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Out of the harsh and blinding blizzards of the East, tread three heroes, their tired and bedraggled bodies evidences of their trials and tribulations, silhouetted against the low winter sun. Against all odds, this unlikely band of heroes did what no other group of adventurers had done before: slay the evil witch. Eight had set out on this mythic quest. Three returned. This is their tale…
Warriors watched and children stared as Erik the Chronicler helped the strangers drag the frozen body of their comrade into the village’s central hut. The frozen man was an assassin of sorts, the sole woman of the trio built like the savage women of their clan, but otherwise strange to them.
Not to the men’s lusts however. The full and heavy peaks of her sun browned breasts were cupped in chainmail as silvery as it was skimpy. Many craned their neck to see how the wintry winds blew up her scant chainmail skirt, showing glimpses of round and sculpted cheeks, bouncing together like smooth plums.
The other man of the trio was slight and long of limb, his perfectly manicured mustache moving the bearded barbarians to instant suspicion. That, and they didn’t like how he didn’t help Erik and the woman carry the frozen man in, instead posing over a barrel with his foot propped up, giving an eye and a smile to the local women.
The Blackskull clan did not like outsiders. When the men, women and children filed into the massive hut, they expected a story… or a death.
“There are… rumors. Rumors of more ruin in Camelot. They speak of two kings who once called each other brother now call for each other’s death. That the great armies of the Witch Queen are divided and lost to the winds.” said Erik. “You tell me the witch is dead. But is it done by your hand, or the is it the mere consequence of evil paying evil unto evil?” The jarl glowed like an ancient bronze man in the light, the fire of torches crackling behind him as they thawed out the assassin’s body. “Tell me true.”
“Done by our collective hands. And as dead as she’ll ever be.” replied the mustachioed man, twirling his finger off his lip. “Except in memory of course.”
Erik leaned forward, his gnarled hands clasped. “Do not play me false, outlander. We do not suffer liars and cheats. And yet are obligated to give the jewels promised for the witch’s death. But we have only your word to go by.”
The man nodded sagely. “It is a dilemma, to be sure.”
“Do not mock me.” growled Erik.
The she-barbarian rose her hand and with it the assembled crowd’s eyes fell to her buxom chest, massive mounds cupped in the silken steel of her chainmail bra. “My lord! If the word of a fellow mountain dweller means anything, I swear by my father, Orm Redhand, that what my companion says is true. I witnessed her death myself.”
Erik craned his head to the woman, his jowls swinging beneath his wintry beard. “As a matter of fact it means nothing! I would no more trust the seed of Redhand than the man himself! Or did you forget how he came by that title!?”
The woman straightened up, tall and proud, and her large, darkly tanned breasts followed suit, her cleavage on the cusp of spilling free. “He was given it when he slew Juhar Trollking in single combat, ripping out his heart with one hand!” she said with a smile, her blue eyes fierce like a wolf’s.
Erik scoffed. “Wrong, you simple wench. It is because he stole my predecessor’s sheep! My jarl had a spell laid on his sheep so he would know the thief when next he tried to grab one… and come the next morning your sire’s hand was as red as a newborn’s!”
The woman stepped forward and pulled back her fur cloak, revealing a gleaming sword hilt next her shapely hip. The mustachioed man gawked at her taut belly, her waist so small it could not help but emphasize the huge globes of her breasts, now heaving to her outrage. “My father was no thief.” she said levelly.
Before more men could draw weapons the mustachioed man leapt up to his feet and paced around the hut’s central fire, between the woman and Erik. “Now now, I’m sure we can all agree, that there are many Redhands! Some noble, some not, and some share the name Orm. And Redhand. But don’t let that distract you, Erik… from paying us our due.”
“Your due…” muttered the old man in a bitter tone. Erik slumped into his chair, and steepled his fingers, his eyes gleaming in the fire. “You said… Morgana might live on in memory… there is another thing too. It might live… it might die.” He looked to the man. “Your honor.”
The man with a mustache looked bemused. “I don’t follow, my lord.”
Erik nodded to servants in the shadows, who came forward and began daubing the man’s forehead, as well as the she-barbarian’s head, in blue paints. “There is an alchemy we do here. We call it Soul Walking. You shall walk us through what your soul witnessed… and we shall see if your words match with what the smoke tells.”
Flickering images flashed through the smoke in the fire. “I see…” said the man, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead.
Erik smiled. “You must come closer to the fire. It will not burn if you do not lie.” He watched the man step forward, and the images in the fire became more distinct. “Tell us who undertook this quest… show us how it began.”
The man with a mustache exhaled and then stretched his arms. “Showtime.” he said under his breath. The smoky image shimmered to the man’s remembrances, growing more sharp by the second. He narrated, his dramatic gestures eliciting ‘oos’ and ‘ahhs’ from the women in the audience:
“First of our party was Princess Sybilla, leader of our expedition and descendent of Princess Eva, who made her fateful escape from the Witch Queen all those years ago!” The smoke showed an image as clear as if the woman was right before the audience. Her olive skin was complimented by her flowing ruddy amber locks, her full and majestic bosom guarded under a gleaming breastplate, wrought with curved lines of in-laid gold where the armor mimicked the lush shape of her breasts.
The image then changed to a handsome youth, his black hair and bright eyes giving him a noble, clean-cut appearance. “And then there was Kael, young, dashing and a farmboy to boot! The young lad always felt he was meant for something greater, that he was meant for more than a farmer’s life, and who are we to deny a man the call to adventure!”
The women swooned at his image, and then began fanning themselves as the next image came to be. “Who could forget this bastard? Nobody, not with him reminding us every second! Ambassador Varneth of the Elves, yes they’re not all dead. Show him a throat, and he’ll show you what used to be a throat!” The Elf’s sky eyed, thin-chiseled face stared into the audience, the stare of a lover as much as it was a killer which sent some women into a fainting sleep.
“And yes children, he shoots arrows! Combined with an effervescent charm, brooding angst and irrational hatred for Dwarves, he would make the perfect companion toooo….” the image reformed into the appearance of a stout, muscular Dwarf, his red beard reaching down to his belt, “Dok! Yes, that’s really his name! Dwarves are a practical folk, anything more than a syllable is a waste really. Now you may ask, Greatest Rovino, Soul of the Age, what is this fine gentleman’s pathos, his raison d’etre? Well…. he’s a bloody Dwarf! He drinks, he’s stubborn, he’s so damn typical of his people that no one really cared why he joined, think of him as an arrow shield attached to a great big bushy beard!”
The image shifted once more. “Onto the next one, and really, if we can all be honest for once, the best one, ME!” A brown haired man with a twirled mustache and sharply manicured beard, with a deep blue waistcoat and ornamented rapier at his side materialized before the audience, his sharp chin and quick eyes looking off to some distant horizon, imparting upon the audience the intended image of a man of a cultivated bearing. “The Great Rovino! Wanted in 21 provinces, banned from Amazonia, seeker of Excalibur, lover of… I don’t know how many, slayer of gentlemen and perfidious rakes alike! When I heard the call to adventure, I knew this traveling band would need a bard, a storyteller to pass on my gl- THEIR glories, and here I am!”
With a great whoosh and spark of flame, the image moved to two women, the two as far apart in appearance and character as life from death. One was a barbarian, the other, a witch. “The other fair ladies of our adventure, Braya of the eastern barbarians,” Braya looked in the image much as she did in front of the audience, but for a few bruises on her arms and dings along her robust face, she was unchanged, her immense breasts just as prominent and high on her chest. “and Levina, witch of the west!”
The witch was not near so statuesque as Braya, her thighs slender, her back gracile. “Coming from a land across the sea, one I never cared to ask about, she was commissioned by her coven to put an end to Morgana, Witch Queen of the Black Moon!” Levina’s skin was a coppery red, graced with dusky, heavy lidded eyes. Her mere image, flicking her eyelashes inspired groans of want and desire from the assembled men. Her plunging neckline on the other hand, showing off the soft and heavy slopes of her well-endowed chest, inspired their lusts.
Finally the glow of the image tapered down, illuminating the hard edges of a pale face, the upper half cloaked in a hood. “Our final member…Guillaume de Montfort of Bretanreich! Or Gil, as I shall be calling him for the rest of my narration because… truly… that name. His story is not one that I would repeat in polite company, thus I have no issue sharing it here…” A member of the audience let out an awkward cough as the image pulled back from Gil, revealing an assortment of daggers, shurikens, short swords and glowing potions underneath his cloak. “As you can see, he’s a master assassin! After his village was burned down and his family slaughtered by marauding hordes he vowed… that he could do a better job! Indeed random barbarians robbed him of the chance of what he had been planning to do since childhood!”
The story struck a chord with some of the warriors present, their bald heads and furrowed, scarred faces nodding in understanding while some of the children playing with his unconscious body immediately stepped away, hiding behind their mothers.
“Now. Princess Sybilla was the one who brought us together. Held us together. Greatest of us all really,” he said wistfully, though Braya rolled her eyes at that and frowned when the encircled barbarians seemed to buy into his feigned emotion, “our journey was great, our friendships forged, a quest to throw down one queen and return another!”
Images of the company flew forth in glimpses, rolling green hills, flame strewn battlefields, great slaughters of the fairies and their lascivious Mother Luna, cackling as her luscious ebony breasts swung back and forth, trying to bury Ambassador Varneth’s face in them. “The fairy folk of Dark Wood were tempting indeed, but not well formidable!” Other images showed of the band hacking down giant flowers while Levina held back a horde of tittering, voluptuous winged harlots with a wall of magic.
“Moving on!” The images shifted again.
Tellingly, most of Rovino’s memories of their adventures involved little more than watching Sybilla’s deep valley of feminine cleavage swell and press against her armor as she cracked in the skulls of bandits, raiders and Black Moon cultists alike with her hammer.
That or the odd glimpse of spying on Sybilla as she bathed in a lake or under a waterfall, often along with Kael, the farmboy’s lust for her as pure as her ignorance for him, the boy so lowborn she did not even register him as a possible suitor. He and Rovino often watched the secretive and prudish princess at night, never getting a full view of her round and giant breasts, their carnal curiosities sated whenever moonlit drops of water ran down her plump and satin soft ass cheeks like streams of silver.
Rovino smiled nervously when he saw Erik grimace in his chair, the old man not finding the lecherous images as amusing as the younger men in the clan. “But even so, we are not here tonight for a recounting of our journey, but of our kill. Things got… interesting, when we approached the queen’s accursed city of Camlann from the cliffs…”
The image in the smoke grew dark and the audience leaned in…
Princess Sybilla broke the neck of a sentry with a blow of her hammer. He flew off the wall and to the ground below, where the city’s main entrance loomed, the road lined with ancient marble phalluses.
Even through the dark, Braya’s keen eyes picked out the women strapped to the pillars.
Their moans floated through the night. Their breasts, some small and perky, others heavy and round, rose and fell to their dark ecstasy, lighted by the moon’s pale rays. Braya’s blood ran cold seeing black and glistening things writhe up along the pillars and into the women’s legs, pumping between their quivering thighs with utmost smoothness.
Braya laid a hand on the princess’s armored shoulder. “We must save them! We have the weapons and the will-”
Sybilla brushed the she-barbarian’s hand off with aristocratic distaste. “Verily, but not the time. Our quest calls us to a higher evil.”
Braya searched the eyes of the Elf and the witch. “You could shoot the chains free with an arrow and you…” Levina’s dusky eyes met Braya’s brilliant blues, “you could spirit them away with a wave of your hands!”
“Oh! Oh!” screamed one woman below, her flat belly writhing as her ripe ass cheeks bounced and squeezed against the pillar, her orgiastic convulsions moving her to foam out her mouth. A writhing black tail slapped against her inner thighs and pubic mound before implanting itself in completely. “Ohhh…” she moaned weakly, her will broken, her resistance sundered.
“I will not reveal our position on account of a mortal’s purity.” said Varneth, his face cold as his eyes in the moonlight, his flowing silvery locks accenting his arrogance. “You would do well to listen to your better.”
Braya fumed and dared not look into the smug face of the princess. Only in a world of titles could that brat ever be the she-warrior’s better.
“Their words are true.” said Levina. She watched the spectacle below with a little too much curiosity. Her delicate fingers traced down the silken chasm of her protruding breasts and squeezed her ample feminine flesh. Her hard nipples dented her silks and her plump lips parted to short and quiet breaths of excitement. “Their sufferings are unfortunate… but the world hinges on us, not them.”
Rovino boosted Dok up with his hands so he could see above the battlements. The Dwarf grinned and pointed a stubby finger at the woman below whose eyes had just flared violet. “Hah! That one has big tits!” he said in loud enough of a voice to attract another minion.
As if on cue, a dead eyed Black Moon cultist seemingly emerged from the shadows and rose a dagger at Sybilla’s back. Kael sliced off his head before ever the loon got within five feet of his love. The farm boy sheathed his blade but all still watched the debauchery below the city walls. “Hey did anyone see that, I just chopped-”
“Let us begone! Our victory and my crown awaits!” Sybilla spoke over Kael and all moved along the battlements in stride. At the end of the walkway waited a man, a man they had hoped not to face until the witch was slain.
Varneth pulled an arrow, Braya drew her sword, Kael unsheathed his, Levina’s palm glowed reddish white, and Sybilla raised her hammer along with the rest. “Be quick! Do not let him speak! Do not let him raise his hands!”
Morvith, Son of the Queen, Prince of the Black Moon, did not change his wide stance, nor did he draw his sword. He simply gestured up to the looming voluptuous statue perched above them. The immortalized woman’s hips were as smooth as a snake, her stony breasts blotting out the moonlight. “Fitting that I should meet you here. Under the shadow of the Betrayer.”
The whole band stopped, keeping their weapons raised as they looked to each other in confusion. Sybilla barged her way to the front, her ample tits jiggling to the center before she did. “What is this? Are you not the son of Morgana? Is it your wish to die with your sword sheathed?”
Morvith continued on, gazing upon the stars and leaning on a battlement. “Parisa the Betrayer she was. Such a treacherous little slut. Until she betrayed my brother’s bed and rutted a common house slave in his stead. Mother laughed. She didn’t.” He peered over the edge of the wall. “She screamed all the way down when he threw her off.” He looked back to Sybilla. “Just as I imagine my dear mother will when you throw her off her tower, after I let you in.”
Princess Sybilla frowned. “Why would you do that?”
Morvith smiled and stroked the hilt of his blade, his voice like a low purr. “Do you know how long it takes for an immortal queen to die off? Five hundred years is a long time for a prince never to become king.”
Sybilla stuck her chin up, but try as she might, she couldn’t look down on the dark prince. “I’m not going to make you king, thou duplicitous craven!”
The prince yawned. “No I suspect not, but you’ll be quite a bit easier to topple than my mother.” He stepped forward and appraised the party, mocking each of them with a smirk and a glance. “You walk through this door behind me, and I’ll conjure a portal that will take you right below the Tower of Darkness.”
Sybilla arched her back and puffed her chest out, her giant bosom swelling underneath her plate into a canyon of cleavage so great that not even a blind man could miss it. That Morvith did not care to ogle her lush femininity stung more than she could have imagined. “This is dishonorable, treacherous and traitorous…” She turned back and faced her party, searching their eyes for insight.
Kael’s pride swelled when the princess’s eyes met his, almost as much as his groin. He saw his moment, to tell her how he really felt. He summoned his breath and struggled to look above her round and billowing cleavage. “Princess, ever since I-”
Rovino stepped in front of Kael. “Now now! Who says all victories need be won honorably, my lady?” Kael turned red behind him. “Better to go underground than fight all her servants in the city streets. Surely you wouldn’t deign to let the chaff of Morgana’s army see your resplendent beauty, for it is for the noble, not the wicked…”
Sybilla sighed dreamily. “Oh Rovino, you can be so thoughtful at times, your words sing to me…” Kael turned redder.
“Piss on that! I wanna fight!” said Dok, hefting his axe.
“Ignore the halfwit.” said Varneth, his eyes like sapphires in the darkness. “Save our strength and weapons for more foul flesh, not these…” he looked to a cultist’s corpse, “slack faced cretins.”
All the other adventurers nodded their heads and murmured in agreement.
Morvith cracked open the door behind him, the local guards sprawled out in pools of their own blood while an oval and violet portal blazed bright light across the stones. “That one speaks true. I would not do this unless I thought you had a chance.”
Sybilla stared into the portal, seeing where it led and so much more. Visions of glory. A crown. A queen with many children. Redeemer of her line. “Very well, Morvith. Do not betray us in this.” She stepped forward and looked him in the eye, violet as his portal and ten times more cruel. “I shan’t forget you.”
“No woman does.” He walked forward along the wall as Sybilla’s party moved forward, giving a pat on Kael’s head and on Dok’s, as if they were children. He sneaked a grope upon Braya’s plump buttocks, eliciting a brutal slap on Rovino behind her. ‘It wasn’t me!‘ he heard the rogue whisper. Morvith turned around and gave them one last bow. “Farewell my friends! Be sure to give my mother my love! And a knife to the heart, mustn’t forget that!”
As Morvith faded into darkness, Sybilla and her followers melted into light…
The adventurers arrived in a blast of screams, heat and blinding illumination. Sybilla smashed into the ground, coughing and gasping as her vision returned. It occurred to her how fresh the bottom of the tower smelled, like ripe lilacs and smooth incense… and then she looked up.
“Oh…” she said, her imperious voice but a girl’s whimper. Even with her sight blurred, she knew what she saw. No man or woman alive could mistake those breasts.
Ebony silks, as thin as air and as tight as a second skin, clung to her body and parted straight down the middle, showing off two enormous and perky alabaster globes, her immaculate skin as luminous as the moon. “Well, well, well… the blood of King Karnor returns…” said the Witch Queen.
All of the adventurers shuddered at her voice, some in fear, others in desire, and a few both.
“Ah… my gifts do not usually come with swords and knives.” Morgana stood tall before the assembled group, scepter in one hand. Her lustrous midnight tresses cascaded down to the floor but seemed to float just above it, like a maiden of myth but twisted and made lascivious. “My poor sons. They were never half as talented with magic as myself.” she purred, caressing Dok’s cheek with a solitary finger.
Rovino sat wide eyed, watching the Witch Queen’s well formed and jutting ass cheeks bounce with each step, the skin tight fabric over her pale flesh not even hiding the wonderful jiggles and flexes that came with her stride.
Braya looked up, realizing the group was not in the tower’s caverns… but in its throne room. The Black Knight, Morgana’s eternal warrior and champion, stood with his sword drawn and held it two-handed, pointed at the floor. His armor radiated wisps of shadow and seemed to drink the light from the air, dimming the sconces on the marble floor.
The she-barbarian was the first to recover her senses. She launched back up to her feet and drew her sword at the same time.
Rovino saw it all. How Braya’s ash blonde locks swept across her strong featured face. How her large, sun-kissed breasts jounced from side to side within their shining chain enclosures, all the while her powerful legs thundered forward, her lush thighs on full display as she screamed the war cry of her people.
Her sword swung, like a baleful band of light within her hands.
Morgana looked over her lithe shoulder and sighed. With a flick of her wrist she lifted Braya up from the floor and shot her fifty feet across the throne room, pitching her out a massive stain glass window, wrought with designs of nubile courtesans caressing foul demonic snakes.
Glass shattered and wind howled anew into the throne room, whipping the torches on the walls about, their flames like dancing gold whips.
“There’s one.” said Morgana as she looked back to the group, now up on their feet. “I imagine this isn’t going how you planned.” Kael looked the most forlorn, but also the most awestruck. His deep blue eyes were fixed on Morgana’s pale cleavage, her ripe and ample flesh glowing with sorcerous energy. The witch let loose a musical but cold laugh. “It must have been Morvith? Melehan would not try and do something near so underhanded. That and he’s off settling a quarrel between two of my warlocks.”
Princess Sybilla moved in front of the group, her smiting hammer rested over her shoulders. Her green eyes took in Morgana’s lush and fertile hips, struggling to fathom the narrowness of her waist and the sheer soft abundance of her ivory breasts. She had heard of her allure but had never thought to see a woman more beautiful than herself in her lifetime.
“Y-you… have more cravens in your ranks… than you think, witch!” Sybilla felt lightheaded and wavered on her feet looking at Morgana’s unreal curves, her vivid violet eyes siren-like in their invitation for the princess to lose herself in them.
Morgana inclined her head to the side and crossed her arms, pushing the voluptuous swells of her creamy cleavage higher up on her chest. “And to think… I actually thought any descendents from the old king would be a threat.” She laughed and glided forward to Princess Sybilla. Her hands roved up Sybilla’s narrow midsection, taking in the texture of her plated breasts, before spreading her fingers across the bulging tops of her supple mounds. “I know someone very special. One that would love to meet you.” She came close to the princess’s ear, her voice a liquid whisper. “Adras.” she hissed.
Rovino and Kael drew blades, ready to vanquish the witch at so close a distance. “You touch the princess and I’ll touch your heart with the blade of His Holiness himself!” Kael guarded Sybilla with one arm over her plate breastplate, tantalizing close to the sweet round flesh of her heaving cleavage.
Rovino raised his rapier to Morgana’s neck. “Uh yes… what he said, more or less.”
“Watch your steps.” said the witch, blowing Sybilla a kiss before backing away in time for a circular section of the floor to fall away. The princess, Rovino and Kael immediately dropped into the dark, their screams distant and hollow as they fell through the tunnels.
The rest of the group leapt away from the center and aimed their weapons at Morgana. Varneth drew his bow while Levina muttered arcane things under her breath. Gil did not even pause. He hurled three shurikens at the witch, all deflected by Black Knight’s quick blade before its midnight edge swung by his face. Dok smashed in the dark warrior’s knee with a brutal axe swing.
“Hah! I hit him!” the bearded one’s triumph was shortened when the Black Knight backhanded him with his ebony gauntlet, breaking his nose in a bloody spray and sending the Dwarf end over end across the marble floor.
Morgana burst the Elf’s arrows in mid-air and sent Levina sprawling across the marble with a jagged blast of violet-pink light from her palm. Smoke rose from the copper skinned witch’s robes just as moans rose from her throat, her body wracked in the sweet pain of sex magic. Her back arched and her hips shuddered as pleasure burned through her veins, her full and luscious breasts glistening to her erotic heat.
“My my, an Elf that isn’t dead and a witch that isn’t mine. We may not have unicorns anymore but we do have you two!” she cackled. “Oh how I’m going to enjoy making you like the rest!”
Before the vile witch could do anymore, a crystal vial exploded on the ground. A wall of green flame burst before her eyes while great smoke fogged up the throne room. Morgana could see only the giant silhouette of the Black Knight through the emerald fires.
“Where are they!?”
The Black Knight strode forward, unaffected by the searing green that licked across his armor. “The assassin threw dirt in my eyes and then that damned potion.” He looked to the fires as jade embers burned along his shoulders. “They are gone… my lady.”
Morgana scowled at how long he delayed her customary honorific. Still, her rage and denied triumph burned far more than the dullness of her servant. “FIND THEM!”
Rovino expanded his arms wide in a theatrical manner over the flames as the image changed. “After we were separated by the treacherous machinations of Morgana’s tower, our group had no choice but to brave the dank, gloomy and witchlighted abyss of Adras’s abominable lair!” Images played forth of Rovino whipping his rapier from side to side like he was wielding a bolt of lightning, criss-crossing grotesque spider men and alluring spider women.
Princess Sybilla was a whirlwind of carnage against the wicked spider folk, with Kael her ever dutiful helper, averting her death many a time without her notice or thanks. Much to the delight of the barbarians watching, Rovino’s most pertinent memories of the events all seemed to involve Sybilla’s ponderous bosom jiggling in slow motion, her gorgeous silken globes aching to break free from her sculpted breastplate.
The parts of her plate armor molded to hold her breasts in strained against the sumptuous swells of her feminine flesh, her vigorous activity having made the armor loosen more and more until the steel cups just barely covered her nipples. The entire crowd went ‘ooooh’ and ‘ahhhh’ over one particular drawn out glimpse where the Princess had a torch in one hand a hammer in the other, smiting the spider fiends while pushing her overflowing tits out in a heroic manner. Her lustrous auburn locks trailed behind her and the torch light cast the most tempting and erotic shadows over her bouncing valley of tight cleavage.
“Yes I thought you might like that one! I’ll never forget that image so long as I live… anyway! We killed the eight legged whore’s repulsive little spider children, but our terror was not at an end, oh no!” He twirled his hands and the room grew dark and foreboding once more. “We still had to deal with the Tower of Darkness’s other queen… the Spider Queen.”
The trio took a breath, heaving and on their knees as they removed various parts of spider viscera off their armor. Kael was the first to speak up. He was slouched against a rock, his eyes closed. “Hey… if Queen Adras was one of your great, great ancestors… that means we just killed a lot of your relatives right?”
Princess Sybilla stood up and shook her glorious bronze hair and jutted her magnificent bosom out like a true leader. “No! I say any cousin like that is no cousin of mine! I shan’t shed a tear for those of my corrupted line.”
“Yes I didn’t like my cousins either,” said Rovino as he picked a piece of mutton out of his teeth, “Granted I didn’t go around killing them but I really should’ve now th-”
“What a shame… Ssssybilla!” hissed a new voice in the darkness, “You may have turned your back on us, but we haven’t turned our back on you. We’re family and an open one too… always looking for more children, to receive… and to give.”
At once Kael and Rovino fell to the dirt, wrapped up in sticky webbing while Sybilla rolled along the ground and dodged the liquid iron silk intended for her. A tremendous slam rattled the ground right before her and she coughed as dust assailed her lungs.
The beautiful princess looked up and saw a twisted reflection of her own face in the darkness. Adras, the Spider Queen. “Thou foul harlot and traitor to my kin! Die!” The moment she swung her hammer arachnid legs swept out her feet and slapped her across the face.
“So delightfully naive… so ready to surrender.” hissed the spider woman as she lurched forward from the shadows. Adras had become more strange and twisted in her later age, a new set of eyes having grown just above her old ones, while new fangs developed at the back of her mouth, her arachnid nature slowly consuming what was left of her corrupted humanity. In the darkness of the dungeon, only her blazing violet eyes could be seen clearly. The scant blue light cast a pale glow over her gigantic tits, which bobbed teasingly with each breath. Her skin was as coppery and full of vitality as ever, despite her centuries without the sun.
Princess Sybilla scrambled for her weapon, but it was all for naught as Adras stomped forth and pinned her to the ground. “I’ve craved this day for a long time, sweetness, to reunite our family once and for all!”
“Never!” wailed the princess as the ancient grandmother ripped away her plate armor effortlessly, revealing a grand and bountiful pair of succulent tits, their sheer size and slight olive hue leaving no doubt she was related to the woman who stripped her now.
Sybilla flushed with embarrassment when she heard gasps of delight and cheers from Rovino and sounds of approval from Kael.
Her nipples hardened into points as the spider woman’s hot and eager saliva fell over her buxom chest, wobbling to her squirming movements. “Oh so tasty Sybilla, your body was born to be become a brood mother, like me!” Sybilla’s throat dried up in terror as she saw the underside of Adras’s abdomen, teeming and bulging with malevolent life eager to darken her soul. All the while, the Spider Queen’s dual purpose stinger and ovipositor glistened and shook with anticipation.
The strangely erotic sight gave Sybilla a second wind. She launched her plated fists against the spider woman and struggled underneath her titanic strength. The creature’s colossal and thick amber breasts squeezed against her own ample pair as she struggled for her weapon. Just as she reached for the dagger strapped to her belt, her violator stamped one of her legs down, breaking Sybilla’s wrist as she came in for a kiss.
Sybilla thrashed and screamed, her eyes growing misty to the crippling pain as Adras used her human arms to yank her by the head. Her muffled groans rung into the air when the spider-woman sealed her toxic lips to hers, her kiss soft and peachy. Sybilla was so overcome with the exquisite gentleness of Adras’s embrace that she did not notice the heat from her attacker’s lip or the little sizzles of steam that left her own.
A trembling and dazed sigh left the princess’s lips. Her ears picked up on the skittering of other limbs in the cave. She felt her legs spread wide and open and then was yanked off the ground with more webbing. Delighted moans wafted from her voluptuous lips while the greedy hands of Adras kneaded her plump and silken titflesh.
“Yes, yes my sweet, it is time…” said the Spider Queen. She came a little closer to her descendent and dragged her long, thick and drooling ovipositor along the young princess’s long legs and made sure she felt its aroused fluids drizzle and speckle onto her shapely thighs.
Sybilla whined and writhed as the hot fluid tickled her skin, her weak moans music to the Spider Queen’s ears. “Noooo…” she whimpered, sensing the inevitability of her fate. No doubt the same inevitability Adras felt all those years ago when she was stripped of her goodness.
“Yes, my dear, its going to happen. Your fall into shadow will not be quick or sudden, but long, drawn out and… rapturous.” Adras’s delicate hands swept up Sybilla’s pair of heaving, soft globes and then cradled the princess’s face, slowly lowering her own busty and luscious twins over her face.
The last Sybilla saw before she was smothered in her ancestor’s heavy and moist bosom was her ovipositor jerking and twitching before her slit, on the verge of losing control next to flesh so pure and untouched. “Once they are inside you, you will hear their whispers, little tiny whispers. But once enough come in… those whispers become a roar. And you will love every moment of it.”
Sybilla moaned helplessly as Adras stuffed one of the soft slopes of her breasts into the girl’s mouth. “Shhh… drink and hear the voices…” Sybilla’s body jerked up and stiffened when the ovipositor plunged into her flowing pussy. Her hips bucked up to take more of the throbbing length in, her fingers and toes curling within their webbed bonds.
Adras cooed and ran her hands through Sybilla’s reddish chestnut locks and sighed in ecstasy when she felt the first clutch of her eggs drop loose and travel down the ovipositor. Her sigh turned into a husky moan as her ovipositor went through a series of pleasurable muscular contractions, pushing the egg further along into her helpless host.
The fervent squirming of the princess below aroused Adras to no end, how futilely she tried to pull away, from both the ovipositor and fate itself. She was driven over the edge when Sybilla spasmed wildly, her lower belly and inner thighs spasming as she felt the mass of the first egg push against her, on the verge of passing into her body.
Such delicious panic moved Adras to stiffen and then open her mouth to soundless rapture. Her powerful internal muscles throbbed and swelled, sending shivers of intense pleasure through her body while her rigid ovipositor ‘fed’ a cluster of eggs into its terrified host.
Sybilla’s jerks and twitches stilled instantly as the eggs brimming with evil life slid up into her womb. A sense of irresistible calm fell over her body and her pussy opened up even more for easier access. The imperious princess tried to fight it, to hold off the feelings of joyful resignation. Whatever was in the eggs forced her to open up… wanted her to give up, their whispers only a slight scratch upon her brain now but she knew they would not always be so…
Rovino hung from upside down and was simultaneously terrified and aroused of what he saw below. His mouth salivated and his cock hardened watching the Spider Queen’s juicy bubble ass cheeks flex and wobble atop her arachnid abdomen as she pumped something vile into the one she was supposed to love. His soul on the other hand, screamed in blood chilling horror at the dim violet glow emanating from the princess’s still flat belly, with more oval shaped glows still traveling down the she-devil’s stinger!
He found it impossible to tear his eyes away from the sight of Adras’s exquisite and bountiful melons pressed against Sybilla’s face and so just closed his eyes and focused. “Kael… hey Kael… she’s turning Sybilla into… into something not good!” There was nothing but silence and an odd sucking sound. “Kael?”
He twisted around in his webbing and paled when he saw a busty spider woman wrapped around Kael, her abdomen shuddering with excitement as she milked him of life while Kael drowned in between her creamy and overflowing tits. His hips were stiff and constantly jabbing forward… eagerly feeding the spidery siren as much of himself as he could! Her eyes were closed, her face like that of a serene maiden, while aroused gasps of delight seeped from her pouting lips.
Rovino was envious but also counted himself lucky. “Damn… well it was a good run Kael. Somewhat. I really don’t know what to say to a dying man. Maybe nothing, you seem rather carefree about the whole thing.” The impressionable farmboy followed Sybilla to their mutual ends. He couldn’t blame the poor bastard for responding so eagerly to the arachnid temptress, having been so ignored by the princess.
“Anyway…” he swung back to the perverse sight of Adras pumping Sybilla full of her vileness. “How to break free?” His eyes narrowed as he looked up the ceiling. He had that unmistakeable feeling of cleverness rising to the top of his consciousness. This place would not be his grave.
Sybilla’s eyes had gone hazy with pleasure. Her whole world had turned into servicing her ancestor’s vast caramel breasts and suffering the forbidden pleasure of taking in evil life. She heard the Spider Queen’s soft sighs and moans and the strangely erotic rhythm of wet sounds that accompanied her ancestor’s every shudder and thrust. Below that, she heard the words that spoke to her soul.
Mother… Join us! Be like us! Not enough legs… but soon… Give in…
She knew she shouldn’t, but every passing second surrender looked more attractive. With each clutch pumped into her belly, the clamor rose. When she felt Adras shudder against her, she knew another batch was coming and wondered why she spread her thighs further. She ought to be fighting this! Instead she spared a glance at the ovipositor and sighed softly when she saw it pulse and swell, moving glowing lumps down to her willing pussy.
She moaned and her hips moved in time with the passing of each egg, aiding their entry. It made her feel so helpful… so motherly. She bucked gently in her pleasure as her children slipped in, bloating up her belly. Now their voices sounded as if they were speaking right by her ear.
Open up… We’ve been waiting for you… This is destiny! You were born to return here… born to become this…
Sybilla whimpered, her thighs tensing when she felt another clutch of eggs pumped into her belly. The evil clamor in her head amplified while the lurid light from underneath her stomach flared with corruption. Her blood sang with dark delight and she let her head slump to the ground, the smallest of smirks twisting her beautiful lips.
“Yesss…” she gasped lustily, eager for another brood. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, but the sheer joy of it robbed her of her nobility as much as it did her resistance. Long had she decried her ancestor’s weakness for Morgana’s temptations… how wrong she was…
She sees the light! She’ll love us! Forever… Make her our queen!
What once chilled her spine now stoked her arousal. Adras let her hands free and the young princess groped her ancestor’s copious and satiny flesh in between her fingers, lost in the fullness of her bronzed and round mounds. Being a mother to them seemed so sensible now. How could she be righteous warrior if she abandoned children?
Sybilla stiffened. The dark aura of her children sank into her mind and soul. She moaned her ecstasy as a wave of ethereal euphoria, shadowy and tempting, washed through her flesh. Sensual, phantasmal fingers pulled at her will and soul like strings, dragging her innocence to the mass of violet light simmering in her belly.
She cried out in agonized pleasure, tears of joy running down her high cheek bones. It felt like her children were cutting something away from her, as intrinsic to herself as a limb. It felt so wrong and so good. She bared her teeth and felt fangs develop in the back of her mouth. They dripped with erotic venom and sloshed back down her throat, spiking her lust intolerably as the veins under her olive skin ran dark with vile purple.
Adras cackled. “Oh my, you accepted the truth faster than I expected. Hard to believe the blood of King Karnor could be so weak minded.”
Sybilla twitched and quivered beneath her ancestor with a dreamy smile on her face, mesmerized by Adras’s luscious swinging breasts and contented with her belly of evil spawn. “It’s true. I could never live up to his legend… all that’s left is surrender.” she said with a soft sigh, no longer fighting the corruption that swam through her curvaceous form.
An exquisite gasp of sexual satisfaction trailed from her lips. She felt her upturned bottom rise off the ground. It felt like she was forced onto a seat. Her round and plush buttocks had been pushed into an even greater swell as the lower half of her body began to morph into the arachnid bearing of her forebear.
“Ah the change is on you, child. Soon we will be mother’s together.”
“Yessss!” Sybilla gasped. She ran her hands along her moist and dewy skin, perfect for sliding about on male prey or seducing women to carry her young.
“Not on my watch!” said a gallant voice. Adras’s eyes widened as a glint of steel passed underneath her neck. Sybilla’s surprise turned to outrage when her ancestor’s head slumped off her sticky stump in a flood of vile ichor. Rovino stood atop Adras’s arachnid abdomen and his rapier smoked with the Spider Queen’s foul blood. “It’s not often I pass up a good shag, but duty-” the daring rogue stopped in the middle of his gloating to behold Sybilla’s changed face. “Oh… dear.”
Sybilla’s eyes, both sets of them, were cold and merciless opals, as black as her soul. All cleverness died in Rovino’s throat as he beheld her bulging belly, glowing as if there were a fiery amethyst gem beneath her skin. Below that he saw her powerful legs sinking underneath layers of arachnid chitin, forming an abdomen just like her corrupter.
“You killed her!” she screeched, her face a mask of hate and fury. Her half-developed spider limbs scrambled to push Adras off, all the while reaching for the rogue.
Rovino was transfixed by the divine jiggle of her heaving bosom, her soft mountains rolling in circles to her thrashing rage. “It looks that way but saying so may be a bit premature…” he said, stalling for time, torn between killing such a twisted beauty or running. He chose a third option. “I always liked you!” he said before smacking the top of her with the flat of his blade.
At once he leapt off of Adras’s corpse, which slumped off of Sybilla’s comatose form in turn. Other chittering spider children peeked out from the shadows and he ran like Morgana herself was behind, uncaring of the loud clatter he made on the rocks. He spared one last glance over his shoulder at Kael, still swinging from the ceiling. A chalky, desiccated corpse stared back at him, hollow eyed with a rictus smile revealing rows of pearly whites.
“I’ll name my next bastard after you, good lad! Rest in peace!”
“And that’s how I escaped the clutches of the Spider Queen. Give or take a few more corpses on my way out.” Rovino punctuated his narration with a guzzling of proffered ale from a blonde maiden who’d taken a fancy to him.
“Hark! What about the new Spider Queen!?” said a barbarian in the back.
Rovino shrugged. “Hard to say. The whole tower may have collapsed to its foundations, taking her with it, if she was still knocked out. No one stayed around to find out.”
“You were right there, craven dog! You ran away from one of your men and didn’t slay this new evil when you had the chance!”
“Yeah!” shouted other barbarians.
The storyteller furrowed his brow and took a deep breath. “I didn’t run. I advanced in a more tactically sound direction and counted on Sybilla being crushed by stalactites. Caves are treacherous like that, you know. At any rate, my time is done.” He gestured to the party’s assassin, who had since recovered from his near death experience. “Gil is better suited to tell what happened next as I spent the rest of my time carving my way through the Witch Queen’s degenerates.”
Gil rose from the shadows and barbarians cleared away from him like a sea of muscle and meat. “The tower was cold, my blood was hot and it was still a good day to kill a witch.” The fire shifted and jumped with hues of green before turning back yellow, showing the assassin’s memories. “We ran up an endless flight of stairs. My lungs were like ice when we finally got to the witch’s den of sorcery. The place smelled like my childhood. Blood and fornication.”
His memories played in the fire and the barbarians were noticeably less enthused than they were with Rovino. Gil seemed entirely focused with throwing knives, shurikens and explosive vials at the enemy. Ambassador Varneth flowed between screaming cultists like a river of death, using daggers when he ran out of arrows and using his fingers when he ran out of daggers and then the cultist’s limbs when his fingers ran raw.
Every time Levina appeared in Gil’s memory, she was progressively less clothed. Flames, claws and blades had done much to reduce her elegant blue-black silks to shreds, highlighting her luscious body in every way, one breath away from being nude. Sorcerous mirrors collapsed around her, Black Moon banners went up and flames, and all served to highlight her reddish gold skin, her lithe belly that writhed with every step and stunning pendulous breasts, heavy and buoyant.
Levina’s lush curves shined in the firelight, her body emanating raw power as her plump and high ass cheeks bounced with each jump and dodge. “We tore the place apart. Left it a burning ruin of screaming whores and tumbled stone. The rocky passage on the other side of the den. Our escape. That’s when it all went wrong…”
Gil watched Dok’s eyes burn into the magnificent sight of Levina’s enormous breasts, shuddering and swaying with every step, held up by the barest of rags from the battle. Her bountiful and bouncy flesh still steamed from the sorcerous combat, glistening in the green and gloomy cave light.
“In an Elf tower, this would not pass.” said Varneth, and his companions let out a collective sigh. “There is no art, no craft… only a misbegotten cave. It belongs more in a fetid, sooty Dwarf hold than a place of magic.”
Dok grumbled but said nothing, remembering all the bruises he suffered when he did defend his people.
Gil betrayed no glint of appreciation as he watched Levina’s dusky copper ass cheeks rise and fall to her step. A threadbare band of tattered azure silk divided her soft and ruddy flesh into two bouncing hemispheres. “Perhaps she meant to furnish it but never got around to it…” she said, studying the great cistern of water that sprawled out before them.
“Aye, she’s an evil bitch. No use understandin’ it.” murmured the Dwarf, still nursing his shattered nose.
Gil’s eyes moved away from the glimpses of Levina’s prodigious tits, so round and large they peeked out from the sides of her narrow back. He looked onto the placid pool of black water. Slight shimmers and ripples struck pangs of unease into his heart. “She didn’t finish it because she couldn’t.” he said ominously.
Across the cavern stretched a tiny rocky bridge, so unsuitable for human use it had to be a natural formation. “We have no choice but to cross the water. Let’s do it quickly.” said Gil as he tied his boots tight.
“Hah! I’ll take my chances on the bridge lad!” boomed the Dwarf, incapable of an inside voice.
“You’re the only one who can.” sneered Varneth and dipped his boots into the water. The Elf went in first, followed by Levina, giving Gil and exquisite view of the round and juicy swells of her bottom as the cold water came up to lick and caress her plush cheeks.
Levina tread forward, feeling the cool yet pleasing currents swish up between her thighs. The water didn’t seem too deep, but her petite height ensured she’d be neck deep before she got to the other side, while Varneth and Gil waded through with the water just below their hips, instinctively going to where all the rocks were. All she felt was sand… sensuous sand flowing between her toes like warm velvet.
Unbeknownst to all, a dark malevolent force shadowed their watery steps. A force hostile to Morgana’s evils and the party’s purity of purpose. It sensed a ripe and nubile vessel, passing unknowingly through its very lifeblood. Her companions were not deep enough to overtake, but she… she was perfect.
As her swooping hips finally dipped beneath the surface, the force made its bid for power, flushing forward through the dark currents and invading her womanhood. The presence relished that the prize had given herself so freely. It played along her labia, subtly stimulating her outer lips with the focused ebb and flow of its currents.
Levina knew she had awoken something grave and strange and yet was compelled to move forward, deeper still into the vile water. She wanted to call out, and warn her comrades of impending doom but only soft gasps seeped from moist and supple lips. She knew the feel of black magic, having been seduced with it once but that was but a whisper of temptation compared to the hurricane that threatened to consume her now.
Her bare and sleek belly tensed as the water’s delicate touch played along her skin. It flowed across her piercing, a belly chain with a golden sun at the end. She felt ancient and terrible magics penetrate her flesh, moving deeper and deeper with every step.
Her head grew light and her pussy began to throb with fresh blood flow.
Goosebumps ran up her spine as the water washed over her reddish and ample melons, cupping her luscious flesh in the caress of aqueous claws. She shuddered and sighed softly, but not even Gil’s keen ears picked out the erotic tinges that colored her voice. The water in turn warmed and vibrated around her soft thighs, deepening her arousal while the seductive throb of darkness incarnate crept up her calves and encircled her legs, pushing for her engorged pussy.
The powerful mystic woman shivered and jutted her giant honey-red tits out, her back arched and her eyes closed as the invading evil took root in her flesh. Black corruption flowed underneath her skin, stiffening her with pleasure and triggering a gentle orgasm between her quivering legs. “Ohhh…” she moaned at last and her thighs spread wide in the water, weightless and buoyant as more of the carnal darkness flowed in to her lustful invitation.
Varneth spun in the water and eyed her with apprehension. “What is it?”
“Oh… I… I felt some sea weed between my toes.” She lied and more intense pleasure scorched through her veins, while the water sucked and lapped at her ripe and massive round tits, kneading their softness with ethereal fingers.
“Hah! Women!” snorted Dok as he continued on across the bridge.
Gil remained silent and eyed her suspiciously, keeping a hand on a dagger and a good distance from her. They were in a tower. There should have been no sea weed.
Satisfied, Varneth waded on while Levina swam in unimaginable pleasure. Her heart pounded in her bosomy chest while others took her lustful panting for exhaustion. Her large breasts floated and swayed under the water, subject to a weightless buoyancy that all men would find mesmerizing. A single part of her soul stood against the darkness now assailing it. If she could just get out of the water then she would emerge unscathed, her soul resolute. But the insidious entity had other plans…
In an instant an unnatural undertow developed and her head was sucked beneath the water’s surface. She tried to scream but it was too late. Everything was too late.
Her open mouth drank in an endless of flow of the vile water, igniting a massive orgasm. Intense and all consuming ecstasy ripped through her convulsing body as the fangs of the beasts tore through her soul. Far from the purity of Princess Sybilla, her spirit succumbed to the assault at first with terror, and then with utter relish.
Her legs splayed out weightlessly, her delicate feet jerking as a central thrust of sorcerous water flowed into her tight folds. It felt so solid and yet so soft as it pushed up her love canal, claiming every inch of her. Her lips parted again in pleasure and another rush of water ran across her tongue.
It had the texture of endless velvet, tasting rich and heavy as it poured down her throat. This time it numbed her so that she could not close her mouth. Her throat gulped over and over as the essence of corruption took root in her heart. Below her floating and puffy breasts, chaotic evil surged up through her womb, igniting another scream of mindless ecstasy under the water.
She convulsed and her fingers curled, grabbing fistfuls of silt as the rest of the black malevolence asserted itself through her very bones. Her long lashes fluttered while her eyes rolled back into her head. A voice as old as time and bathed in fire whispered in her head. Her lips mimicked its words under the soundless water while her hands glided across her plump tits, squeezing them as her only measure to cope with the infernal pleasure.
But she could not cope with such orgasmic domination. Her body turned rigid and she twitched no more. Seconds as long as lifetimes passed and deep in her heart she knew… there was no turning back.
Eerie light played over her huge, silken bosom. Her raven locks floated serenely in the water. Cool currents skimmed along her protruding ass cheeks, a balance to the lusty fires that inflamed her womanhood. Her soft flesh was but a plaything for the evil that owned her now.
Not a motion she made was hers alone. The creature owned her, body and soul.
She stirred once more.
A devilish and triumphant smile widened her face. There was comfort in embracing surrender and defeat. And the dark eyed witch had been outplayed at last in the eternal game of good and evil. Losing never felt so good. Where hope died, pleasurable resignation reigned.
She erupted from the surface in a great spray of water. “I am reborn!” she bellowed, her eyes blazing fiery orange, the colors of her new master. “Morgana’s reign is at an end for the first goddess of chaos and ruin has returned-”
“What the fuck is she on about!?” snorted Dok, almost at the end of the bridge.
At once a beam of golden fire shot forth from Levina’s finger and punched through the Dwarf’s chest, incinerating him instantly. As his smoking skeleton fell into the water, Gil noticed only his beard remained intact, albeit charred and flaking bits of ash.
Ambassador Varneth was already on the shore, screaming his war cry as he pitched sharp pebbles at her from the sand, all out of his conventional weapons. “Take her head assassin! Quickly before she dooms us all!”
Gil jumped up from a rock in the water and ran along the side of the cave wall, pitching his throwing knives at the rogue witch before landing on the sandy shore with the Elf. Every single knife turned into molten slag as it bounced off her glowing skin. “I’m out.” he said coldly.
Levina rose from the dark pool, steaming and glistening with runnels of water down her supple thighs while hellish light pulsed underneath the flesh of her pendulous and swollen breasts. Her copper red skin glowed like molten bronze and her flared breeding hips sizzled like a furnace. Streams of crystal liquid danced and trailed down her carved and writhing midsection, falling into the volcanic slit of her engorged pussy. “My son fathered your realm’s precious Merlin, just as you will father the final destruction of this world!”
Before Gil or Varneth could consider who she intended to ravish, she made the choice for them when she sent the Elf flying back with an invisible push, knocking him out against the cavern’s rocky wall. Gil’s eyes narrowed. He knew Merlin was the fruit of an incubus with a mortal but he always thought the females of their species had been driven to extinction.
Then again, Camelot had been without a holy order for centuries. And sinful roots had grown deep into the land without the ever vigilant eye of a keeper.
Levina launched herself at Gil, taking him down to the ground while straddling him with demonic strength. The seasoned assassin jabbed a dozen different nerve points around her torso for a quick kill but to no avail. Worse, the sensation of her glossy, supple skin beneath his palms had spiked his lusts, instilling within an inhuman urge to rut.
Gil, however, was strong, in both mind and body. She was stronger. His eyes could not avoid the hypnotic bobs and bounces of her succulent, round flesh, her nipples so pointed they begged for any touch. And when her thick and tight thighs thrust forward, Gil felt a very real chill of fear rise up through the fog of his burning desires.
Her hot and gleaming skin melted away his demon hide breeches, leaving his weighty manhood exposed. “Oh already ready for me!? Good!” she snarled and even as Gil shot his arms forward, holding her lush hips back with the strength to crack a neck, nothing could have stopped the inexorable push of her steaming, tight pussy over his hard cock.
“Ohh… yesss!” she moaned. Gil gritted his teeth as her hot and pink slit sheathed his cock, her strong vaginal muscles already testing his endurance with slight and delectable contractions. “The seed of a murderer in a womb of shadow! What a terror we’ll make!” Whether it was through instinct or accident, Gil’s hands slipped from her writhing and sculpted midsection and fell upon her heaving and giant bronzed tits.
And then he knew he was really in trouble. “Oh shit.” he murmured, his hands unable to resist the carnal pull of squeezing her warm, silken globes. His fingers sunk into the supple denseness of her round and majestic breasts, fatally addicted to their unimaginably soft and pliable feel.
“Yes! Squeeeeze them hard!” she groaned, her voice growing deeper, like air expelled from the deepest levels of the nine hells. “Harder!” she bellowed and her womanly hips swiveled atop him, relishing the feel of his large yet helpless girth filling up her smothering pussy. With each thrust against his cock she drew him deeper, the slit in between her legs like a fleshy, velvety vortex, inescapable in its pull, insatiable in its hunger.
Gil broke his silence with a begrudged groan of pleasure. Every inch of his cock was stimulated under the spell of her undulating pussy, her wild bounces sending her heavy and luscious tits against the palms of his hands, her round and bubble shaped bottom smacking against his thighs with each downward thrust.
Her juices leaked all over his buried cock, the supple pink lips of her slit gripping his cock harder than her demonic hands around his wrists. Her huge careening melons seemed to have a life of their own, almost forcing Gil’s obedience to hold and cherish them. Those glowing, round and soft orbs enslaved his fingers as much as her pussy had enslaved his cock.
He was her puppet, manipulated on strings of ecstasy that would not be cut until the doom of Camelot was sown in her infernal womb.
“Give in to my body, fool!” shrieked the witch turned demoness, her eyes bright with the ocherous red flames of hell. Her vigorous grind had turned into furious thrusts and bounces. Gil felt the beginnings of his inexhaustible endurance at last… become exhaustible. Levina’s tits were gigantic and gravity defying, more pouting and ripe than even a witch’s bosom had any right to be.
Their addictive softness yielded before Gil’s frenzied gropes and squeezes. Her moans rose higher and higher in pitch, her wide and fertile hips rolling with such grace and purpose as to terrify and arouse. The assassin felt her hard nipples dig into his palms, pulsing and hot just like the rest of her.
With the sinuous elegance of a serpent she arched her back, pushing her hefty and full slopes out against his hands. “Embrace me, assassin! Give me your offering!” she wailed, her hot claws raking down his chest as her hips bucked.
Gil stiffened. And then the dam broke. His hips bucked upward and his face swung up like a catapult, straight into the massive chasm of her copious cleavage. Her sweet, round flesh enveloped his face like her love canal enveloped his cock, holding him tight as he spent himself deep in her voluptuous hold. Pulse after violent pulse wracked the assassin’s body and he felt the corrupted witch’s vaginal muscles suck and squeeze his fluids out with the grip of a merciless titan.
“Yesss!” whispered Levina, her voice soft for once but shaking with unstable and violent lust. “I couldn’t have come back into this world without this body and this world couldn’t have been damned without your seed!” Her vile words pushed the assassin’s cock to jerk and spew even more within her unholy depths, frothing and churning in a mix of pink flesh and his pale offering, all to create the most unhallowed life the world would ever know.
That he was an accomplice in this burned and tore at the assassin’s conscience. Though unwilling, the pleasure of her body was not enough to bury the shame of betraying the world.
Gil’s boiling spend came to an end at last, the evil witch having wrung out all she could from his masculine rod. His face fell from her opulent and ripe melons, their rounded fullness and perky shape calling to him even as he looked at her from the ground, dazed and withered.
“You’re not done yet!” she said through fanged teeth, her bright eyes alight with carnal madness. “You’ve given me a child, but not a life!” Reddish purple mist seeped from her mouth and snaked into his, instilling in him a lustful fire he thought quenched.
His rod grew more rigid within her sopping, tight tunnel and his desire to sweep his hands across her smooth flanks, juicy heart-shaped posterior and mountainous red and glowing bosom was born anew. “Fuck…” he muttered, never knowing in his life the humiliation of not being able to pull away from a woman.
But this was no mere woman.
And it was also no mere cave. Just as he was about to prepare for his death in raucous pleasure, a new clamor had erupted in the cavern. He turned his head to the side and saw Varneth had just woken up from Levina’s brutal blow as Morgana’s archers stormed in from the cave’s exit.
“The Queen was right! She is reborn! Kill her, men!” said the lead commander, his helmet silvered and ornate with a great violet feather plume denoting seniority. At once the tell tale stretch of pulled strings filled the air and Levina leapt off his cock, stomping forward in front of the troops with pride and defiance.
The pouting peaks of her femininity swayed and jiggled from side to side, so vibrant in hue, so soft in their fullness, already her show prompted one misfire into the sand and another misfire into another archer. Blood arched among their ranks and the commander shouted in frustration. “Release! Now!”
A hail of barbed black quills flew at the corrupted witch. And a hail of barbed black quills stopped in front of the corrupted witch. With her arm outstretched, they floated harmlessly in the air, suspended. The archers gaped in awe, both at the display of sorcery and the woman’s outrageous body, some twisting their heads to get a better look at her thin waist or seductive hips, others simply stared forward into her titanic breasts, so dense and round that many dropped their bows in amazement.
“Draw! Draw arrows damn you!” screamed the captain, the only one of the bunch above Levina’s charms. He ripped a bow from one of his troop’s slack hands and fitted an arrow himself. But it was too late. The arrows in the air had already changed direction. Their direction.
Gil was too much in a daze to warn Varneth not to get up, the Elf still foggy from his knock on the head, unaware of the imminent slaughter not five feet away. A bone chilling whoosh accompanied the barbed haze flung back at those who first unleashed it. In a blink of an eye the whole troop was reduced to a bloody, quivering mass of groaning pincushions.
And Varneth. As soon as the Elf had gotten up he went right back down. Five arrows riddled his back and a few more punctured his legs.
Levina turned back to Gil, now back on his feet, having wrapped the exposed parts of his groin with torn off pieces from his cloak. “Now where were we…” she smiled, her eyes sharp and predatory. The assassin had no weapons… but he did have legs.
Before the witch could rush him, fresh arrows pelted against her back, melting as they hit her skin. “Damnation!” she screamed and spun around in a terrible rage, finding the Queen had dispatched even more archers while armored swordsmen filed in through the flare of violet portals.
Levina charged at them, with flames in her hands and sorcerous screams from her lips. Gil’s ears bled but it was not enough to stop him from picking up his fallen Elf comrade and making their way out behind Levina’s slaughter of the Queen’s men.
“Is it a flesh wound?” croaked Varneth, as blood dribbled from his lips, the din of combat dying out behind them.
Gil glanced at where the arrows hit. “No. More like a punctured lung, ruptured intestine, and perforated heart wound.”
Gil rose up from his seat as the campfire played images of the duo making their escape from the storm of death and their return into Morgana’s tower proper. “From there I killed any who got in our path until we met up with Rovino.” The memories played forth more, showing the assassin kill hapless minions one handed as he carried his mortally wounded ally, often using little more than their necklaces or serving trays as weapons.
As ever, one barbarian from the back called out. “How’s this real? My father had less than half those arrows in him ten winters ago and died on the spot!”
Gil’s head turned like a hawk at the voice, picking out exactly who asked the question. “Is your father an Elf?”
“No…” said the man, uncertainty growing in his voice.
“Could of fooled us! Ain’t that right men!?” called another and a whole row of bald heads and burly muscle burst out laughing.
“Well there you are.” Gil stepped away from the fire and took a seat in the shadows. “For how the Witch Queen herself died… only the barbarian can tell you that…” he gestured to Braya and the laughter died down as the she-warrior came to the flames.
Wearing nothing but a fur cloak around her back and a chainmail bra and g-string, she struck the assembled warriors as something like one of the legends of Amazonia. Her face was stern, her features strong yet alluring, a far cry from the soft sultry looks of Levina.
Healthy and thick thighs, toned over years of war and slaughter, flexed as she took her seat in silence. The fire light played across her mail covered bosom, the tops of her heavy round flesh exposed enough to command the attention of every man in the room, the envy of every woman.
“After I was pitched out the window, only the daggers I had, sculpted from the horns of the last unicorns, could have stopped my fall,” the image in the fire played, showing the barbarian’s knives screeching against the hardened black exterior of Morgana’s tower, “and only by the strength of my arms and will was I able to ascend.”
With each stab forward up the witch’s enchanted tower, her long and lush valley of deep cleavage jiggled. The image in the fire, as if sensing the crowd’s desires, gave the audience a top down view of her heroic climb. The way her luscious and juicy globes bobbed to her struggle made the barbarians gasp in wonder and admiration in the same manner as if they were given audience to one of their ancestral heroes slaying a dragon.
Just as it seemed her copious breasts might spill out of her top, the high chill winds strewing her hair and exposing the lush swells of her bulbous and sculpted ass cheeks, she swung herself up through a stained glass window. The gathered warriors sighed in relief and disappointment that she made it through while not losing a single article of clothing.
“I had climbed higher than I had fallen, and there I came into the witch’s inner sanctum…”
She tucked and rolled through the hard glass, shaking chunks of sapphire, ruby and violet out of her ash blonde hair. The window had been a colorful and stylized mural, depicting Morgana’s now infamous corruption of the Black Knight. Braya’s crash had destroyed Morgana and left the Black Knight behind, ruined and cracked.
Before she had even gotten up to her feet, she heard the Witch Queen’s unmistakably sweet and cruel laughter. “Kill her. Kill her now.” Braya brought her arms up just in time to counter the first wild blow from a screaming cultist. In one movement she took his throat as easily as a girl might pick a flower and sent his body tumbling down the steps, careening against his equally crazed comrades.
Her eyes widened to the sheer size of the chamber. This was not the vile queen’s throne room. The domed ceiling, the massive yawning pit behind Morgana and her tall, midnight guardian… this was the very top of the tower.
There was no time for sight seeing, however. The men coming at her now were Morgana’s most fanatical, not distracted by the barbarian woman’s statuesque yet curvacious physique. Braya leapt down the steps, each confident stride marking another kill. Some were brained as she unslung her axe from her womanly hip, others were kicked into braziers, their putrid forms smelling of hot tar as the flames had their way.
Sprays of blood graced her thighs and midsection, some even wafted up to her giant, jutting breasts, accenting her canyon of breast flesh in a mist of fine crimson droplets. By the time she got to the bottom of the stony stairs, only three breathed in the colossal chamber: the barbarian, the queen and the knight.
Morgana stood imperious and magnificent, her alabaster skin glowing as if bathed in star light. An amethyst gemmed crown sat atop a head of glossy black locks, framing an oval face containing the most refined features and voluptuous of lips. Around her unblemished neck a silvery demonic pendant plunged into her creamy valley of cleavage, smothered in between the softest mounds of feminine flesh Camelot had ever seen.
“Impressive… eight enter… one makes it. I expected none.” purred the witch, her burning violet eyes taking in Braya’s sculpted thighs and jutting round ass with a lascivious glint.
“I expected more.” intoned Braya, looking at the slashed, torn and charred bodies around her. She stifled a momentary shiver of excitement. Whether it was Morgana’s sorcery in the air or the warm rivulet of red tracing down the curve of her plump buttocks, she could not tell.
“Anyone that can fight their way to me is worth more alive, than dead.” said Morgana as she put both her hands behind her back. Braya’s eyes narrowed and tried to be aware of any new treachery. Though it was hard to look past the queen’s gigantic and pouting breasts, held in place with purple trimmed high sheen black silks molded around her cleavage. “Join us.”
“I’d rather kill you.” Braya turned her head to the Black Knight when a sporadic low rumbling sound crackled from behind his helmet. It sounded like laughter.
“It wasn’t a choice.” said Morgana, and with a wink of her left eye indigo-violet manacles melted up through the floor, wrapping around Braya’s armored wrists and boots, pulling her down to the ground. “Though I was hoping you’d say that.” she said with a maniacal grin and brought her hands from behind her back.
Braya’s mouth went dry.
Cupped within the Witch Queen’s palms, still smoking with the violet vapors of creation, writhed a tenebril, serpentine sowers of sin and corrupters of character. Its phallic head probed the air, sniffing out an aura of virtue to tarnish. For the briefest of moments its head inclined to the Black Knight, whose soul had darkened long ago, but then pointed straight to Braya, sensing riper prey.
Morgana let the thing slither through her fingers like a current of black water, hitting the ground with a sickening plop. Braya screamed and strained against her arcane chains. Her lush and glistening thighs strained, the swells of her ample bosom rustled from side to side and her face was a compound mix of rage and fear.
It couldn’t end like this. She was Braya! Greatest she-warrior of the eastern mountain clans! Tears ran down her severe face as the ignoble end of all her trials and tribulations slithered inch by inch to her kneeling form.
Morgana cackled and slipped a ghost white finger down her deep cleavage. The finger traveled underneath her black silks and pulled. At once her robes fluttered off her immaculate form like a tide of midnight. The hard nipples on her massive breasts poked through the flowing fabric until they were bare at last, luscious alabaster mounds that glowed like soft marble in the dim light.
Braya screamed and yanked against her restraints as much as possible, backing away as much as the enchanted chains would allow as the voluptuous witch and her devilish serpent approached. Morgana knelt down before Braya, her giant and round tits filling up the she-warrior’s vision.
“Shhh… my sweet and simple pet.” Morgana ran her fingers through Braya’s ashen blonde hair, pressing her bountiful, pale melons against the barbarian’s own staggering pair of golden sun-kissed breasts. “I’ve had so many pets before…” she cooed, giving Braya a kiss on the forehead and then a drawn out lick on her neck, “the first one was a kind, unknowing girl, not near as rambunctious as you… how I treasured her, until she lost her head…” She sighed as if she had lost her favorite shoe and then gave Braya a kiss on the lips.
The she-warrior’s eyes brightened with rage and tried to tear away from Morgana’s black satin lips. The suction was too great… the pleasure too deep. A slight lavender mist floated from between their locked lips, the fumes of sex magic seeping into Braya’s flesh.
The she-warrior felt strange tickles descend down her neck and onto her breasts, numbing her body for docile acceptance. When the Witch Queen pulled away, Braya spat on the floor. “I will kill you for that!” She then slumped lower, moaning softly as her pussy flushed with arousal.
Morgana tittered, the creamy wonders of her breasts jiggling to her amusement. “Oh how I can’t wait to see how you’ll change. And what’s this?” She looked down. “Our friend has arrived.”
Braya looked down to see the tenebril glom onto her thigh, beginning its journey to her womanhood… and her soul. She snarled and lunged forward, taking her strength to its limit as she crushed Morgana against her body in a murderous hug.
The witch gasped in delight and writhed against Braya. “Oooh so strong!” Braya let out an involuntary sigh of excitement as she felt Morgana’s ghostly soft flesh slide against her own. She did not diminish her hold, however much pleasure the foul witch brought her. She would snap the woman’s back if it was the last she would do, one final act of defiance as herself.
Morgana didn’t seem worried. Nor did the Black Knight, who watched on like a silent sentinel built of the darkest stone. The evil witch licked along Braya’s neck, moaning as Braya hugged her tighter and tighter. Her pale hands wrapped around the tight, bulbous swells of the she-warrior’s muscular ass cheeks and squeezed.
“Squeeze all you like, my pet.” She whispered in Braya’s ear, sending an erotic chill down her spine. “I’ll squeeze, too. I can wait for the inevitable.” Braya let out a whimper of desire and frustration as she crushed Morgana but felt nothing but the tenebril sliding along the inner part of her thigh, its head tasting her pink and glistening flower. “Magic has made me beautiful… and strong. What took you years to achieve, I did in a single night of debauchery.” Morgana swept her hand up Braya’s back and licked her ear. “Just give up… and give in.”
Braya trembled and gasped when the slithering creature below finally pierced her pussy, drawing itself in with heavenly slowness. Morgana smiled, feeling the she-warrior’s shivers of desire and surprise.
The Witch Queen grinded against Braya’s pussy, urging the tenebril in, her smooth and milky ass cheeks clenching as pleasure sparked around her clit. “Yesss… that’s it. It’s in you now… soon it will be a part of you.” Morgana, with one magic touch, undid the myriad links and chains holding up Braya’s armored top. The meager chainmail slipped off, revealing the juicy mammoth slopes of her tits, her nipples a dark caramel hue against the rest of her ample, sun bronzed flesh.
Morgana rubbed her colossal breasts against the she-warrior’s, cooing in delight when perspiration from the barbarian rubbed onto her soft bosom. Her pillowy mounds were as white as virgin snow and now glistened just the same. Both of the women’s generous breastflesh swelled as they pressed together, widening even more as Braya pushed herself to her limits and exerted more pressure.
“My you’re a tenacious one, aren’t you?” Hope rose in Braya’s heart as she saw a bead of sweat roll down Morgana’s neck before trapping itself between their stuffed breasts. Whether it was from arousal or strain, she could not tell. “I’ll have to make a note to wipe your people out for good next time. I can’t have this kind of raw talent out on the loose.” She paused. “Maybe I’ll have you do it, once this is all over.”
Pure hate exploded in Braya’s being. “NO!” she bellowed and lurched so far forward the enchanted chains burst while Morgana crumpled against her. Morgana’s huge ivory globes swelled out to the new pressure. The tenebril writhed in Braya madly, sensing its mistress in danger. Braya moaned over a snarl of rage as the thing burrowed further up her love canal, craving of the home her womb would make.
“My champion! Your Queen needs you!” screamed Morgana. The Black Knight stood silent, his sword still placed before him. The barely audible sound of cracking vertebrae seeped into the air. The Witch Queen tried to reach for her staff on the ground but it was too far. With a touch of her fingers on Braya’s skin she stimulated the tenebril within, eliciting an excited gasp from the barbarian and a weakening of her grip, but it was not enough. “Black Knight! Your lady commands it!”
The Black Knight twitched and slowly moved into action. Braya clenched her teeth, fighting off the pleasure inside, hoping the witch’s enchanted bones would break before he threw her off. The she-warrior cried out and spasmed, losing even more strength as the tenebril sent her pussy into contractions, blasting her nerves with frenzied pleasure.
“Nooo…” she whimpered, her legs losing all support, her arms feeling like wet reeds as her hands slowly slipped from behind Morgana. The witch’s fine featured face widened with a gloating smile. The Black Knight ripped Morgana away from her limp grip. Braya slumped backward and hit the ground with a thud, her lush hips jerking up to the air as the tenebril settled in for its final desecration.
Tears ran from her eyes while Morgana was pulled more and more away from her, into the safety of her dark guardian. So close.
“It appears I am in need of a new knight!” screamed Morgana. “Dull Knight is more like it! I keep you to kill, not watch unwashed savages hug me to death!” She stopped when she realized the Black Knight had yet to set her down back on the ground, holding her up around his arm. “Set me down.” He turned his head to the side, silent, only the burning eyes behind his visor evidences of life. “Have you completely taken leave of your wits!? BLACK KNIGHT! Set. Me. Down!”
“That’s… not my name… anymore.” he rasped. Fear plunged like a cold dagger deep into Morgana’s heart. For the first time in centuries, she prepared a spell for death than seduction. Old master Voroven’s teachings bubbled from the depths of her mind as fresh as the day she learned them. “I am… Elric.. von Krieger!”
“Lies! You’re my slave!”
“No more…” His fingers closed around her throat. “I am your reckoning, for all the lands you’ve despoiled, all the peoples you’ve enslaved, all the souls you’ve ruined… tonight you will be judged!” The witch’s lips curled in disbelief, and her incensed violet eyes burned darkly, like twin coals.
“I am beyond judgment…” she whispered and then leapt upon his chest, clawing her glowing hands down his armor, instantly turning the knight into a walking furnace. “And I am beyond you!” she screamed, the Black Knight’s armor an inflamed reddish-orange like a freshly forged sword. “If you want to be a hero, then DIE LKE ONE!”
“You first, witch!” He wrapped his molten gauntlet around her glossy hair, igniting her raven locks. He grabbed his jagged black sword with the other, the first gift the Witch Queen ever gave him, and plunged it through her wicked heart. Morgana screamed in anguish and split his head in half like a molten can with her enchanted nails, making the knight lose his balance as he tumbled over the edge of the sanctum’s central pit.
Braya lied on the ground as a drooling, orgasmic mess, the floor between her thighs drenched in a pool of her arousal. Morgana’s screams haunted her ears as the witch plunged further and further down her uncommonly deep pit, falling into silence after a loud and wet slam.
And then her torment evaporated. At the cusp of orgasm and so much more, the fiendish slithering weight in her womb was no more. She watched in amazement as magic vapors rose out her glistening stomach and then dissipated in the air.
For once she was thankful of the witch’s conjurations. A real tenebril would not have been deterred by its master’s death.
Her bountiful golden brown breasts rolled together as she rose from the ground. Silence filled the room and tears of joy ran down her cheeks. “It’s over…” She stood up to her full height, her voluminous tits bouncing to the movement. She peered over the edge of the pit where the Black Knight had taken the witch over.
The pit was so deep that the knight’s burning corpse was but an orange pin prick of light in the darkness. “May you find peace, Elric…” she said under her breath. She spun around to the sound of a knock on the sanctum’s entrance.
Silvered doors wrought with snarling demon heads and trimmed with writhing voluptuous harlots swung open. Braya’s eyes widened as the three silhouettes, backlit by harsh white light, came into view. “Ambassador?” she whispered.
Varneth was held up by his two companions and the she-warrior feared the worst when she saw his bloody lipped grimace. “Rovino and Guillaume are alive…” he croaked. Her eyes flitted over to the rake and the assassin and a new gladness dawned in her heart over seeing the heroic lowlifes. She was about to speak up when Varneth slumped away from his comrade’s shoulders and smacked into the ground.
She stared at the hardy Elf’s corpse in disbelief, which turned to outrage when she saw Rovino and Gil do nothing. Gil’s face was covered in shadow but Rovino did not bother to hide his admiration for her bare and giant breasts, pendulous and ripe they sat on her chest almost as high as Morgana’s own.
She closed her bearskin cloak in from the sides and stomped over to them. “By the gods what is wrong with you two!? Save him!”
“He’s dead, Braya.” said Gil, his voice like an icy wind from under his hood.
“Yeah…” Rovino yawned and strutted over to the edge of the sanctum’s pit, glancing at the broken stained glass window on the other side of the place and the ruined corpses that dotted the steps just below. “He only held on as long as he did to put an end to the foul strumpet — where is she anyway?”
“At the bottom of the pit. With the Black Knight.”
Gil’s cloaked head turned to her in silence while Rovino laughed incredulously. “How did you pull that off, mi’lady? If memory serves he found even the assassin’s steel wanting…”
Her eyes rested on Varneth’s cooling, pin cushioned corpse while her voice grew wistful.”It was not my steel he found wanting in the end… but the Witch Queen.”
Her story at an end, Braya sat back down, letting out a loud exhale as she slumped her shoulders. Across the hut stood a burly, muscled man, his hairy, rippling pecs scored with claw marks and sword scars.
“Hark! You killed the Queen! Sort of! Which led to a breakdown of civil order, broken roads, rotten crops, starving people and a brand new power play between her surviving sons, throwing the country into a devastating civil war, the scale of destruction exceeding that of which when she took power centuries ago. How are you heroes?”
Rovino stumbled for words, unused to the rare mixing of an erudite barbarian. Likely the spawn of some slavering brute who sneaked in through the bedroom window of a witch. He brought his hand up, ushering for the stirring audience to calm down. “True, very true noble savage. What you speak of is terrible, but such is the price and obligation of upholding all that is good and noble!”
“What a load of shit!” cried one woman.
“Yeah, that’s not what heroes do at all!”
“Quiet you carping masses and listen!” Rovino was pleased his shout had worked, not noticing what cowed the audience had been Gil and Braya’s drawn weapons rather than his voice. “As barbarians, long have you borne the evil witch’s brutal attacks and culling of your people. At last you can do what barbarians are meant to do…pillage and raid!”
He walked over to an axe wielding youth. “What do you do young lad?”
“I’m a farmer…” he said glumly, looking down.
“It’s tough farming with just an axe isn’t it?”
He laid his hand on his muscled shoulder. “I rest my case. Barbarians do not farm! For too long has the witch tempted your kind with the sugared comforts of civilization, weakening you from the inside until you are naught but sheep for the slaughter! You are manly men, you do not reap corn, you reap skulls!”
“Yeah!” bellowed a score of warriors, bashing their shields in celebration.
Rovino spun around, doing a flourish with his hands as he kissed a wench’s bulging cleavage. “And with the land caught in a civil war, who better than you to take advantage of their plight!?”
Another cheer resounded through the hut, some groups of men beginning to stand up as adrenaline coursed through their veins, while Rovino pointed a triumphant finger at the critical thinking barbarian. “So yes my friend, the rebuilding process will be horrific, but so it was in ages past when unjust overlords were overthrown in their time, only the storytellers of the day did not have to contend with such… MALCONTENTS!”
“Shut your mouth Torkuk, he’s right!”
“He’s always goin’ off like that…”
The inquisitive barbarian was quickly shunned to the back of the crowd as others drew their swords and mugs while Rovino gestured towards the exit of the hut. “Go and claim what is rightfully yours, fresh women, fresh land, CAMELOT!”
With one final cheer, the rugged horde, hankering for a little bit of stabbing and pillaging, stormed out of their dragon hide hut and into the blistering wind and off to greener pastures. Rovino reclined back on a plush cushion as nubile war maidens wiped the sweat from his brow, the bard grateful that he survived yet another storytelling.
Gil and Braya stood in a dimly lit corner with the jarl, Erik. The old man sat at an old, gnarled desk, its red wood splintered and stained with ink and candle wax alike. “So it is done…” his voice was as dry the parchment he was about to write on, but still had enough of a hearty rumble from his youth. “The witch is dead.”
“Indeed.” said Gil, his voice low and as cold as a crypt.
“It is true, the land is saved. From her. Now it is back to the old ways…” Braya was wistful, looking at the buxom women that Rovino had his face buried in, to the playing children and the boastful men outside the tent.
“My shield maidens will handle your due reward.” Erik stroked his gray beard, his wrinkled face illuminated like a rockside by the candlelight. “I think I shall write a chronicle, from the beginning, now that we have an ending. It shall start simply…” He put his quill to paper, his face furrowed in concentration as he read aloud. “Morgana of the Black Moon. Harbinger of Hell, Ransacker of the Righteous, Violator of Virgins. Her titles number as many as her sins, her infamous cruelty only matched by her unsurpassed beauty…”
Gil and Braya stepped away from the old man, heading for the flapping entrance of the windy hut. The assassin extended his gloved hand. “This is where we part ways, Braya of the East. May fortune favor you forever.”
The barbarian extended her hand, impressed by his courteous manner, and the fact that his dark eyes never once moved down to ogle the smooth and round tops of cleavage trapped tight in her chainmail bra. “Likewise. It was an honor to fight by your side. Where shall I find you if I ever need your help?”
Gil’s body was rigid like an oak, even as gusts of winter wind from outside lashed across his chest. “Where I go you cannot follow. It may be my death… or this world’s salvation. Perhaps both.”
Braya understood. The man wanted to atone for the demon child he made with Levina. A rambunctious laugh by Rovino in the back followed by girlish giggles by his companions distracted her for a moment. When she turned back to him, he was gone.
She opened the flap outside and could only find barbarians in every direction. She looked back to Rovino, well ensconced in breasts as he was in jewels, and then back to the setting sun. At last she was alone once more, her homeland saved, the safety of her family ensured.
The beautiful warrior took her reward and then her first steps into the blinding snow, beginning her long journey back home.
After she was out of the village and cleaning her blades in the running stream of a brook, something powerful stirred in her chest, forcing her on her knees as a familiar voice hissed through her thoughts.
“Well done darling! A stirring narration… our story was told with much aplomb, with nothing too excessive to indict it of affectation! You put my court jesters to shame!”
Tears began to fall from her eyes as pain and arousal stirred in her nerves. She had made a grievous mistake, an unforgivable lapse that came at the price of her soul. A memory that was blocked from being shown in the hut slowly came to prominence in her mind…
Braya was on her knees, having waved off Gil and Rovino as they carried away the arrow punctured corpse of Ambassador Varneth. The full impact of her victory hit her at last. She sobbed in joy, and marveled at her good luck.
Alone in the circular chamber, she was surrounded by the corpses of Morgana’s underlings and overturned braziers, their burning coals scorching the dark marble while the great gargoyles near the balconies began to crack and crumble.
As the witch died, so too did her works.
While Braya was grateful the Black Knight saved her life, she wished he could have decapitated the vile woman before he took her over the edge. She was a barbarian, trophies to commemorate victories being almost as important as the victory itself. Her eyes drifted along the floor, and she smiled when she found Morgana’s demonic pendant.
It was made of polished silver, its deep set eyes hollow while its high, famished cheekbones complemented the long fangs that descended from its maw. As soon as her fingers wrapped around it, she knew her vainglory had cost her.
Her hand seized up, unwilling to let go of the pendant as a numb, prickling feeling rose through her arm. The sensation spread through her chest, raising her nipples to hard points while dangerous arousal flushed through her pussy. A series of breathy gasps were ripped from her throat as she fell backwards onto the marble floor, staring upwards into the ornate murals of the cracked ceiling.
She tried not to notice how the depictions on the ceiling seemed to be move, how Morgana in particular gave her a mocking smile, her painted eyes flashing like purple fire. She moaned when pleasure replaced numbness. Her entire body throbbed as the magic pendant flooded her with building arousal.
Her huge and darkly bronzed breasts jumped to her pleasurable spasms. She heard the deceased Witch Queen’s long moans of ecstasy within her head as her wicked spirit pried its way into her body. Braya was ashamed to take such raucous pleasure in her defeat, her defilement of the soul, but the sweet agony could not be denied.
And neither could Morgana’s ultimate victory. The she-warrior fought valiantly, gritting her teeth, clenching her lush thighs together, resisting the intrusive pleasure. But her long years of combat had only toned her body and sharpened her mind, never her soul.
Drip by drip, gasp after reluctant gasp, the Witch Queen’s soul essence suffused itself into Braya’s nubile flesh. The voluptuous barbarian woman slowed her convulsions as her limbs stretched out across the floor, tension leaving her muscles as her body came to accept its fate.
When she tried to rise she fell to her side, when she grabbed for her weapon her fingers refused to curl. For a moment she thought she might have a chance to end Morgana once and for all… if only she could roll off into the pit.
That dream was shattered at the exact moment of release. Braya knew she was doomed as she arched her back in orgiastic joy, her weighty and juicy breasts held aloft as the witch’s violet essence wrapped around her heart. Morgana’s cackling rang out in her head, and she knew in her heart of hearts, it was no last laugh, but the first of many.
The she-warrior flopped on the marble, the bulbous swells of her muscular ass cheeks clenching together as her hot juices spurted onto the floor. Her gasps were weak and dazed, like a spent lover’s sigh, and it was then when evil claimed her.
Fresh strength pulsed through her body, strength that was not her own. Her eyes grew more shadowed, her hair more lustrous. Dark desires never before pondered flashed through her mind, fantasies of sucking a man’s soul dry as he spent himself inside her, images of provoking the lusts of men with the teardrop peaks of her bosom and watching them kill each other for her embrace.
Braya was not destroyed, but nor was she the same.
You are mine bitch! Braya came again at her voice, squeezing her round, pillowy melons once more as another shockwave of sensation rattled through her core. I was on the receiving end of this once, and I must say, it so much more satisfying this way!
Braya was confused, she could still think for herself, while still hearing Morgana. Everywhere else she had encountered her servants, none of them seemed to exhibit independent thought. I really must count my blessings that I didn’t totally eradicate you magically illiterate pissants. But first… we’re going to forget this even happened. Can’t have shamans prying around for what really happened now can we?
Braya spasmed once more, her generous breasts jiggling to her movement before a white flash burned before her eyes, blacking out memory as much as consciousness.
When she came to, the barbarian woman looked around the empty chamber and wondered why she was on the ground. After putting her armor back on, she took a deep breath and caught up with her companions, filled with the spirit of triumph and dreams of gold and glory.
All the while a new evil nurtured itself within her soul, waiting and watching…
Braya came back to reality, panting as runnels of sweat streamed down her toned arms and vast swells of cleavage. She went for her sword, knowing what she must do. She could not endure this fate.
At the sound of steel unsheathing, she stopped, unable to pull the blade out any further. Tsk, tsk my savage little pet… there are consequences for taking a sorceress’s phylactery! She sheathed the blade and then tried pulling it out again, the blade coming out less each time as she cried out in desperation.
“What do you want with me?!”
Her blood ran cold, and not since her early days, training as a warrior, had she experienced such terror. “What are you going to do?” she asked timidly, wishing she hadn’t asked.
Take from you what you took from me. My home, my family, my power. You will suffer as I have suffered. It won’t be much at first, indeed my power is a shadow of a shadow… but over time, I will grow, a second passenger to your life, until I take this body for my own, ruining all you hold dear until I find a more worthy shell…
Braya sighed, thinking on the witch’s words. She remained still and Morgana remained silent. She pondered the rocks in the stream, wondering how many steps she could take before momentum would shatter her head. What cliffs along the main road she might be able to throw herself off of. She had options… she just had to be faster than thought, her instinct faster than the witch’s grip on her flesh.
A cool sensation stirred along her heart while a fresh warmth spread through her loins. Come come, it will be a long journey, I’m sure we’ll have all sorts of things to talk about…
Braya stepped forward, steeling herself for the trek ahead, likely to be filled with all manner of creatures and villains, eager to bring her a good death, if she did not do it herself. She couldn’t wait. “I will kill you before ever we meet my clan.”
It is early yet my pet, we shall see if your words are as strong as your steel.
With one last look at the paved trail, the ash blonde warrior set off into the snow, a wanderer with a wickedness none could fathom, suffering a destiny that was no longer her own.
In the white, frozen tundra of the east, the shadow of darkness endured.