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Ofir
The Pleasure Houses of Illya
The women of the dunes, compared to the fiery pale women of the North, were dusky flowers fashioned from humble clay. But with them came a certain allure, an exotic taste that rivaled the glamorous sorceresses of the Continent. Ofir boasted many of these rare beauties. They ranged from the common bedouin, the aspiring scribe, to the lofty concubines that formed the king's harem.
In Ofiri culture, princes like Zaziq were not permitted to have harems. Such a luxury was only permitted for the Malliq, but certain exceptions such as multiple lovers were acceptable. For the passions of Ofir knew not the bounds of nordlings or southerners. A man would not beholden himself to one woman, and vice versa.
Now all the richer following his triumphant return from Topept, Zaziq visited the esteemed brothel of the port city of Illya to reward himself and his men, as well as meet in secret with his potential allies. The prince reclined casually upon the lap of a slave while slurping on a hookah pipe. His wandering eyes took in the vast scene of utter debauchery taking place in the upper room, a private party involving all of his Immortals and all the finest whores available at the pleasure house.
One woman caught his attention. She wasn't Ofieri by birth, the evidence being that she possessed a bountiful cascade of flowing red hair and light golden skin. The captain of the Immortals, named Agaso, had taken a liking to her along with his second. The men shared her among them to provide sport for all the others to see.
Her delicate fingers pressed into the grating hard stone walls, arms stretched out to steady herself against the rough thrusts into her rear, and her beautiful red locks waved freely in the air like wanton cords. Rough and calloused hands grabbed her young breasts from behind, and from the front. Demanding and ravenous mouths engulfed her lips, tasting the youthful sweetness in them. Her name was Mileena. She was a war orphan, a mere tavern wench plucked from the streets to work in the humble kitchens of the pleasure house. Day by day, she worked tirelessly to earn her keep, never once drawing attention to herself. Shy as she was, Mileena wasn't aware of it, but the years only served to turn the delicate thing into a fully blossomed woman. Ripe and plump in all the right places.
That night, and only for that night, she was someone's queen. Or rather, a group of somebodys.
A few days ago, she carried on with her business, serving food and cleaning up after the guests. But as she got so dangerously close to the Immortals when doing the normal menial tasks that her job entailed, she started to notice things. Never before had she seen so many strapping young men in one place, and all of them were eyeing her like a delicious piece of meat. Mileena was curious, and frightened. The latter didn't stay with her as time passed. One thing led to another, and the woman found herself locked in the upper room with all those big muscle-bound men.
They were a little rough with her at first, but in a good way.
Mileena's meek little protests faded into delightful mewls as the men had their way with her. They stripped her of her clothes, leaving only a piece of her bodice on, then set to work in loosening her up. Fenne was hardly a virgin, but she'd never taken more than one before.
The older one among them, the caravan master and captain of the Immortals, offered her a swig of wine before mounting her from behind. The swarthy man entered her ass with naught but spit to lather up her delicate hole, while the second man sheathed himself in her warm and snug velvet cavern. Mileena cried out, shocked to feel them move in turns. Their firm hands clutched tightly to her tiny waist and shoulders, trapping her in a near endless cycle of pleasure and pain. The third man chose to make use of her mouth and would abide none of her protests. Mileena reluctantly recieved him and endured the long hours with an Ofiri cock down her throat.
As Zaziq enjoyed the sights and sounds, the door swung open to let in a servant, bearing news of a visitor calling on his name. The servant spoke in whispers, but hearing the identity of the visitor who called, all mirth left the sorcerer's eyes. He stormed out of the upper room, away from his entertainment, and met up with the offending guests at his personal quarters. The ones who called were his half-brother and fellow prince, Moesi, and his cousin Iasmini.
Moesi was dressed in ceremonial robes that made him look more like a priest than a prince, a fitting trait considering that he was a devout man of the faith. His head was shaved and wrapped in a purple turban, and his beard was braided with several decorative golden rings. A sash of gold adorned his shoulders and hips, while sandals of treated leather wrapped themselves about his sand-encrusted feet. A short curved dagger hung by its sheath around his middle, a weapon of similarly ceremonial purposes as his attire.
Iasmini, on the other hand, wasn't so... conservative.
Tall and slender, with almost serpentine grace, she stood apart from her menfolk. Golden brown eyes, painted with alluring dark green, fluttered seductively with effortless cadence. Her perfectly shaped face, the muse of artists far and wide, was cupped by a bounty of flowing nightmare black hair. Twin fabrics of darkest green draped scantily over her gorgeous breasts, leaving all else to the imagination save for the generous halves on either side. The curves on her back, hips and succulent thighs oozed womanly elegance.
It was no wonder she was desired by many, even by her own father. But Iasmini was not the kind of woman to share a bed with just anyone. Though born from a loveless tryst with a disgraced concubine, she was a respected sorceress in the conclave of mages where Zaziq had been schooled, and a powerful one in her own right. Although 'respected' would be too kind a word. People feared her, and rightly so. For beneath that beautiful veil lurked a calculating predatory nature.
The three had come to meet as planned, for the time for secrets was nearing its end. Their seditious dealings, which would inevitably lead to rebellion, had alerted the royal spymaster. Whether it was by Zaziq's carelessness or through the betrayal of one of their own, the fact remained that they needed to step up their plans.
"Show him to us." Iasmini demanded.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves." Zaziq warned, "You promised me your support, I need proof of your success."
The sorceress unveiled an ornate box of varnished birch. It contained the head of Sheikh Anmar, an influential leader who had the ear of the Malliq and several other provincial leaders in Ofir. Perplexed, Zaziq looked up at his cousin with a biting word ready at the tip of his tongue. Killing Anmar was a move he did not expect, and Zaziq hated surprises.
Iasmini cut him off, "The Sheikh Anmar stands replaced by a doppler I enthralled. The creature will move the Malliq and the other princes towards a path of our choosing. How you wish to use this gift, I leave to you."
"I would very much like to see this doppler first." The sorcerer prince replied.
"Oh you will." Moesi declared, "Two days hence, when you appear in court. The Malliq is throwing a party to spoil the queen. The same men who cast you out will listen to the creature, I guarantee it."
Iasmini huffed in annoyance. Moesi did little in the endeavor besides ordering her around like a maid. To hear him claim accessory and credit to the deed angered her, though she tried her best to hide it. "Now your turn, cousin."
"Follow me." The prince beckoned, opening a portal to a secret hideout located in the mountains of faroff Korath.
The pleasant painted walls of the pleasure house was replaced with the dank misty atmosphere of an ancient tomb, supported by crumbling wooden pillars and cracked stones. Inside were hundreds of mercenaries, all preparing for war with their ceaseless drills. The clangorous din of weapons being hammered and sharpened to perfection filled the air, grating hard against the delicate ears of Iasmini. The sorceress growled softly and grimaced. She made no secret of her distaste for the hideout. The scent of sweat, effluent and oil assaulted her nostrils while the covetous leers of Zaziq's unscrupulous henchmen made her skin crawl.
"Make haste, I would be far from this place!" She said sharply.
In a wide ring of stone and clay, two fighters were soundly battering each other to the rhythm of men cheering them on. It was Roédvekkhar, adorned in all the trappings befitting the hand of Zaziq Ibn-Rassad. The man wore a studded leather cuirass and trousers of crimson boiled pelts. He carried no weapon, save for his own bare hands. Whenever his fists connected, they snapped his opponent's body backwards as though he had hammers for limbs. Zaziq had left him with the mercenaries with an order to settle in with his new body. The spell of obedience forced the dragon to comply, and though he was shackled to the will of the sorcerer, Roédvekkhar unleashed his fury upon the quicklings.
He broke men upon his knee and pummeled their faces into mush. So terrible was his strength that the mercenaries hesitated to send in anyone else in the ring.
"Is there no one else?!" The dragon roared, his godlike voice diminished by a mortal tongue. His hands and mouth dripped with warm fresh blood from his savage brawl with lesser men.
To make spectacle for his allies, Zaziq gave the command. "Fifteen hundred aspers for the man who steps into the ring and lives to face my champion!"
The mercenaries exchanged pensive looks and hushed whispers. Money talked, and some were brave enough to listen. Two muscle-bound warriors removed their shirts and brandished swords. The prince said nothing about fighting the man armed, so they took the opportunity to win an easy bag of silver. They made for little challenge. Roédvekkhar killed one and broke the arms of the other. That one, he left to lie in the dirt to savor his pain.
Zaziq clapped his hands, thoroughly amused. Moesi and Iasmini were likewise amazed. "How generous of you, Roédvekkhar! Let him live, and let the silver go to the poor man."
The dragon glared at the sorcerer. In a move to spite his master, he walked over to the crippled mercenary and stomped his head into paste with a sickening squelch.
If it bothered Zaziq, the prince made no effort to show it. He turned to his allies and held up the lavender stilleto, bragging of the spellcraft of his own making. "This was the weapon I used to bind him to my will. Let not his outward appearance fool you, for beneath that man's flesh writhes the soul of a dragon. Should the armies of Ofir attempt to stand in our way, I will unleash him upon our enemies. Ofir will bow to its new ruler, or it will burn."
"Truly?" Iasmini offered a covetous glance at Roédvekkhar. Her eyes gleamed with want, and she smiled even as the creature met her stare with a hateful burning one of his own. "You've crafted a magnificent specimen, cousin. I would inspect this creature."
Zaziq, taken aback by the woman's suggestive undertones, felt his jaw slacken. "B-But of course!"
New Amendale
When the Cintran armies were defeated at the Marnadal Stairs, the Nilfgaardian vanguard made its slow but steady climb up North. Before them, the cunning Scoia'tael scouted out the lands and indulged themselves with the undefended towns and villages that lay scattered across the kingdom. They repaid tenfold the suffering they endured all their lives, killing everyone and putting their homes to the torch.
One such Scoia'tael was Isaëd, a young half-elf born from an elven mother and an unknown human father.
Isaëd didn't start out hating humans, having grown in a secluded mixed race village in the boondocks of Kaedwen. He never knew the cruelty of humans until after he ventured out of the safety of his home. Then, his young and innocent heart became stone. When the Scoia'tael came to recruit nonhumans such as he, Isaëd joined up and his bloody crusade against humans began.
He didn't like working with the Nilfgaardians. But according to the Scoia'tael leaders, the blackclads had a more tolerant atmosphere concerning the Elder races. Naturally, the foe of their foes quickly became their friend. It wasn't long before the Empire assembled them for war. And since Nilfgaard offered vengeance upon the vicious North, the Scoia'tael were all too happy to agree.
Isaëd and his Scoia'tael raiders rode up the main path towards New Amendale, a fledgling town far from the high walls of Cintra. As expected, there was hardly any resistance from the human folk there. The elves smiled grimly at this realization.
Easy pickings.
The raiders rode down upon the hapless townsfolk, trampling mothers and maidens beneath their hooves and their storm of arrows. It was a horrific scene to behold, but the Scoia'tael did so with wicked glee. They laughed and taunted the scattered plebs, reveling in their misery as they cut them down by the dozen. Isaëd torched the town hall, the tavern, the whorehouses and the granaries. They spared no one, save for the nonhumans who lived among the Cintrans. These, they bid flee for the Nilfgaardians were approaching.
To their dismay, the Cintran nonhumans fought back. The assumed incorrectly that the hatred they possessed for the human race would be shared all across the Continent. With pitchforks, woodcutter axes and kitchen knives, the Cintrans attacked the raiders in a murderous frenzy. The women and children the Scoia'tael slaughtered were their friends, their families, their countrymen. The Scoia'tael were not their liberators, that much they made clear, and so the raiders reluctantly slaughtered the nonhumans as well.
Isaëd moved on and caught sight of a lonely manor sitting outside the town. With a birdlike chirp, he called some of his best fighters to follow, and the elf rode up to the place with a flaming torch in hand. As he pulled his horse to a halt, the elf spied the door swinging open. Out came two women dressed in thick cloaks, hoping to escape the slaughter. Behind them stood a burly blacksmith who brandished a spear and a wooden buckler. He bellowed after the women, telling them to run.
Isaëd's warriors filled him with arrows, and shot at the women too.
They didn't get far.
With a swing of his arm, Isaëd tossed the firebrand onto the roof of the manor. The house caught flame and was alight within minutes. As the fire ate at the place, turning it to cinders, the elf dismounted and approached one of the women. She was alive but she was dying, two arrows had struck her in the back and leg. Her hands were clutching something in front of her, held so tightly to her body but he couldn't quite see. She was breathing hoarsely, in frenetic gasps that hinted at her inner labors. In the moment, he didn't care. Isaëd drew out his knife and grasped a handful of her beautiful raven locks in his fist. Roughly, he drew her head back and peered into her frightened eyes with a cold murderous leer.
The blade sawed into her soft neck, cutting off the anguished cry that came with it.
"Filthy d'hoine." Isaëd spat, slitting her throat. When she finally stopped twitching, Isaëd let her drop to the ground. The cloak fluttered open, and the elf finally saw what she was trying to protect.
There, nestled snugly beneath her breast, was a round belly holding an unborn child.
Isaëd blinked thrice, a faint pang of guilt creeping up his stone heart. He swallowed the lump in his throat and bent over the corpse, avoiding the lifeless eyes staring up at him. The elf searched the woman and found a pretty golden ring on her finger. This, he kept for himself and moved on from the manor, the memory of his cruelty already behind him.
Ofir
Port City of Illya
Roédvekkhar was ushered into the sorceress' chambers.
He walked with an audible stomp, as though his soul weighed too heavy for his mortal vessel to hold. The man's eyes took in the lovely sight of Iasmini bent over the balcony, half obscured by the fluttering silk curtains that hung from the ceiling. A foreign feeling ran hot in his veins. As a dragon, he never felt that way about anything, except when he was looking at gold. He approached without command, moved by the strange heat coursing through him.
"Stop."
The dragon obeyed, feeling his limbs betray him as they rooted him to place. Bewildered, he threw the sorceress a questioning look. Iasmini turned around slowly and held up a familiar tool. It was a stiletto, like the lavender blade Zaziq used to break him. This one was red, the woman moved across the floor with the swiftness of a serpent gliding about the ground. She pressed the blade against his throat, dropping for a moment the thin veil of propriety she adorned before her peers. That moment, Roédvekkhar knew he wasn't dealing with just any woman. Iasmini's soul stank of rot, of malice and ambition- two of the defining traits of his dragonkind.
"I know what he used to bind you, creature." She whispered in his ear, "He called you by your name, Roédvekkhar. Names hold power, it is the only way to make the spell work."
His face bunched up in a grimace. Roédvekkhar remembered that moment keenly, every waking moment in captivity was a fresh reminder of his enslavement. Zaziq had given him the command to bed the sorceress, to show her the gifts of his new body, and he hated it with all his being. The dragon of Topept, a god to the Lasra, had been reduced to the role of a bed slave.
"I can speak it just as well as anyone else, but..." Iasmini twisted the magical stiletto a few times, writing her name into his skin. "Should I speak it while writing my own upon your flesh, you will listen to me."
Roédvekkhar growled as a new tether bound itself upon his soul. Now, he had two masters. The sorceress touched him and roamed the hard valleys of his chest and shoulders, "My first command is for you to unveil the secrets boasted by that ignorant little prince. What, pray tell, does he wish of me?"
"Nggh..." The dragon struggled against the power of the witch, but he failed. "My master wishes no harm upon you, nor the pious Moesi. He sees use in his allies, and all his heart yearns for is the throne of Ofir. Beware, for anyone who stands in his way will be his enemy. And those who are his enemies, I am bound to rend and devour."
He dropped his head as though strained from the words, "Have I served well... mistress?"
"Hmm..." Iasmini hummed, her eyes glowing with mischief. "No, not yet. There is one other thing I wish for you to do."
Roédvekkhar would have to suffer one final indignity that night. Accustomed only to the embrace of exalted creatures such as he, the bite and sting of dragon females, he did not know the softness of human women. Nor did he care for it. He longed for freedom, and while his will was not his own, he would endure as the rock would weather the tides. Iasmini writhed beneath him, surprised to feel so roughly handled. When Roédvekkhar took hold of her, he didn't touch her the way she'd expected. There were no tender caresses, no fluttering kisses nor sweet nothings whispered upon her skin. Her brawny slave mauled, squeezed, bit his way into her. Unlike her lovers of the past, who catered to her every whim and worshipped at her feet, Iasmini's flesh became malleable clay in his brutish hands.
The sorceress, nonetheless pleased by the new venture, welcomed his uncivilized nature. She should've expected as much from a dragon, the very thought of her laying with him drove her wild. Iasmini laughed heartily as he stripped her bare, commanding him to assail her with all his might. Roédvekkhar obliged, taking her as he would his serpentine peers. He lay heavily on top of her, an oaken arm wrapped over her neck and his fingers hooked into her mouth. There was passion in his touch, but one born out of malice and hatred. Straining against the arcane fetters bound over his soul, Roédvekkhar endeavored to break Iasmini as she and her cousin have broken him.
He cared not for the schemes she had wrought, nor the reason why she requested his presence. He only wished to be away from the woman, back to his cage to be in solitude until his master called for him again.
A tear escaped the clenched eye of the sorceress, and Roédvekkhar licked her to taste the salt of her pain. Ironically, the savage tryst served well to grant the woman satisfaction. She reveled in the violence, "Bite me, you darling beast!" Her voice cracked into a mirthful groan as she felt his teeth close down over the softness of her neck. It came away from vicious love bites, the marks of which would remain long into the following day. She scratched him, drawing blood when the skin tore beneath her pointed nails. Roédvekkhar roared, blowing a faint hiss of steam from his nostrils.
Soon, he lay slack upon her back, spent and heaving. Iasmini was sweating, shaking and still full of want. Her loins burned with desire, an aching need she'd never felt for any man before. To think, only a dragon would make her feel that way. How she'd longed for a brute's conquering hands upon her, she never realized it until then. "Tell me, Roédvekkhar..." She rolled about lazily and propped her head upon her hand, "Am I not beautiful?"
The dragon answered her with brutal honesty, "To men, yes. But I am no man, my desires fall for the more... reptilian side."
Iasmini pouted.
"For you, mistress, I make an exception."
He lies so sweetly, it was enough to calm her ire. "You've failed to sate my needs, slave. But your first impression is acceptable- if you were laying with a mangy bitch."
Dread crept into the heart of the beast as the woman spread her legs, "Now, come here and let me teach you how to properly please your mistress."
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