Legends of Belariath

Eraelabryn

Adoration

The girl moved quickly through the night, someone had told her, given her a hint that she could find the subject of her desires at the Bath House, taking her morning respite. It was ususal of course, for the girl to hunt down someone to speak with them, especially someone such as Eraelabryn. The Apprentice to Violence, the consort of the Nightmare named Cynvalas, the darkling was in most minds a terrifying thing. There were few brave enough to search her out, even fewer who once doing so had the nerve to speak to the creature. This girl, however thought herself brave enough, in fact, had been asked to find the Darkling and speak to her on behalf of her Sisters in the underworld. Strange, that they would send a human slave to do so really, but their last effort to reach her, another Moriel of her house, had never returned. Rather then lose another Priestess, it was deemed wise to send a ex surface dweller to hunt Eraela down, and deliver the threat of home. The slave girl, she however had other plans, there were rumors down below in the House, that Eraelabryn herself, the dark mistress, had turned from Kirva’s worship, instead choosing to serve this....this..drak..this creature that was once a mere feline. Blasphemy really, that one who was dedicated from birth, who was blessed with the Mark of the Goddess herself would upon being banished, turn from the cruel embrace of the Mother. The rumors stirred dissent, they stirred the flames of rebellion, if Eraela had done it, if she had disavowed her own Goddess, whose hand touched every part of the Darkling’s live, and yet she lived...and grew more powerful, more seductive, even more gifted, what did it say for Kirva herself? Of course, there were Priestess who whispered that in fact, Eraela was doing the Mothers work, showing that the Moriel, even on the surface could be as powerful as they were in the dark.

The bath house reached, the door opened, the humid sweet smell of the air encompassing the slave, as she looked for signs of where the Darkling could be...a whisper to the one attending, the passing of a pouch of coins, as she was instructed that Eraela could be found in the last private bath, entertaining as she did often enough, as if to bath were some santificing ritual for her Desire. The movements of the slave, careful enough not to draw to much attention, she whispered of course that she was carrying a message from Home. The bath attendant nodded, misunderstanding of course, thinking home was in fact Cynvalas summoning his Servant to him. Who was the attendant to dare risk the wraith of the drak, or of the darkling? Turning to avoid contact with the slave, thinking her part in this tale done, as the girl herself drew her nerve to her, and headed in the direction she was sent. Not so long, before she came to that locked door, a breath taken in, as she prayed not to be struck down for interrupting. One hand, rapping on the door, the sounds within rather muffled. Was that a scream? A voice, soft lilting really, and then the door opened, revealing those kept inside. The sweet smell of jasmine and honeysuckle the scent of the darkling, the strange mixture of love and lust, combined, wafting over the senses.

Revealed within, the things that dark nightmares and twisted erotic fantasies could only bring about to being. A beautiful willowy elf, leaning back against a chair there, watching the going’s on, a black cloth draping over one eye the intense gaze of the other catching the slave girl off guard, so cold it was, so emotionless. There, before her, on the very edge of the pool was a enchanting half elf, half kitten vixen, chained so brutally, her hands in front, her legs behind, thighs spread wide, strumming her clit, bent over so that the globes of her breasts bounced with each motion. There was the image of a dildo, shoved within those folds, stuffing the small girl. To the right of her, the most rapture educing corlet, her hair chopped so short, blonde, in her tiny form, in a glass jar, bound and tied there, forced to watch the other preform her lewd deeds.

The slaves attention falls to the water, to that pool, the red hair of one striking vixen, human..she appeared, so very tall, towering over the delicate darkling. Oh yes, the darkling was there, being attended to by her slaves, speaking with her sister of sorts, the willowy elf. A look from the creature, her lavender eyes narrowing so very dangerously, as the redhead rubs lather over that back, bathing her Mistress with gentle care. The heat, it made the Moriel appear almost ethereal, something really beyond perfection, the cruel manner as her lips twist into a smile. "Speak." she motions for slave attending her to stop her movements, the darkling’s attentions now focused on the slave in front of her. "Give me one reason to not strike your whorish existence from this lifetime." strange, her tones, they were most pleasing to hear, you could almost hear the accent of her homeland within them.

The girl, the messenger falling to her knees, supplication pose, something the Moriel’s trained their servants to do. The Darkling, letting a cruel slip of laughter flow from her lips as she speaks"stay there, I will tend to you after my bath." That statement was true enough, Eraela took her time, bathing, allowing herself to be attended by those macabre ladies in waiting. She seemed to adore the ritual of it, her own body marked, with such designs, perhaps even bruised, cut, one would see the painful realization of her Adoration for her Lord. Just the same, if the slave dared to look up, she would see the other pets, all so abused, so marked, as if to take the same dark worship as their Mistress. Each of them, hand selected, chosen for their beauty, for those things they possessed that the Mistress could not. Jealous that creature was, of those things she wasn’t gifted with, wasn’t allowed by birth, and so she selected those who served for those reasons.

Smart girl, that slave not to look up, to wait until Eraela had risen from the bath itself, wrapped in a swath of satin, crimson as blood itself, as crimson as her lovers braids. Breathtaking really as she moved, her hand ripping into the girls hair, pulling her head back, arching her painfully while the others watched. "Speak Cunt" there was no doubt of her dominance, her powerful grip threatening to take hair, scalp and all as she awaited some answer. The cascade of those moonlight silver strands, framing that dark angelic face, the stare of those lavender orbs devastating to behold so near. A word, spoken from the willowy elf, the one who did not wear the collar of the darkling, "Not here, don’t ruin your haven by soiling it with that blood." calm those words, strange the effect they had on the One. Her fingertips seemed to loosen as she smiled to the pale elf, a nod of her head. "Wise sister dear, I would so hate to have to lose what little respite I have." A movement of that body, those curves so titillating, so sexual, as she chose to recline in a near by chase, a motion of her hand for the slave to come closer.."Crawl here worm and tell me what made you brave my presence." the Moriel, leaning back, as if resting, savoring the heat of the place, that dark skin glistening with the moisture as if dusted by stars themselves.

The messenger spilling quickly in the Moriel tongue that Eraela was expected to return home, to reclaim her place within the House she had been banished from, that the Matron Mother herself, deemed the punishment fitting the crime now, and would expect the Darkling underground within the next moon or be hunted down for a betrayer of the faith. Stranger still the darklings reaction to it..as she reclined there, no movement no sound for some time. The slaves, Avarwraith, they all went quiet, as if watching her to see what vile thing she would do to the girl, for daring to broach that subject. However, after time had passed, a movement of her wrist, dismissing her slaves, a look to Avarwraith, with that smile she rarely gifted anyone but Her lord, as she made motion for them to leave. Absolute silence, deafening in its power as she seemed like some stone statue of Kirva herself resting there. It wasn’t until that door shut, and they were alone, the Mistress and the Slave, that there was any animation from the darkling.

The sound as the darkling sat up, pulling that satin around her, her feet resting on the floor as she spoke, the stirring sounds of her voice, "Come here girl" she parts her thighs, motioning to the space between them, waiting until the girl crawled to her, to glide those fingertips, the nails so sharp, sliding into that scalp, a soothing motion if one didn’t look up into those eyes. Her voice soothing, the sharpness disappearing, the coolness of one who had stared into the eyes of her Creator, and then judged, and stood judged. "I am going to tell you a story..and you are going to listen, and then..go home." her hands never stopping, the girls heart racing, the darkling could feel it pulsing there between her thighs. A strange sight, for an onlooker, the Moriel seeming to be merciful.

"I am sure you know the story of my banishment, I know how those whores like to waggle their tongues. They were all jealous, I know that now, and so treacherous. Vile really,"she let out a slip of air, her hands never stopping that tender stroking of that hair. " So we wont start there, will we? No, lets start at the true birth of my pain. Do you know what it is to be forced to the surface? No human, you have no idea of the torture of the Sun, the way it burns the flesh, weakens you. So powerful I was below, so dangerous, and then...to be forced to weakness, to be no more capable of defending myself then a nymph. Strange, isn’t it, how such a thing can break your mind, trap your soul. Should I tell you, of the nights I prayed to Kirva, I cut myself, I bleed for that bitch, and nothing...no response. Everyday I was forced to simper, forced to fake a smile, a presence that was pleasing, to have others take care of me. This skin, this form, surface side, it isn’t the blessing you would think it was. I choked on the festering stench of those who touched me. I snuck like a disease in the night, reeking my vengeance, always terrified, who am I to be terrified? Those who harmed me, I feigned a smile for..then the moment I could..I would slice their throats in their sleep, there was no wrath like mine, I punished those persons for their abilities, their gifts, that they denied the worth of."

"Like some Parentless child, I wandered alone, desperate, no word from my Sisters, no word no help from the Goddess who rejected my sacrifice. Until one night, one strange night, I prayed with the fervor of one who knows the next breath would be their last." her voice goes a bit softer, those eyes closing as she seems to savor the memory of the pain...delighting in it. "In a village, not far from this town, I sought shelter for the night, like some beggar, dwelling within a Inn, that was beyond repair, festering populace really. That night, I lowered myself to the bed, I took a dagger, and I carved my wrists, I bleed, I spoke the words that all speak in their lowest moments. I begged for death, wished to court Him. Kirva, My dark Mother, I prayed, Send me my deliverance, do not allow this vessel of yours to go to waste, don’t allow this form, your daughter, your creation to decay and rot in misery. Nothing. There was nothing. No answer, no sign, the ritual seemed to have failed, but then, then my sweet girl...I heard a scream..Have you ever heard someone scream out their last breath, that ripping of soul, the gift of it to the reaper? Its ..beautiful." the darkling lowered her hand, now softly caressing the girls back, soothing her as she regales her with the tale...her voice, always constant, pure in recanting the deeds. There was a lilt to her voice, if one could get passed her evil presence, her dominating needs, that coolness in the air around her, then it would be easy enough to picture her a young maiden in the throes of telling the first meeting of her Love. " There he was, the creature I had prayed for. The Nightmare, reeking havoc, blood, terror, murder, the streets bathed with the crimson stain of his mere presence. " her fingernails slide down the girls back as she leans in a more reclined position, pulling the slave to her lap, nestling that face against the smooth satin she wore, her voice ever as enchanting.

" I saw him, The Answer to my Prayer, The goddess had not denied me, she had given me another path, hadn’t she? I ran to Him, and fell victim to his Need. Should I tell you how he raped me...how he crafted every last bit of me to him that Night? Perhaps, it would be better, to simply say, used as some whore, broken, bleeding, he left me there, that prayer for death...granted. Or so it seemed. I died, I dreamed, and In that dream the only constant was Him."

The darkling falling silent as she closes those lavender eyes, as if remembering that first night, her body first touched by her Lord, that smile, it was breathtaking as she opened her eyes, such an ethereal visage.

"And so, knowing this, feeling this...love, this worship, this need to serve. Oh yes...I serve, never forget that. I serve him as I served Kirva, I am more devote in my worship, aren’t I? There is something to be said, for having your God within you...being his sacred temple, the altar of his sacrifice, to hunger, and have his presence held within your body."

Eraela stands, moving the girl from her, the swiftness of her hands as she rips the cloth that covers her, allowing it to fall like some crimson stain to the settee....her thighs parting, how could one not look at her flesh, every darkened grey perfection seemed to be bearing some mark, some bruise, some tattoo of her lords work upon her. Her thighs, the gracing of eyes to them, that sex, so delectable, its nether lips like some holy artifact, beautiful, pristine...those rings, three hoops the color of her Drak’s scales, on either side of that labia, sheathing that metal into her velvet skin. A chain, a mithril beautiful chain, looping them, in essence locking that hole up, her fingertip lowering, a tap to the clit ring, the lock that gathered the chain there..

It was her essence, her brutal rage as she slammed the girls head against the couch she sat upon, would the slave even see it coming? That laughter, wicked, her very visage animated as she stood, the girl knocked out, a bit of flesh ripped by the harsh blow. Her hand as she ran it down the back of the slave, her nails so sharp as she carefully, oh so carefully carved her response to the message. There upon that smooth back, for her Sisters to see, she would allow the girl to crawl back to the under ground of course...one word, scarred into flesh..

"No."

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