping into the halls of the brothel.

><>< 

Lillium stood proud upon the rock, looking towards the city. Around her, tents were pitched, and the engineers put the final pieces onto the trebuchets. Newly captured slaves were clapped in irons, and watched over by humans in garb that looked like it might be fitting for prostitutes rather than peasants. Skirts for both men and women that hung loosely off the hips, and while the men went topless, the women wore tightly bound vests, held in place with twine that crisscrossed over their ample cleavage. Many bore tattoos on their backs and arms, of a design that Kiah did not recognize.

But her eyes always returned to Lillium, standing there, her succubus wings spread proudly, fingers drumming on her sword hilt. Kira felt anger stirring in her gut, and her hand went slowly to her own sword, but she stilled her hand, and let patience win out.

Thaden and the other refugees were waiting back by a small stream, all of them hiding in the forest after Kira halted them when she caught the scent of Kazdruk drifting through the woods. She had seen the force of what looked to be roughly two hundred moving through the woodline, and made sure to skirt behind them, to see where they had come from. That’s where she found this camp.

Kira let out a long breath, before the snapping of ropes caught her attention; the trebuchets were firing. All four of them launching large rocks towards the distant city walls. Again her hand went to her sword, but again patience won out. She was one woman, she could not storm this camp alone.

Looking back from where she had come, she thought of the refugees, of Thaden. Perhaps she did have something of a force after all.

Without another word she slunk back into the forest. Making note of each sentry, each patrol, each tent. Blood would be shed this night.

><>< 

The first volley crashed into the city and earned screams of terror. Two of the rocks struck the walls, sending chunks of masonry falling to the field below, but the other two whistled into the city, striking homes. Timber snapped like kindling, roofs collapsed crushing anyone within, and sent debris tumbling into the streets.

Since the first alarms had been raised, Lady Viviane Stark had been arming herself, and when that first volley struck she had seen it through the open doors of the stable.

“Oan have mercy,” she muttered to herself, before turning into the small building to finish strapping her saddle to her white Stallion, Light Dancer. The horse whinnied as the screams reached his ears, before she gently stroked his mane.

“Easy boy, we’ll get out into the battle soon enough,” she whispered softly, and looked about the stables. There were nine other knights in there with her, all of them experienced warriors like herself. When Sarya had taken control of the city, they were officially placed under arrest, but they had no guards, and had been allowed their weapons. They knew that they could not fight an entire city whose loyalty had shifted with a single utterance.

Viviane struggled to comprehend how Sarya thought she could defend this city without the aid of the coalition and how she thought she could just separate from the Coalition. They needed to be united to stand against the Kazdruk, it was their only chance.

Shaking her head, she cleared her mind of such thoughts. She held no loyalty to Sarya, but these people were innocents still. So she and her fellow knights mounted up, ready for battle. Trotting out of the stables, another volley struck the city, earning more screams, more terror. She only hoped that Sarya could do something, as ten knights would not be enough.

><>< 

Boots hammering on the stone steps of the stairs, Sarya didn’t feel any fatigue as she ran up to the wall tops. Soldiers moved out of her way, and it didn’t take long for her to soon be leaning against the battlements, staring out across the fields from where the projectiles had come. Smears of greasy smoke curled up into the sky, and in the distance tents were being pitched in preparation for a siege.

Quickly trying to count, Sarya realized she could get an accurate account from this distance. She’d need to send out scouts. The enemy, Kazdruk it looked like, didn’t seem to be very numerous, but who knew how many were hiding in the woods. They might be waiting for a sally to wipe out the bulk of the city’s defenders. The triangle of rivers that curled around the city was too far to be of any effective use in battle, for gain or ill, and was easily forded in the east besides that, meaning it was completely ineffective as a strategic option against these invaders.

The fact that the camp was to the west meant either that Lillium had marched through the forest south of the city from Volgras to the south east, or that this was another army. Neither thought sat well with Sarya.

Thinking quickly in her head, Sarya thought of the tallies she had done after her coup. So many lives had been lost, but she was still left with close to three thousand soldiers. Most of them had no experience save for petty squabbles in the streets. If those Helots out there had any experience, and doubtlessly they did, they could wipe out their forces if they were in any number. She had to know.

Another volley came hurtling inwards, the rocks whistling through the air, a sound Sarya knew all too well. She did not move, even as one struck the wall beneath her feet, another not so far over her head. She could feel the wall shaking in protest, and now she wondered how well this city had been built to withstand a siege. She could not think of any time these defenses had been tested in the past. Driftafay lived and died with the nations around it.

She turned and pointed to the nearest soldier.

“You, get down into the city, start organizing rescue parties for anyone trapped in collapsed homes, start bringing everyone further into the city and bringing the wounded to the healing houses,” she ordered and the soldier looked panicked but ran off to do her bidding, or more likely find a sergeant to do it for him. So long as it got done, Sarya didn’t care. She turned to another, pointing at him.

“Find the Captain of the Guard, have him meet me in the war chamber in the Palace, and anyone he thinks necessary. And find those damned knights as well. They’re stuck in here with us… they might as well fucking fight,” Sarya commanded, the man saluted, and ran off.

Sarya turned again to look out towards the Kazdruk camp. Squinting she tried to make something out, but the enemy were all distant ants moving about their business.

“It’s you, isn’t it Lillium. I’m coming for you bitch,” Sarya snarled, and turned to dismount the wall. A battle was not won with empty threats.

><>< 

Kamri bowed and left the chamber, leaving Aeltha alone to pace and ponder this task she had taken upon herself. She wondered how Neicul’s own little quest was going, but a shimmer in the far corner of her room alerted her to a presence that had doubtlessly been lurking long before Kamri had left.

“What do you have to report Niseth,” Aeltha asked to the shimmer, and the metallic succubus emerged, soft and quiet as the shadows she inhabited.

“Lillium. She has more ambition than anticipated. Perhaps it is the vampire blood you used in her birth, perhaps it is simply what you found within her soul, but she has been converting those she captures to the worship of Morkate, and many have been turned into vampires, much more than the single vial you gave her would acomplish,” the spy whispered.

Aeltha stared at her shadowy minion, startled. This was not something she had expected. Yet it made her curious to see what would come of it. The vial of magically laced vampire blood she knew Lillium had used on her concubine, Rania, to transform her flesh. She had done so at Aeltha’s wish to see the effects on an untainted human.

Nera had been using vampire blood for years to keep herself beautiful when Aeltha toyed with her flesh. Lillium had been magically altered into the form of a succubus when she was made into one of the undead. Rania had been the first subject to successfully turn; the others dumped into a mass grave in the wastes surrounding Thorlgruz. How had Lillium managed to replicate that without the notes Aeltha had studiously recorded. Had she snuck back to the cathedral? Had she sent someone else back there? Aeltha pondered these questions before turning to Niseth.

“So. She thinks to gain the strength to stand amongst the other great Kazdruk,” Aeltha said with a smile.

“I… am not positive. They call her the harbinger. The holy instrument of Morkate. They worship her, and do not view her as a Kazdruk. The Helots have been gathering around her as well, I’ve heard whispers that she is the salvation of their race,” Niseth explained, and Aeltha’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Perhaps helping this Kamri was more necessary than she had anticipated. Or simply something blocking her from looking into far more serious concerns. Her eyes glanced towards the book of spells that she was studying for the coming invasion of the Western lands.

“Perhaps we have left her on her own long enough. Shadow her, forget everything else. Come back to me if anything else changes about my little vampire slut,” Aeltha said gently, beginning to pace again. Perhaps Lillium should be brought back here. She might learn her place again if Aeltha shoved her cock down her throat.

“Do we tell Yuldasha?” Niseth asked, and Aeltha gently shook her head.

“We will hold this to ourselves. It explains why Helots have been acting so strangely of late, but they are my mentor’s creation, not mine. I cannot change them. Perhaps I should approach Master Yuldasha with plans for a new breed of soldier then. But Lillium will remain our secret, until her blasphemies endanger our plans. Go Niseth,” Aeltha said, and the metal and flesh succubus vanished once more into shadow.

Aeltha’s mind was not upon Kamri’s staff. Instead she thought of Nera, and the blood that ran in her veins. The very same blood she had used to create Lillium. She needed to get back to Thorlgruz soon.

By: SinfulWolf

Thaden’s steps had the quiet and deliberate pace of a bandit well versed in hiding from those that did not wish him good fortunes, or those travellers who held his fortune. His feet cracked no branches of twigs fallen from the trees looming above them, casting their shadows across what appeared to be a rather bright day gauging by the streams of sunlight that managed to cut through the ceiling of leaves. Even the soft shuffle of leaves was muted by his careful placement of feet, yet Kira could hear every footfall. Knew exactly where he was even though he was a few feet behind her.

He had said little since this morning, when they had both cleaned the sex from last night off their skin in the stream they had camped beside, before dressing and striding off south. To find Lillium, though Kira was still so unsure of what to do if she found her sister, especially if what she had heard turned out to be true. She wasn’t sure if she could kill her own sister, and though she never expressed the burrowing doubts in her mind to Thaden, she feared she would simply bend the knee if Lillium was indeed this succubus out of a nightmare.

Her thoughts bounced and spiraled, from her sister supposedly rampaging across the Coalition, to the warm embrace of Thaden and the taste of his skin, to Ian who could very well be dead now. But then, she had once thought the same of Lillium.

All her thoughts came crashing violently into the present, banished from her mind as she grasped the sword at her hip, drawing it carefully free. Through the trees, she heard the sounds of walking, at least two dozen people. She could hear their voices faintly, but not what they said, only that they seemed human. She could smell them now, the wind carrying their scent to her flaring nostrils. Sweat, smoke, blood, and fear clung to them like a cloak. Kira doubted any of them could smell it on each other.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw Thaden behind a tree, long dagger laying in one palm, pressed against the body of a crossbow he’d acquired outside Driftafar. He nodded at her, and she knew the bandit was ready. Years of thievery did not make one soft.

Tucking herself in a shrub at the base of a all oak, Kira waited, wondering who these people were. She did not expect the stumbling parade of weathered humans, shambling with hopelessness in their eyes. Their clothes were torn and smeared with dirt and some with blood, and there were many without any shoes or boots on, their bare feet bleeding as they trudged along their path staring straight ahead.

A mother in the group held her young child close to her chest, the boy’s legs a tattered and bleeding mess, trails where tears had fallen cutting through the dirt smeared across his face. A man with a limp clutched at his leg, a bloodied bandage wrapped around his thigh as he leaned heavily on a thick stick. There was mud packed into his eye, and Kira could tell as he came closer that he had lost it.

Slowly, with hands raised to show she meant no threat, Kira stood and stepped out onto the path. She was aware of how she looked, for while she had the dust of the road on her, the wide brimmed hat and vibrant red and green corset made her look more bandit than traveller out here, though back in the city she might be mistaken for a whore.

The parade slowly came to a shuffling stop as the leader spotted Kira, a tired looking and aging man, who’s gray hair was flecked with looked to be blood. Still, he was well muscled and held his dented blade firmly as he pointed it towards Kira, eyes flicking only momentarily to Thaden as he came out of hiding, weapons at his side.

“Step aside. We have nothing of value to give,” the man growled, and while Kira could hear the fatigue in his voice, she knew he would still be able to give a fight, even if no one else behind him could.

“We’re not bandits,” Kira said, and heard the short snort of laughter from Thaden, so quiet only she would have heard it. “We’ve just come from Driftafay. I’m looking for Lillium,” Kira admitted, and she saw the wave of fear the name brought upon those in the column, and the aging soldier spat on the ground.

“That whore of darkness. Keep going south, to Volgras. That’s where the fucking bitch lives,” the man said, and Kira felt her heart sink. She was finding it harder and harder to deny the truth laid down before her. Love of her sister was all that kept her from truly listening.

“Where are you from?” Thaden asked as Kira mulled in her own thoughts.

“A village southwest of here, from the Avernz clan. Our king is too mired in politics with his brother to pay much attention to the outlying villages. So far as he’s concerned, the dark whore can have us, and she nearly did. Her soldiers came in, raiding, screaming and looting. We’re the only ones that made it out, the rest dead or in chains, led back to Volgras,” the man said, and pointed back the way they had come from with his sword, though his eyes did not follow the gesture.

“Was she there?” Kira pressed.

“Listen, I don’t know what your deal is with the bitch, but drop it. You’re one woman, and she’s a fucking nightmare. Just turn around, and go back home, and hopefully our fearless leaders can pull their heads out of their ass long enough to stop the cunt. We’re going to Driftafay, find shelter there,” the man said, spitting on the ground again, his frustration and anger evident in his features.

Kira let out a low breath and reached up, slowly removing her hat, exposing her ears to the group. The soldier’s eyes went wide in surprise and there were gasps and hushed whispers amongst the refugees. What Kira did not expect however, was the sudden spark of hope that lit up in their eyes. She could practically smell it on them.

“Wolfkin,” someone whispered gently, and someone else came forward, falling to their knees and grasping at Kira’s legs like she was the daughter of Oan herself. Together they come in, a crowd of hopeful people reaching out to touch her, and the last Kira saw of Thaden’s face was a look of surprise before she lost him amidst the sea of wretches desperately clinging to their newfound saviour.

“Oan has given us a sign…”

“…will guide us…”

“… saviour.”

There were so many voices, coming together that even with her enhanced hearing, Kira was having trouble pulling out individual sentences. They needed her, to lead them to safety. She wondered if finding Lillium was worth it, if her heart could truly stand such a meeting, or if she should simply do everything in her power to save these people.

She had failed her own, talk said. Had left them to find others to help them. She could not live with more lives on her conscious for her failure to act. But, if she led them to Driftafay, Lillium could cause more heartache, more destruction.

Then she was looking into the eyes of the woman, clinging tightly to her child who looked at Kira in wonder and amazement.

“Save us Wolfkin. Deliver us from evil.”

><>< 

Standing in the middle of the council chamber, Sarya looked up at the faces peering down at her, full of revulsion at the head dangling from her fist by its hair, blood dripping onto the floor with a quiet patter, a small puddle forming by her feet. They were also full of fear, because of the sword clutched in her other hand, still stained crimson, and the armour she wore, of an empire thought fallen, also spattered.

The silver guard kept their distance, not knowing how to react with their captain standing in the middle of the room, holding the head of one they were supposed to protect, but Sarya paid them no heed. Instead she looked to one Elf ambassador, of the house Wayyel, and threw the head at him. It bounced on the table before him, spattering blood, and the man’s face blanched as he looked down at a former comrade.

“All of you, are weak. My empire did not fall because of the soldiers. If it were up to the soldiers, the Kazdruk would be a footnote in history. They would be stories to tell our children. But it was people like you, always talking, always fretting, always trying to stab each other in the back for a profit, that let the Kazdruk storm my lands. Rape our people. Murder us. Enslave us,” Sarya began, noting out of the corner of her eye, shadowy figures moving just out of sight.

The ambassadors all began to talk noisily, trying to proclaim Sarya a traitor, all except the Wayyel ambassador, who looked down at the head still in his lap, in a state of shock.

“Shut your fucking mouths,” Sarya roared, and looked to one of the Silver Guard, and extended her hand. Everyone looked at her, silence filling the room, as the guard stepped forward, and gave her his spear.

“Captain. We’re with you,” the man said with a slight bow of his head, and took a few steps back. There was shock amidst the council now, and it was only punctuated when Sarya grasped the spear tightly, and threw it hard. The lead shaped blade rammed through a woman’s chest, cleaving through the flesh of her breast, the bone of her ribs, and sticking through the back of her chair, dripping her blood as she slumped in death, unable to fall pinned as she was.

“Weakness killed my empire. But it is not weakness that will kill this Coalition. It is cowardice, as human nobles bow, and scrape the lick the toes of Elvish rulers who would use our lives to buy their own,” Sarya continued, and there was a murmur of agreement from the guards, and even some of the servants in attendance, bringing the ambassadors refreshments of silver trays. Not one of them an Elf.

“You racist bitch!” a silver guard called out, tearing his helmet from his head, revealing the pointed ears of his race. He grasped his spear, storming forward, but only got a few steps before another came behind him, ramming his own weapon through the Elf’s throat. For a moment the guard stood, eyes wide in realization, blood pouring from his open mouth. When the spear was pulled free, the Elf died quickly. Sarya hadn’t even looked.

“To save the people you proclaim to protect, I hereby invoke myself as Dictator of Driftafay, and proclaim Driftafay free of the coalition. For your acts of treason against your own people, you all, are sentenced to death. May Oan have mercy on your souls for turning your back on those your swore to lead.”

“You can’t do this,” the Wayyel ambassador finally shouted, rising to his feet, his face red with rage.

“I already have,” Sarya said, and as soon as the words left her mouth, the guards were moving forward, grabbing at the council members. Any who resisted were stabbed on the spot, their blood pooling on the floor. The Wayyel ambassador was amongst them, left slumped over the table before him, blood pattering on the floor beneath as his glassy eyes stared at nothing. Sarya watched the slaughter with no feeling.

It had to be done.

><>< 

Screams howled in the streets of Driftafay, as Sarya stood on one of the palace balconies. Her sword was sheathed, her helmet tucked under her arm, as she watched the city go wild with blood lust. Years of pent up frustration released on a people that thought they were better than everyone else. Rivers of blood ran through the gutters, pouring into the sewers. Crows were already circling overhead, diving down for their meals in districts abandoned by the rampaging mobs.

The guards did nothing, even occasionally tossing Elven members out to the bloodthirsty throng. In the market square, the council members dangled by their necks from hastily erected gallows. Their bodies had been stripped and beaten, leaving them barely recognizable. Anyone who thought the Coalition was a peaceful existence between humans and elves need only look down into the streets of Driftafay to know the barbaric truth.

The Human Clans, and Elven Houses hated each other as much now, as they did before the pact was sealed. Perhaps more so. Sarya closed her eyes, but could still hear the sounds carrying through the streets.

She would not be forgiven for this. She would be heralded as a tyrant and villain. Yet she made peace with that, for she had given humanity the best chance they could against the encroaching Kazdruk. Now, it was time to prepare for war. Because for what she has done, there would be no one coming to help. The Elves would not allow it.

She turned on her heel, and strode back into the palace, leaving the orgy of violence behind.

><>< 

Hungry moans filled Lillium’s chambers, the soft violet glow of Kazdruk torches throwing shadows across the mostly naked forms of the women upon the baroness’s bed, her sheets damp with sweat and mostly kicked off the edge, pooling upon the floor.

Yannifer, as always in her wraps of black leather, whip in hand, watched the scene playing out before her with hungry eyes, letting the very tip of her weapon slide teasingly across Rania’s back, down over the tight curve of her rear, and down over her glistening thighs. The woman kneeled between Lillium’s legs, her new fangs sunk into the flesh of the succubus’s thigh, thin trickle of crimson seeping from beneath the black lips pressed to pale flesh as the new born vampire greedily sucked from her mistress.

Finely made black ropes, soft to the touch, crisscrossed over her back, looping through well tied knots down her front, one at her throat, another nestled where the slope of her breasts began to curve downwards, another just beneath the gorgeous orbs of flesh peaked with a pale pink nipple. Three more ran down the centre of her belly, the last of which was tied just above her crotch. Looped over her neck, and sliding downwards between her thighs and up between her rear cheeks, the karada knots were something Lillium had found in a book from the Goldulin empire. It fit Rania so well anymore, not hiding anything from prying eyes, though Rania revelled in displaying her flesh since tasting the blood of an ancient Goddess.

One hand reaching down over herself, Lillium’s fingers traced the cords wrapping her concubine, the succubus keeping her eyes closed as she moaned to the ceiling, her wings draped across the bed, hanging off the edges as she savoured her own depravity.

Mia, clad only in the leather head piece of a nun’s habit, ran her hands over Lillium’s body, feeling each curve as her mouth sucked upon one of the stiff nipples of the succubus’s breast. Her legs were draped over the woman, even feeling Rania’s hair on the bottom of one thigh, as her hips gently rolled, grinding her slick cunt against her mistress, moaning into her flesh. The lash of the whip broke the softness of the moans and slick sounds of mouths sucking on vein and tit. The leather cracked hard against Rania’s back, licking over her side and across Lillium’s leg. The strike drew a long line across both women, small rivulets of blood seeping from the wound, but only causing both women to moan louder, though one was muffled.

Yannifer licked her lips at the sound, a shiver running up her spine as her fingers toyed with the grip of the lash within her grasp, leather wrapped around her wrist creaking slightly with the movement, rubbing against her flesh pleasantly. Stepping forward, she ran her fingertips up Rania’s legs, and over her ass, her eyes alight with lust.

The cut on concubine and mistress healed, leaving only a smear of blood in its wake, along with the others that had been delivered since these four had shut the door to Lillium’s chambers some hours before. And through it all Niseth had been within the shadows, watching, hoping to gleam information from the succubus baroness. Instead she had been witness to hours of slow pleasure, becoming very familiar with the sound of orgasm from each four of the women as they teased each other unto the peak of bliss again and again, until their skin glistened with sweat.

Yet still they did not stop, not one looking as if she wanted to stop. Niseth herself had been unable to deny to eroticism of Lillium and her concubines, finding her own claws between her legs, gently pushing into the very wet depths of her cunt, not making a sound as she fingered herself. Her thighs and fingers would shimmer just as the lips, digits and legs of the four she watched, if not for her absolute control of the shadows even in the midst of self pleasure.

Now, watching Yannifer slide the butt of her whip into Rania’s rear, listening to her moan around her bit on Lillium’s thigh, the shadow master felt herself shudder as an orgasm slid through her, brought on by what she saw as much as her own busy fingers.

The temptation to stay and watch curled through the spy’s mind. She was patient, eventually she might learn something other than how Lillium could make someone writhe and scream in pleasure with her tongue and lips alone. The look on Yannifer’s face when she finally reached her peak as the succubus’s tongue darted and flicked, told Niseth how the sultry baroness had managed to secure such loyalty from her concubines… at least after the corruption had set in.

Shaking her head, Niseth withdrew her fingers from her cunt, and licked them clean, before vanishing into the shadows, travelling through darkness where no other could see her. Not even the mighty Yuldasha.

Moving through the castle after one final look at the four, seeing Yannifer pull roughly on Rania’s hair, while Lillium brought Mia up for a long wet kiss, Niseth soon found herself in the village itself. She knew the memories of what she had seen in the chambers above would linger warmly on her mind for many nights, and Aeltha might enjoy the descriptions, Niseth knew she had more important tasks to complete.

As she moved from shadow to shadow, unseen by the villagers walking free through the streets of the village, Niseth pondered their appearance. No fear, no slave collars, nor even the modest woolen garb these Coalition peasants favored. No instead they wore black wool dresses, slit to the hip, their torsos clad in corsets of varying quality. Skin was marked with strange designs, painted on with black, red, or purple dyes. Men and women both wore cosmetics, enhancing their looks, and passing villagers openly ogled each other. Something was very strange; this did not look like people conquered. It looked like freedom, like citizens. Some men and women even wore simply mail armour, brandishing spears as they stood guard or patrolled in small groups, they themselves painted strangely.

Niseth did not know what to make of it, so filed everything she witnessed away that she might report it to her own mistress. Aeltha would be most intrigued by these developments.

Of course, that observation paled when she found the barracks. Where the helots made their home. Whatever building it had been before, human and helot alike had expanded it, until it was a small compound with its own blacksmith and armourer, both in use as workers glistened with sweat as they laboured over steel, crafting weapons and armour for those currently standing on a square of flat slabs.

Lorth, their leader, stood at one end, watching the training. Niseth was most interested in the sash he wore, even as his eyes danced from one drilling set of Helot warriors to another. Shouts of instructors echoed within the compound, and the Helots listened as their wooden weapons clashed and struck against posts and each other. There were blood stains upon the ground from failure and wounds suffered, and Niseth shook her head at the discipline of these warriors. To make matters more interesting for the spy, she noted more than one that had not originally belonged to this warband.

Her memory rushed and clicked, and she realized she recognized some that were deserters from other Kazdruk armies. Helots were flocking here, to further the conquests of their demonic masters under a new set of heels. Niseth let her eyes flick up to the tower where Lillium was doubtless still entwined with the nude forms of her concubines.

Slipping away once again, Niseth decided to examine one last place before making the return to the Spire. The old church, obvious in its defilement from outside, the once pristine stone now had strange runes carved into it, and filled with red paint. The stained glass windows had been smashed out, though there was one that had been replaced. The images on the new window were certainly not ones that Oan would approve of. It showed a succubus kneeling naked beneath a tree, decapitated corpses spilling their blood upon her. Reds, and blacks, and flesh tones were all used, rather than the soft greens and yellows and blues of before.

More mist than solid, Niseth drifted up the stairs leading to the front doors, and peered within. There was a woman, naked, her body tattooed, her hair wild. Niseth struggled for a moment before the woman’s name returned to her mind; Aela. Now some depraved priestess for whatever religion Lillium had raised here in Volgras.

Aela though was not alone, for while she kneeled upon the stone altar at the head of the temple, beneath a dead man staked to the back wall and stripped naked, there was a Helot beneath her. She held a chalice of onyx in her hands as she chanted, the words slipping from her mouth, and tempting the spy to slip fingers between thighs once more. The words sounded familiar, as if from a different life, and as she thought of them, Aela slowly descended. The Helot’s cock sank into her depths, and Aela let out a moan of pure pleasure, before her hips began to roll. Her breasts bounced as she rode the beast beneath her, strong hands grasping her hips as she continued to speak her strange words.

The chalice tilted forwards, and blood flowed over its brim, splashing upon the Helot’s face. Not much spilled, and holding the chalice up again with one hand, Aela used her free fingers to draw something on the Helot’s forehead.

“Baptized by the blood of sacrifice, and the cunt of a woman blessed, be welcomed to the embrace of Morkate, rise a Blood Guard of her Harbinger,” Aela called out in her husky voice, and the Helot grunted. Cum seeped around his cock, still buried in her depths, dripping onto the stone of the altar. Aela grinned, and ran her fingers down the warrior’s chest.

Having seen enough, Niseth turned, and vanished into the wilderness.

><>< 

Heels clicked on cobblestone as Lillium emerged from the gates of her castle, sliding out of the shadows into the light of the sun. The breeze had her long hardened leather skirts billowing around her legs, showing glimpses of black steel and mail beneath. Just behind her stood Yannifer, whip coiled around her forearm.

Standing now in the courtyard she looked upon the gathered Helots, Lorth standing before them, proud. He pounded a fist hard to his chest, the gauntlet cracking against his breast plate in salute. A smile curled Lillium’s lips as her gaze flicked over the start of her army.

“Are you ready for war? Are you ready to feast on the flesh of our enemies, and take the spoils of victory?” she called out, her voice loud, clear, and edged with iron. The responding cry from the gathered Helots was deafening. A roar of bloodlust that echoed through the town, and the surrounding forest.

Even deep within the dungeons of Volgras, Ian looked up with tired eyes towards the bars filling the high and narrow window of his cell. The roaring shout outside sent a shiver of despair down his spine.

By: SinfulWolf

Kneeling near the front of Volgras’ old church, Mia’s hands were clasped together as she witnessed the holy spectacle before her. The priest that had once preached in this building was dead, slain by the woman now standing over the altar of stone covered in carved runes that glowed with an unearthly light. The woman, this high priestess, had been the priest’s daughter, yet she had showed no hesitation when plunging the knife down into her father’s chest to show her faith to her new Goddess; Morkate.

Clad in a cloak of raven black, the hood obscuring features Mia knew to be beautiful, the high priestess held her arms aloft as she spoke in a long forgotten tongue. Each word fell upon the gathered followers kneeling before her, all nude, with red paint marking runes upon their flesh, their eyes locked upon her. That she even knew the language was proof of her connection to Morkate, and all across the Coalition kings and nobles believed her long forgotten.

Aela proved them wrong as she spoke, her cloak opened to show her tattooed flesh, glistening with oils that Mia had been lucky enough to help apply before the mass, though the moisture glistening between her legs was not oil. In her hand was clutched a dagger, curved with more runes along the blade, the hilt an ornate piece of chiselled wood curled perfectly into her hand.

Laying across the altar, tied down with thick leather straps, nude like all others in the church, but the markings painted on her skin was not paint, but rather blood drawn from her own palms, and from Aela’s. Her eyes were full of fear, looking up at the dagger, and over the people that had once been neighbours and friends.

“Why are you doing this? Oan will guide us to paradise. This Pagan Goddess will only end with your suffering! Please,” she begged, an endless tirade of pleas for her freedom, and Mia felt the corner’s of her mouth curl upwards. She had once been weak, once gotten on her knees to beg for Oan’s guidance. Lillium had showed her the truth, shown her the one reason one should get on their knees. Now here she knelt, her flesh stinging from recent tattoos that marked her as a priestess of Morkate. Aela had made each marking herself, with ink mixed with the blood of Morkate’s Harbinger; Lillium.

“You cry and plead for weakness. The Cozlak are no more. Innisgar is but debris. We have risen from its ashes, molded by the lash of the Harbinger, shown the darkness, that paradise lies within our own flesh,” Aela purred, her hand running over her sleek body as she spoke.

“We are not of the Coalition to be tossed away by Elves, and our own nobles grown fat on Elvish food, their purses heavy with Elvish gold. We are not Kazdruk to be denied our own pleasure and fed to beasts of war. We are Katen, embraced within the dark gaze of Morkate, and guided by her Harbinger, Lillium, Baroness of Volgras,” Aela called.

Mia found herself shouting amongst all others in the defiled church: “Kneel before Morkate, Hail Lillium.”

“And so, you are our enemy, and to appease our lust for blood, and the dark Goddess’s hunger for souls too weak to follow in her wake, we offer your physical body to the pain of death, and your soul to the darkness,” Aela cried, and the church went silent with hungry anticipation, except for the woman’s screams.

The knife came down, and plunged between her breasts. Blood poured from the wound, running through the grooves of the altar, and spilling down the sides onto the floors. For a moment, there were only the gurgles of the woman as she died upon the holy knife, followed by a cry from the congregation that was almost orgasmic.

As blood flowed through the church, man and woman turned upon one another. There was no need to tear clothes that were folded carefully at the entrance of the temple. Aela stood watch as her flock descended into the beauty of carnal need. Mia found herself in the centre, a woman’s hands roaming over her back, down to her ass, clenching hard. A man climbed atop her, the tip of his cock sliding along her thigh before he drove it deep inside her.

She moaned hungrily as he filled her with his hard heat, her hands running through his hair as she arched her back, hard nipples grazing over his chest as he began to thrust into her with hungry grunts, his cock glistening and slick with her juices.

Lips were claimed by another woman, whose tongue thrust into Mia’s mouth. Muffled moans spilled into the kiss from both women, and the way her body pushed into and pulled from the fallen nun let her know without opening her eyes, that her newest lover had a man slamming himself into her from behind. Which entrance she could not tell.

The cries of pleasure filled the room, and flesh slapped against flesh. Old marriages were worthless in the eyes of Morkate, nor did she approve of monogamy. Prudish housewives found themselves kneeling between the legs of muscled men they had secretly dreamed of, their lips now shamelessly sliding along their pricks, some with a hand buried between their legs. Once loyal husbands now had women bent over before them, or riding atop them, bouncing upon their cocks.

Mia groaned hungrily as she felt a flood of cum gushing into her, and the still hard cock slid out, pumping spunk across the floor, further staining it. Mia’s eyes opened as she witnessed the body of the man that had fucked her, glistening with sweat, turn and be embraced by another man. She recognized the lumberjack as he pressed her lover to a wall, and thrust himself inside. Both men moaned in animal hunger as their bodies thrust against each other.

Mia stared, feeling the lips of the woman above her descend to her breast, pulling a nipple into her mouth and greedily sucking, flicking a tongue over the stiff nub, as her eyes soaked in one man fiercely fucking the other. The one against the wall had his head roughly turned, so that their lips may meet in a passionate kiss that had Mia panting with desire, just before she felt a tongue lapping between her own thighs.

A glance down showed another man, kneeling before her, his tongue soon driving up inside her, reminding her of how she had given herself but a few weeks before, kneeling before the Harbinger. The man though, had another woman beneath him, her tongue running over his balls as his cock rubbed against her skin, already smeared with the cum of other lovers. Reaching down, Mia grasped his hair, pulling him tighter into her greedy cunt, her juices smearing over his lips and chin, mingling with that of all the others already there.

She looked up again, hips bucking against the face of the man between her legs, and found herself facing yet another man, who slid his cock between her lips without pause. Mia’s mouth opened hungrily, tasting cum and pussy upon her tongue as he began to thrust, faster, harder, her body shaking from the effort, her tits bouncing each time he buried himself to her throat.

The glory of orgasm was not long coming, and her muffled moan had the man above her groaning his own pleasure, before his seed cascaded over her tongue, down her throat. Bitter and delicious it flowed, and Mia drank it down.

The fallen nun gasped as the cock was pulled from her mouth, strings of cum landing upon her chin and breast and the hair of the woman sucking her nipple, and let her eyes find Aela.

The high priestess still stood naked save her cloak as she watched the orgy unfold, and carved open the body of her sacrifice that she might serve the Harbinger a holy feast. In the dim light that managed to show just a hint under the hood, Mia could see beautiful black lips, shimmering, and curled in a smile.

><>< 

The knife drove down into the thick oaken table, slicing through the map easily. Lillium slowly unwrapped her fingers from the hilt, and looked up at her war council. Lorth, and two of his chosen lieutenants clad in armour, and with a red sash to mark their rank, glanced down where the knife had driven through; Driftafay.

“You mean to take the city? We do not have the soldiers needed for an attack of this scale,” Lorth said, glancing back up to the baroness. His two lieutenants said nothing, afraid of contradicting the wishes of a Kazdruk.

“Correct. Which is why we won’t assault the walls. But instead we will set up catapults, here and here,” Lillium told her captain, pointing to two points on the map, out in the farm land.

“Harass their defences, damage the walls and towers, but more importantly, raid their farms,” Lillium said, and with those words she saw the battle lust glowing in the eyes of her council.

“If they sally from the gates, we can fight them back easily enough my lady. But the trouble comes when an army marches south to fight us back,” Lorth said, and Lillium noted that the two lieutenants nodded, but still said nothing.

“So then what are your suggestions? This is a war council, use your tongues,” Lillium said, narrowing her eyes.

One lieutenant, Kaln, nervously glanced at his companion and superior, but the other, Bazk, jabbed a finger onto the map, not far north of where the catapults would be set up.

“We have a cohort of warriors here. Acting as lookouts they’ll be able to spot an incoming army, and harass them long enough for our catapults to be taken down for a retreat into the wood line. Once there in the trees, we can use hit and run attacks to destroy the army. If there is a sally from the city, the same cohort can flank it, while leaving some scouts behind to keep watch,” he said and slowly lifted his finger. He took a breath, waiting for the lash to strike, and there was a look of surprise on his face when it never came.

“You chose your lieutenants well Lorth. Well Kaln, do you agree?” Lillium asked.

“It would leave less warriors for the raids upon the farms. Letting many escape, perhaps even with their stores to bring into the city, which would hamper the results of the harassment,” Kaln said after some thinking, and Lillium nodded.

“This attack is not about taking the city. This attack is not about weakening the city. This attack is about putting fear in their hearts. And spreading the worship of Morkate. Raid, ravage, destroy, but let many escape… along with some of our own,” Lillium said.

Kaln and Bazk cocked their heads quizzically, but Lorth grinned.

“Destroy them from within. Conversion,” he said, and Lillium’s grin matched his own.

“If Aeltha or Yuldasha learn of you being this harbinger, the results will not be good,” Bazk willed himself to say.

“When Bazk. When they learn. When that time comes, we must be ready for the reckoning, until then, we spread the will of the Kazdruk, and prepare,” Lillium said and looked between the three.

“Your people were not so different from humans long ago. Until the Kazdruk came. Now, you have a chance to regain former glory, if you stay loyal to me.”

The two lieutenants looked at each other for a moment, before joining their captain in pounding a fist to their chest in salute.

><>< 

Closing the door to her office softly behind her, Sarya let out a long sigh. Kira had escaped the city her spies said, but she had not called off the search within the walls. This information stopped with her; it would not reach the council, and she would give them no reason to think that this Wolfkin had gotten outside the walls.

As she passed her desk, she glanced down at the map of Coalition territory, noting the blocks set upon the fabric that denoted Kazdruk incursions. They were getting closer and closer to Driftafay, the greatest city for the south of the Coalition. Now with Innisgar gone, there was no true point of defense between the Kazdruk and the city, and this Lillium would more than likely march soon.

And the council had chased away their best chance at fighting them back. Sarya was not from here, she was Goldulin, a former Centurion, who had fled when their outpost had been stormed, her commander crucified, and most of her soldiers slain. She had fled, smeared in the blood of Kazdruk, so that she might fight back another day. She could not avenge her people if she were enslaved, or nailed to a cross as most of those who had lived under the protection of the Empire had been.

So when Kira had vanished into the night, Sarya had secretly inquired about the legends of these feudal and savage clans that had allied themselves with the Elves. She had learned of the stories of the Wolfkin, had heard whispers of hope that dare not rise in pitch so long as Human kings scraped for the promise of riches and power that Elves could promise. It was the very same corruption that had led to her Empire to so easily be conquered by the demonic invaders. So here it was now, that arrogance, and power mongering nobles, would lead their own people to doom.

Sarya crossed her chambers, undoing the buckles of her fine silver armour, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor rather than hanging it carefully with pride as she had every day since being given this position. The sword, inlaid with silver, beautifully crafted, but with not a single dent of war in its edge, was the last to fall, forgotten now by the captain.

Kneeling by the chest that lay at the foot of her bed, she closed her eyes, and opened the heavy oaken lid, the edges reinforced with steel, not gold or jewels. Within lay the matte gray steel bands that made her Lorica and helm. Fine leather buckles, still well treated even after six years, showed no reflection of light, and the plume of red dyed horse hairs that sprung outwards from crest to nape of helmet showed bright, so that her soldiers might see her in the thick of chaotic battle.

She lifted the Lorica from the chest, and pulled it on, feeling the steel settle upon her form again. The weight a comfort, the dents and gouges of past battles marks of honour, and a better show than glittery silver that promoted only greed.

Beneath it all, her spatha, the sword well cared for, sharpened, but nothing fanciful. A Centurion needed no such gaudy pretense. Not like her own Emperor, or Empress, or the Senate. No, a Centurion was the definition of soldier, and that was what these people needed now. She would save them from their own masters, before the Elves led all humanity to destruction.

Buckling on her greaves and bracers, and pulling on the skirt of red wool and metal strips, Sarya glanced upwards as there was a knock at her door; she had waited long enough. She had bowed to the will of the council too long, and now she must reclaim her soul.

><>< 

Elvias Winterstone lounged in his comfortable chair, padded with cushions of goose feathers wrapped in blue silk. Carefully groomed hair fell about his fine features and he stared at the goblet in his hand, within a most wonderful vintage from a vineyard far to the south. A vineyard doubtlessly in Kazdruk hands now, and burned to ashes. Which only made the wine that much rarer, and expensive.

“This is a fine gift,” Elvias said to his guest, Henry, ambassador of the ruined Cozlak clan, who held the bottle carefully in his pudgy fingers. The man had the look of desperation upon him, his jowls shook as he nodded and smiled, doubtlessly well practised and very fake. Elvias could not help but admire the man; he had done fairly well for himself despite his clan rendered to nothing, essentially making him powerless. And being human of course.

“But, I will not be bribed Henry,” Elvias continued, and there the act faltered, the smile turning into a wide ‘O’ of shock, before his tongue flicked over lips.

“Without a clan, your position on the council seems rather redundant. And seeing as it was your clan that gave the Kazdruk the newest of their lieutenants, I don’t see why I should reward you,” Elvias said with a simple shrug, and smirked as Henry’s face turned to true fear.

“No need for that expression my friend. It’s not like I’m going to have you executed,” Elvias said with a laugh, but then he saw that Henry’s eyes were not upon him, but over his shoulder. The Elf frowned, and was about to turn, when something struck him hard. Pain flared in his skull, and he sprawled across the ground. Something wet and sticky stuck in his hair and he let out a low groan of pain.

Twisting onto his back, he saw something he never thought he’d see again. A Goldulin centurion, standing above him. His heart pounded, the Empire had fallen six years ago to the Kazdruk, how was this possible? The Centurion moved, and a flicker of candle light cast light beneath the soldier’s helm.

“Sarya?” Elvias breathed, unable to believe it. She’d come, wanting vengeance for her people, had been so very loyal, as soldiers of her caliber always were. But here she stood, her sword at the throat of Henry.

“You betray your people, to suck at the cock of Elves. I hope there is more than enough to stuff your gob, and your ass, in the pits of Hell,” Sarya growled at Henry, before her sword went clear through his throat. As blood sprayed from the wound when the blade came free, splashing over Sarya’s face and chest, Elvias now truly understood why they had never been able to defeat the empire.

In this, what he imagined to be his last moments, he saw how wrong he had been about humans. Before him was not weakness, it was ruthlessness perfected. As Henry’s body fell lifelessly to the floor, Sarya stormed to the fallen Elf, still dazed from the strike to his skull. She had the blade to his throat, the edge sharp and already drawing a ruby of blood.

“Mercy,” he whispered.

“You held none for us,” she said in reply, and there was a whisper of steel and parting flesh, and another flare of pain.

Elvias felt his head hit the floor, tried to speak but could only gurgle desperately. Blood flowed from his opened throat, and he died at the feet of a human. Who watched him bleed, without mercy, only cold, ruthless calculation.

Driftafay no longer bent to Elven sway. The humans were once more on the rise.

><>< 

Aeltha held up the vial and peered into it. It was exactly the same serum she had given to Lillium, and the succubus had chosen to use it to make a new concubine. The results had been fascinating. These humans were able to be molded in such ways she’d not heard of since the Neigin. The creatures who had become the Helots, the final product chosen as the most efficient of all the experiments her own teacher and master had performed on those creatures.

She had created her share of Succubi, but Succubi had been made from many races. They were not overly difficult to create. Glancing over her shoulder at Niseth, much of her beauty torn to grotesque stature, the sorceress had to admit that learning the anatomy of the humans had taken some time.

But she had it now. And the secrets held within the personal library of the Goldulin Empress herself had foretold so much more. Vampires, ancient creatures thought to be the minions of an old Goddess named Morkate. Eternal, beautiful, sexual, blood drinkers. Not so different from a succubus in hindsight.

But this world had expunged the worship of Morkate, and all the vampires were slain. The religious fervour of the followers of this new god, Oan, had ensured that the beautiful darkness of Morkate would never be seen again. Perhaps it was for the best, humans worshiping dark things would be able to stand taller against the Kazdruk, rather than the whimpering they did now.

The royal lines of the Empire however, had kept hidden stashes of vampiric blood. They used it to keep themselves young, and beautiful. Never enough to change themselves, that would betray their secret to the church. Aeltha smiled at the thought, that a small droplet of the blood held in the vial currently clenched between her fingers could stretch human life.

She wanted vampires of her own, the prospect seemed delightful. This concubine of Lillium’s was a breakthrough. The humans could become something more unique than succubi after all. But none would surpass Lillium herself. The woman’s dark heart, hidden from even herself for so long, had let Aeltha bond her with Kazdruk magics easily enough, to change her into a succubus.

But, just a simple succubus would not have done, and at the time, Aeltha was still unsure of just how frail humans were. Lillium had been her first subject of vampirism testing. A vampire succubus, even now, even after the experiment had been such a success, the idea sent shivers up her spine.

“Mistress,” Niseth finally said, and Aeltha smirked. The first succubus born of human flesh, so very loyal, yet she was impatient. She wanted to be back in the shadows, lurking that she may feast upon yet more knowledge.

“What news do you bring my dear?” she asked.

“I… no longer hear the whispers of whores in Volgras. They no longer seek me out. But my contacts in Driftafay whisper, of coming war to the city,” the spy whispered in her harsh voice that still somehow managed to sound as if on the wind.

“Why would those in Volgras no longer seek your protection?” Aeltha asked, turning on her heel, carefully setting the vial in its place. She ignored what was said about Driftafay, of course war was coming, and the foolish Elves would just throw more humans as the Kazdruk in an attempt to stop them, inadvertently feeding the very war machine that would crush them.

“I do not know. But I believe Lillium has swayed their favour. To herself,” Niseth said, and Aeltha pondered a moment.

“Then you must go. Discover what you can,” Aeltha said, but before she could say any more, there was a heavy knock at her chamber door. Without further word, Niseth vanished into shadow, witness to all that would take place over the next few minutes. Aeltha let out a frustrated sigh, and barked for whoever it was to enter.

Two figures stepped in, a large well muscled Kazdruk man, and a woman, armoured, would have been called an Elf once, but Aeltha wondered if she still could be called as such.

“Neicul, I must admit it’s rather perplexing, yet amusing finding you at my chamber door.”