Lit.Org - a community for readers and writers Advanced Search
 




Average Rating
0.00

(0 votes)

You must login to vote

Well no one really commented on the last one but it had some views so I figured I'd post the next piece. Enjoy!

The handsome young fighter was blinded. His pointed ears rang as large flaming meteors crashed down around him. He closed his eyes and crouched defensively as more and more spells reigned down upon him.
The dark goddess fired two more lightning bolts at her prey from a wand. With her free hand she sent multiple blasts of concentrated darkness below. Lolth wasted no time in casting another spell, one that would surely be the end of the little pest.

Tyrael grunted as his pure white armor resisted the blast of the lightning bolts. He fell to one knee as he was hit by two missiles of blackness. He cried out in pain as one breached his defenses. He sucked in a lungful of air and thanked Corellon he was unaffected by fire. The four meteors would have destroyed him for sure. The area around him was surrounded by smoking craters.

He coughed and his exposed skin felt scorched, despite his protections. Tyrael’s eyes had become teary from just seeing the dust and debris kicked up from the barrage. His visor retracted for a moment so he could wipe his with the back of his hand and managed a look towards his foe. The female was chanting and he knew it would be something terrible. Was her arsenal of spells infinite?

The cavalier let go of the misty moon blade and it faded into nothingness. With his free hand he redrew his mithral blade. I will definitely need to negate this spell.

Once more the elf rolled his shoulder muscles and activated his flying boots. There was no use in waiting, the goddess could probably fling spells at him all day. Eventually she would find something that he wasn’t prepared for.
He speeded towards the drow as she completed her spell with a laugh of triumph. A sickly black web of energy appeared around him and he instantly felt the effects. The power of the barrier drained him, and every second he felt he had to fight to stay conscious. His body felt heavy and his lungs felt as if they were filled with lead. He fell instantly, unable to concentrate his will on his magical boots. The net tumbled with him and he hit the ground with a crash. He yelled out in pain but it came out as a weak cry.

The net makes me feel so weak. It can’t end like this….

Lolth laughed as she caught him in her web. The fool! The spell would drain the power of any being it surrounded. The devious drow chuckled wickedly as the net crackled and her prey let out another pitiful moan.

Maybe she should spare him, just to enjoy her little game a bit longer. The warrior had been quite interesting to say the least.

She floated down a few feet away from the foolish elf. He was moaning but still fighting the dark magic. “Is this the best Corellon has to offer? My lowliest lay worshipper is more powerful,” Lolth laughed gleefully.

“No, actually demon queen, I am the best Corellon has to offer. I think we have met before,” came a strong angelic voice from behind the goddess.

Lolth whirled around to see an elf in shining elven plate mail. His hair was dark and long. The figure flexed his wings and they stretched lazily behind him. A single bow and quiver on his back was the only visible weapon. On his weapon belt was a scabbard but no pommel protruded from it.

“Fellfaril,” Lolth hissed the name like a snake.

“The very same,” his golden green eyes twinkled. He slightly bowed and smiled heavenly.

“I suppose you are here for a fight? Why must Corellon send his little errand boys to do battle for him? Perhaps he is scared of me,” the drow goddess smirked and whipped her hair around.

“Me? You are mistaken evil seductress. I am here to grant his wish,” Fellfaril grinned and pointed to the figure huffing and puffing on the ground, surrounded by a crackling black web of magic.

“What?!” Lolth whirled around and looked at the elvish warrior at her feet.
Tyrael managed a laugh. In his hand was a single broken arrow he had pulled from the quiver on his back. The arrow, one of three, had been given to him from a servant of Velvadar Quickbow; an elven god sworn to the practice of archery.

It was a gift to him as he became the elven king, the first in many centuries to be chosen by Corellon Larethian. The arrows had one important and priceless feature; they were not meant to be shot with a bow. The demigod Velvadar Quickbow had infused the arrows with a wish spell, one of the most potent spells that could ever be cast. To call upon the spell, the arrow had to only be broken.

His brain scrambled, Tyrael did the only thing he could have. Through gritted teeth, he made the only move left to him. He broke the arrow.

“He cannot even cast a spell! How dare you-“ Lolth started but was interrupted.

“Silence witch! I grant his wish despite your objections, with the approval of a power that far exceeds your own. Corellon Larethian outranks you Lolth, and his will be done!” Fellfaril bellowed and pointed at her.

In an instant, Lolth disappeared and the net that captured Tyrael reshaped itself. Instead it reshaped itself to a cage-like form and not one, but two figures were trapped beneath its deadly power.

The drow goddess screamed in denial and pain. Her own spell scrambled her mind so she could not even think straight. She moaned as the dark magic drained her strength and she fell to her knees.

How had this happened? Trickery!

Despite the pain and mental intrusions of despair, Tyrael managed to laugh. He instantly regretted it and his lungs began to burn and his ribs felt bruised. He tried to roll to onto his stomach so he could get up.

Fellfaril watched anxiously. Lolth was now trapped under her own spell with the champion. Amazed, he watched as the dark goddess and the king struggled to remain conscious. As much as he would like to, he could not help the warrior. He was under strict instructions from Corellon Larethian himself, and he dare not defy his lord again. The angelic elf looked down at his scabbard. It was a reminder of his failure, his disobedience had cost him dearly. Fellfaril looked to the cavalier as the elf managed to rise to one knee. He saw himself fighting Lolth, she had fooled him over and over, using deceit and trickery better than any chameleon.

Lolth could end the spell before she was too hurt and flee. That would only happen if the king managed to endure more pain than the spider queen. The other and much more likely possibility was that Tyrael would break. His will or his body will give up, then Lolth would end the spell with an evil triumphant laugh. How much pain could a mortal take? He was the child of Corellon, but his divine power ended with his blood. He had yet to earn the title of Chosen. Fellfaril shook his thoughts away and focused his golden green eyes on the recently appointed king.

Tyrael huffed and puffed. He leaned on his knee and watched the black crackle of magic strike against his snow white plate mail. His insides felt like they were on fire but his body felt numb. He yelled something incoherent and almost forgot what he wanted to say.

“NO!” he managed to cry, a lot weaker than he had intended. Through squinted eyes he could see his foe, within reach. The dark goddess was on two knees breathing heavily. Lolth smiled at him despite their shared pain.

In anger, he managed to rise to a slight crouch. “You will not win,” he growled in defiance. Could he survive longer than a goddess in such a devious trap? Apparently she was not immune to her own spell.

Again Tyrael yelled. As best as he could manage with what little strength he had, he lunged forward. Lolth managed to snicker as he tackled her to the ground. They fell and in unison cried out in numbing pain. Tyrael managed to stay on top of her and used his weight to keep her down.

Lolth laughed as she was pinned by the warrior. Normally, she was stronger than any ten giants combined, yet her own spell drained her of any energy. Even if it were not so, she saw the otherworldly strength this elf had and was not too sure if she could win a fair test of strength such as this.

The female laughed crazily. A fair fight, what a ridiculous notion. Despite her tedious position, having such a strong and utterly male body pinned to hers was enticing. She began to become excited as she saw the possibilities.
She moaned and snickered, looking at the warrior. She managed to get one hand free and with great effort removed his helmet. Lolth looked into the eyes of her foe, they were a deep blue and contrasted nicely with his golden hair.
The dark goddess smirked. His blue eyes, her bright red ones. His pale skin and golden hair, her black skin and white hair. His muscular body and her toned one. This male was utterly enticing to her right now.

Tyrael didn’t know what to do as his female opponent began moaning. Could…? No! She was evil. Evil and tempting. He swooned and his head dropped to her chest. He had thought breathing was hard before, now his lungs felt like fire and his throat burned. The king’s eyes dropped to her shapely chest. Was this a test? Yes…no…it wasn’t possible…was it?

Seeing her handsome prey in such a state of discontent gave her pleasure. She
would have him, and turn him to the dark side. He was almost there. Lolth licked her full red lips and knew he needed a little nudge. He would be hers, and she would dispose of him after. She would win.

The beautiful female reached up with her free hand and grabbed the back of the elf’s head. She met him halfway and kissed him. The goddess nibbled on his lips and continued kissing the handsome warrior.

Fellfaril moaned. No you idiot! He sighed, he guessed it had to end this way. Could he really blame a mortal for taking the pleasures offered to him from a goddess? The angel shook his head in disappointment anyway. Corellon had assured him that this elf’s knightly code of morals would not break. He supposed it was a compliment that it took a goddess as seductive and powerful as Lolth to defeat the warrior.

He wasn’t defeated in combat, but by his own loins the angel mused. He grinned despite the serious situation.

* *

Tyrael looked out at the night sky. He sat upon a featureless hill overlooking plains. Behind him was the looming forest he had called home his entire life. With a sigh the handsome elf laid back and enjoyed the view. The king put his hands behind his head and tried to sort everything out.

Of course he was alone on his little get away. No one really had time anymore. Korrin had a whole city to run. Kel had an entire kingdom, not to mention an actual family. Lord Torrcainan was always busy dealing with one matter or another, and Eliwood had his hands full experimenting with whatever mages did. Even Allistar, the paladin he saved from the devilish clutches of Talamius, was much too far away. He was fighting the same war in his homeland.

The cavalier brushed a strand of hair from his face. Had I been right to free Allistar? Would I still have done so knowing that would incur the wrath of Talamius, who would bring war to me and my friends?

Another sigh escaped his mouth. Palace life was hard. Much harder than it was when he first became king. Every time he walked into that palace he was no longer Tyrael, but the king of a nation. The elves needed him to do what was best for them as a whole. Mountains of scrolls and papers flooded him from every direction. Something needed approval, more battle reports, requests from this human and this dwarf, some captain wants an audience, more complaints about this matter or that.

It was too much. Lord Torrcainan helped greatly, but the two of them could not do it all alone. How did his life go from a big adventure to sitting on a throne or signing papers in the blink of an eye?

The wind blew and reminded him that he was very vulnerable out here. He wasn’t frightened of anything, but a lot of enemies would love to have the chance at attacking him at such a leisurely moment.

The crisp air gave him the warrior a chill. He wore a simple blue tunic and robes. On his belt were his two signature blades, Tyrelax and Spell Mist. The handsome elf was comforted knowing they were within easy reach.

Many enemies indeed. One particular foe came to mind. Deathwing Blackspitter. Just the memory of the foe made him tense. Blackspitter was, and still is, he reminded himself; an ancient black dragon. The only thing that baffled him and Korrin was that the dragon moved around in the guise of an elven warrior. What started out as chasing an elven murderer had turned into a feud with a foe that none of his friends would forget.

A foe that needed to be dealt with. Tyrael sighed as remembered the threat Deathwing promised to deliver. The dragon had personally targeted the cavalier, naming him as his nemesis. Tyrael rethought the encounter many times and could only guess the dragon had prided itself in swordsmanship. When the cavalier defeated the dragon in the guise of the lithe elven warrior he took it personally.

The king shook his head in disappointment. How could he have let such a dangerous foe elude his grasp?

Time and time again had proven that while Tyrael was a master in swordsmanship, his foe was adept at staying hidden. The “elven warrior” would not fight him fairly. He would not duel Tyrael again. He would strike only when he wanted to and it would be from the depths of the darkest shadow.

“Where are you now dragon?” he asked the stars.

No answer came and he just sighed to himself.

“How are you my king?” came a hesitant voice from behind him.

Sitting up, he turned his head towards the unexpected company. It was a face he recognized. Cylvannia Winterstorm. She was wearing the blue robes accustomed to a High Priestess. Her holy symbol was clearly visible in the moonlight. It hung around her neck, the crescent moon; the symbol of Corellon Larethian. Her features were traditionally elven, high cheekbones and pointed ears. Her hair was dark and her skin was slightly pale.

He watched her sit down beside him with a nervous smile. He thought back to before he had left. They had a friendly relationship to be sure, but he never remembered them being too close. Why then, was she nervous?

Forgetting his manners, Tyrael scolded himself. “Greetings. I’m sorry, I didn’t expect company and you surprised me a bit,” he smiled warmly.

“I thought you might need some company. I haven’t seen you since you gotten back. You don’t visit the church too much anymore,” she whispered quietly.

“I don’t have too much time for anything these days. Besides, have you not heard? I don’t need to pray very much anymore. Our Lord speaks to me directly if he needs to, or through Fellfaril,” he sighed and looked towards the moon. It was half full tonight. Why was she acting different?

“Yes, I have heard the rumors. I guess it is true then…was praying the only reason you ever came to the church?” she looked away from him.

“I don’t know really. I suppose so. A lot of things have been plaguing my mind recently. Forgive me for being distant,” he leaned back again. What was going on?

“I had hoped…you came back so often to see me…,” she trailed off and looked down.

Tyrael almost cursed. How thick headed was he? Had he gotten so used to being his own companion for ten years that he had forgotten what it was like to need a friend? He was more ignorant of feelings than a dwarf. The thought of Brisker Ironpick, an old friend came to mind.

The cavalier laughed and his companion looked at him curiously. “Sorry, I have not been seeing things too clearly lately,” he sat up and moved closer to her.
He noticed she started breathing heavier. He almost chuckled again. Isn’t this what he asked for? Someone to talk to, confide in? Someone who wasn’t as burdened as he was?

Acting on impulse, Tyrael wiped a strand of dark hair out of her face. He followed through with the motion and he somehow found himself gently rubbing her ears. He looked at her face and saw real beauty. Her brown eyes twinkled like the stars above and she blushed profusely. Tyrael continued massaging her ear and she closed her eyes.

Tyrael started to feel a little warm. Should I really be doing this?
As if reading his mind, Cylvannia decided the matter for him. “Tyrael…,” she whispered and opened her eyes. She grabbed his head and kissed him lovingly.
The moonlight was the only witness to their caring and passionate coupling.


------
Havoc


Related Items

Comments

The following comments are for "Blades of Destiny2"
by HavocTheDemon





Add Your Comment

You Must be a member to post comments and ratings. If you are NOT already a member, signup now it only takes a few seconds!

All Fields are required

Commenting Guidelines:
  • All comments must be about the writing. Non-related comments will be deleted.
  • Flaming, derogatory or messages attacking other members well be deleted.
  • Adult/Sexual comments or messages will be deleted.
  • All subjects MUST be PG. No cursing in subjects.
  • All comments must follow the sites posting guidelines.
The purpose of commenting on Lit.Org is to help writers improve their writing. Please post constructive feedback to help the author improve their work.


Username:
Password:
Subject:
Comment:





Login:
Password: