6 comments/ 20064 views/ 22 favorites Larunalia By: elisebos Author's Notes: This had been written for the Autumn Harvest Competition on Hentai Foundry. It's inspired by the myths of Isis and Lemminkäinen. I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading it. + + Chapter 1: The Eluuar of Laru Vitalia reached out to tug at the thick woven cloth which covered the window, pulling it to one side. The closely packed buildings of Greater Nalel rushed by in blur of grey stone. People strolled and danced along the streets, dressed in elaborate clothing: massive headdresses, long trains dragging behind them on the wide sidewalks. All the fabric was in some shade of red or orange, shades beloved by the death-goddess Laru. It was the time of Larunalia, occurring as usual in this time of reaping. The spectre-driven carriage shuddered as it slowed down at an intersection, and sped up once more after it turned the corner. Vitalia watched the reactions of the revelers as the carriage passed them by: some shrank back against the sturdy walls of the buildings, bowing their heads. A few of them stared fixedly as it rattled along the narrow street. Vitalia let the curtain fall back into place and leaned back against her seat, sighing. "Are you tired?" Malon, her assigned companion for this trip, stared at her with wide eyes. Vitalia blinked at her, and nodded slowly. A lock of her long grey hair separated from the elaborate pile atop her head, and she brushed it away with an annoyed twitch of her hand. "We've been travelling for a long time," Vitalia murmured, smoothing down the red lace of her gown. Malon reached forward to help, but Vitalia quelled her with a slight frown. "Do I have to be at this Luranalia?" "Of course!" Malon's tone was extremely scandalized. She was some years older than Vitalia, but with her dyed hair styled in tight curls around her round face, she seemed younger. "All of these celebrations are for you!" "For the goddess Laru, you mean." Vitalia slumped down in the seat, letting her head rest against the padded back. "For you," Malon said, her voice very firm. She drew herself up as high as her narrow frame could manage, shoulders held squarely. She had very small eyes set close together over a sharp nose, and they sparkled with indignation. "You are the Eluuar, the physical embodiment of Laru in this plane. All Larunalia celebrated in Jharna is in your honour!" Vitalia sighed and closed her eyes for a few beats. Not for the last time, she wished she had never performed that miracle back in her small village of Shevalir; but the little feathered lizard had been so small and so still, and Vitalia had just wanted to see it move again. Malon was still fussing: "Do you know how long we in Jharna have waited for another reincarnation of our patron goddess? All the other countries have been through four, five, even six manifestations! Jashkar has had nine!" Vitalia snorted. "I'm sure that's just propaganda," she stated, opening one eye and peering at Malon, who huffed. "Well, you may see your Gelnadyar at this Larunalia," Malon said in a wistful way and Vitalia sighed again. In the many stories, Gelnadyar had been a close friend and then the consort of Laru. The giantess Gelnadyar was a minor deity of battles and weaponry; an offspring of one of the Nayir and a mortal, Gelnadyar played a relatively important role in the mythology of their people. In Jharna, the entire festival of Larunalia was to celebrate the goddess's legendary quest to restore Gelnadyar, the orgies Laru participated in while in the Deadworld, and her rise to her acknowledged role as the Queen of the Deadworld. Even the activities of harvesting were dedicated to Laru, farmers contributing a portion of their crop to the temples. As the manifestation of the death-deity, there were high expectations for Vitalia to find a mortal version of Gelnadyar. Vitalia was exhausted of having a line of acolytes parading in front of her at each turn; it seemed that every priestess and priest harboured the wish that Laru's consort be found at their temple. Vitalia wondered if she should start reminding them that the last two personifications of the goddess did not find their consort, and therefore it was very likely that she would not. The carriage creaked to a halt, and the spectre which powered it spoke up in its whispery, hesitant voice: "Eluuar and Malon, we have arrived at Temple Laru-lel. This is the Great Hall." "Wima, I told you that you don't have to call me Eluuar," Vitalia said as she leaned forward to let Malon affix the circlet of orange feathers right above her forehead, and attach the long veil of beads so that it obscured the upper half of her face. "My own name is fine." Wima's voice echoed through the cabin, "Eluuar, I could not. It is not proper." Vitalia frowned. "Oh, Wima--" "That's right, Wima," Malon said very primly, taking a hairpin out of a little jewelled box and taming that wayward strand of Vitalia's hair. "Don't let the Eluuar make you overlook your protocol imprinting." "Yes, Malon," Wima answered. The door to the carriage swung open with hardly a creak and Malon exited with a grand flourish of her arms. She held out a hand back into the carriage and Vitalia took it, allowing Malon to help her down the few metal rungs. The crowd gathered in front of the Great Hall drew back as her booted feet touched the ground, whispering to each other from behind their festival masks. Vitalia strode quickly through the cleared path towards the massive door, following Malon's skittering gait. As she climbed the wide steps, she could feel their stares boring into her back. Before she had been sent to the Necrohal, Vitalia had been treated with a mix of respectful affection by her neighbours and friends in Shevalir. In the Necrohal, worshipped as the goddess, she had been removed from daily contact with 'mortals', restricted by the priestesses. Vitalia had managed to convince the ghouls to let her out at night, and she had freely roamed the villages established nearby. The ghouls had dogged her steps, of course, not willing to let the Eluuar out of their sight. At least they had kept to the shadows when Vitalia slipped into the taverns. The priestesses had found out and had been about to re-imprint the poor ghouls with their spells. In anger and frustration, Vitalia had reacted rather badly; at the end of her...outburst, parts of the ancient inner structures of the Necrohal had simply wasted to dust: massive stone walls and timber beams rotted as if they'd undergone years of decay in a few moments. The priestesses, faced with this display from the Eluuar, had quickly acquiesced to Vitalia's wishes for more freedom. However, from there on there seemed to be an underlying streak of uneasiness permeating subsequent interactions. The priestesses were awful, but Vitalia hadn't wanted to be the source of anyone's anxiety. Here, in front of the Great Hall of Laru-Lel, that same weight of trepidation from the crowd weighed Vitalia's shoulders. She pressed her lips tightly together as she climbed the last step of the Great Hall. The waiting priestesses knelt on the ground, murmuring their welcome. Their robes were gathered closely at the waist, and belled out into highly wrought skirts, with necessary layers of red lace. Malon knelt with them as well, tucking her arms into her sleeves. From behind one of them, a teenaged girl stepped forward. She was dressed in the voluminous robes of an acolyte, her head covered with a roughly woven scarf. "Eluuar!" The girl exclaimed in a high-pitched squeak, going on one knee in a shaky manner. She held out a bouquet of long-stemmed flowers with translucent red petals. "We are honoured to have you in Nalel, and at Laru-lel. Please, accept these as a token of our esteem!" Vitalia couldn't help but smile. The girl peeped up at her, and seeing Vitalia's lips tilted upwards, offered a hesitant grin. Vitalia bent at the waist and reached out to take the bouquet. These flowers had the same name as this temple, larulels, and were said to grow near the portals to Deadworld. They had healing properties, especially when brewed in a tea for fever. One of the priestesses reached out and pinched the ankle of the acolyte, no doubt to warn her for smiling at the Eluuar. The acolyte flinched, and winced. Vitalia said, very mildly, "Leave her be," and the priestesses bowed even more. The one who had been pinching the girl drew back her hand as if it had been set on fire. "Did you collect these yourself?" "Yes, Eluuar!" the girl chirped. Charmed, Vitalia reached out her hand, the wide sleeve of her dress slipping down to her elbow. The acolyte snatched the scarf from atop her head, revealing a strip of red hair in the middle of a shorn scalp. Vitalia rest her hand atop the girl's head, her dark skin stark against the copper strands. "What is your name?" Vitalia asked. "Arla, my Eluuar," the girl whispered, her voice shaking. Vitalia said, "Arla, you are specially dedicated under the protection of the Eluuar," she pronounced in the requisite weighty timbre and a small fraction of her power flowed out of her arm and into the top of Arla's head. The girl trembled and Vitalia moved her hand. "Rise, child." Arla stood up unsteadily. To be placed under the protection of the Eluuar was an honour, but Vitalia found that the very small potential she passed on was exhibited in a different manner for everyone. A small boy in one of the Necrohal villages had gained the ability to perceive the ghouls, wraiths and other Deadworld denizens which served the Eluuar, instead of just hearing them or seeing the way they affected objects in the mortal world. An old woman was able to revive her dead plants after Vitalia had blessed her; however, there were many who didn't present abilities at all. As Arla reeled in apparent shock, one of the priestesses got to her feet, followed by Malon and the rest. "Arla," the head priestesses said sharply, and the acolyte ducked her head. Arla stepped away, heading towards a small side-door. In mid-step, she paused and then darted back to grasp Vitalia's hand in both her small ones. She kissed the back of Vitalia's hand fervently and then scampered away, her scarf tucked under her arm as she wrenched open the side-door and disappeared into a service passage. Vitalia hid a grin; she had high hopes for that one. "Eluuar," the high priestess intoned, and Vitalia glanced at her. "The Luranalia is ongoing inside the Great Hall." Malon took her place by the Eluuar's side again, and the priestesses commanded the door-wraiths to open the massive wings of the main doors. They creaked open; the pounding beats of drums and applause drifted out. The Great Hall was really a covered amphitheatre, a half-oval in shape. At the bottom of the sloped seating area, the sunken stage was divided into different sections, each part designed to depict a well-known scene of the Luranalia. The priestesses led Vitalia and Malon to a decorated booth near the middle of the sloped seating area. All the available seats in the Hall were occupied, and people sat on the wide steps; yet, there was a clear space around the Eluuar's compartment. "Look!" Malon said, pointing down at the stage. "They've just started!" Vitalia perched on the gilded stool, peering at the actresses and actors lit by the bright spotlights. In the nearest section, festooned with paint and leaves to resemble an ancient mountain, two individuals wrestled mightily. One of them was a tall muscular female, clad in flimsy yellow material which did nothing to hide her large tits. Her blond hair swung freely as she fought, her teeth bared in effort. This actress represented the sun-goddess Bithror, Laru's sister and ruler of the three suns. Her adversary was just as tall, but even more muscular, a large cock swinging between legs that were built like tree-trunks. Underneath a cloak of thick fur, two stiff and obviously fake breasts were affixed to a firm chest. The actor played Gelnadyar, who had merrily engaged in a sparring session with Bithror after being challenged by the sun-goddess during an argument. Their fight had created the great mountains of Buir and the valleys of Helna in the north of Jharna. One could still see the great lakes formed by their feet pressing into the earth. Bithror was powerful, but Gelnadyar was the offspring of a Nayir, an elder deity. Over time, the Nayir had been gradually overthrown and absorbed by the Jaur, the younger pantheon to which Bithror and Lura belonged. Still, Gelnadyar's sire had been the earth-Nayir, and as long as Gelnadyar's feet touched the ground, she was nigh unstoppable. Vitalia accepted a tall cool drink from a serving-ghoul's tray, giving them a grateful smile. The ghoul bowed deeply, clearly pleased to be seen and acknowledged by the Eluuar. It returned to its spot at an upper level, where numerous tables of food were placed near an arched exit. Vitalia sipped the sweet nectar, watching closely as Gelnadyar pinned the sun-deity to the ground, gripping her by the throat with one great hand. Bithror screamed and struggled, but Gelnadyar simply released a booming laugh. The sun-deity clawed at the corded arms and legs pinning her against the rich soil, and after a few moments, she parted her legs in defeat. The Gelnadyar actor shoved his cock up in her without hesitation, rutting crudely. Bithror screamed in rage and arousal, her breasts bouncing as Gelnadyar fucked into her with rough recklessness. The legends said that Gelnadyar impregnated Bithror with the entities that would be born as the seven moons. On the stage, the actress wailed and jerked as the actor came inside her, and the spotlights dimmed at that section. The next part of the Luranalia rendition focused on another actress, now playing a heavily pregnant Bithror seated in her bright boudoir. Her clothing stretched over a round belly, and the ominous music swelling from the nearby ensemble indicated Bithor's dark thoughts: revenge on Gelnadyar. A scowl marred the pale brow of the enraged sun-deity. An old man dressed like a beggar wandered onto the stage in an absent manner, carrying a shining sword. The man was a Nayir as well, a primeval blacksmith who had forged that blade from the void. He handed it to Birthror, who accepted it with a nasty smile. She set it aside, and pulled up the hem of her dress, bending forward to present her shaved pussy to the old man. He wasted no time in gripping her hips and grinding his crotch against her, dragging down his tattered breeches to enter her. As the Nayir fucked the sun-goddess, she smiled with slow anticipation of her triumph. The crowd hollered and whistled in response the next scene, when Bithror snuck up on the unsuspecting giantess during a hunt, stabbing her in the back with the Nayir-forged sword; the blow weakened Gelnadyar, and the actor fell to the ground with a pained cry. Even though it was a play, Vitalia averted her gaze as Bithror cleaved Gelnadyar's feet at the ankles, finally separating the half-Nayir from her source of strength and life. The actress chopped the 'body' into pieces, and a group of small adults dressed shifts made of red feathers flitted on the stage, snatching portions of the corpse and fleeing in all directions. These actors represented the thirty red ravens, whom Bithror had sent to all corners of Overworld, Middleworld and Deadworld with the pieces of Gelnadyar's body. All the lights dimmed, the ensemble quietened, and in the stillness a single spotlight picked out a woman standing in the middle of stage. A massive white cowl covered her face, and the thick robes obscured her figure. Laru, currently just the deity of sleep and night, sang a song of mourning for the murdered Gelnadyar. The two had been close friends, and Gelnadyar's death was a focal point in all the changes wrought in Laru. Out of the corner of her eye, Vitalia noted the other viewers trying to glance at her surreptitiously. In the stories, Laru was as tall and powerfully-built as any Juar, but with silvery hair instead of blond like her sister Bithror. Vitalia looked nothing like the goddess depicted in the temple images. Instead of an athletic frame, Vitalia was actually shorter than average, with a heart-shaped face and eyes that tilted up at the outer corners; the priestesses at the Necrohal had wanted her to wear stilt-like boots to appear taller, but Vitalia had refused. The long, shining grey curls and pale-grey eyes were only features which marked Vitalia as the personification of Laru. The Laru onstage pulled the cowl from over her head, and at the sight of the grey hair atop the singer's head, Malon whispered loyally, "It's but a dye, Eluuar!" Vitalia tried not to laugh aloud. The actress, still singing the song of mourning, searched the stage, grabbing the red ravens as they tried to escape, reclaiming the pieces of Gelnadyar. The cowl taken from her head became a large sack and she travelled from one side of the stage to the other, struggling with the ravens. The ravens fought back, but Laru subdued them with increasing ruthlessness, her white robe ripped during the skirmishes to reveal the blood-red gown beneath. With most of the unfortunate Gelnadyar's body collected in the sack, Laru paused to count them. There was still one piece missing, a symbol of Gelnadyar's rampant sexuality: her massive phallus. At one end of the sunken platform, a prop was cleverly rolled into place: an archway representing the mouth of a cave, with pots of larulels around it: an entrance to the Deadworld, the last place Laru needed to search for the missing portion. At this section of the festivities, the entire assembly seemed to rise as one, and rushed down to the stage. Vitalia did not move, but simply watched as frantic fucking broke out amongst the throng, fingers and dicks finding convenient slick orifices; even the red ravens jumped in, their smaller bodies grasped with lusty craving. Vitalia could almost feel Malon vibrating in excitement beside her. Vitalia glanced at her and Malon returned a wide-eyed, pleading look. "You may go," Vitalia said and Malon took to her feet with enviable rapidity, almost skipping down the sloping passages. As she plunged into the orgy, a large throne appeared from behind the stage's curtains, carried by cavorting actresses and actors meant to portray wraiths, ghouls and spectres. This was the Nayir god of the Deadworld, a great cock gripped in his claws. Massive, blood-stained tusks curled out of the sides of his mouth as he waved around the phallus of Gelnadyar. He descended from his throne, grabbing onto the closest reveller by a handful of hair. The young man willingly knelt before the Nayir, parting his lips so that the prick could be shoved into his mouth. He slobbered over it, sucking and licking with abandon, reaching out greedily with as the Nayir pulled it out and pounced on another merrymaker, parting the puffy lips of her pussy with his claws and twisting it up into her. The actress playing Lura, now nude except for a long red cape, went from group to group, joining in the hurried sex at every stop. In the legend, Lura spent years in the Deadworld, tricking and seducing her way to the side of the King. On the stage, with juices dripping between her thighs, she approached the King without caution, allowing him to rub the used cock along her flat belly. Vitalia idly turned her head, letting her gaze trail along the walls of the Hall, so tall that the tops of them were in shadow; the sex on the stage was interesting to watch, but not particularly arousing for her. Apart from the massive entrance at the top and back of the amphitheatre, there were other doors, presumably leading to the living quarters of the priestesses and the acolytes. Each doorway was guarded by both a wraith and a mortal sentinel. The streets outside had on-going Luranalia festivities, but only the most influential residents in Greater Nalel had been allowed access to the celebration hosted in Laru-lel. The sentinels stood at attention, although a few of them were serviced orally by a merrymaker who had wandered in their direction. Larunalia One of them leaned against a door at the lowest level, near to the stage. She wore a dark bronze breastplate over a short-sleeved tunic, and the rest of her armour was nowhere in sight. Her skin was a creamy shade; scars and decorative inking covered her exposed arms. Although the sentinel watched the many permutations of intercourse onstage with a sort of fascinated amusement, she shook her head every time someone approached her, offering a wry smile with each negation. Vitalia gazed at her so hard that she thought the sentinel would feel the weight of her stare and turn around, but she didn't. The sentinel simply observed the crowd, brushing her hand over her auburn hair now and again. The hair at both sides of her head was cut low, indicating someone who worked for the temple. However, the strip in the middle of her head was fairly long, and pulled into a neat braid which ended just past her neck. The sentinel's face had hard, strong lines. She was probably younger than she looked, and Vitalia breathed deep, even breaths. The Laru on the platform finally plucked the Gelnadyar's prick from the clutch of the Nayir god, who was so busy pounding into her as she hooked her legs over the arms of his throne. She threw it in her sack and the giantess emerged, fully reconstructed and brought back to life. In the narrative, Laru had to search for Gelnadyar's soul in the cave of spirits before Gelnadyar was restored to become Laru's consort, helping her to oust the Nayir god and take the throne. The performance handily skipped that bit about the soul and resolved the rest of the tale by having Laru rip out the tusks of the Deadworld King as he came in her. Gelnadyar grabbed his convulsing body and threw it to the ground. The play was over at this triumphant moment, but the revellers carried on fucking. It seemed as if the participants were especially fervent because of the Eluuar's presence, but Vitalia could not keep her eyes off the auburn-haired sentinel. Even though she couldn't see the eyes of the sentinel from this distance, Vitalia was nearly overcome with the surety that they were a very light brown. She stood abruptly; her feet and legs moved without any conscious thought on her part, and she travelled down the aisles with one goal in her mind. The sentinels straightened as she walked past them, and door-wraiths called out to her in their sweet whispers. The sentinel who had captured her attention did not notice the approach of the Eluuar until Vitalia stood right beside her, looking up at the side of that inflexible face. The closest partiers went still, gazing at the Eluuar with wide eyes. The sentinel noticed their frozen scrutiny, and her stance shifted. She frowned; her shoulders straightened and she placed her hand to her waist, where a short sword hung. "Be at peace, sentinel," Vitalia called out very gently, but the sentinel whirled around, stumbling back a few steps. She had drawn her sword with a very eerie speed, and held it steadily even as she tried to retain her balance. Vitalia gazed at the sharpened tip of the sword, and kept still. Vitalia saw the moment when the sentinel realised just who she held at the point of her weapon. The sentinel jerked back her hand, blinking rapidly. Her eyes were indeed a very light brown, like the tea brewed from larulels. "Eluuar," she murmured, her voice shaking and she went down on one knee, holding up the sword above her head with both hands. Vitalia took it, and set it against the wall with great care. The sentinel's head shifted slightly to look at it, as if surprised. Vitalia placed her hands on the sides of the sentinel's face, and exerted very slight pressure. The sentinel lifted her face very obediently, but kept her eyes averted. "Look at me," Vitalia commanded and the sentinel obeyed. When their eyes met, Vitalia felt a shock skirt down her spine, like the lightning which danced over the Necrohal. "What are you called?" "Bahjkir," the sentinel answered lowly, and Vitalia nodded. "Bahjkir," she repeated, enjoying the sound of her name on her tongue. "That is a good, strong name. Does your family call you Kir?" The sentinel's full lips pressed together briefly before she answered: "My sister does." Vitalia continued to stare at Bahjkir's face, feeling the air of familiarity about her. Dim images floated before her eyes, and one of them solidified: entering a cave of spirits, calling for her friend's soul. "Gelnadyar," Vitalia said now, and she could hardly recognize the loving timbre in her voice. Bahjkir jerked back out of her grasp, shaking her head slowly. "Yes," Vitalia insisted. "It's you. It's you, you're here." + Chapter 2: Gelnadyar the Consort Bahjkir looked around the large room, taking in the lushly decorated space with not a little trepidation. This room was atop the Towers of Laru-Lel, a massive set of spires built directly behind the Great Hall. The Towers were connected to the Hall by subterranean tunnels. Kir had been working as a sentinel at the compound for a few years, mostly to keep an eye on her little sister, but she had never been this high in the Towers before. Underneath her bare toes, the thick carpet felt like clouds. Someone knocked rapidly on the heavy door, and Kir actually flinched. She gripped the sides of the plush stool on which she perched, taking deep breaths. This was actually far more terrifying than the brute-force fights in which she had entered as a teenager. "Come in," she managed to croak out, and cleared her throat. The door creaked open, no doubt pushed by the wraith which protected it. Arla entered, awe written large on her face as she took in the magnificence of the quarters. Then, her gaze landed on Kir and she rushed over. Kir stood up and caught her sister as she tumbled into her arms. She was built strong, and Arla was still a small thing who showed no sign of being as robust as her older sister, but Kir still stumbled back at the force of her greeting. "Kir!" Arla hugged her around her waist, jumping up and down in her excitement. "Kir, you're the consort of the Eluuar!" "So I've been told," Kir said and groaned as Arla squeezed her tightly. "Arla, my ribs." "The reincarnation of Gelnadyar!" Arla squeaked and released Kir to perform a wild little dance, scrawny limbs and arms flaying. Her scarf twirled with her. "You!" "Me," Kir said heavily, and looked around the room again. This space was a long way from the small house in which she had grown with her father and Arla's mother. When Arla had been chosen to be an acolyte of the temple (most likely because of her hair), Kir had left her fighting lifestyle behind, applying for a post of sentinel in order to watch over Arla. This Luranalia had been the second one that Kir had experienced at the Great Hall. She'd asked for the duty-assignment, mostly because she wanted to make sure that Arla wouldn't sneak in and be caught up in the temple-approved orgies. Arla was barely of age, and Kir knew well how frantic the fucking could be. Kir had been watching the stage performance with some interest, and simply hadn't noticed the approach of the Eluuar. When she'd noticed the revellers nearest her post giving her long, incredulous stares, she'd thought that some trespasser had managed to bypass the invisible watchfulness of the door-wraith, and had ended up behind her. She hadn't expected the Eluuar to be the one standing there. The Eluuar's eyes had been covered behind that heavy veil of beads, but Kir had noted the smooth dark skin of her cheeks and slightly pointed chin, and the long hair lying in shining grey piles atop her head. When the Eluuar had held her face, the small hands had been so cool on Kir's jaw; and certainly, she hadn't expected that lightning-filled shimmer in every part of her being when the Eluuar had said, "Gelnadyar. It's you." It felt as if she'd come fully awake after the Eluuar called her by that name. Oh, it was a name Kir had heard many times before: in stories, in games as a child, as part of a few choice curses. In the stories, Gelnadyar was a figure of strength and brawling good humour; how could Kir be even remotely connected to that legend? She sat on the fussy little stool once more, watching Arla bounce from one corner of the room to the other. Arla released loud noises of appreciation as she knelt on the thick carpet and ran her hand over the deep pile. "Do you know that she blessed me?" Arla said, tracing the intricate patterns in the carpet. "The Eluuar. Remember I got chosen to greet her? And she liked the flowers I collected! She dedicated me under her protection!" Kir smiled. Arla's expression was distant, and her face was bright under the soft lamplight of the room. Arla had indeed collected those flowers herself in the sloping fields out by Lesser Nalel, slapping Kir's hands away when she had tried to help. Arla had also worked on arranging the bouquet herself, late into the night. "Has anything happened as yet? From being dedicated?" Kir asked and Arla's gaze sharpened. She tilted her head, thinking a little, and then shrugged. "No, not yet! But enough about me!" Arla jumped up and fairly skipped over to the bed. A red garment lay on the mattress, something made of at least five more layers than Kir was used to. The thought of all that lace made her skin feel itchy all over. Arla snatched it up, holding the top portion of the garment up in the air, giving it a critical glance. "Are you ready to put this on?" "I don't think I will ever be ready," Kir said, meaning more than just the clothing. "But you'll be having your first meal with the Eluuar." Arla sounded as if she as the one who was many years older than Kir, instead of the other way around. "You're the consort!" Kir felt a scowl twist her lips. "Arla--" "Come on." Arla shook the odious garment. "I'll help you put it on. Oh! My protocol training!" An expression of concern flitted over her face and to Kir's dismay, Arla knelt on the ground. She draped the clothing over one arm, to get it out of the way so she could clasp her hands together and press her thumbs to her forehead. "Divine Consort, may I assist you?" "No, no, no," Kir snapped, running up and grabbing Arla by the shoulders to drag her back to her feet. "Never, Arla, you never bow to me." Arla blinked rapidly. "But you are--" "I'm just your sister," Kir said, enunciating very slowly. "Don't forget that. I'm just Kir." Arla nodded slowly. "You're just Kir." She smiled quickly. "And the Consort, too. I'm so proud of you." She put her arms around Kir's neck, and kissed her cheek. "So very proud. Now, will you put on the clothes?" Kir had no defence against a persistent sister. She allowed Arla to unbuckle her breastplate and remove it, then strip her of the hardy tunic. Arla bullied her into a nearby washroom, where Kir dipped in a ridiculously large bath with fragrant water. After she dried off, Arla pulled on the fancy clothes: first, a thin undergarment that did nothing to hide her breasts and the thick shape of her cock. Then, Arla tightened the jewel-studded corset before the heavy jacket went on. A garland of ribbons sprouted on each shoulder of the jacket, and the sleeves fit snugly over the corded muscles of her arms, hiding all the scars and tattoos. The sleeves flared out at the wrists, and tapered to a long point which nearly touched the floor. Then, there were the skirts. Kir had not worn a skirt since she was a child, and now there were three, each one longer than the other. Arla clapped her hands at the end of all this arraying, and declared that Kir looked wonderful. Kir felt like a bird stuffed for dinner. The door swung open again, and the Eluuar's companion walked in, followed by an array of floating trays. Kir opened her mouth to ask about the whereabouts of the Eluuar, but the personification of the death-goddess strode inside as well. Kir's mouth went dry and she closed her mouth again. The Eluuar still wore that head-dress and beaded veil and Kir couldn't see her eyes. However, the Eluuar's mouth was set into a small smile; it did nothing to assuage the fluttering sensation in the pit of Kir's stomach. Arla dropped to the ground, gowns blooming around her in perfect genuflection. Kir followed suit, hoping that she wasn't kneeling on any of her skirts. "Your dinner is here," the companion announced quite unnecessarily, in a very loud, reedy voice. Kir glanced up; the Eluuar's smile twisted, as if she was trying to hold back a laugh, and then she turned to her companion. "Leave us, Malon." Malon's eyes grew wide in her face and she began to shake her head. Just as she opened her mouth, the Eluuar held up a hand. Malon closed her mouth again. "I'll be fine." The Eluuar's head turned slightly in Kir's direction, "Besides, the embodiment of Gelnadyar is here. I could not be safer." Kir felt her cheeks warm. She was sure the Eluuar could take care of herself, in any case. Malon's face was twisted into a frown, but she picked up her skirts and swept out of the room. Arla got up as well, and with her head held down, she headed for the door. "Arla," the Eluuar called out and Arla stopped so suddenly that she nearly fell over. Kir stood up quickly, to rush over if Arla tumbled to the ground, but the girl righted herself. "How are you?" "I'm--" Arla swallowed hard, obviously flustered that the Eluuar had remembered her name. "I'm well, Eluuar!" The Eluuar seemed to consider her for a long moment, and she turned her head slowly, tracking from Arla to Kir and back again. The beads of her veil clattered lightly against each other. "Ah, this is your sister," she said. Kir wasn't quite sure who she addressed, so she nodded with Arla. "The hair is similar," Arla said. "Although mine is more red." "Yes, it is," the Eluuar said in a very indulgent tone, and Arla's cheeks bloomed. She hurried to the door, turned to give Kir a very heavy glance, and exited with a quick flare of her skirts. Kir let out a low sigh and then inhaled quickly again at the realization that she was alone with the Eluuar and the floating trays. "Put them over there." The Eluuar pointed to a round table which was placed a few steps from the bed and the trays glided over obediently. "You, with the tea, set it on the right of the bowls." The plates and cutlery bobbed off the trays and were arranged by unseen hands, into a setting for two. "Elio, do we have enough spoons?" "You can see them," Kir murmured. "The ghouls, you can see them." "Yes," the Eluuar answered, and because she was apparently very patient, she did not say obviously. "Ghouls, spectres, wraiths...I can see any being who hails from the Deadworld. Especially, if they're being naughty," she finished in an extremely pointed tone. One of the wide bowls had been wiggling in mid-air; at the Eluuar's admonishment, it landed on the table with a light thump. However, most of it hung over the edge and the bowl tilted off the table. Kir moved without thinking, and ended up at the table in a blink. She reached out and set her hand underneath the bowl, catching it in her palm before it reached halfway to the floor. As she straightened up, one of the invisible ghouls snatched the bowl out of her grasp, and set it down on the cloth-covered surface. The Eluuar was quiet for a long moment. "Your captain said you were quick," she finally remarked, "but he obviously downplayed how fast you really are." "Well," Kir said and simply cleared her throat. What else could she say? She was quick with weapons, and outran everyone in her squad during training, but it was a talent she'd always had. Her wins in those long-past fighting matches had been influenced by her speed. However, when she joined the sentinels of Laru-lel, the captain pointed out that while she was fast and strong, she had to work on her aim, and so she did. Every day. The Eluuar made no further observation, but returned her attention to the work of the ghouls. The food, in the gleaming silver bowls, smelled wonderful, and Kir's stomach grumbled. "Thank you," the Eluuar said when the final platter shifted into place. The door swung open and the trays wafted out. As soon as the door clicked quietly shut, the Eluuar exclaimed, "Finally!" She reached up and tugged off the small crown made of tiny orange feathers, removing the beaded veil. She also yanked out some large pins which had kept her hair in that extravagant style and the whole mass tumbled down her back in a gleaming fall. Kir stared at her for a long moment. Apart from the grey eyes and the silver hair, the Eluuar wasn't what she had expected. She was short and slight, and attractive in an ordinary way. Kir thought that she would be able to feel a great power pouring from her, but there was nothing, really. The Eluuar grinned, and the corners of her eyes crinkled. "Did they tell you my name?" She didn't wait for a response: "I'm Vitalia." Vitalia. It was a name that was fairly common, especially in the eastern parts of Jharna; and since the Eluuar had been installed in the Necrohal, Kir knew of at least nine newborns that had been given that name. The Eluuar--Vitalia--indicated with a wave of her hand that Kir take a seat. Kir sat down at the table, watching as Vitalia twitched the long sheaf of her hair to one side so she could sit down. Kir looked at the food and then grabbed the closest serving spoon, dumping a large portion of nearly everything onto her plate. She glanced up; the Eluuar watched her in a very intent manner. "Shall--shall I serve you?" Kir asked; she had no idea what to do. As the consort, was she expected to wait on Vitalia? Should the Eluuar eat first? "Oh, no." Vitalia grabbed her own plate, serving out a hefty portion of meat, vegetables and bread. She nodded in satisfaction and dug in with her utensils, closing her eyes with pleasure at the first mouthful. "Mmm." She opened her eyes again and gave Kir a questioning tilt of her eyebrows. "You're not hungry?" "I'm starving," Kir admitted, and took a very large bite. She hadn't gone through as much protocol training as Arla and the other acolytes, but she knew how to hold her utensils properly. She ate slowly; with her squad, a sentinel had no time for proper manners. It was eat and go, shovelling down the bland meals before rushing back to duty. At this table, the food was delicious, and Kir tried everything; even the white bread she usually despised had a soft texture and a slight sweetness. "This is really good," she said with her mouth full and swallowed the whole thing in mortification. Vitalia laughed. "Thank you very much. I'm glad you're enjoying it." Kir had gone through three more mouthfuls before that registered. She stared down at her plate, almost cleared of all that food. "...you cooked this, Elu-- I mean, Vitalia?" Vitalia nodded, her smile wide and pleased. "Yes, I did. I like to cook, and I thought it would be....nice if I..." she trailed off as Kir put down her spoon, very slowly. "Is something wrong?" Kir closed her eyes tightly for a long moment. Possibly, when she opened her eyes, she would be back in her quarters, just the same old Kir. A regular sentinel in a regular room, eating a meal not cooked by the mortal manifestation of a powerful goddess. "Kir?" "What does a consort do, Vitalia?" Kir asked, her eyes still clenched shut. She heard the clinking sound of metal implements touching the fine plates and then silence. "You know, I don't really know." Vitalia let out a little laugh, but it sounded strained to Kir's ears. "Gelnadyar told the most outrageous stories. And she kept by Lura's side." Kir shook her head, and then opened her eyes. Vitalia stared back at her, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Larunalia "I can't be Gelnadyar," Kir whispered and was horrified at the tremor in her voice. Vitalia blinked slowly, her lips parting in surprise. Kir sat up straight, took a deep breath and forged on, more firmly this time. "I'm not...I can't be the Consort. I'm not going to be appropriate, I hate these clothes, and the priestesses make me nervous. I just...can't." She folded her lips in and wondered how the Eluuar of Lura, the death-deity, would deal with someone who had refused to be their consort. Vitalia dropped her gaze to her plate. "I understand," she said and that was definitely not what Kir had been expecting. The shock must have been plain on her face, because when Vitalia looked up once more, she huffed a little in dry amusement. "Do you know where I'm from? Shevalir?" Vitalia reached for a plate of pudding, cutting it into slices. She took up one of the larger pieces and placed it in a clean plate, holding it out to Kir. Kir reached out so slowly, for she felt a bit confused at the direction of the conversation. "Yes," she answered as she inspected the sweet. "My sister's mother had a craving for some cheese from Shevalir when she was pregnant." "Yes! The cheese of Shevalir, that's what we're known for!" Vitalia laughed. There was something clear and bright about the sound, when she laughed so openly. Kir found that she wouldn't mind hearing it again. "I loved living in Shevalir. I was normal, you understand?" Vitalia picked up a spoon and dug into her pudding, retrieving a large piece of dried fruit. "My friend had a pet winged lizard, it was such a playful thing. It would fly so high and let itself fall like a rock! And when it got near the ground again, it would flap its wings and zoom along the ground." She popped the fruit into her mouth and chewed in a contemplative fashion. "Sounds like fun," Kir said, because it did sound nice. Everyone knew the story of how the Eluuar revealed herself, but to hear it directly from her was an experience in itself. "One day, the little lizard crashed into a rock." Vitalia searched for another piece of fruit, pouting slightly when she couldn't find any more. "My friend cried so hard, but...its energy was still very close by, so I just held it and pulled it back in. I didn't want it to go." She cleared her throat and covered her mouth. When she removed her hand, a piece of pudding stuck just below her lip. "My friends all ran away. I didn't know at the time that my hair changed colour. They got over it, though, and the rest of the village was fine. Until the priestesses came for me." Vitalia shrugged. "I haven't been home since that time." Kir frowned at that. "Never?" She reached out and cupped Vitalia's jaw with one hand, using her thumb to brush the bit of food away. Vitalia looked at her with that clear gaze. Her skin was warm against the palm of Kir's hand. She thought the Eluuar would be cold as ice, like how her hands had been when she'd touched Kir in the Great Hall, but now she was just as warm as anyone. Just was warm as normal. "I am the Eluuar," Vitalia said, and Kir to feel the movement of her frail jaw. "I have responsibilities. Sometimes I hate them, and I don't want to do them, but I have to. I understand what it's like to be told who you are, and you really don't want it. And," she said, pulling away from Kir's touch, "I don't want you to be afraid of me when you're near me." "I'm not afraid of you," Kir said before her brain agreed to release that statement. She sat back as Vitalia gave her a look of scepticism. "I mean, it's easy to be afraid of you, you're the Eluuar. And I was, at first. But I'm getting over it, I would say." She winked at Vitalia, not quite believing her own daring. "The meal you made for me is going a long way, I suppose." Vitalia gaped at Kir. Then, she tilted her head back and laughed long and hard, gripping her side with one hand. Kir smiled; it hadn't been that funny, not to her, but it was really nice to see the Eluuar in such good spirits. Tears of mirth ran down Vitalia's cheeks and she wiped at them helplessly, her laughter petering out to soft chuckles. She reached out, pushing aside their used plates to take Kir's hands in hers. Her dark fingers fit so nicely against Kir's paler skin. "You're the Consort. But you don't have to be by my side, right?" "I'm sure the priestesses wouldn't agree," Kir pointed out. Vitalia wrinkled her nose, dismissively. "I'll deal with them. Just...you be the Consort wherever you want to be, and keep safe. Don't go getting yourself chopped into pieces." Vitalia grinned at her, but there was a sad tinge to it. When she tried to let go of Kir's hands, Kir rotated them rapidly at the wrist so she ended up holding Vitalia's hands in hers. "Maybe if I was more than just the Consort," Kir said, slowly picking her way through the words as she pondered at the same time. Arla didn't really need her anymore; and the priestesses were nearly as watchful as Kir, if not more. She liked her job as a sentinel; it was nice but... "More?" Vitalia cut in through her thoughts. She tilted her head, her expression curious, and some of her silver hair settled against the curve of her neck. "I could be your personal sentinel," Kir said. "Watch your back." She rolled her eyes when Vitalia's curiosity melted to sheer indulgence. "Yes, I know you're the Eluuar, but you still need companions. And I think you need better security, too." Vitalia said, "You're right," and she laced her fingers with Kir's. She smiled widely. "I am?" Kir nodded quickly. "Yes, I am. So, I make sure that you're not bothered all the time and, uh, assassinated, and I can be the Consort at the same time." "It's very difficult for someone to assassinate me," Vitalia said in a light, musing tone. "But not impossible. I definitely need more effective security than just the consorts, and the ghouls and so on." Kir looked at her, just observing her face for a moment. She wondered if Vitalia was just humouring her, but the Eluuar appeared perfectly serious; it seemed as if she wanted Kir to be happy. "All right," Kir said in a rush of breath, more to herself than anything else. "All right. I'm yours, then. Your Consort." Vitalia's face lit up. It was so odd, because she wasn't smiling, not really; but her whole being was transcendent. In a hazy moment she was absolutely stunning, just like the stories of Lura's unearthly beauty. Kir blinked and Vitalia's face regained its ordinary state once more. "I'm glad to hear that," Vitalia said, her voice very solemn, but her eyes shone with delight. + Chapter 3: At the Necrohal Kir woke up quickly, a habit that had never been a part of her natural speed. She'd had to train herself to wake up in such a manner, in case the captain roused her squad against intruders to Laru-lel. She wasn't in the dormitories, though. The smell was different, and even though it was dark there was the sensation of a wide room. She was definitely not in the cramped room assigned to her in the Towers. The memory of the past few weeks flooded her mind; the room wasn't moving, so she wasn't in the massive carriage of the Eluuar, going from city to city and presented as the Consort during the remainder of Luranalia. It had been tiring, and mostly people had wanted to gawk at the Eluuar. However, in the city of Prial, there had been fanatics who had wanted to take a piece of the Eluuar's clothing as a charm. Kir's sentinel training had been put to the test, for the crowd had pressed in close and sharp knives had been brought into play. Kir had had to disarm at least seventeen zealots, and tried to ignore the whispers of "Gelnadyar! Gelnadyar!" that followed the rapid flashing of her sword. Vitalia's reaction to all of that excitement had been a small smile beneath that beaded veil, and a quick touch to Kir's hand when they had climbed back into the carriage. The Eluuar could have easily reduced the devotees to dust if they had attempted to harm her, but Kir had begun to realise that Vitalia tried to keep a very tight rein on her frightful powers. "Thank you, Bahjkir," Vitalia had murmured. "That's what I'm here for," had been Kir's response. She'd had to pull her gaze away from the sweet curve of Vitalia's mouth. As they travelled, they'd talked to each other, and played games. Kir discovered that Vitalia had an underhanded sense of humour, and she didn't mind losing at games at all. The Eluuar was more open to children and older folk, and had a particular soft spot for animals. Kir also found out that underneath the piles of silky ceremonial robes worn by the Eluuar, Vitalia was surprisingly curvy, with a small waist, wide hips and nicely shaped breasts. That revelation had been by accident, really. They'd been staying at a temple on the outskirts of Prial, and when Kir had knocked on the door, the blasted wraith had given her access. Vitalia had been getting dressed for the morning, standing by the bed in her sheer underclothes as Malon pulled out garments from the travelling trunk. Vitalia was short, yes, but that seemed to only enhance the sensual lines of her figure. "Sorry!" Kir had blurted out before retreating with great alacrity. She'd glared at the door, which had emanated a contrite air, and didn't look Vitalia in the eye for the rest of the day. If she did, then her cock would have probably gone hard again as it did at the sight of Vitalia's nipples clearly outlined in the thin material. She had large, dark areolas, and Kir could almost detect their taste in her mouth, just by thinking about it. Now, a bell tolled in the distance and Kir remembered: she was finally at the Necrohal. She stretched a little and then froze when a smaller but solid body rolled against her side. Right, there was also the fact that somehow, Vitalia had convinced her to stay in the private rooms of the Eluuar. "Your quarters aren't quite ready yet," Vitalia had pointed out. "And I do need my personal sentinel at my side." "Who would dare attack you in the Necrohal?" Kir had wondered out loud, even though she smiled to soften the sarcasm in her voice. Vitalia had raised both eyebrows with suspicious innocence. Kir had kept to one side of the bed and Vitalia at the other. Now, they were both in the middle, and Vitalia cuddled even more against Kir's side. One of her hands crept onto Kir's flat stomach and laid there, small fingers splayed loosely. She murmured in her sleep and rocked her hips slightly. Kir let out a soft groan, and her cock began to perk up in interest. The door-wraith rose up out of its light slumber. While Kir couldn't see them, recently she found that she could sense their presence, like warm oscillations in the air. Each wraith, ghoul and spectre had a different vibration; they were very distinct to her now, even at the individual level, and Kir made an effort to remember their names. "We're fine, Oloi," she whispered and it hummed before settling back into whatever passed as sleep for wraiths. She took Vitalia's hand by the wrist and placed it in front of her, before she shifted away slightly and tried to go back to sleep. Vitalia moved closer again, and her hand returned to its spot on Kir's stomach. However, instead of staying there, it began to drift down towards Kir's crotch. "Vitalia?" Kir whispered, wrapping her fingers around the trespassing wrist again. Her eyesight began to acclimate to the darkness, and she could see Vitalia raise her head a little. "Yes?" Vitalia responded in a sleep-blurry voice. "Your hand," Kir told her. "It's...touching me," she finished and made a face at how childish that sounded. "It's...oh. Touching you. I'm so sorry." Vitalia tugged her hand out of Kir's grasp and wriggled backwards, leaving a cold column of space between them. She lay on her back and flung an arm over her eyes. "Sorry. Go back to sleep." Kir took one deep breath, then another. Vitalia didn't touch others, unless she really wanted to. Kir reached out and held onto her wrist again, pulling her close. Kir kissed her before she could say anything. Vitalia's lips parted under hers without resistance, and she kissed back eagerly. Kir plucked up the hem of her thin night-gown and stroked the fleshy, shorn lips of her cunt. Vitalia whimpered in the back of her throat as Kir's fingers rubbed light circles over the nub of her clit; when Kir pushed even further, Vitalia's pussy throbbed wetly around her fingers. Roughly, Vitalia pulled at the tie in the front of Kir's night-robe. When it parted, she pushed her free hand in and grabbed Kir's cock, stroking it with a complete lack of timidity. Her palm was dry, and Kir broke their frantic kiss with a sound that was a mixture of a groan and a laugh. She took that other hand and licked Vitalia's palm from wrist to fingers. When she released the small wrist from her grip, Vitalia grasped her cock again and gave it a long, slippery stroke. "Better?" Vitalia asked, her eyes gleaming in the dark. "Much better," Kir agreed and went for her mouth again. She thrust into Vitalia's grip as she fingered her, and bit at Vitalia's bottom lip. Vitalia laughed, and bit her back. In playful retaliation, Kir snatched at the hand which fondled her cock, and pinned both of them over Vitalia's head. "Don't move," she said and slide down Vitalia's body, releasing her hands to push open her legs. She stroked Vitalia's labia with her thumbs, pulled them apart and bent close to lick up and down the slit in a slow, wet line. Vitalia's hips jerked when Kir used the point of her tongue to tap her clit. Kir reached for her prick with one hand, squeezing it now and again at the base. She didn't want to come as yet. Vitalia moaned something, words garbled. She grabbed onto the sides of Kir's head, grinding up onto Kir's mouth and lapping tongue. Kir worked at her feverishly, enjoying the gush of Vitalia's juices. Suddenly, Vitalia's thighs clamped at the sides of her head and her whole body shuddered as she released sharp little cries. Kir withstood her orgasm stoically; she'd been through worse during sentinel training, anyway. Besides, it didn't take long for Vitalia's body to cease spasming. She relaxed, and Kir sat back on her heels, wiping at the moisture smeared across her mouth with the palm of her hand. With some satisfaction, she surveyed Vitalia's loose-limbed body. She'd done that to the Eluuar, a being known to demolish entire buildings in between one breath and the next. Vitalia's eyes had been closed, and she opened them, licking her lips as she watched Kir slowly fist her prick. She sat up with a soft, content groan and pulled off her night-dress completely. Then, she went back on her elbows, drew up her knees and let her legs fall apart. Kir shifted up until she was close enough to rub the flared head off her cock along Vitalia's spit-slicked labia. "Stop teasing," Vitalia complained in a breathless whisper after she heaved her hips up to get Kir's cock deeper inside, and Kir had pulled away playfully. "Come on." Kir didn't give her a chance to speak again. Quickly, she braced her fists on either side of Vitalia's head, her night-robe draping down on one side and pushed inside her with one long, steady plunge. She didn't meet any resistance, nor did she expect any. To watch Vitalia's head fall back was a pleasure, and Kir pulled back almost all the way out, and thrust in again, sharper this time. She lunged again and again into the tight, wet warmth of Vitalia's cunt, grunting every time the cradle of their hips met. Her knees slipped on the smooth surface of the sheets and she paused to steady herself, feeling trails of sweat down her cheeks and the middle of her back. Vitalia stared up at her, panting. Her hair lay in a tangled mess across the pile of pillows. Kir reached between them, running her thumb against the swollen lips of Vitalia's cunt stretched over her thick cock. Surging up, Vitalia threw her arms around Kir's neck and almost blindly sought out her mouth again. Kir sat back on her heels, bringing the smaller woman with her. Vitalia shuddered and moaned brokenly as she slid down on Kir's prick. She wrapped her legs around Kir's waist, and they were so close now; their breasts mashed together, both of Kir's arms holding Vitalia tightly. Vitalia's hair tickled Kir's skin: the backs of her arms, her shoulders, those silver tresses seemed to be everywhere. Kir was so deep inside, and she put the muscles of her thighs to good use, jabbing up into Vitalia with a merciless rhythm. With every push, Vitalia released a truncated gasp and at one point sobbed, "Kir!" The walls of her pussy clenched tight and seemed to ripple around Kir's cock. Kir came hard. The cadence of their movement sped up and disintegrated to rough, graceless bucking. Kir grunted as her seed flooded Vitalia's body and she jerked helplessly with every spurt. Spent, she managed to loosen her grip on Vitalia, letting her settle back on the bed before collapsing beside her, closing her eyes. She truly meant to get up and find a bit of cloth to wipe away the mingled come from their bodies, but her body disregarded all her weary commands. The door click open, a quiet noise in comparison to the way Kir heaved for breath. Something warm brushed over her cock; she barely opened her eyes and watched as Vitalia carefully dabbed at her groin, before attending to her own crotch. She held up the used cloth and it twirled out of her hand, floating off to the bathing room. Too content to feel embarrassed, Kir murmured: "Was there a ghoul out there the whole time?" Vitalia chuckled. "No. I called for it to fetch me a cloth, just now." She lay near to Kir, but didn't touch her. Kir appreciated that. Her skin still felt a bit oversensitive, and despite the natural chill of the Necrohal, she was hot at the moment. Kir rolled onto her side, facing her. "You called it with your mind?" "I suppose?" Vitalia answered and shrugged, even though she lay on her side as well, both hands clasped under her cheek. "If anyone chooses to attack now, I'll be completely useless," Kir pointed out, reaching out to trail her fingers down Vitalia's bare shoulder, and the soft skin of her arm. "It will be all your fault." Vitalia grinned widely. "I'll just have to watch your back, then," and laughed out loud when Kir gave her a quick pinch. fin