Tag Archives: Shackles of Hate

Shackles of Hate. Chapter 19: Ink on Silk

By: SinfulWolf

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Again. What are you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For the moment anyway.

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

The Empress Nera of Goldulin.

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

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

She would not be the only one forever.




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

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

“You need to eat.”

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

“I’ll hunt when I’m hungry.”

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

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

And worse, the temptation she had felt from her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

But it was getting harder.

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

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

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

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

Despite the sin of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

Demanding attention.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The elven concubine pulled her whip free and grinned.

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

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




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

If she wished it of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get me your mistress.”




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

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

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

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

“I simply fulfill my purpose.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

By breaking her.

Lillium breaks Viviane. Art by Lucien

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

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

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

It was all that mattered.

Shackles of Hate. Chapter 17: Resurrection

By: SinfulWolf

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

Sarya looked over at her again, and sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

They broke it quietly, eyes closed.

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

Sarya shook her head sadly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. But it is a start.”


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What have you created Aeltha? Karthelza thought to herself.

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

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

By: SinfulWolf

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

Just how the nobility of Goldulin enjoyed it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Their barbed halberds slid downwards, crossing before the entrance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her hand came away dusty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

The time of innocence was long since past.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why do you need my help?”

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shackles of Hate. Chapter 15: The Departure of the Faithful

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.”

Shackles of Hate. Chapter 14: Rivers of Blood

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.


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.