Adult-FanFiction.org : Books

Hollow Conquest	By : DrowDagger Category: A through F > Forgotten Realms Views: 4408 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Forgotten Realms series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
********
Chapter 4 “ Revenge
********
The leader scowled. “I said I did not wish to be disturbed.
“Apologies, D’Jaral muttered. “I have to report the discovery of Miya’s army.
The drow sat down, impatiently thumping a set of narrow fingers against the side of the magical bowl.
“Matron Ulviirda is dispatching her warriors to neutralize the fodder.
“It is to our benefit to aid her. Blind the eyes on the streets.
D’Jaral nodded. “Lastly, a whisper has reached my ears from the market. Imara is inquiring about hiring a sellsword, using her slave as an intermediary.
The leader frowned. “Now she finds the backbone to seek revenge against Miya.
D’Jaral shrugged indifferently.
“String her along. Ask for a price she cannot afford.
D’Jaral smiled mischievously.
********
Ulviirda Aleanvalett called to Tarin telepathically, summoning him to the familial chapel. He promptly entered, discovering the matron standing alone in the center of the chamber. He approached her, gauging the anxious expression on her ever-youthful face. He surmised an unforeseen threat had arisen.
“Kneel, she said, adopting an authoritative pose.
Tarin complied obediently.
Ulviirda advanced the submissive male, extending her bejeweled hand with no sign of lethal intent. She brushed his short-cropped hair, tracing the slope of his broad forehead. She flattened her palm against his cheek, pressing her fingers to his temple area. She formed a connection between their consciousnesses.
Tarin grimaced, resenting the intrusion as her lilting voice sounded clearly in his mind.
Miya has assembled an army.
Tarin saw his psionic form leave the subterranean city through the northeastern gate. He walked along the tunnel, navigating the twists and turns with a sense of familiarity. He paused to search a small cavern, discovering within it the decaying corpses of kobolds. He studied the ground and the accumulation of indistinctive footprints. He moved on, following the narrow tunnel north until he reached a fork in the passage. He turned northwest, trekking several miles in silence, memorizing the route. He entered a cavern created by the faerzress, walking among the corralled beasts and their drow masters. He counted their numbers, noting their assortment of weapons and armor.
A table was positioned in front of a tent in the center of the unidentified camp. Masaghar leaned over it, scanning the finely drawn details on a square piece of parchment. Tarin circled around him, taking his measure of the abnormally large warrior and his claymore. He recognized Masaghar as one of his classmates from the melee school. Tarin snorted; he would rend the brute asunder.
Tarin turned his attention to the parchment, seeing it was a map of the city. Glow ink, a costly item in the absolute darkness, had been used to circle several locations. Fear seized hold of his heart when he realized his matron was one of the chosen targets.
Searing pain lanced through his brain. He opened his eyes, discovering he was once more kneeling on the stone floor of the chapel. He fought the dizziness. He lifted his gaze to meet her red glowing orbs. His cheek burned after she withdrew her hand.
Leave none alive to report our reprisal to Miya.
“It shall be done, Tarin vowed.
********
The hunter bid Leif farewell at the market, pocketing a bag of coins. He proceeded to the nearest common house and ordered a flagon of some unsavory brew. He lurched off to a quiet corner, drawing the hood of his cloak down further.
The contact arrived within the hour, hustling him off to the lair of the Worms.
********
Keelin stood, stretching her tense muscles. The encounter with the princess had agitated her. She required an immediate release to her aggression. She slid her hands over her breasts, sensing the stinging response of her bitten nipples. She smiled, recalling the thrashing of his tongue and the python-cuddle of his limbs.
She crept to the door of the adjoining chamber, intending to rouse the male from his potion-induced slumber with a passionate nibble to his loins. She opened the stone door with a wave of her hand.
Caelathim reached for her. “I will not tolerate your treachery!
The drow swatted his muscular forearm.
“I warned you, he shouted, clasping his hand around her throat.
Her stifled cackle enraged the male.
He shook her violently.
Her head bobbled. Her limbs twitched as if she was no more than a marionette.
Caelathim felt her struggling to breathe. He tightened his grip, wrapping both hands around her throat. The desperate throbbing in her veins slowed to an irregular thud. The light began to fade from her eyes. He smiled sadistically, succumbing to the surge of intoxicating impulses. He yearned to make her suffer, to repeatedly take her to the edge of death and to revive her. He had inspiration for it; Matron Molafae had been a tormentor of unparalleled skill. She had imposed a hundred methods of humiliation upon him, depriving him of far worse than oxygen.
In a moment of unfocused rage, Caelathim Dwin’elrvis nearly throttled her. He shoved the drow aside. She fell to the floor with the frailty of a pyrimo out of water, gasping and coughing. He screamed, pressing his hands to his head hysterically, perceiving the savage urges as maggots, gnawing at the last remnants of his conscience.
His frightened screams penetrated the walls of the bedchamber. The servants of the house listened, sneering at the sounds of the matron’s dalliance.
********
The hunter entered the candle-lit chamber with a swaggering gait.
D’Jaral leapt to his feet. He embraced the drow, slapping him heartily on the back, exclaiming pleasantries.
He recoiled from the bald lieutenant.
“My friend, D’Jaral said, brandishing a wounded expression. “It has been seven years.
He leaned against the wall with his hands resting on the hilts of his dirks.
“Perhaps you expected a greeting of another sort? D’Jaral crossed his arms over his bare crest, raising a hand to twist a diamond stud in his earlobe. “The leader sent you on a simple errand.
“I was sent to the surface, the hunter said with a lisp.
“Pray, have you returned with a favorable report to foster our goal for expansion?
The hunter answered him with an ugly smile. His lower lip was torn away, revealing crooked, yellow teeth and gums. His cheeks were marred with crisscrossing rows of claw marks.
D’Jaral clucked his tongue. “Could you not find a heathen priest to heal your face?
“I had no chance to be preening before the looking glass.
“Perhaps it is your disguise, D’Jaral remarked.
He shrugged. “I made some contacts. A thief is a thief, regardless of his heritage.
D’Jaral clapped his hands. “I will want to hear all the details later. He pivoted on his boot heels, stooping low to open an ornate chest, whispering the password. He rummaged through his hoard, selecting an item to give to the rogue. “You reek with the stench of the surface. Have a bath and a meal.
The hunter stared stoically at the cloak, making no move to accept it.
“Take it.
“I am not a hellhound sniffing after scraps from my master’s table.
D’Jaral shrugged, tossing the garment into the chest. “Return to me when you are refreshed. I have many tales to tell you about the current state of affairs. He quietly closed the lid.
“Have I offended you?
“Hardly. D’Jaral sat at his desk, taking up a quill and bending over his ledgers.
“Could you not misappropriate a bottle of glow ink?
“No, D’Jaral retorted.
“I am pleased we have not lost our rapport after so long.
D’Jaral laughed.
He stared at the statue of Vhaeraun, a drow god and the son of Lolth, on the lieutenant’s altar.
“Do you pray?
“Humans pray to the gods for forgiveness. I never felt the need to do so, the hunter replied.
D’Jaral sighed, twirling the quill between his fingers.
The hunter disappeared behind the whirl of his tattered cloak.
********
“No more foreplay, Keelin said, charging the startled male, brandishing a dagger.
He parried. The yellow frothing aura alluded to its disease enchantment. He caught her wrist, wrenching it with enough pressure to drop the drow to her knees. He took the dagger from her and held it to her throat. She grasped his testicle beneath the tattered robe. He cut her superficially, drawing a trickle of blood. She countered, lunging forward, catching the robe’s sash between her teeth. The folds parted to reveal his flaccid member. He relented, releasing her aching wrist.
She nuzzled her face against the coarse patch of his brass hair. She nibbled on the pallid skin of his thigh. She cupped his buttocks, massaging the supple skin. She gobbled his bruised testicle, teething on it.
His member poked at her cheek insistently. She spit out the sodden orb. She lapped at the drippings greedily, tonguing the large crown. She swallowed it shallowly, rubbing it against the roof of her mouth, licking around its rim slowly. He clutched a handful of her hair. She regurgitated it with a slurping sound, relishing the whimpers of his frustration.
She gripped his organ at its wide base, wrapping her nimble fingers around the suede-smooth skin, gliding her palm over its pulsating shaft. He pitched his pelvis vigorously, groaning. She fastened her lips over her teeth and molded her cheeks around it snuggly, guiding its swollen length in and out of her orifice. He howled, frantically plunging it down her throat, pinning his hand to the nape of her neck. She gulped the warm fluid of his geyser. He squirmed as she continued to fiendishly suckle his penis, causing him decadent pain.
He withdrew, flinching at the sharp raking of her teeth.
She smiled wickedly.
He drew the robe tightly around him, cursing her in his native tongue.
“You are evil. You are a drow whose skin is pale.
Caelathim challenged her with a bulging pair of baneful eyes.
“You think not, she said incredulously.
“The drow debauch the races, enslaving the dwarves to build their cities, pitting orcs against the humans. The drow desecrate the good earth, spilling the blood of their surface cousins. The drow devour their mates to satiate their twisted desires. The drow sacrifice their kin and kith to that accursed spider goddess.
“You are not so innocent, she countered. “You lied to induce my favor. You bribed a high priestess with the sexual favors of a slave. You conspired to commit treason. You contracted an assassination.
He recoiled from the sting of the truth.
Keelin laughed.
“I spit on our common elf blood, Caelathim screamed, trembling with centuries’ worth of suppressed hatred, clenching his fists. “If I had my bow and ever-full quiver, I would smite the drow down.
She crawled beneath the bed’s canopy of black webbing. She reclined against the piles of pillows, spreading her thighs invitingly.
He struggled to sustain his anger and to resist the undertow of lust.
She parted her dark vaginal folds, wetting her fingers with her musky moisture.
He trembled uncontrollably.
“Shall I be the first to receive your arrow?
He surrendered, nestling between her ensnarling thighs, burying his face in her hair.
She crossed her ankles behind his buttocks.
“I am not evil, he lamented. “I sought only to slay a monster not of my willful making.
She considered the potential of his revelation.
Tears wetted her throat.
Keelin dismissed it, readily committed to the pattern of her web.
********
Tarin was forcibly led into the room. He struggled futilely against the iron-fisted grips of the armored males.
The drow dismissed the guards with a limp wave of his bejeweled hand.
“Why have you brought me here? Tarin said testily.
“I wish to recruit you, D’Jaral said airily, dragging his fingers across his bare chest.
Tarin growled, adopting a defensive posture.
He pinched his pierced nipple, sliding a finger in and out of the gold ring. “I thought it would be best to finalize the terms in person. He smiled at the patron lewdly.
Tarin pivoted on his boot heels. “I have no time to dally with the likes of you.
D’Jaral pitched out his hand, sending forth a magical wave. It hit the insolent patron sharply and froze him in place. He clucked his tongue, circling around the paralyzed warrior. Tarin had his hands on the hilts of his enchanted swords.
“Listen to my proposal, D’Jaral said sourly, “before you hasten your demise.
********
Seconds after filling her with the blessing of his loins, Caelathim lifted his torso, supporting his weight on his elbows. He smiled down on her, basking in the fleeting feeling of unity and contentment.
She snaked her arms around his neck, pulling him into a breath-stealing kiss.
A spastic jolt traveled the length of his spine.
Caelathim glared suspiciously at the female beneath him.
Keelin shrugged.
He groggily flopped onto the mattress.
She leaned on her elbow. Her white hair cascaded over her shoulders, grazing her breasts.
The agent flowed through his veins rapidly.
The dark elf smiled. She raised a hand to her mouth and licked a bloody nail.
He tried to rise, encountering the numbness of his muscles.
“You will recover after I am gone. Her hands slithered over the paralyzed male, securing the shackles to his wrists and ankles. “Listen to the tale of my heartless kin. Alyniss assassinated our mother after our father and first brother died at the hands of Miya. She was competing with the rival matrons, and thus, she never saw the dagger pointed at her heart. Yasa died in a duel with Neernitra. I am the last female of House Kenarrahel. I became the matron through no plot of my own.
“Dalninuk, he whimpered.
“Omarolin would never agree to leave the Underdark. A hint of disdain slipped into her voice. “I have betrothed my brother to Mira. Perhaps she can tame him. She bent over the male, brushing aside his hair to kiss his forehead. “I have amended the terms of our agreement. I will expect you to lead me through the tunnels to the surface once I have slain Miya.
He focused on her face, conveying his understanding of her proposed treachery. She assumed the glint she saw amid the golden flecks in his green orbs was fear. Once, before the Time of Troubles, he had tried to escape with his lord. Matron Molafae had condemned him to the Uln''hyrr d''lil Orbb, a dungeon few males left alive or whole.
“I want be free of the dark legacy of my foremothers. I want to gaze upon the pale celestial disk and the tears in the eternal curtain of night. She stroked his hairless chest seductively. “Consider the gains. You would be free to return to your kin “ or to remain at my side.
Keelin slid out of the bed. She approached the wooden practice mannequin, realistically crafted in the shape of a dark elf. She jabbed at its oval face, punching its vital areas sadistically. She launched a roundhouse kick to loosen and topple its head. She regulated her breathing, restricting her mind to the melee tenets.
It readily sharpened her senses and enhanced her bloodlust. She focused on the mission ahead.
The palace was a lone structure, situated on the highest shelf of the subterranean cavern, surrounded by a fence of enchanted stalactites and stalagmites. It was virtually impenetrable. It reminded all who dwelled in the city of the queen’s thousand year reign, inspiring the matrons to surpass her magnificence.
Hordes of male warriors patrolled the perimater, on foot and mounted on large lizards. The changing of the guard was held at irregular intervals, a spectacular display of might and magic. The bailey, a courtyard between two outer walls of a castle, was deceptively deserted, littered with humanoid-shaped statues. Access to the castle was not gained by a standard portal. Noble drow had to levitate up to a second-level balcony. A maze of corridors lay beyond it, designed to confuse an intruder, often leading a would-be assassin to permanent dead ends. Clerical spells barred entry to the lavishly furnished chambers. Driders and minotaurs freely roamed the castle’s eight floors.
Keelin never wondered if Mira deserved to be queen. The drow were elves who cared naught for the pretense of deeming deeds right and wrong. The drow possessed no collective conscience to prick or preen. The drow often employed any means necessary to gain the advantage. She understood it did not matter which princess ascended to the throne, for another ambitious female would soon be clawing at her heels.
Keelin foresaw no disadvantage to her plot. The elf would lead her to the Lands Above, and if he scurried into the darkness as his witless lord had, Mira would slit his traitorous throat. He could be easily replaced once she reached the surface.
He began to thrash his limbs. The paralyzing agent was losing its hold on the male.
Keelin unlocked an ornate cabinet and examined the fully stocked shelves with pride. The weapon collection had belonged to Laelinidlin, the former patron of her house. She strapped on a black battle bra with rounded shoulder guards. Metal vipers dominated the bodice, encircling her breasts, flicking their forked tongues at her nipples. She slid on a skirt over her panties. Loose leather flaps hung from the waistband, studded with columns of spikes to protect her thighs. She eased her feet into a pair of low-heeled boots. She stooped to press the protective plates to her shins, tightening the straps around her calves. She wedged a dagger into the band of each boot. She donned a pair of gauntlets imbued with an enchantment for strength.
He howled, lifting his head from the pillow. He stretched his tendons and muscles to the point of agony, straining his joints. The shackles cut into his flesh. The ropes held. He collapsed, gasping for precious breath, sweating profusely in the chill chamber.
She filled the pockets of a belt with throwing knives and smoke grenades. She pressed it against her waist, wrapping the strings around her and knotting the ends in front. She pulled a small pouch from the shelf and tossed the chain over her head. She added on a sword belt, sliding the jewel-encrusted scabbard through the loop. She unsheathed her sire’s short sword. The keen blade filled the lightless chamber with the ominous glow of drow magic. She smiled cruelly as she imagined staining it with the blood of his murderess.
“If you should fail, the elf said hoarsely.
“Death will be my reward.
“Release me.
She crept to the bed and grasped his member. “I hope this is not a permanent side effect.
“Release me!
Keelin cupped his testicle, daring the insolent male to challenge her.
“I will aid you.
“I need the aid of no male, she rasped.
“I will lead you into the palace “ past the traps and guards.
She squeezed the pale orb vindictively.
His eyes bulged.
“It should have rendered you helpless for hours.
“I learned your tricks “ after my nap.
She gradually released her grip on his member, flicking her tongue over her gleaming, white teeth. She slipped the ring off his index finger gingerly. She noticed a small pin protruding from the underside of the ring. She wedged her thumbnail into a slit concealed within the foliage design, triggering the retraction of the pin. She smiled, surmising it was laced with a counteragent. She propped a boot on the mattress, brandishing a dagger.
He apprehensively held her eyes for a moment.
Keelin cut the ropes. “You are free to seek out your mistress if I do not return.
The elf tumbled out of bed, staggering past her on wobbly legs.
Keelin could not explain her compulsion to free him. She could not explain the sudden need to bid the male to wait for her. She bit her tongue, suppressing the spread of confusing emotions. She offered no objection when he ransacked the cabinet for suitable armor.
“We will leave the Underdark once our task is completed, he pledged.
********
Masaghar awoke on instinct. He rushed out of the tent. His eyes widened with uncommon fear. The beasts fell fast, incapacitated by a hail of sleeping darts. Shadowy figures appeared, swapping the miniature crossbows for edged weapons, swarming the fodder. Stomachs were slashed open. Throats were slit. Limbs and heads were severed.
Tarin stalked Masaghar, singling him out for destruction. He unsheathed a pair of enchanted swords, navigating nimbly through a scattering of corpses. His heart pounded in his chest. The pain of a long-dormant grudge suddenly surfaced. He squared his shoulders and set his jaw. He closed his mind to the echoes of the past, regulating his breathing.
********
Tarin, at the tender age of twenty, was sent to the melee school. Although he was the second son of a low-ranking matron mother, and he had been properly conditioned by Xullshalee, his older sister and wean mother, Tarin was not safe among the common males. The competition for praise was fierce and often deadly. Tarin quickly excelled, earning the scorn of a classmate.
Survival became his daily routine. Frequent accidents occurred on the practice patrols he led. He regularly found himself abandoned when battle was joined, surrounded by hook horrors and deep gnomes. Food and sleep became the obvious means of assassins. He endured it all, anticipating the graduation ceremony, dreading the eventual return to his family.
During the tenth and final year, a year split between instruction at the magic academy and the clerical school of Lolth, Tarin befriended a feeble-looking wizard. Nadzartran lured him into a chamber with the promise of giving him an enchanted weapon, leading him into an ambush. Masaghar and a gang of males seized him, pelting him with fists, laying him low with kicks.
Tarin was stripped naked. He was bent over a slab of stone with his arms pulled up above his head. Shackles and chains tethered him to the altar. His legs were spread widely.
Masaghar lowered his breeches, ordering a weaker male to massage his monstrously sized member.
Tarin wrenched his neck, fretfully glancing over his shoulder.
“Scream, the brute said tauntingly.
The cheers of the males rose to a fevered pitch, drowning out his painful screams.
********
Masaghar shouted a curse and charged his opponent savagely, leading with the point of his claymore. His muscles bulged as he lifted it above his head in a two-handed grip, intending to crack open the cloaked warrior’s skull. He had no time to waste on the fool. He had to flee before all avenues of escape were closed.
Tarin raised his swords in a crossed position, catching the heavier blade between his swords, halting the monstrous momentum of the larger male. The heels of his boots scraped against the cavern’s floor. The brute was pushing him backward, slowly forcing the claymore to descend on his forehead. Tarin gritted his teeth, calling on his rage to supercharge him. He shoved his foe unexpectedly, breaking the engagement, backpedaling out of the reach of the claymore.
The brute lunged at Tarin. He answered the challenge with a feint, and when Masaghar parried it automatically, the patron thrust his left-handed sword in his opponent’s gut, twisting it, slicing through his intestines.
Masaghar recoiled, pressing an arm to the wound.
“It hurts, Tarin taunted.
Masaghar growled, spraying spittle.
Tarin summoned a globe of darkness and vanished into it.
Masaghar tossed a knife into the black cloud.
“You missed, Tarin said mockingly.
Masaghar grasped the hilt with both hands, cleaving the hovering, magical sphere.
“Pathetic, Tarin said.
Masaghar rushed headlong into the trap.
Tarin levitated above him. He dismissed the spell, descending on his prey, plunging his swords into the sides of his unprotected neck.
Masaghar howled in pain, losing the support of his muscular legs.
Tarin lightly landed on his feet. The brute fled in a panic, crawling blindly on his hands and knees, scrambling to his feet once he cleared the impenetrable orb of darkness. He bumped into the table, collapsing it with the weight of his bulk.
Tarin sauntered out of the globe. He planted his boot against the brute’s arse and pushed him flat on his face. Masaghar rolled over, staring up at the face of his killer. He took the image with him to the Fugue Plane, and from that place where the spirits gathered after death, an agent of his deity would lead him to the Demonweb Pits.
********
D’Jaral gestured for his visitor to sit in an armchair with plush cushions, generously inviting him to partake in a sample of his imported stock of wines. The hunter declined, anxious to be done with the debriefing.
D’Jaral shrugged. He reclined in his chair, lifting the goblet beneath his nose. He swirled the wine around the crystal glass, imposing the whirlwind state of his thoughts on to the crimson liquid.
The hunter folded his arms across his chest. He was freshly dressed in a tunic and breeches made from the sheared shaggy hair of the indigenous rothe, large oxen beasts with curving horns and cloven hooves. He still possessed his tattered cloak, much to the dismay of D’Jaral. He pulled it in around him, reading the lieutenant’s brooding mood as a possible threat.
“The leader’s favorite has returned, D’Jaral said with an exaggerated sigh.
“It is not a status I earned.
The hairless drow arched an eyebrow, not surprised at his honesty “ but at his total lack of ambition.
“Nevertheless, it is true. The legendary hunter has returned.
“No doubt I owe you much for fostering my reputation during my absence, the rogue said bluntly.
“Indeed, the lieutenant retorted, “and a fine return have the Worms reaped for my efforts.
The hunter felt the tingling sensation of a mental probe. He immediately lunged at the seated drow, brandishing his dirk. He slapped the dull side of its blade against his bald head, breaking his concentration with a jolt of pain. He pressed it to his temple suggestively.
“Why did you return? D’Jaral said with his head tilted awkwardly. “I thought you were well-suited for the surface.
“You thought I would die in the Lands Above.
D’Jaral frowned.
“I am not your rival, the hunter said quietly, sliding the blade beneath his chin before withdrawing it.
D’Jaral swallowed dryly. “The leader favors you. You were chosen “
“I am expendable. The hunter sheathed the dirk in a lightning-quick blur of motion. “My death would be no more than an inconvenient delay to the leader’s plans.
“Perhaps your tongue is too sly, D’Jaral said, “for my ears to detect the lie within your words.
“Have I ever tried to move against you in the last four hundred years?
D’Jaral shrugged. “Not that I could discover.
The hunter sat in the adjacent chair. “You sought me out when I was on the streets, he reminded the bald drow. “For my part, I accepted your protection in exchange for my service.
“You have not answered my question.
He shrugged. “I have no answer for you “ none that you would believe.
D’Jaral gulped the wine down, refilling the glass. Eventually, he would have his answer.
“Shall we dispense with this folly?
D’Jaral nodded, neglecting to mention he could hold a grudge for centuries.
********
Dressed in a tunic and breeches, Caelathim struggled to secure the connecting straps. Keelin aided the male, nimbly closing the gap between the anterior and posterior pieces of armor. He strapped on ridged shin guards and pulled on gauntlets. He chose adamantine dirks, testing their balance in a duel-wield grip. He sheathed the pair at his waist, on a belt with a skull buckle. He hefted a two-handed crossbow, frowning at its crude craftsmanship. He longed for the light feel of his wooden bow, for the twang sound of its string.
Keelin handed him a quiver.
The light elf required no explanation for the magically colored shafts: Blue was for ice, red was for fire, and the green bolts disbursed a poison cloud. He lifted a crimsonâ€“banded bolt gingerly. It was imbued with the oil of impact. The explosive projectiles caused tremendous damage.
“Choose your targets well, Keelin chided.
Caelathim smiled.
She brushed his hair affectionately, anticipating the annihilation.
********
The Second House was constructed out of two stalagmites and a center stalactite. Each was hollowed out by captured purple worms, converted into inhabitable complexes. Enchanted bridges, limned with faerie fire, were used to connect the structures.
Upon his return from the wilds of the Underdark, Tarin headed for the stalactite. He levitated up to the second-level balcony. He rushed to the chapel, expecting to find Matron Ulviirda waiting for him. He found it vacant except for Luana. She directed him to proceed to the matron’s bedchamber. He raised his hand to knock lightly on the door. It opened eerily.
Beneath the canopy of black webbing, Ulviirda lay with a male on a massive bed.
Golocharinyon was thrusting powerfully between her spread thighs, causing her to moan throatily with every stroke of his engorged member. His long mane of bone-white hair beat against his broad shoulders. His finely honed muscles flexed beneath his glistening, black skin.
Tarin stood transfixed.
Golocharinyon sensed the tingle, the tightening of his testicles. He planted his palms onto the mattress and lifted his torso. He groaned gutturally, hammering his loins against her.
She toppled the youth with a telepathic blast, interrupting his disobedient attempt to finish before her.
He groaned, landing his flank in a senseless stupor.
Tarin gasped.
Her red glowing eyes glared at the intruder. Have you brought your beloved matron a gift?
Tarin uncovered the severed of Masaghar and raised it high.
Ulviirda slithered to the foot of the bed. She crawled onto her knees and grasped the bedposts.
Golocharinyon hastily hobbled behind the matron, responding to her mental command. He took her with a forceful pitch of his pelvis, piercing her anus grudgingly with the throbbing length of his penis. He cupped her heaving breasts with his calloused hands, roughly pinching her nipples. He winked at Tarin before he restarted his rhythmic thrusting.
Begone!
Tarin bowed his head as he departed.
********
The elves skulked about the city, swaddled in their piwafwin, the magical cloaks of the drow. The male followed her erratic lead, crossing over their tracks thrice. She often separated from Caelathim, slithering around stalactites and stalagmites, levitating at the end of false trails. She navigated deserted alleys, bypassing avenues with rows of shrieking sentient mushrooms. Her keen eyes detected no sign of pursuit.
The light elf stood alone on the highest shelf, viewing the eerie magnificent of the kingdom nestled into a ten-mile wide basin. The dull grey stone erections of the nobles’ castles, the three training schools, and the temple of Lolth, were aglow with faerie fire. The patterns of warding runes and intricate spider designs were mesmerizing.
Caelathim pulled the hood down over his face. He still found it hauntingly beautifulâ€¦
********

Golocharinyon pulled on his breeches, hopping away from the bed.
“You could be my patron, Ulviirda said furtively.
“Over Tarin’s corpse, he replied, “I would have to step to assume his rank.
She rolled onto her side, leaning on an elbow. “You fear him?
He shook his head. “He is my mentor “ my friend.
She laughed at the obscenity of his comment. “You bear affection for him?
He nodded, securing his sword belt. “I owe him my life.
“Tarin will kill you.
“No, he rasped loudly to deny his uncertainty.
Ulviirda extended her hand to the youth, inviting him to return to her bed.
He recoiled.
“He has seen you in my embrace, she said bluntly.
“It matters not. Many males have been granted the privilege of pleasing the matron.
“You have betrayed his trust.
Golocharinyon trembled, watching her slither out of bed.
“Tarin is envious of your youth and beauty. His has passed without my notice, she said, swaying seductively towards the youth. “He is jealous of you “ he is jeaous of the pleasure you gave to your matron. She seized hold of his wrists and planted his rough-skinned hands on her breasts. “He fears you. He fears you will replace him as my favorite.
“Tarin knows no fear, he muttered, instinctively massaging her heaving orbs of flesh.
“I have tired of him and I hunger for another.
“I cannot match his skill with a blade, he said to deflect her manipulations.
“I choose you. I choose you to be my champion.
“I am loyal to him, he whined.
She clawed the breadth of his shoulders, punishing him for his insolence.
The young drow flinched.
Ulviirda opened the locket nestled between her breasts, releasing a powerful pheromone scent. She grasped the nape of his neck and forcibly pulled his face to her breast. He gobbled her erect nipple hungrily, suckling it.
“Every house must have a warrior and a wizard. My house has no sons. Tarin has sired no children with his matron, she whispered into his pointed ear. “Tarin has failed his matron “ and he fears my fury, the wrath of Lolth. She clasped her hand around his member, caressing the shaft vigorously. “I favor you, Golocharinyon. Come; fill your matron with your seed.
He inhaled deeply through his flared nostrils. An unstoppable wave of lust rolled over the male.
Tarin denies you my affection.
He carried her to the bed, stripping quickly and mounting her frantically.
Kill Tarin, she commanded telepathically. Kill Tarin.
He hesitated, conflicted between his primal impulses and his conscience.
She assaulted his mind with images of his ascension, promising him wealth and the coveted rank.
Golocharinyon yielded to temptation.
Ulviirda convulsed at the thought of the males joining in combat.
His swords drenched in blood...
********
The training room was the private domain of Tarin. He stood in the center of it, surrounded by kobold corpses. Souleater and Bonecrusher, his enchanted swords, had dispatched the witless breasts, relieving none of his anger.
Tarin summoned a house wizard. “Zombies!
The frail wizard nodded, accustomed to his rages.
He quickly defeated the undead things. “Is that all you can conjure, mage?
The wizard tugged up the sleeves of his robe. He closed his eyes, reciting a fell spell, waving his hands. The floor rumbled. From beneath their feet, a liquid stone monster arose. It solidified into a golem, taking on the shape of a drow. It stalked the patron.
Tarin smiled cruelly, crouching into a combative stance.
The golem wielded twin swords, extensions of its arms, in a whirlwind pattern. It nearly mimicked the skill of the weapon master.
********
Miya stood around a table with two high priestesses. The light of a single black candle illuminated the chamber, revealing sparse pieces of furniture and heavy tapestries.
The princess continued to chant, raising her voice above those of the shadow guardians. The flame began to flicker. She concentrated on the summoning fully, balling her hands into iron fists. She sweated and her throat clogged with the dizzying smell of burning incense.
A murky green cloud appeared, hovering above the flame.
“Masaghar, Miya hissed. “Name the traitorous matron who defied my will.
The summoned spirit readily sought to answer.
The flame sparked and the floating head of Masaghar was replaced by a terrible sight. A yochlol, in its natural form of a molten blob of wax, focused its red eyes upon Miya. “You dare to disturb the male’s eternal torment.
“I sought only to obtain an answer from my fallen servant, Miya said, involuntarily stepping back.
“Your intentions are known, the yochlol said. “Seek your answer elsewhere.
“Who has the answer?
Hissing sounds erupted from the flame. “Prove you are worthy of Lolth’s favor. It vanished, extinguishing the candle.
********
The wizard swallowed dryly, flinching at the sudden sensation of metal sliding under his chin.
Golocharinyon pressed the old drow to his chest. “Dismiss it.
The wizard did not dare to nod; fearing the blade would accidently slit his throat.
Tarin whirled around angrily when the golem disappeared. His red glowing eyes glared at the youth with the intensity of volcanic flame. “You dare to interrupt my practice.
“I “ I thought he was attacking you, Golocharinyon stammered.
Tarin waved his hand.
Golocharinyon released the wizard. He scurried out of the room, rubbing his neck.
Tarin sheathed his swords, glowering at the youth.
Golocharinyon lowered his eyes, embarrassed. He suddenly wondered why he had sought out the patron. He could remember little beyond his dalliance with the matron. He shuffled his feet.
“You survived the spider’s embrace, Tarin said with a hint of relief, clasping a hand onto his shoulder.
“Did you not enjoy it, Golocharinyon snapped, “when it was once your turn?
Tarin cringed. “I endured it, he replied, “and I was relieved when she ceased to call me to her bed.
“You treat the matron with such disdain.
“She treats her mates far worse “ as you soon will learn.
Golocharinyon swooned as a stab of pain assaulted him. “Heretic, he shouted, shrugging off his mentor’s hand. “The stain of your decay defiles her noble house. His hand reached for the hilt of his sword. “You have reigned as patron for too long.
“Do not do this, Tarin said to the chill air.
“I will serve Matron Ulviirda in your stead, the youth said with a sardonic smile.
“Golocharinyon! Tarin shouted. “Sheathe your sword. I am your mentor. I found you “ an outcast babe. Your mother abandoned you in the Underdark, to fill the stomach of a xorn. He had been born near-sighted. The drow had no need for defective children. “I paid a houseless cleric to heal you. I saved you in defiance of the law. I raised you. I trained you to be a warrior.
“I am a drow warrior. I serve the matron. I serve Lolth. I am her blade of vengeance and destruction.
“I protected you “ until now.
Golocharinyon hesitated. The bloodthirsty glint in his eyes waned. His handsome features crinkled with confusion. “Tarin?
“Resist her, the patron said insistently.
The mask of murderous madness returned too quickly, seizing complete control of the youth.
“Do not do this. I beg you! Tarin shouted, adopting a defensive stance.
Golocharinyon lunged at him.
Tarin parried the thrust, plunging a dagger into his flesh. He caught Golocharinyon before he fell, cradling him in his arms. Gently, ever so gently, he lowered the youth to the stone floor. He brushed the loose strands of hair out of his dull eyes.
“I failed you, Tarin said quietly, choking on his tears and the agony of betrayal.
********
Matron Ulviirda sat regally upon her throne, staring down on her gathered daughters. She gripped the armrests, thrashing as she telepathically experienced the dagger plunging into the abdomen of Golocharinyon. She exhaled a haggard breath, opening her eyes.
“Your champion failed, Tal’rae said smugly.
The matron lifted her heat-sensitive eyes to the spider-shaped statue suspended from the ceiling. A pair of its eyes glowed brightly. Lolth was pleased with her sacrifice. She smiled. “I think not.
Tal’rae bit her tongue, realizing her error.
********
D’Jaral summoned the hunter to his chamber once more. “I have a task for you.
“Who am I supposed to kill?
D’Jaral shrugged. “I do not know.
The hunter narrowed his eyes.
“Ask our client. The high priestess of Lolth’s temple, Imara.
The hunter wordlessly departed.
D’Jaral smiled, knowing the fallout would be chaotic.
- 3
- 4
- 5
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Hollow Conquest