The Samur: Chapter 12, Violent Conclusions {Part 2} (viol magic MF M+F oral) � 2010 Rhys.The.Mage Ch. 1 || Ch. 2 || Ch. 3 || Ch. 4 || Ch. 5 || Ch. 6 || Ch. 7 || Ch. 8 || Ch. 9 || Ch. 10 || Ch. 11 || Ch. 12 || Ch. 13 “Valen said, 'Will you follow me into fire?'” --Ambassador Delenn [1] “Noooo!” Tamaira yelled as she watched her sister slay the young Itlan. Still to far away to be heard, she nonetheless could readily see the black blade as it made its killing blow. Tamaira flew from her mount, Cyd close behind, and closed on Lanira. Cyd guarded her back as the big breasted redhead strode fearlessly through the throng of thrashing thralls (sorry) toward her sister. Lanira seemed to not take notice of her sister's arrival even as Tamaira retrieved Itlan's blade from her dead fingers. Then, without any indication or warning, Lanira spun and faced her sister. She was panting, and from ecstasy, not exertion. The ebon blade of which Tamaira had heard so much was pointed at her chest, but Tamaira's face did not betray any emotion. Lanira said, “You should join me sister, you don't know the power he can give.” Tamaira knocked the sword away with a mailed fist and brought her blade up. “I am not your sister. That may be Lanira's body, but I do not know what you have done with my sister you twisted bitch.” Cyd readily dispatched two of Lanira's warriors as they sought to attack Tamaira. She circled around but kept Tamaira between them as they had discussed—this was a family matter. Lanira smiled, a feral wicked grin that promised malice and pain. “If you will not join me, then you will die.” Tamaira spat at her. “Bring it on.” In reply, Lanira's sword leaped toward her, faster than its owners' arm could possibly have moved. Tamaira parried the blow, if slowly, and took no damage from the attack. She opened her distance to the black sword that seemed to throb in Lanira's hand. After several minutes of parry, attack and counter attack, there were no observers to the battle save Cyd. All of Lanira's warriors were working to surround the Helel so as to keep them from fleeing as the ships and their cargoes of warriors neared the beach. Tamaira fought on valiantly, not showing any signs of tiring. Her sister was fairing even better, having recently been recharged, as it was, by her sword and the essence of Itlan. The two duelled on, oblivious to the world around them. Cyd found herself just observing, but she eventually decided that honor was not the only thing important on the beaches of Cenna today. Moving slowly and methodically, she moved into a position to support Tamaira and attack Lanira. Tamaira saw the drow woman approach. “This is not your fight,” she said, parrying another blow from the black blade. “Stay out of it.” “You forget,” Cyd said, “I know what it is she wields, and I know that she is simply toying with you right now.” Lanira laughed, “What a horrible thing to say.” Her blade leapt from her grasp toward Tamaira's left leg. Tamaira dodged the force of the blow, but the sword turned itself in mid-flight and still drew blood from a thin gash it opened in the warrior's thigh. Lanira inhaled in obvious pleasure even as Cyd lashed out with her blade. Finishing her partially successful dodge, Tamaira watched as the the black sword unbelievably sprang from the ground and parried Cyd's attack before settling back in its owners' grip. Lanira shivered briefly. “Horrible but true,” she said. “But now I get you and your blade as well. I wonder if Elon can gain by just blocking your blade?” Latek moaned her displeasure and anger at the now named black blade. Cyd attacked furiously, driving back the wicked sister despite the witch blade she held. Any time Lanira/Elon sought to employ their dancing tricks, Cyd/Latek countered. It was clear that each had met its match. Briefly allowed to withdraw from the fight, Tamaira bound her wound and looked to the sea in an effort to gage how much time she had. She knew it would not be long before the ships begin to land and overrun the Helel. [2] As Tamaira and Cyd flew into the fight, Rhys and Jillian headed toward the shoreline. Their first thought was to help fight when the nearing ships finally reached the beach, but no sooner had they arrived when they felt the familiar feeling of air being displaced and the black cloaked wizard popped into being not ten feet from them. Rhys was the first to react, “Nyil,” arrow. A torrent of ethereal silver arrows leapt from his staff and impacted the wizard, the sudden attack blowing him back. Jillian held her staff out, “Olvad,” melt. The sand near the wizard started to glaze over and became red hot, the wizard jumped away, apparently unscathed despite the closeness of her spell. “Eget,” he said, burn. Jillian countered, but the wizard did not release his hold on the spell as she had anticipated, and a small red, then black spot appeared on her upper right arm. She howled in pain, but held her staff. The wizard chuckled. “Jeg,” he said toward Rhys, ice. Rhys avoided the storm of icy darts that came his way, easily turning them to little more than rain. “Zetor,” shatter, Rhys said, and slammed his staff into the expanse of glass that Jillian had formed. The glass exploded, shattering as one, and sending thousands of shards skyward toward the wizard. Reacting instantly, he threw himself backward, pulling his cloak over his head. Jillian, distracted, but not overly so by the pain in her arm, held her ground against the mage. “Idezni, angyak, madas,” summon, ants, attack. At this instant it happened that Latek had impacted Elon, which somehow resulted in the wizard being momentarily distracted. In the next moment his legs were a swarming maelstrom of ants that roiled forth from the ground all around him. He yelled and jumped back, surprised at his surprise and pained by the attack of the thousands of small insects. “Tuz,” the wizard said, and thousands of the small ants burned up in smoke, taking small pieces of his flesh with them. He jumped back, leering at his two attackers. “Gonoz, ajto, ordog, jon.” Rhys recognized the demon summoning spell before the wizard was even finished. He yelled to Jillian but she was even now readying another attack. No time, he thought, then said, “Kor, fekete, or.” A glimmering white circle appeared around him, but as the demon materialized he could not expand it to encompass Jillian. She was on her own. The demon, a hugely muscled beast standing seven feet tall, towered over Rhys' apprentice and she recoiled in fear, her spell forgotten. The demon lashed out at her, and though she blocked his claws with her staff, she was sent flying some ten feet before landing in a heap. Rhys went on the attack once more, first at the demon. “Josag, feny, zatares,” goodness, light, return to darkness, he said. His staff glowed with energy and the demon howled in agony, turning from Jillian back toward him. The wizard was not idle, and after recovering from summoning the demon he turned his attention toward the sorceress even as the demon struck her. As she stopped rolling he brought up his staff, “Savar,” bolt. But Jillian was ready. “Kroznie,” she said, reflect. Her staff seemed to simply hold and then return the electric blast to its creator. The wizard's staff was instantly filled with the electricity of a bolt of lightning and the staff flew from his hands. “Lovad,” Rhys said, melt, and in his mind he formed a strong acid to attack the demon. It howled as its feet began to smolder in the sand. It moved away, trying to evade the pain giving ground. It reached behind its back and threw a sword at Rhys. He blocked the blow with his staff, but it split the piece of wood in two. Now useless, he dropped the the splinters to the ground and clenched his fists. “Ajto, icsom,” door, plane of light, he said. There was a shimmering near the demon. It howled as it looked into a plane of infinite goodness. Rhys barreled toward the demon and hit it squarely in the body. “Madas,” he groaned as he impacted, push. The demon's hand touched the glowing portal and then its whole body was pulled through. At the last second it reached out and grabbed Rhys. He twisted free, but at the cost of a strip of flesh along his arm. As he yelled in pain his sight happened upon Tamaira and Cyd who were getting nearer in their sword battle. He heard their curious opponent say something like, “Elon will have you,” and it gave him an idea. … Jillian was tired, drained, and bleeding. She shifted to defense. “Razlat, paj,” magic shield. The wizard smiled and before she knew it he had produced a small dagger and threw it at her. It buried itself in her belly, the pain searing, a crimson stain already forming. ... From the small pouch at his side, Rhys pulled one of the two pieces of metal that Erdore, Mistress of the Tong forest, had given him few weeks ago. He did not know precisely what was about to happen, but he concentrated on the cool hard lump and said, “Varog, otthon, beke,” yearn, home, peace. The metal sucked the energy from him and for an instant he was concerned as it absorbed his power. But then it was over, and the metal was a cool object formed into the likeness of leaf. Smiling, he threw the object to the woman fighting Tamaira. She caught a glimpse of the object, and recognition crossed her features. Unconsciously she grabbed the token out of the air. The effect was immediate and startling. Her two hands literally forced themselves together, the ebon blade with the thin streak of silver coming into contact with the leaf shaped piece of bright metal. The blade, Elon, and its possessed soul, shrieked at the contact. A look of dread and sorrow crossed Lanira's face. “I remember now, I remember it all,” she said. Then, as quickly as it came, the look of sorrow was replaced by one of crazed malice. “I remember that I promised to kill you,” she said, and she lashed out again at Cyd. Latek was ready, however, and as the ebon blade moved she countered, blocking the blow even as Cyd spun around and attacked with a plain old short sword. The blade pierced Lanira's left side under her chain shirt and came out her back side. The black sword leapt from its owner's grasp, seeking a fresh target for new energy even as Lanira fell back. Cyd relinquished her hold on Latek and the sleek weapon began a dance of its own with its kindred spirit. Lanira fell to the ground, her hand at her side and her eyes wide. Cyd stood over her, her short sword at the ready even as Latek and Elon battled nearby in a truly strange spectacle. Breathing with effort, Lanira said, “I was of the house of the Samur! I do not deserve this!” Cyd paused, and as she did so a sword flashed out and pierced Lanira's chest under her chain shirt, stabbing true to her heart and killing her at once. As she breathed her last, Latek and Elon both fell to the ground. Tamaira bent down, kissed her sister softly one last time. “Deserving's got nothing to do with it.” … Jillian suspected she was not going to survive the afternoon, but she did not despair. She gripped the dagger, pulled it from her body and pointed it at the wizard. Focusing all of her energy and thought on her wound, which was almost comically easy at this point, she said, “Seb,” wound. The wizard doubled over in agony as a searing pain hit his gut. Rhys watched the final scene with the rebel leader come to a close, then noticed to his horror the condition Jillian was in.  He dashed toward the mage in a flight of pure anger. The loss of the sword bearer and Jillian's last spell had completely distracted him. Rhys, for his part, was totally consumed with anger and thirst for revenge. Only one word came to mind. He was too far gone to care of the consequences as he reached the mage, thrust his hands around the mage's neck, and started to choke him. “Meghal,” die, Rhys said in a rush. Even as he felt the wizard's life force ebb and fight the spell, Rhys felt the extreme pull of energy from deep within. He knew he had gone to far, —killing men with a word was a death sentence—but he did not care. He held onto the wizard's throat as the man started to quiver in death, and Rhys felt the darkness start to take him. Then, a dagger pierced the mage's chest below Rhys' hands, and he was dead. Rhys looked and saw Jillian collapse at his side, releasing her hold on the dagger, her work done. He let go of the dead mage and held her to him. “I couldn't let you do it,” she said weakly. “I have to heal you now,” he said, but he knew he did not have the energy. His killing word for the enemy wizard had sealed his beloved's fate. He impotently tried to gather his will to help her, found he could not do it. He cried out in desperation: and then he remembered the other piece of metal in his pouch. He reached for the cursed sword, Elon. “No!” Cyd and Tamaira cried out. “You will have to kill me or trust me,” he said. He noted that the leaf shaped metal piece seemed fused to the pommel. He picked up the sword and then knelt next to the wizard. The blade called to him, and he blocked its alluring voice the best he could. There was an urge, just a slight but insistent one, to give himself over and relax with what it had to offer. Shaking his head to clear his mind, he pulled off the mage's ring, and forced the point of his sword into it. The sword bucked, but he held the point to the ring and into the ground. “Hivas, Erdore, valaz,” I call, Erdore, answer, he said, throwing every ounce of remaining energy into the spell. A presence made itself known near him. “You have done well, mage,” a voice said into his mind, “Why do you summon me so?” “Because Jillian lays dying and I cannot help her. I require you to save her.” “Require? You forget your place. Perhaps it is her time. Why do you ask this of me?” “If you do not do this for me I will sever the ring and send your sister into the abyss.” The voice lowered and said, quite seriously, “You would not dare.” “Do you not understand? I have no choice, I cannot bring her back on my own and I refuse to live without her. You can help. And if you will not..” he let the threat linger as he leaned on the sword. The intelligent blade howled its displeasure. “Your threats are not reason enough for me to forsake my oaths.” “Damn your oaths! I love her.” A sense of well being filled him. “That is all you needed to say.” Suddenly the sword in his hand felt useless. It dropped from his fingers, he felt energetic, and the lump of plain metal in his hand had become a perfect shining sphere. The voice in his head said, “You must surrender this token the next time we meet, along with the sword and the ring. And you will owe me, mage, more than you can imagine.” He smiled, “I already owe you more than you can possibly collect.” “We shall see, mage,” the voice said, and the presence faded. Rhys turned his attention to Jillian, whose breathing was becoming very shallow and very rapid. He held the sphere to the wound in her belly and thought about nothing but the silver orb. There was a sensation of great warmth, then her breath seized, the wound sealed, and she lurched forward, gasping for air. Throwing her arms around Rhys in a reflex, she hugged him tightly. “I love you,” she said. “Thank you.” Rhys felt the tears run down his cheeks.  He could find no words in reply. [3] Cyd and Tamaira, having watched the entire scene play out in front of them, said at once, “You do know that those ships are about to land?” “And?” said Rhys. “And we have not the forces to hold them back,” Tamaira said. “Obviously you have not looked around in the past couple of minutes.” Tamaira and Cyd exchanged a glance and then surveyed the scene around them. Though the Helel still held their weapons ready, all of the rebels had dropped theirs and had started to look around, as if seeking some answer as to why they were even on the beach. “What the hell?” Cyd said. Rhys grinned, “I suspect that the ring and sword gave your sister and the mage some kind of sway over their minds. Now that they are dead, that is no longer true.” Tamaira nodded, then stepped away from them and began moving through the crowd of Helel warriors and their erstwhile enemies. Everywhere she went she said the same thing, “Sheath your blades, there are no more enemies to fight this day.” The scene repeated as the boats landed ashore and scores of confused women and men strode ashore in the shallow water. Moving amongst them, Tamaira kept up her chant, as if her repeated words would somehow erase the memory of what had only just been completed. “There are no more enemies to fight this day. Help us bury the dead so we may all rest easy this night.” As the newly arrived warriors and the remaining Helel took to the grisly task of burying the dead, Rhys and Jillian examined the mage and Lanira. They found nothing to give them any clues about how the two had come to possess the magical objects Rhys had first laid eyes upon many years ago. Rhys pulled the ring from the pouch at his hip and looked at it closely for the first time. It was utterly unremarkable, battered and scarred with wear of at least a hundred years. He closed his eyes unconsciously as he held it in his palm. Jillian's slap to his cheek snapped his eyes open. “Are you in there?” she said. “What?” “You went into some kind of daze. You should not be handling that thing.” Rhys nodded. “Perhaps you should carry it back to Erdore?” Jillian held up her hands. “I don't want to think about that damned thing, let alone touch it or carry it. And what happened to you a moment ago?” “It was singing to me.” “Truly? And what did it sing?” “It is lonely and asking to have a master it can serve.” Jillian scoffed. “Yes, it is clear that it was so needy in the hands of its last owner. Why should I take up the ring?” Rhys shrugged. “Just a feeling. You were nearly dead and a piece of metal, just like it, cured you. Perhaps you are less susceptible to its wiles.” Jillian held out her hand. “Fine, I'll try. But if I get lost you had better come find me.” Rhys nodded and Jillian took the ring. To her the voice was muted, more like a whisper than a song. Though it was an interesting sound, it did not enthrall her in the least. Rhys was watching her, but nothing unusual seemed to be happening. “I gather you are okay.” When she did not reply, he said, “Do you sense anything else?” She closed her eyes and concentrated on the odd words that were just beyond what she could hear and understand. Though she could not place the words, the meaning was clear. “It says it can help me, and all I have to do is wear it.” Rhys nodded. “Then you shall definitely have to hold on to it until we get to the Tong.” Jillian nodded, then began to look around for something she could use to hold the ring around her neck. Rhys took the sheath off Lanira's body before the assembled troops took her away for burial. Like the ring, the sword spoke to him, but though its voice was clear and strong, he had no trouble ignoring it. The small piece of leaf shaped metal dulled its influence over him. Three hours later the grim task of the afternoon was complete and behind them. Tamaira dismissed the former rebels, giving them all the option of returning home or joining the Samaan. While a few mostly curious young men elected to stay, the majority began their long walks home. Tamaira completed her task as the leader of the Helel and disbanded the army as it was no longer needed. “Warriors of the Helel,” she said to their assembled ranks, “many of us have died here today, but we have won, and this Helel is no longer needed.” A roar went up in response. “The cost has been high. Too high. But in such times of need the Empire is proud you have answered the call.” Another roar went up, causing her to pause. When at last they quieted down, she continued. “And now we shall leave this place, marked by only one headstone. 'In this place many died to stop the evil of but a few. Lest we forget.” A somber cheer greeted her words. She looked up at them, and smiled. “And now, sons and daughters of the Samur, let us descend on Cenna and drink and fuck with abandon, for today we did. Not. Die!” A huge roar went up, and the host followed Tamaira into the town. Cyd had ended up near Rhys and Jillian as Tamaira had finished speaking. “Uh, just what is it that is going to be going on in that town tonight?” Jillian laughed. “Exactly what you think. That town will never be the same after they have their way with it tonight. I hope the women are not the jealous type.” Cyd stood her ground. “All of this does not make me interested in anything but drinking. I'm sore, and there is death all around us.” Rhys offered his hand, and she took it. Putting his arm around Jillian, they started off in the direction of Cenna, ready to raise a toast to the dead, but little else. [4] That evening the small town on the coast played host to the warriors of the Samur. While the women warriors were accustomed to the effects of shuutra on their men, the local women were not. And when the warriors freely distributed an evenings' supply to the entire male population of the town, some rather righteous fucking followed. A forty year old woman, whose husband of twenty years had not taken her to the marriage bed in almost a year, was strangely not surprised when he came home from the local tavern a bit earlier than usual this day. “Margrite, I'm home!” he bellowed as he slammed the door shut behind him. “In the kitchen,” his wife replied. He found her there, standing over the oven, standing with her legs apart and wearing her cooking apron. He walked up behind her and squeezed her tits as he pressed his erection into the crack of her ass. “This is unexpected. Can you wait a moment?” she said. He snorted, surprised she would rebuff him after all this time. She took the pie from the oven, and took off her apron.  Somehow he had missed that she was wearing nothing else. He was stunned by her nudity. He had not seen this side of her in many years. She walked up and grabbed his cock through his pants. “I didn't want that to burn and ruin the evening. And I have been here listening to the town fuck itself blind for an hour!” She dropped to her knees and pulled his cock free. She stroked it, then licked it once. “And if you do not fuck me right this moment I shall leave you forever.” He didn't need another invitation. Sweeping everything from the table he laid her on her back right there in the kitchen and felt her opening. She was dripping, and he wasted no time filling her void. They made love urgently, but not quickly, and after he was certain she had cum, he succumbed to an urge he did not know he had, and pulled out and came all over her chest and face. Margrite was shocked, not just by the thorough fucking she had just enjoyed, but by the unbelievable amount of cum her husband was covering her with. As she had done years ago, she rubbed it into her skin, which took some time, and swallowed as much as she could of what was left. … Of course, what had sent Bergal home to his wife that evening was related to a strange contest that two of the huge woman warriors had started that night. With the rest of the town already in an uproar, the two warriors had entered “Kovut's Bar and Grill” looking for some action. A gaming pub in an out of the way part of town, it was, as always, filled with nothing but men. After downing two pitchers of ale, a loud argument had broken out amongst them. “I could take all of them!” the blond said, standing and removing all of her armor above her waist. All the men in the bar turned toward her, staring at the large tits on her muscular frame. “You would drown. I, on the other hand, could easily finish them as you lay dreaming!” the brunette said, standing and removing all of her armor. She stood nude in the tavern, hands defiantly on her hips. The men in the room shuffled their feet nervously, not knowing what they were supposed to say. The two shared a knowing smile, there was no contest between them. They each took a small skin of shuutra laced wine from their gear and handed it to the nearest man. The blond removed the rest of her armor, then sat on a nearby bench and spread her legs lewdly. “Drink this and pass it on. You will know what to do then. Trust us, you will be fine, but you must not wait around overly long.” The brunette sat on the same bench a few feet from her compatriot. “The winner, is the one that gets the most cum.” She looked around the room and rubbed her pussy, which was, as expected, already dripping wet. “Now, who is my first.” Though reluctant at the beginning, as soon as the shuutra had all their cocks rock hard, they were all to ready to give the warriors what they were looking for. The twenty men in the bar took their turns fucking the amazons every way they desired. The amazons, for their part, seemed completely pleased with the arrangements. For the next hour, they always had one cock in their pussy and one in their mouth. They each drank the spend of seven men, and had at least three flood their pussies as well. An hour of screaming and moaning later, they were well fucked and well fed. One of the older men approached the blond. “I was wondering if I might ask you a favor?” he said sheepishly. “Hmmm. Didn't I just swallow you a few minutes ago? What else do you want?” “Well, my wife and I, we, uh, I was wondering if I could, well...” The blond laughed and handed him the skin. There was a small amount of wine still in it. “Now drink, and go take care of that wife of yours.” Bergal drank the remainder of the liquid and dashed home, hoping his wife had not yet finished cooking dinner. ... Many such scenes were repeated all over town that night. In one small hotel a warrior had convinced the wives of two travelers to join in a similar contest. The warrior, a raven haired lovely named Brin, had watched the other two get fucked unconscious, leaving her to take care of the remaining three men in the room. In the local stables, a drunken warrior had enlisted the help of the three men working there to scratch an itch. That her itch was several inches inside her pussy was a secret they did not mind learning. In another part of town one of the warriors allowed herself to be placed in the town stocks and fucked by any who happened by. The tenth man released her and took her home, where she awoke in the morning and fucked him yet again. One last strange story concerned a particlar drow. It seems that once she was drunk she took two men and a woman with her. All would later tell of a mysterious blue eyed dark elf woman that fucked just as hard as the black eyed one named Cyd. The two drow had fucked them all into oblivion before leaving them to sleep off the nights revelry. All manner of stories unfolded around Cenna, and by the next night the Battle (and the fucking) of Cenna was the white stuff of legends. ... The next morning Rhys, Jillian, Cyd and Tamaira all awoke at about the same time in a tangle of limbs in a stable somewhere near Cenna. At least, they figured it was near Cenna. Rhys massaged his temples, “My head is pounding. What did we drink last night?” Cyd sat up, dared not try to stand just yet. �Whatever the local rot gut was.�  And all of them had drank it, at least from the smell of it. Tamaira was the first to stand upright, albeit with some effort. “It is time for us to be going. My mother will be expecting to hear from us as soon as possible.” Rhys was a bit confused. Typically battle put some bloodlust into the warriors, but last night Tamaira had done nothing but tell stories of her sister and get righteously drunk. Not that it wasn't warranted. After all, it isn't every day that a warrior has to kill her sister. “Are you okay?” Rhys asked her. Tamaira's scornful look told him that it was not the time for such questions. Gathering up four horse, they departed the town of Cenna for the capitol. Next Chapter Please give me your e-mail address so I can write you back if needed. You can also leave it anonymous. What story or story chapter are you commenting on? Please enter your comments...