Down in the Dungeon
Part TwoA Wulf Tale
By Anthony Pryor
Well, how 'bout that? I haven't written since last December, for reasons that have been thoroughly discussed elsewhere (see the forum and my livejournal), and now finally, as a result of my determination (despite huge challenges elsewhere) to get back to my life, here at long last is part two of Wulf's early adventure, Down in the Dungeon. Hopefully, it contains everything you read these things for - sex, violence, demons, people in armor, hot elf babes, angry dwarves and magic swords. Well, mostly the sex, I think, but there it is... There's some cool but frustrating demon-human sex and a scene that's a tad kinkier than I normally write - it's kind of marginally n/c lesbian bdsm, but I don't feel too bad about it since it's in the form of a dream sequence, and I intend to resolve that particular plot thread in the usual exploitive, sexy way in Part 3 (yes, there will be a part 3... Last weekend's sermon at my Unitarian congregation inspired the ending... I'm not making this up).Anyway, glad that Wulf can be back again... Better late than never and all that rot. Enjoy.
So when I last left off, I think I was in a tavern, regaling a youthful adventuring party with tales of my own younger days. This was, of course, in exchange for all the ale I could drink, and I'm not sure if they thought it was a good deal or not, given that I was trying with all my might to discourage them from taking off on their hare-brained endeavor.
"And exactly what did you and the elf druidess do while you were lost in the woods all day?" demanded the thief. He seemed to suspect me of holding out some of the juicier details of my experiences. And he was right.
"What do you normally do when you're lost?" I replied. "We tried to find our way out. In any event, we found the camp later that night, and by the next morning..."
***
Morning came way too early, as mornings have a tendency to do, as I was brutally ripped from a sound slumber by the rattle of pots and pans and the excited chatter of my companions. Of them all, only Lilywinter seemed reserved and quiet - even the taciturn Havaenol was grinning broadly, and actually discussing what he planned to do with his share of the plunder. The priest, as oblivious as ever, still apparently thought that this was a serious and reverent expedition to recover a holy relic, while the fighters, Thantanus and Svignar strapped on their armor and weapons, talking excitedly among themselves and ignoring the rest of us.
They wore the usual fighter rig, with Svig in fluted, gold-chased dwarven plate armor, and Thantanus in a heavy breastplate and metal-reinforced leather armor for his arms and legs. Svig had his signature weapon, a huge dwarven waraxe that was literally a work of art, inscribed with elaborate dwarven runes and scrollwork, while Thantanus relied on what I took to be an enchanted longsword, due to its runic inscriptions and the reverent way that he handled it.
The rest of the party was tricked out in manners appropriate to their roles. Vendyra was very sexy in studded leather armor, with what I recognized as a number of protective amulets and rings that enhanced her protection. Her hair was bound up, and she carried a rapier and short bow - not much against dragons or daemons, but enough for what she normally did. Havaenol was the worst armored of the bunch, wearing only his robes and some magical protections like Vendyra. But then I didn't expect him to get into combat, and he needed to be limber if he was going to be casting a lot of combat spells.
Lilywinter was as radiant and beautiful as I remembered, but she was still aloof and looked troubled. She wore a quilted surcoat that probably provided about as much protection as a piece of parchment, but she seemed comfortable with it. She carried a sickle and a couple of spears, but her role wasn't combat - it was marshaling the forces of nature to our aid.
Everyone seemed aware of the dangers we faced. Scrad the goblin was unarmored, but he looked as if he could run like a son of a bitch. Even the somewhat timid Beldrin wore a chain shirt and carried a shield, but no weapons were immediately evident.
As for myself, I was as prepared as I would ever be. My short sword bore some enchantments that would help it cleave armor, and my leather armor had likewise been blessed at the Temple of Phaedra. I'd saved my coppers for months in order to afford a pair of magical bracelets that would supposedly increase my protection from harm, but so far I hadn't had a chance to try them out. I carried my throwing daggers in bandoliers across my chest, and I had a nice bag of scrolls with magical spells pre-inscribed on them. I wasn't telling anyone about those, but they would come in handy if needed.
We had the usual assortment of potions and other miscellanea among us, with the expected coils of rope, lanterns, flasks of oil and the like... It's all standard these days, but back then I think there was more of an art to equipping a party. Today, it's all written in books and pre-selected at the shops... Gods, in those days dungeoneering was a real challenge. Today, it's just like some kind of card game...
***
"Can you please get on with the story?" the thief demanded irritably, motioning for a refill of his ale. "You can meander down memory lane some other time."
"Sorry," I said. "Forgive an old man his foibles."
"It's all right, grandfather," the cleric said, kindly. "Continue with your tale."
Grandfather? Gods, what have I come to?
I cleared my throat and continued.
***
I didn't say much myself, accepting meat and scrambled quail eggs from Scrad and wolfing it down as the rest of the party made haste to the dungeon entrance.
It was as I'd seen it the night before - though in the light of day it was far grander, and in some ways, even more ominous. For a structure that had stood for centuries, it seemed entirely untouched by the passage of time. A semicircular platform extended from the opening in the hillside, atop three shallow steps. It was crafted of polished, white-veined black marble. Six graceful columns were spaced evenly around it, these were of pale porphyry, supporting a dome of grey marble and lapis.
"This has been here all these years and no one's noticed it?" I muttered as I trudged toward the platform alongside Vendyra.
"I think it's been noticed on numerous occasions," she replied. "It's just that those who noticed it never made it back to their homes to talk about it."
There was a certain tightness to her voice and a distance to her expression, as if she was talking to a casual acquaintance, rather than someone she had delightedly fellated to orgasm just a few days previously, but I put it down to tension and ignored it.
The Platform led to a craggy opening in the mountain, a mere five paces deep, ending at a brass-bound portal. Beldrin and Havaenol were inspecting it closely, though I noted that they were careful not to actually touch it. I winced inwardly - for all their caution, they apparently hadn't checked for pressure plates on the floor outside the door, a trap that I'd seen several times already.
"How's it looking, gentlemen?" Thantanus asked, looking vaguely impatient. I had to admit that he cut a fine figure in his gleaming steel armor, while beside him Svignar was every bit the steely dwarfish warrior.
"Many magical wards," Havaenol said. "It will take some time to neutralize them, but I think I can do it. These ware moderate-level spells intended to discourage casual intruders. I suspect that the real challenge will lie inside."
Beldrin gestured at a series of runes scribed into the door's brass bindings.
"These are letters in the infernal alphabet," he said. "Proof that this structure was built by the powers of darkness."
As if we need any, I thought to myself.
"There are likely to be mechanical defenses as well," Havaenol said. "Once I've dispelled the wards, we might have the rogue inspect the portal as well."
He said "rogue" as if he was saying "bloated, scabrous tick," but I let it go. I got that sort of thing all the time.
I went back to the main platform to let the wizard do whatever it was that wizards do, and found Lilywinter seated on the polished marble steps. Her gaze was fixed on the green hills and forests beyond the portico, and resolutely away from the ominous entrance behind us.
I wasn't entirely certain that approaching her was the best thing, but since Vendyra had seemed distant, and I wasn't sure whether I even liked my other companions, I tentatively sat down a safe distance from the druidess and looked over at her.
"How are you?" I asked, quietly.
"As well as might be expected," she said, also quiet. "I'm glad I was able to experience those moments with you yesterday."
I was dumbstruck for a moment, but managed to find my voice.
"I am too," I told her. "It meant something to me too. I mean, don't think I'm taking you for granted or anything…"
She cut me off with a raised hand. "Don't worry about that. I just wanted to tell you that I enjoyed sharing passions with you. At least now I have experienced it and won't feel regret." She looked away from the green hills and back toward the entrance, where Havaenol was making mystic passes and mumbling. "We're going to die in there. All of us."
I gulped and said nothing - that's one of those portentous lines that mystical types are always saying, and to my experience they're usually right.
"There's life out there," Lilywinter went on, looking back at the greenery. "I felt it with you yesterday. I feel it there now. But what's behind that door - I feel nothing. No. Worse. I feel less than nothing. I feel not only the absence of life, I feel its opposite. Undeath I feel. Undeath and the lifeless evil of daemons. That is where those fools are taking us, and we will all die there."
I considered this for a moment. "So, do you think we should light out now? Head for the trees and hope for the best?"
She shook her head. "No. Our destiny lies elsewhere. Yours and mine. I felt that yesterday, too. While you were sleeping. If we leave now, our fate will be no different. We must enter, and we must face the death that awaits us."
Maybe you must, sister, I thought, quickly standing, but as for me I'm taking my chances with the Swamp Lords or the bandit kingdoms.
Lilywinter looked up as if reading my intentions (not a terribly difficult task, actually, since I was probably white as a sheet) and seemed about to speak when I heard Thantanus' voice bellowing from the door.
"Rogue! Wulf! Get over here. Time to earn your keep! The wizard's gotten rid of the wards!"
Damn. Running now would bring the rest down on me, and besides I half-believed Lilywinter's assertion that I was doomed either way. Reluctantly, each step an agony, I turned and strode back toward the doorway.
The door did turn out to have a couple of run-of-the-mill arrow traps on it, and the usual poisoned needle on the latch. I disabled them all without too much difficulty, then set to work on the lock. After about ten minutes I had managed to persuade the last tumbler to cooperate, and the door slid open, revealing a long corridor, vanishing into the massif interior and darkness.
"Fine work, rogue," Svignar declared, hefting his axe and stepping through the portal. "Now, let's get to - "
I unceremoniously grabbed the bandy-legged idiot by one shoulder and hauled him back, nearly tipping him onto his back.
"Wait!" I said, urgently. "At least let me check the fucking corridor before you go charging through like the Litharnan cavalry."
The dwarf looked sheepish and nodded.
"Of course. Of course. Don't know what came over me. Off you go, then."
I rolled my eyes and began to inspect the corridor.
It had a curved ceiling and a floor covered in alternating black and white marble tiles. As I had expected, there was a nice selection of pressure plates that set off another predictable series of traps, from hidden crossbow bolts to acid sprays and clouds of poison gas. As before, I either disabled or identified the traps, and we made our way down the corridor in relative safety, albeit with maddening slowness, lit by the party's hooded lanterns.
"By the gods," muttered Svignar, hefting his axe, "I'd give anything for a good scrap right now."
And then, right on schedule, a cold wind rushed across us - from further down the corridor - extinguishing our lanterns and plunging us into darkness. Behind us, the square of light that was the doorway to the outside vanished with a deep, resonant boom.
Instantly, Thantanus bellowed in the darkness.
"Wizard! Light!"
I'll give them credit - they had the drill down. A moment later a globe of blue magelight appeared over Havaenol's staff, illuminating the corridor with an eerie pale glow…
…Revealing that a series of panels on either side of the corridor had slid open, revealing shallow niches, from which shambled…
Zombies. Dammit. Why did it always have to be zombies?
They were zombies, all right - undead, partially-fleshed things clad in tatters of armor and clothing, stepping into the corridor, intent on enfolding us in their rotted arms and dragging us down before we could react.
Fortunately, the Companions of the Blade were made of sterner stuff. Thantanus barked orders and they leaped into action. With a shout, Svignar waded in, his axe whirling, cleaving two zombies apart in a twinkling. Thantanus himself followed, taking out any who got past the dwarf's deadly axe.
Meanwhile, Vendyra unslung her bow and provided missile cover while Lilywinter and Havaenol hung back behind the fighters, prepping spells.
As I tumbled past a zombie and hamstrung it with my shortsword, I was once more forced to admit that the Companions were competent - I'd seen parties wiped out by their own lack of coordination as wizards launched panic fire, archers misfired and fighters charged off in the wrong direction, leaving the spellcasters unprotected. The Companions were doing well, and so far no zombie had even landed a blow, despite their repeated clumsy efforts to do so.
Meanwhile, Beldrin the priest bowed his head in prayer and held his Sign of Kybor reverently.
"Mighty Kybor," he intoned, "aid your servants and smite the fell undead with your mighty hand!"
A pale golden glow suffused the young priest for a moment, and suddenly half the zombies collapsed into dust and ruin, and the remainder hesitated, falling back and trying to flee.
It was all over in a moment. The fighters took down the last few zombies, I hacked my victim to wriggling bits with my shortsword, and Vendyra sent the last one tumbling with a single black arrow through the hip.
"Gods damn you, rogue!" Thantanus snapped as he dispatched the struggling creature with a couple of swordblows. "Why didn't you see those hidden panels? What the hell are we paying you for?"
I felt instantly defensive. "I was focusing on the floor. I can't see everything, no matter how much I'd like to - those things were threatening me, too, remember."
"The door's blocked," Svignar reported, trundling up the corridor. "A stone block the size of Mount Grabnor fell when the lights went out."
Thantanus glared at me again.
"Care to tell us how to get out, now that you missed the most obvious trap in the fucking corridor, rogue?"
I glared back. "You know, Thantanus, it's been a real pleasure meeting you. You're the first perfect person I've ever known."
Svignar broke us up.
"Don't," he rumbled. "We've plenty of provisions, and there's fresh air coming from somewhere. We'll either be able to clamber out through the vents, or given time I can tunnel out through the rock. I am a dwarf, after all."
"I imagine I can get us out eventually as well," said Havaenol. "I've a few spells that might work."
I sighed. The idea of spending a week or two in this labyrinth while Svignar gouged away at the door with his dwarf-spoon didn't appeal to me, but it might end up being the only way out.
"All right," Thantanus growled. "What's done is done. Let's get a move on."
The rest of this section of the labyrinth proved free of guardians and traps. The long corridor ended in a semicircular chamber, also floored in checkered marble, with four doors leading out.
We set up a base camp here amid the yellow glow of our lanterns. Svignar inspected the map by his lamp's wan glow, squinting and looking perplexed.
"It shows the corridor all right," he said, "but this room is shown as square, not semicircular, and the doors are in the wrong place." He looked closer. "Too damned dim in here, if you ask me."
Svignar tried to take a closer look with a candle, but succeeded only in setting a corner of the map on fire. He hastily snuffed it out, the cast an exasperated glance at Thantanus.
"I don't know if we can rely on this damned thing," he grumbled. "It might have been taken from someone's sketches or description and there may be discrepancies…"
"Or," I suggested, "the whole thing could be a fake and we'll have to explore the place on our own."
Svignar sighed. "Ah well. We've been in tighter spots before."
"We have?" Vendyra asked. "When?"
The dwarf grumbled to himself.
***
We bedded down in the chamber, assigning watches and hoping to get some rest before continuing the exploration the next day. Scrad ran around cleaning up, accepting an occasional insult or command from Thantanus or Svignar without complaint. I drew the last watch and curled up in a corner wrapped in a blanket, wondering desperately how I'd gotten myself into this situation.
I dreamed vividly that night - so vividly in fact that I found myself wondering if it was real. In the end, of course, it turned out to be far more than a dream, but that's getting ahead of the story.
I was alone in the chamber, but the place was markedly different. It was brightly lit by torches, giving it a warm, flickering yellow-orange light. The chamber seemed freshly-made, its tiles polished, its walls of purest white. I stood in the center, facing the four doors.
"Choose, mortal," echoed a voice in my head. "Choose your pleasure and see your fate..."
I felt a deep sense of dread as I inspected the doors, each carved with a different leering daemon-face, but then (in the kind of realization that one always has in dreams) knew that if I refused to choose, it would be worse for me.
What the hell...
I stepped toward the door on the far left, and as I did so it swept open of its own accord, revealing shadows beyond. As I watched, heart hammering, the shadows began to move and coalesce, and what came out of the door was either a vision from my dreams or my nightmares, and most likely both.
She seemed indeed to be a creature of shadow, with rich purple-black skin and lustrous black hair cascading down her back. Her face was beautiful yet at the same time cruel and alarming, like some sexy vampire-princess who wants to fuck you before she drinks your vital fluids (and believe me, by now I know that look). Her eyes were feral, slitted gold, more like a hunting cat's than a human's, and when her black lips slid open in to a smile, I saw the razor-sharp teeth of a predator.
The rest of her body bespoke predatory grace and elegance, as well, gliding forward with feline sensuality and silence. She was clad in a dark blue-black silken garment, but I could see the faintest hints of a voluptuous, naked body beneath it, with flaring hips and prominent breasts, nipples swollen and pressed against fabric, as if she was a fearful yet irresistible combination of death goddess and earth mother. The two smallish bat-wings that rose, neatly folded from her back pretty much convinced me that I wasn't dealing with a human.
"You choose well, mortal," she whispered, her voice gentle and sibilant, yet filling the chamber with its echoes, resounding in my chest like the cries of a tormented prisoner. "You desire pleasure and the touch of another's flesh, do you not? Yet, you also love the caress of darkness, as if those women you take as yours must be somehow tainted by shadow, graced by a tiny touch of wickedness, balanced on the edge of morning and evening. Is that true, mortal?"
I gulped and stared. I was still young, but in my heart I knew what she said was right, even though I lacked the stomach to admit it.
She moved toward me like a gentle ocean swell, her animal-eyes burning into mine.
"You do not speak, yet you know that what I say is the truth. I am Lady Malifa, and I see into the hearts and souls of men and women. I see their desires, and I give them glimpses of their destiny as I take them in my arms."
"You..." I said, hesitantly. "You're a daemon?"
She nodded, a long snakelike tongue flicked across her lips, and her small wings unfurled slightly. "I am what you call daemon. Not those red-skinned upstarts that have named themselves 'demons' - no. They are nothing. We are of another time and another place, and we brought the glorious rites of chaos and hell to this place, this world of yours. We have fought long, but you have fought as well, and that is well, for in blood and conflict we find beauty and contentment. Your champion slew many of us, yet in the end he fell, as all do before chaos. And we took his weapon, and placed it here, hoping that more mortals would come seeking it, so that we could see their souls and touch them and change them. And here I have waited, long and long, and touched many and changed many, and now you come before me, mortal, pretty mortal. Pretty man with a pretty face." Her hand snaked out and she touched my thigh. "And a pretty cock that is growing even as I speak to him. Oh, man. You are young and strong, and you can take many women before you leave this world, this I see." Malifa drew back and the beast's eyes flashed. "If you leave this place alive, of course."
I repressed a shudder. "Will we die here?" I asked.
Malifa shrugged. "It is all the same to me. You will serve me whether you live or die. It is in chaos that I dwell, and chaos that sustains me. Chaos is conflict, is life, is death, is hatred and love. It is killing and fucking both. And whatever you and your folk do here, it will be the same to me. Take the glaive, leave the glaive. Kill each other, fuck each other, aid each other, betray each other. As the winds of change will blow, they are all my element, all my world. I see your hearts and souls here, pretty mortal man. I would offer you what you wish, and see what you shall do with it."
With that, she moved in like a striking serpent, her arms winding around me, grabbing handfuls of my hair and pulling my mouth to hers. Of course, I didn't resist - after all, it was only a dream, right?
Her tongue writhed in my mouth like a separate entity, intent upon my vital organs (no, fortunately she wasn't a hideous mantis-daemon determined to lay her eggs in me, but for an instant the possibility did indeed occur to me). I thrust back with my tongue, and they intertwined like imperial wrestlers fighting for the St. Orlan's Day trophy. One of her hands moved forcefully down, grabbing my buttocks, then sliding around to touch my groin, where - as she had so ably observed - my cock was already rising to the occasion.
"Yessssss," she hissed against my mouth. Damnation, was she woman or tiger, wolf or mantis, snake or spider, I wondered? Perhaps she was some kind of daemonic combination of all of them. And if so, what was I doing playing tongue joust with her instead of drawing my sword and lopping her sensual-deadly head off?
Hell, it was only a dream...
I don't really remember her bearing me down to the tiled floor and sitting astride me, holding me down with arms that seemed far stronger than their slender form suggested. She rubbed herself against my thighs and pressed the burning center between her legs against my hard cock, sliding along it, the silk of her garments pressed tightly against her mons.
"Oh, mortal man," Malifa whispered. "Oh, yes, your lusts and passions are indeed what I crave."
She let my shoulders go and reached for the top of her garment, pullling it down to reveal two sizeable breasts, as blue-black-violet as the rest of her, hanging like fruit-laden branches above me. I felt a sudden twitch in my cock as she continued to press herself against it.
"I forget how powerful your lusts can be," she said. "Just gazing upon the form of one such as me may make you explode with desire, will it not?"
"Yes." I nodded feverishly. "I could come just looking at you."
Malifa threw her head back, ebon hair flying, and she laughed, baring her monster's teeth and letting her tongue loll out of her mouth.
"Oh, such joy I feel at the touch of a mortal," she cried. "Such fast and bright lives you lead. Such blood, such hatred, such fear, such fucking..." With a single motion, she tore what remained of her garments away, revealing a body that was as sweet as an oasis, yet as lean and terrible as a dragon. She leaned forward, pressing me back to the floor, her snarling lips grazing mine. Her breasts were heavy against my chest.
"Live and die for me, mortal. Hate and love."
I felt twin thrills of terror and lust, feeling fear that she would tear me asunder, and a deep and endless desire to plunge my cock inside her and fuck her until I came.
I guess that's what she wanted.
"You feel all sensations and all desires and all fears when you are with me, my pretty mortal with your hard, hard cock. Will I love you or feed upon you? The choice is mine!"
Another rip of her dagger-tipped fingers - her nails were sharp and painted a dark bloody red - and my shirt fell away. She slashed across my bare chest with her nails and I cried out, feeling her claws rake my flesh and feeling hot blood well up.
"Pain, mortal. Pain before pleasure!"
I think I cried out, at least my dream-self did, and Malifa's grin widened, hot and wild - part animal snarl, part death rictus. She reached down and in a single motion pulled my breeches free, then began once more to grind her silken thighs and mons against my rigid cock.
"You like it, mortal. Admit it!"
"Yes," I shot back, feeling a delicious flash of rage and fear. "Yes, I like it."
She pulled the silk away from her thighs and it floated down over me. The bare skin of her legs gripped at my hips and I felt hot moisture slather my cock.
"Now, we both have what we want," Malifa hissed as my prick slid, almost of its own accord, between the wet folds of flesh between her thighs. "Inside me. Now."
Then her cunt enveloped me, dark and hot, and I had the sensation of being fucked and devoured at the same instant.
"It is all the same," she said, feverishly. "All the same."
I reached up to touch her face, and she bit and licked at my hands, then moved them down to her breasts. I felt their soft flesh overflowing beneath their flimsy covering of purple silk, and a pair of large nipples growing hard, like two soft fingers pressing against my palms.
"Squeeze them," she commanded. "Squeeze."
I gripped a swollen protuberance between each thumb and forefinger, digging in with the same fearsome intensity that I saw in her slitted eyes. She screamed out and laughed as she began to ride me up and down, faster and faster.
"Oh, yes." Her voice now seemed to echo inside my head and appeared to be coming from all directions at once. "Oh, yes. Yes."
Up and down, harder and harder. My cock swam in the juices that ran down her thighs, and I felt wetness all over my belly. Her hands joined mine on her breasts, pressing and squeezing.
"That's it, mortal. Yes."
Immortal or daemon, she apparently still liked to come, and in my mind I reminded myself that this was, after all, a dream, so I should just give her whatever she wanted.
I grabbed her back and rolled over atop her. She squeaked with surprise - can't predict everything now, can we, my swarthy daemoness? And I lifted her hips up to mine, leaning forward on my knees, letting her legs wrap themselves around my neck.
Malifa grinned, snake-tongue caressing her shapely lips.
"Oh, my..." Her voice was tense and keyed-up as I thrust into her and she moved to meet me. "I... never... know what to expect... from you... mortals... Ohhhhhh..."
I grunted at that - as usual, I was now well past having the capacity for intelligible speech.
"Harder," Malifa ordered. "Don't stop. When I come, keep fucking me. Don't stop."
I slammed my cock in and out with greater speed and force - my muscles were aching; gods, couldn't I even fuck in a <i>dream </i>and not get tired?
"That's it. Right there... Right... There.... OHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The daemon-eyes flashed with firelight, widening, then squeezing shut and her cry fell into a strangled howl, lips bared back from fanged teeth.
"Don't... stop... Don't... you... stop.... OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The second was even longer, stronger and louder than the first. Hell, I thought, maybe I'm sore, but I guess I can keep going...
A third orgasm racked Malifa. Her breasts strained against her garment, nipples thrusting, her hips writhed against me.
"Yes. Oh, fuck me... oh, yes..."
I felt my own orgasm coming on, burning in my loins and chest with the desire for release.
"I'm coming," I grunted. "I'm going to..."
"No," Malifa said, eyes once more locked with mine, ferocious and hungry. "No. Not you. Wake now."
And in an instant I was ripped from the dream sensations, and felt myself tumbling down a deep and cold abyss, finally landing with a violent start back in my own body.
The room was dark as I sat bolt upright. My face was wet with sweat and - yes - I had a raging erection. My daemon-lover, however, was nowhere to be found.
Damn.
***
"So what did she offer you?" demanded the young cleric, sipping daintily at a cup of red wine. "Fame? Riches? Power?"
"Women?" asked the thief quietly. I returned his cynical stare. This was a sharp one.
"All of those things," I replied. "I think the daemons of the shrine made the same offer to everyone else in the party.
***
Lilywinter wandered through empty corridor after empty corridor. They were spotless, polished marble, the floor inlaid with white-veined green and black-veined white in a checkerboard pattern. It was as if she was the first material being to tread them in a thousand years.
"You seek many things, elf," echoed the voice in her head. It was a strange combination of voices - male, female, human and elf, and many other things she could not identify, and it seemed to change pitch and tone with each word. "You seek wisdom, you seek peace, you seek adventure. You wonder what it is that the humans - with their short lives and feeble souls - can know that your people cannot. You wonder how they can burn so hot and so fast, and enjoy the passions ever-denied to your kin."
"I do," Lilywinter whispered, walking on down the corridor as if in a trance. At the end of the corridor she fancied that she could see the outline of a door, but it was as yet hazy and dim with distance.
"But you do know passions. You do feel them. You deny yourself, you tell yourself that since you are elf, you cannot feel what humans feel. Yet you have felt many things - love, pain, loss, bitterness. You even feel hatred, don't you?"
"No," she protested. "Those are for humans and dwarves and the lesser races. We have left behind such petty things."
The door drew nearer, and grew more solid.
"You feel hatred, elf. Admit it to yourself."
Now she stood before the door.
"Behind that door, elf. Behind that door you will see your hatred. Just open it and you will see the passions and how to find them again."
"I can't." Lilywinter's voice seemed small and faint.
"You can," assured the voice. "You can open it. Reach out your hand and take what is yours."
Almost against her will, almost as if compelled by an outside force, Lilywinter reached out a hand and touched the door. Silently, it swung open, and she beheld a memory.
Vendyra the human. The red-haired wanton slut, using her body to seduce and control, to get her way, to take what she wanted. Many times, the human had taken men that Lilywinter wanted, drawing them away with her primitive human charms, flaunted her body and stole pleasure, casting men aside when she was through with them, moving on to new victims
Lilywinter had not realized the depths of her antipathy toward the bard, but as the images of the past scrolled out before her, rage and detestation rose up in her gorge like bile.
See the passions, elf? whispered the voice. We can help you find them. There is so much more than just fear and love and lust. There is hatred, and there is vengeance.
The final outrage played itself out before Lilywinter, as she opened the door to her room at the inn only to find Vendyra there before her, rutting violently with two men, a sweaty tangle of naked limbs. As Lilywinter watched, Vendyra cried out passionately as one man spewed a hot stream of semen across her breasts, and the second man groaned, unleashing his own orgasm inside the red-haired woman.Vendyra looked at Lilywinter through sleepy eyes, absently trailing a finger through the sticky white semen on her breasts and belly.
"Sorry, love," the bard said languidly. "We needed a room and you weren't using yours."
Lilywinter awoke suddenly, spite still rushing through her veins.
***
I hate mornings in dungeons. Hell, you can't even tell that it is morning. The only thing that suggests it might be time to get up is an obnoxious dwarf shaking you by the shoulder and saying obnoxious things like "Up and at 'em, rogue! We've got a big day ahead of us!"
Who could blame me for being in a foul mood, especially given the disturbing dream I'd had? I grumbled but crawled out of my bedroll, feeling stiff and tired despite the night's sleep.
We ate in silence. Everyone seemed distracted, making me wonder if anyone had slept soundly.
"This is an ill-omened place," muttered Thantanus as Scrad gathered up our utensils and stowed foodstuffs.
"Big surprise," I replied. "Since all you lot have been talking about is how it was created by daemons."
Thantanus only glared, but Svignar once more tried to smooth things over.
"You're right, lad," he said, bravely, "but we're more than equal to whatever those damnable things can throw at us. Let's get moving now, shall we?"
I watched as Havaenol began to cast spells, attempting to detect traces of the mysterious glaive, and tell us what passage was most likely to lead us there. Lilywinter seemed more distant than the rest, despite my attempts to engage her in conversation while the wizard did his wizardly business.
"Are you all right?" I asked quietly as Havaenol scribed a circle and started babbling to himself in old-cycle elvish.
She returned my gaze, and her eyes seemed deeper and darker than they had before, her skin paler and less healthy.
"I don't know," she replied. "I'm tired, distracted. I dreamed something last night, but I can't..." she faltered. "I can't remember it at all."
"Yeah," I said, feeling another rush of weariness. "I had a weird dream, too." I struggled to recall details. "I think there was a woman, and..." Now I paused.
"You don't remember either."
I nodded. "I think something's going on. Something bad. We'd better - "
A shout of triumph from Havaenol, that echoed off the tiled floor and the sculpted walls interrupted me.
"This one!" the elf declared, gesturing at the third door from the left. The portal glimmered with silvery sparks. "The glaive is this way! I can feel it!"
"Rogue!" barked Svignar. "Check the door for traps! We're on the move!"
Reluctantly, I left Lilywinter and hurried past Vendyra, who sat nearby, her expression unreadable, and Beldrin, who stared at me with wide and hollow eyes.
The door still shimmered. I recognized the spell from my academy days, and also Professor Fimbagel's caution that it could easily be misled by false, worthless magical items. I said nothing, but instead bent myself to inspecting the door.
Nothing unusual that I could see... Of course, since it was a thing of daemonic chaos, I couldn't be sure. I squinted at the latch and probed it with a lockpick. Was that something...
My instincts exploded into action. I sprang backwards as a spray of vile liquid shot from the latch, splashing onto the gleaming tile floor. Acrid smoke and pulverized marble rose up where the liquid landed.
"Damn!" Svignar exclaimed. "Acid! Good work, rogue."
I crouched nearby, panting heavily. I'd barely missed a rather painful death or at least a tragic scarring (my looks were about all I had back then, after all), and wasn't in the mood for complements. Without another word, I crept back to the door and began my inspection again.
"Seems clear now," I said, putting my lockpick away. "Who wants to go first?"
"I think you should, rogue," Thantanus said sourly. "I remember what happened the last time you thought something 'seemed' safe."
I snorted and shrugged. "Oh well. A short life but a merry one."
With that, I edged the door open.
***
"How long is this damned corridor?" Svignar demanded, huffing and puffing loudly. "It seems we've been walking it for days."
"It's only been two hours," said Beldrin. "I realize that the sheer monotony of the corridor makes it seem - "
"Oh, for the sake of decency, will you please shut up!" Thantanus exploded. The fighter had seemed increasingly distracted as the seemingly-endless, featureless corridor had stretched on. "I'm sick of you and your attitude!"
Beldrin looked hurt, but fell silent and shuffled along like a shy dog.
I said nothing. A sense of fear and claustrophobia was growing in my mind, aided by brief snatches of last night's dream, and the increasing need to warn my companions of the doom that I felt fast approaching. Still, I remained silent and followed, hoping that the waking nightmare would end soon.
It ended with surprising abruptness with the appearance of a grim, iron-bound portal directly in front of us. We all gazed at it uneasily, noting that it was cast in the form of a snarling daemon's face. A rusty iron ring hung down, inviting us to pull it.
"Rogue?" Svignar said, softly.
"Yeah, yeah," I replied, shuffling forward, each step an agony.
"There's no magic I can detect," Havaenol said, helpfully. "But I feel something potent behind it."
"That's encouraging," I said, scanning the fearsome portal. My usual routine yielded nothing, and at length I carefully lifted the heavy iron ring and pulled inward.
Silently, with neither a groan nor a squeak, the door slid open.
A wave of heat rolled out as if I'd just opened a hot oven. Beyond lay shadow, faintly lit by an orange, flickering luminance.
"Gods, what a stink!" exclaimed Svignar.
"Brimstone," I said. "I think we're close to our goal."
At least I hoped we were.
No one else seemed willing to step through the portal. I cast a contemptuous glance backward and entered.
***
They spread out behind me. Beldrin and Vendyra held lit torches, adding a feeble yellow glow to the ominous orange light.
The room was a vast dome that echoed metallically as we stepped in. The ceiling was set with heavy rivets, and there was another portal, also cast in the form of a daemonic face, at the opposite end. The walls themselves seemed to burn, casting the dark orange light.
We stood on a wide metal bridge that extended the length of the room between the two doors. I glanced down and abruptly wished I hadn't, for about 20 feet below us was a sea of molten metal, pooling and eddying like a burning ocean, yellow-orange light glowing up through numerous cracks and fissures, then fading to brown and black as the metal cooled and sank.
"Gods," I muttered. Behind me, the others whispered among themselves as well. Nervously, weapons slid from sheaths and the spellcasters began to quietly chant the opening incantations of protective spells.
It was just as well that they did, for as we advanced, a swarm of yellow-orange sparks swirled up from the molten ocean below, spinning like a metallic cyclone, and swiftly forming itself into a humanoid shape, three times the height of a man.
"Ware!" shouted Havaenol. "A fire-daemon!"
Frankly, I didn't need the warning. I was already throwing myself flat and rolling across the metal bridge, hoping to avoid any preemptive attacks from the materializing creature.
A moment later, the beast had fully formed, a tall monstrosity with a bestial, horned head, vast wings and twin sabers, seemingly formed out of glowing metal.
"Intruders," it rumbled. "Long has it been since my blades have fed."
Oh, shut up, I thought to myself, drawing a brace of daggers and positioning myself behind the daemon, as the rest of the party spread out, each taking his or her long-rehearsed roles. Thantanus and Svignar advanced, weapons at the ready. The human's longsword shimmered with an icy sheen. Nearby, Vendyra opened her scroll case and readied her bow, Havaenol began to conjure up an offensive spell, and Lilywinter and Beldrin held back in reserve. Lilywinter quickly knocked back a couple of potions and as I watched the air around her glow briefly - the potions were protective, and given the nature of our opponent, I thought it was a pretty sensible move on her part. Scrad the goblin was nowhere to be seen. I didn't blame him a bit.
It came on us with all the subtlety of a charging elephant. The twin swords clashed together, striking sparks, then swung up in a vast, deadly arc aimed at Thantanus. Havaenol shouted and gestured, and a jagged black bolt of energy sprang from his fingertips, striking the beast square in its armored chest.
The daemon didn't even slow down. The blades descended, but Thantanus moved deftly aside, and struck out with his longsword, hacking at the thing's exposed arm.
To my surprise, he connected, and a flash of cold blue energy sparked from where he struck. The daemon recoiled, and a bellow of rage exploded, echoing from the iron walls of the chamber.
"By Thallaz's Beard!" Svignar thundered. "And for Queen Davra's honor!" The dwarf's blade flashed, and he swung double-handed at the daemon's ankle.
This time we weren't so lucky. The blade - tempered dwarven steel, razor-sharp and chased with runes - bounded off without effect, and the daemon back-stroked one of his blades, striking Svignar with a clang and sending him sprawling. The burning saber swept upward again.
"Die, dwarven weakling!" the daemon snarled, and the weapon began its fearsome downward arc once more.
Furiously, I slung two daggers in quick succession at the behemoth's wrist. One of the daggers hit home, burying itself to the hilt, but the saber's descent scarcely wavered... Then two arrows suddenly sprouted from the daemon's shoulder and it hesitated, once more bellowing with rage, its horned head twisting one way, then the other, to find the source of its pain.
Vendyra was just nocking another arrow when the daemon, still shouting and snorting, lowered its head and charged at her like an enraged bull.
"Fuck!" she snapped, dropping her weapon, and fleeing... It was about the only thing she could have done - the thing was huge and she had only her sexy-but-mostly-useless-against-daemons studded leather armor.
Thantanus hurried to intercept the charging daemon as Beldrin rushed to Svignar's side, quickly kneeling, muttering and laying his hands on the dwarf's wounds. I drew two more daggers and moved out behind Thantanus.
The spellcasters scattered as the daemon charged, still intent on Vendyra. As she ran, I saw her yanking a scroll from her case, and - still on the move, mind you - unrolled it, then skidded to a halt, reading the scroll out loud.
Let your form be cursed as your soul, she cried, and the scroll began to glow and shimmer. Let your shape be damned, and your heart be filled with dread.
A cloud of shimmering motes sprang from the scroll and swirled around the daemon, darting and bobbing. The monster stopped his headlong charge, waving at the sparks with his swords and snarling with annoyance.
After a second, the motes vanished and the daemon stood there, apparently unaffected, but Vendyra's wasted spell (some kind of shape-change enchantment, I noted - mostly wasted on a creature with such powerful inherent magical qualities) had allowed Thantanus to catch up. I lobbed two more daggers as the fighter swung his sword at the daemon's unprotected back. He struck again, opening an icy gash in the creature's flesh, and it turned on him, screaming and lashing out with one sword, then the other.
Thantanus dodged again, but one of the burning sabers caught him in the shoulder, and he fell to his knees, throwing up his shield to block the daemon's second blow.
Now fully enraged, the demon gestured, and arcane syllables emerged tortuously from its throat. With a start, I recognized the words.
"Thantanus!" I shouted. "Get the hell out of the..."
Too late... A massive explosion of fire burst from the daemon, sweeping over Thantanus and bearing down on Havaenol, who stood behind, preparing another spell from a scroll.
Thantanus screamed and rolled away - flames enveloped him, but it looked as if his armor had spared him the worst of it. Havaenol wasn't so lucky - at the last moment, he looked up in horror and saw the fireball bearing down on him. Then he was gone, a blackened, dancing figure all alight and surrounded by deadly flames. When the fireball swept past and dissipated, it left Haveanol's corpse behind, a smoldering blackened husk. Beldrin cried out in distress and left Svignar, who rose to his feet, hefted his axe and made after the demon. The priest rushed over to what was left of Havaenol, but he and all the rest of us knew there wasn't anything he could do.
Gods... I threw my last two daggers, hoping to distract the daemon from Thantanus, and one jabbed into its massive bull-neck... Now it looked at me, and spun, racing toward me with the same fury it had recently used on Vendyra.
Now, I've always understood the better part of valor - I fled, hoping desperately that I could outrun the thing, and that one of my companions would find a way to slow it down.
Thantanus was getting back to his feet, extinguishing the last of the flames and looking a little worse for the wear, and Svignar was far back, hurrying forward on bandy dwarf-legs. Neither one of them would be able to help...
"Wulf! Take this!" Vendyra tossed a potion bottle toward me and I paused for only an instant to catch it, then began to run again, yanking out the stopper and gulping down the contents.
I was suddenly filled with energy and - gods help me - strength. Unfortunately, I also felt incredibly reckless, and spun to face the advancing monster, drawing my mighty short sword and shouting my idea of a warcry.
"Wulf! No!" Vendyra cried out in distress. "You're supposed to run not fight!"
Well, I had pretty much blown that plan. I held out my shortsword to block the daemon's blow, but as it swung my common sense reasserted itself, and I realized what a bad idea this was. I ducked, but too late. I felt the weapon strike my shoulder, felt flesh give and felt flames catch. The pain was so intense that it wasn't really pain - it was more of a body-wide clenching along with a numbing blow like a hammer...
"Shit..." I grunted through clenched teeth. The potion had indeed made me stronger (and presumably faster) but it wasn't doing much to keep me alive. Before the beast could finish me off, however, Thantanus and Svignar finally caught up with it, leaping over me and going at it with axe and sword. I didn't see much. I was a bit too agonized.
Then I felt a rush of cool comfort as my wounds suddenly seemed to vanish, the agony melting away. Lilywinter knelt beside me, pale gentle hands touching me, her face a mask of concentration, as if she was feeling some of my pain.
"Gods..." I muttered. "Gods, Lily..."
"Peace," she said, her voice tight. "Peace, human. Let the magic do its work."
Nearby I heard the clash of weapons, then heard Thantanus cry out and the clang of metal as he fell. I rolled away from Lilywinter...
Thantanus lay on the ground, a massive wound across his chest, his face contorted with pain. Svignar tried to distract the daemon, but it was intent on its prey, and raised a saber for the killing blow.
"NO!"
It was Beldrin. The priest leaped into the gap, his body between Thantanus and the monster. He held his symbol of Kybor aloft and shouted with absolute conviction.
"Return to the darkness, evil one! In Kybor's name, I rebuke you!"
Impressive. Too bad it didn't work. The weapons came down, and suddenly the gentle, naïve priest's body flew in separate directions, blood splattering.
The daemon screamed in triumph, but the cry turned into a shout of pain as, simultaneously, Svignar's axe cleaved its spine and Thantanus' icy sword plunged into its chest. The daemon stumbled back, black blood cascading from the wounds, falling to steam on the iron bridge, then with a fearsome crash, it fell, and lay still.
"Gods," I whispered. "Gods, what the hell are we doing?"
***
I sat for a long time on the iron bridge, staring without thought or action at the carnage around me.
They never think about what it's really like, do they? I thought. It's all fight, fight, fight, cast spells, monster's dead, let's gather up the bodies and take 'em back to town for resurrection. Everyone thinks it's so simple.
As I looked over the mangled corpses of Beldrin and Havaenol, and watched Svignar bandaging Thantanus' ribs as the human winced and grunted, the desperation of our situation began to sink in. Elsewhere Thantanus drank one of Svignar's precious healing potions and Lilywinter stood beside me, staring with a blank, emotionless expression.
It was always like this. I'd seen it before - not as often as some, of course, but enough to know that I hated it. Unfortunately, it seemed to be the life I'd chosen.
Svignar gazed down at Havaenol's smoldering remains.
"Well, he's out of it. We'll have to collect him on the way out and see if the priests at the Runehall can do anything for him."
Lilywinter snorted. "They have little sympathy for those of us who choose to adventure in the outside world," she said. "I imagine the most he could hope for is a quiet burial somewhere on his family's estate."
"Hm." Svignar made a disgusted sound. "We dwarves always do all we can for the dead, regardless of where they came from."
Thantanus made a quick appraisal of what was left of Beldrin. He had been messily transformed into about four chunks.
"I think there's enough," the fighter said. The potion seemed to have remedied the worst of his wounds, but he still moved stiffly and hesitantly. "We'll get the remains back to the temple in Godshome and they'll fix him up."
"Better pack him in salt," Vendyra observed. "He'll be pretty rank by the time we get him home."
"Enough of that," Svignar snapped, ever the practical one. "We just lost our healer." He glared at Lilywinter. "How's your complement of healing spells, druid?"
"It's been better," Lilywinter admitted, "but I can clean some of you up."
"How's the stock of potions?"
"We've enough for the moment," Thantanus said, looking wistfully at the two empty bottles he had emptied of their contents. "But we won't make it through another fight like that one."
"And gods only know how close we are to our goal," I said softly. "Perhaps I'm being defeatist, but I'd like to point out that our map has proved inaccurate, our healer is gone along with our best spellcaster and we have no idea where we are." I paused and stood. "We do, however, know the way out."
Svignar looked outraged. "Are you suggesting we retreat, boy? What kind of dungeoneer are you?"
"The sensible kind," I replied. "And I'm not suggesting retreat. I'm suggesting that we discuss it."
"Hell no," Svignar barked. "A Hillcleaver doesn't go this far just to turn around and run like a whiney little goblin - no offense, Scrad - when the going gets tough. We go on. We've been in worse spots than this."
For the first time, Thantanus looked dubious. "Svignar, I know how you are, and I understand. But Beldrin... Gods, he was a friend of mine. And since he found out what we were going to do with the glaive, well he'd been so damned quiet. I feel as if..." The big man hesitated.
"As if what?" Svignar said impatiently. "As if we'd betrayed him? Misled him? Used him?" He spat. "So what if we did? He came into this with both eyes open. If he wanted to think that we were going to give the glaive to his church, then so be it. He could have asked us. But he preferred his fantasies to harsh reality. It's not my fault the little priestling was naïve."
Thantanus seemed taken aback at this. He paused for a moment, as if searching for words. "Svig... I don't know..." He looked away. "I thought he was your friend too. How can you talk about him like that?"
The dwarf snorted. "Friend? Dwarves don't have friends. The only things we can depend on is gold and iron. And other dwarves, as long as they don't take what isn't theirs. Hell, I'm on this for the same thing you are... I want the goods. I want to go back to my clan with chests full of gold and gems and make them see that I'm worthy. Hell, human... You're all alike... You can't make up your minds about what you want, and by the time you do, you're too old for it to matter."
With that, Svignar spun on his heel and strode down the bridge, past the towering corpse of the daemon, still smoking and reeking.
"Now if you lot are determined to leave, like mister sneak-thief here wants, go right ahead. Myself, I'm going through that door."
Thantanus looked shocked, Vendyra amused and Lilywinter as unreadable as ever, but all three began to move after him, Scrad the goblin hopping along behind them.
I swallowed hard. As far as I could tell, they'd all but told me I could leave if I wanted to. Yet, if I did, what would it accomplish? I'd be leaving them in the lurch for certain - none of them could manage locked doors or intricate mechanical traps. And besides, gods only knew what other menaces still lurked in the corridors - traps unsprung, monsters still leashed.
What to do?
In the depths of my mind I heard a faint voice.
Yessssss. It was Malifa's voice, from my dream. Go on. Follow. Bring me chaos and blood and see how I reward you.
I shook my head. Had I heard it? What had she said?
My gaze wandered to Lilywinter, then to Vendyra.
They will be yours if you wish it.
Gods... What was that?
With a sigh of resignation, I trudged after the dispirited party.
***
Wulf busied himself at the locked iron door as Vendyra watched. She had been troubled all the day, ever since the previous night's dreams. Yet at the same time she could not remember them. When she looked at Wulf and Lilywinter, some memories stirred, some deep sense of anger, longing, resentment...
Wulf swore as one of his lockpicks broke off.
Give in to your rage, your lust, your desire.
It was a faint voice, far-off and indistinct, yet it echoed with insistent clarity in the depths of Vendyra's consciousness. And as it did, memories of her dream came flooding back...
***
She hates you. She fears you. She envies how the men are attracted to you, how you as a thin-blooded human, can do what she cannot. She schemes against you. She would kill you if she could. You can show her - show her who is truly in command, humble her and make her beg for your mercy... Come with me, join me, and it can be so...
The chamber was familiar to her. It was the private hall of Baron Kriegsmort in Litharna, where he had entertained her several times. His notions of entertainment differed from many others, of course, but Vendyra had always found her sessions with him to be quite stimulating. Unfortunately, they never seemed to end with the satisfying penetration and violent intercourse she so enjoyed - he appeared to derive his own pleasure from simply giving pain to others, so Vendyra was usually forced to take care of her own needs, or allow Kriegsmort to violate her with some artificial device or other - not as good as the real thing in her opinion, but usually more than adequate. And Kriegsmort seemed to enjoy denying her that until the last possible moment, when she was sure she would faint from frustrated desire.
Yes, Kriegsmort was an odd man... Yet he provided her with enjoyment that few others could.
And now she was here, and in the position normally occupied by her Litharnan lover. It was a round stone chamber, softly lit by mageglobes, its walls lined with Kriegsmort's various implements, its floor occupied by the various racks, tables, platforms and frames that her lover used to entertain his guests.
Vendyra was clad differently as well. She felt the soft suppleness of leather embracing her legs and abdomen, broad bands encircling her, leaving swaths of pale flesh exposed between them, on her thighs, her belly, her shoulders. Her breasts were bare, supported by the leather straps surrounding them, and a thick black collar encircled her neck. In one hand she gripped a multi-stranded leather flogger, in the other a cylindrical shaft crafted from polished bloodwood in the shape of a massive thick-headed penis.
Damn. She'd been in such positions before, with both men and women, but never with such a feeling of assurance and power. She was far from anyone else, utterly alone, and utterly confident that she could do anything she desired.
Well, perhaps she was not alone. Before her, bound to a great X-shaped wooden cross, was a naked woman, pale-skinned and sharp-eared, her [dark hair] in disarray, her violet eyes wide with fear and apprehension. As Vendyra fixed her gaze upon her victim, the woman's lips began to tremble uncontrollably, and she writhed helplessly in her bonds, breasts pressed against the hard wood of the cross. With a start, and a sudden rush of anger, Vendyra realized that it was Lilywinter, the elf druidess.
She looked as if she'd had a rough time of it. Her hair was a swamp of drenched strands pasted to her terrified face and neck. Her wrists and ankles were chafed and raw from the straps that held her, drawn just tight enough not to cut off circulation, but sufficient to cause discomfort. As she walked around the frame, gazing at her rival with an approving eye, she saw that the elf woman's back, thighs and buttocks were criss-crossed with red weals and dark bruises. She'd plainly been abused for some time before Vendyra's arrival.
"So, you've been prepared for me," Vendyra said, softly, surprised at the venom in her own voice. "You've felt some pain, but the greater is yet to come."
Lilywinter whimpered slightly, but did not reply. Moving back to face her victim, Vendyra saw that the elf woman's eyes were tightly closed, as if she was trying to imagine herself in another place, or to desperately wake up from a terrible dream.
This is a dream, said a voice in Vendyra's head. A dream that you can make reality. Enjoy it, and learn what you can do.
"Open your eyes," Vendyra snapped. "Open them and look at me, bitch!"
Slowly, reluctantly, Lilywinter complied, but her gaze was that of a trapped animal, a victim who knew there was no escape.
"You always hated me, didn't you?" Vendyra whispered, walking closer, then caressing Lilywinter's sweat-covered face with a single finger. "You were always envious of me, hated the way men loved me, wanted to be like me. You wanted me dead, didn't you? Didn't you, bitch?"
Lilywinter shook her head frantically.
"No," she whimpered. "No, mistress. Never."
Vendyra smiled. "You at least know how to address me. That's good. But it won't get you out of this. No." She strode behind the frame, shaking the whip as she did so, gazing upon the elf-woman's nakedness, and the many marks and wounds she bore.
"It won't help you," she said. "You've done far too much, thought far too many wrong thoughts, been far too hateful and jealous of me for me to show you any mercy now."
"I didn't," Lilywinter protested. "I didn't feel that way. You misjudge me. I'll do anything for you." Her voice took on a frantic, terror-filled quality. "I'll be your slave. I'll serve you. I'll be your whore, your plaything. You can fuck me any way you want. Give me to your men to do with as they please. Violate me. Keep me in chains." A sob racked her body. "But please don't hurt me anymore."
It is music to your ears, isn't it? The voice asked. The sobs and pleas of a rival, o one who hates you? Is that not what vengeance is?
"Shut up," Vendyra said, whether to Lilywinter or to the voice she could not say. A surge of anger filled her again, though she didn't know why. With a cry, she raised the cat and brought it down with all the force she could muster, upon Lilywinter's weal-covered buttocks.
The elf-woman's scream was satisfying, though part of Vendyra's mind protested, that this was not how she had done such things in the past, that to violate one who had not consented was somehow wrong and twisted... The kind of behavior one would expect from...
From a daemon? Oh yes, a daemon. Daemon's live for the suffering of others and for the unleashing of chaos. It is our way, and our law. Go on, little one. Make her suffer. Take your pleasure from her. Become like us. Perhaps if you perform well, we will allow you to join us in our endless revelry, in our love of chaos and carnage. Strike again, human. Strike the elf. For every scream you wrest from her is pure pleasure to me. I think I will come just listening to her.
The compulsion was too great, and Vendyra unleashed a flurry of strokes across Lilywinter's tortured ass and thighs. The screams merged together into a single deep wail of pain and horror, and it struck Vendyra's heart like a hammer upon a bell. The reverberations of the cry thundered through her, the same combination of pleasure and pain that she had felt at the hands of Baron Kriegsmort, yet now it was different, because the pain she caused was from an innocent victim, from one toward whom she felt real rage and anger... Part of her rebelled and hated it, but another part loved it, and was even more enchanted by the fact that it was wrong, that it went against her nature. She was violating Lilywinter, yes... But the truth was that Vendyra was violating herself as well.
"Gods, please." Lilywinter's voice was ragged, weary, on the verge of complete hysteria. "Please stop."
It only drove Vendyra onward, and she laid into the elf woman with renewed fury. How many blows? A hundred? Two hundred? A thousand? She couldn't say. She only knew that by the time she finished, Lilywinter's buttocks and thighs were bright red, crisscrossed by countless slashes, and blood oozed from the worst of them.
"Not done, no," Vendyra muttered. "No. You haven't paid nearly enough."
She stepped forward, thrusting her body against Lilywinter's bruised and battered form, pressing her breasts against the elf woman's back.
"You think you've suffered?" she whispered hotly into the elf's ear. "You've only just begun. You'll never leave here. You'll live forever in a world of pain for what you've done."
With that, she bit down on the elf's ear, until she elicited another scream of pain. It was inarticulate now, without words or reason.
Roughly, Vendyra slid the polished wooden phallus up Lilywinter's thigh.
"Feel that, bitch?" she whispered. "It's huge and I'm going to fuck you with it. Fuck you until you scream so loud that the walls will tumble. But no one can hear. No one can help. You're mine, do you understand? Mine."
The tip of the phallus touched Lilywinter's mons and Vendyra stroked it against her cunt lips.
"You're wet," she said in amazement. "Soaking wet. Gods help me." She looked at Lilywinter in astonishment. "You love this, don't you?"
Lilywinter's head turned, her tear-streaked cheek pressed against the hard wood, and met her with melting violet eyes.
"Yes," the elf said. "Yes, I love it. I want it. I want you to hurt me and never let me free."
Vendyra felt another flash of rage, and with a single stroke thrust the phallus between the elf-woman's lips and deep into her. Another scream echoed against the wooden walls, as loud and agonized as Vendyra had hoped for, yet even then she fancied she could hear a trace of pleasure and longing.
Now it seemed different, as if all the pain and suffering she had caused was only a prelude, something that Lilywinter had indeed wanted, something she indeed desired, but could not bring herself to admit.
"Again?" Vendyra asked.
To her continued shock, she saw Lilywinter nod, lips tight, face contorted with pain.
"Yes. Again."
Vendyra withdrew and thrust in again. She wondered how the elf woman could contain such a huge member, yet she opened and allowed it access to her innermost recesses. In a moment, her juices began to run down the phallus and cover Vendyra's hand.
"Yes." Now it was Lilywinter who seemed to be issuing commands. "Yes, mistress. Fuck me. Punish me. I've been so wrong. I so deserve this. I want to pay for what I've done. I want you to fuck me and hurt me and make me pay."
Now rage and desire seemed to merge in Vendyra's soul, and she began to methodically and rhythmically slam the thick tool inside Lilywinter, spurred on by the cries of pain, pleasure, fear and longing that issued from the elf-woman's throat.
"Again, mistress. Again, my love. Yessss... Yessssssss.... Oh, gods..."
Lilywinter went rigid, and her teeth clacked together. She strained against her bonds, and Vendyra saw blood on her wrists as she tugged. The chains and leather held fast, the harsh rigidity of the wood pressed against Lilywinter's breasts and thighs, and her high-pitched wails rose and fell.
She contorted herself for a long time, pressing against the hard wooden phallus and bucking against Vendyra's body. The bard felt the heat and sweat from Lilywinter's flesh, and the racking convulsions of orgasm as they went on and on...
Then at last, she collapsed and lay limp in her bonds, gasping and moaning softly. Vendyra stepped back, a thousand conflicting thoughts whirling in her mind.
Lilywinter was a mass of wounds, with blood running freely from her wrists and whip-weals, bruises forming all across her body, a thin stream of saliva trailing from her battered lips. Yet even then, she turned her head, fixing Vendyra with the devoted gaze of an abused but still loyal pet.
"Thank you," she said. "Thank you, mistress."
***
Vendyra abruptly jolted back to the present, staring at Wulf as he at last overcame the locked door. Involuntarily, she took a step back, feeling her legs wobble unsteadily. With a complex of emotions ranging from contrition to embarrassment, she looked over at Lilywinter. The elf-woman met her gaze, though Vendyra could not tell what her expression meant.
And what did any of it mean, she wondered? A dream? Yes, a dream, but so vivid and explicit that she could not now get it out of her mind.
What did it mean? Did Lilywinter hate her? Did she plot against her? Or did her antipathy really signal a deeper connection, that she wanted more than she knew?
Merciful gods...
And to have such revelations deep in the bowels of a daemon-haunted dungeon... No, she could not think of it now. Not now, not here, not was Wulf threw open the last lock and the great iron portal cycled open...
Darkness rolled forth from the open gate, enveloping them in an instant, choking out the party's confused cries...
Now, said the voice, familiar and fearful, from her dream. Now you are mine!
Vendyra tried to cry out, to respond, to warn her companions, but she seemed frozen, as immobile and helpless as Lilywinter had been in her dream-vision.
It is time, continued the daemon-voice. Time to play.
***
"Gods damn it!" barked the fighter. "Don't end it there."
"Oh, it's not over," I assured him, grinning and upending my empty ale mug. "It's just that I'm getting thirsty again."
- END OF PART 2 -
Uh-oh. Doesn't look good does it? Well, we all know that Wulf makes it, but what about everyone else? Will the evil but wickedly sexy daemoness succeed in dividing our party against each other, and feed off the chaos that results? Or will Wulf come up with some kind of solution to save the day? And what of the mysterious Scrad? Tune in again as soon as I write Part 3... And I promise it won't take so long...
Oh, yeah... The character of Malifa is dedicated, with affection, to the lovely, sexy, wicked Rosie, whom I am grateful did not let the dream end too early. I hope she's getting some major orgasms from her new girlfriend with the big stap-on <vbg>. Still love ya. *sigh*