The goddess could feel the captain's suspicions on her, but for a moment, she decided to wait, especially as she felt other human presences coming from outside the tent. The scream must have been audible. At least that made finding the captain convenient, albeit it would now make things difficult. She needed to have him alone.
An even shorter soldier came in abruptly from the tent flaps, his cheeks red with exertion. Running here, no doubt. He looked at the goddess in Seth's body and then at Evan, also uneasy but with more confusion. What had these two expected to find here, she wondered? Had all the men screamed or just this one?
The goddess supposed that the last body she inhabited here had been in the infirmary. Surely that wasn't a coincidence.
"Are you... What... You..." the boy said, horribly confused. May as well help him out. Seth was still begging the goddess to return to the dream in the background of her mind, but she still managed to search through his memories. What did he know of what these soldiers were afraid of?
Little to nothing, the goddess realized, and finally said, "Whatever it was came for me." The goddess picked up the amplifier with Seth's fingers, pulling it out from beneath his undershirt, "But I suppose this worked."
"Thanks for all your work on the charms, Xavier," the captain said. Ah, so it was this one who had come up with the idea. Interesting choice.
Another figure approached, this one a familiar woman. She must have been one of the other captains. The goddess had seen her in one of the soldiers' dreams before she had entered Seth's.
Seth, who was now rolling around in the grass of the dream, clasped his arms around himself and started stroking gently up and down the sides of them, his lips beginning to form the syllables of her name, "Deh... Dehal..."
The goddess withstood a shiver.
"The other scream tonight?" Evan asked the woman.
"Same as the others. Maybe a little worse," the woman said, shaking her head. "He wasn't wearing his charm."
Ha! Did they think the amplifiers would protect them from her? Hadn't they only made this whole process easier?
With a look of discomfort, the woman spoke again, "I'll go to the infirmary tent to check on the other man again." That must be Ramanujan. There was a pull all the way back past Seth's dream and into the ritual circle where that man lay, slowly regaining movment and beginning to reach toward her...
The female captain left, and Xavier turned to Evan, saying, "Well, this just keeps getting weirder, huh? At least the charms seem to be working. Maybe more people will take them seriously now." The boy rubbed at his hands, and the goddess looked at the floor, trying to figure out exactly how Seth would behave. The goddess finally decided to throw a rather intimidating smirk at the boy, who looked from Seth to Evan and asked, "Do you need me to do anything else?"
"Go let anyone gathered outside know that Seth had his charm on him and is doing all right. I'll stay with him a while and see what else he can remember."
Perfect, the goddess thought, waiting for the lieutenant to leave and Evan to turn his attention her direction. Her smirk remained, at least until the captain sighed.
"Hi," he said simply, and Dehaljadrun had the feeling he was immediately referring to their previous embodied interaction. Hell, why not start there?
"I'm starting to wonder if you say anything else," the goddess said, shifting Seth's body back and lifting her left eyebrow. The captain fell quiet and looked the soldier over, deepening the goddess' expression. Gods, his gaze felt good, even in a body that wasn't strictly hers. And hell, even this body wasn't half bad, toned as it was. Seth clearly had a much worse self-image than was accurate.
De... Dehal...
"How is Seth, really?" The captain shot out, his anger at her flaring. Wonderful, they were certainly on the same page now.
"Present and accounted for, sir," the goddess said, her voice thick with delicious sarcasm. "Expect he's quite...
De... Dehal...
"...preoccupied at the moment. He's a strong one, it seems."
"He's a good soldier," Evan agreed. "And he's one of my men. I'd really like him back." The goddess laughed. He was going to have to do better than that.
"And if I don't give him back? What are you going to do? Slice his body through with your sword?" She could not help crossing her arms as she nodded toward the flash of metal at his hip. Surely, she could lead him into some kind of deal from here.
"Nah," Evan said with a shrug that was dramatically casual, followed by a smirk of his own as he looked down at where her gaze had dropped. "I doubt that'd accomplish much..."
De... Dehal...
"...just saying something I'd like to get out of this little chat. How bout you?"'
Before the Summoning: Dehaljadrun's Narrative
Re: Before the Summoning: Dehaljadrun's Narrative
“It’s not enough for me to want to take this body for a spin?” the goddess said, continuing to stare unblinkingly at Evan. She found that she wanted to intimidate him, and she was confident enough in how Franciska’s body worked to attempt to stand up from the cot. As she did so, however, she felt a hand reach for one of her legs all the way back in her realm as Ramanujan’s aching body awaited her command. Still, the goddess walked forward in her borrowed body with some measure of grace until she was half a yard from Evan, gratified that Franciska stood taller. The goddess nearly laughed as Evan tensed.
She would have begun to circle around him—maybe make it out of the tent, even—if she had not been so surprised by the way Evan bent his knees, grabbed one of Franciska’s legs, and pressed a hand hard down on her chest. The goddess scrambled for control, managing to swing a leg over Evan so he would at least go down with her, and she conveniently landed on top of him. Once there, the goddess wrapped arms and legs about Evan, pinned him, and squeezed tightly with a wicked, wild grin.
Dehaljadrun!
The sound of Franciska saying the goddess’ name in worship sent waves of uncontrollable pleasure through all three places the goddess inhabited at once. Her grin turned to a grimace as the rolling sensation rippled up Franciska’s physical body, starting in her toes and exploded outward, sending the goddess’ consciousness tumbling more fully back to Franciska’s dream.
Even there, the goddess spasmed and tried to cling to the human realm, though the abrupt departure from physicality left her feeling numb and robbed her of the full experience.
Distantly, the goddess heard a woman shout, “Get off him, demon!” souring whatever authentic worship Franciska had been offering her.
The second the goddess regained control, she smacked Franciska across the face with all the ferocity of her frustration, but it only partially connected as the dream dissipated
around her, and the goddess opened her eyes, gasping for breath back in the ritual circle.
“Gods damn them all!” she shouted as she pulled her leg away from Ramanujan and rolled onto her side such that she could reel all the pieces of herself back in. She had stretched herself too thin. She knew that, but how else was she meant to escape? Everything she needed had been right there! She had piqued Evan’s curiosity, and all she would have had to do was…
The goddess got up onto her elbows, knowing that there had been little possibility of her staying in control of Franciska’s body long enough to explain the situation to Evan or put him in her debt. She exhaled in a long, exaggerated sigh.
There was no way she could pull off a third attempt that evening. She was thoroughly spent—emotionally, physically, spiritually—and needed time to recover. If this was the path she was determined to tread, she would have to approach it again the following night when the camp fell once more into dreams.
Still, Dehaljadrun was more intent than ever at getting to Evan. She thought palpably over and over about the way his hand pressed on Franciska’s chest, throwing the goddess backward onto the bedroll. The audacity. Granted, she very much doubted that Evan knew he was dealing with a god, but…
The memory continued replaying in her mind as she stood, extinguished all the torches with a gesture of her hand, and called Ramanujan to follow her back toward her open-air palace. Franciska was nowhere to be seen. Why? Had the amplifier prevented her soul from leaving her body? Well, perhaps the charms did work, then. In a way. Fine, she thought, it was not as though I wanted another thrall anyway.
Ramanujan, it seemed, had not been wearing one. Granted, he probably had not wanted to be protected, she thought with a bitter laugh.
The chill air graced the goddess’ skin and made her shiver, but she comforted herself that she would be inside with braziers lit soon. Once there, she commanded all four soldiers she had collected from the army camp as well as a couple of the Shel’ti to join her in the room behind her throne and beckoned them all onto the bed with her as she lay down in the center.
Taking a deep breath, she expanded her conscious awareness such that she had tendrils in each of their minds at once. Seek pleasure, she demanded. And the ensuing tangle
of arms and legs, hands, feet, fingers—so many that it was impossible to tell whose limbs were where—was almost enough to make her forget.
--
Basking in a thoroughly satisfying menagerie of limbs for a long number of hours, the goddess instructed her thralls to disentangle themselves and finally rose from her bed with the morning well underway. By default, the thralls would remain in or around her palace, eager for instruction. Her lip curled at the thought.
What? Would you prefer if they commanded you? It was, of course, an echo of Rorrim’s voice in her mind. The goddess sneered at nothing in particular, angry as a wave of loneliness washed over her. Rorrim had commanded her. And in her haste to impress and appreciate him, she had enjoyed it. She could not have helped it.
So many humans the goddess encountered had secret desires to be overpowered, seduced and reduced to slaves in her presence. But not Rorrim. He had come to her with determination and a drive to ascension that she had never seen in a human before. He would not be subjugated, and it was difficult not to fall in love with that. She could let go of all her responsibilities when she was with him.
And yet, it had all been a ploy that not even she could have seen coming. He had shielded his thoughts from her, but… no, she should have been able to trust him. She had wanted to trust him. And he betrayed her anyway. The goddess scoffed and stormed through her palace, out into the mist and chill, not bothering with clothing. It was too early in the day to be thinking about Rorrim, unless she wanted to think about how much she wanted him dead.
She needed to plan. The goddess had the impression she was making progress with the captain—Evan—and if she could pull off another possession and get him involved, maybe they really could come to some kind of arrangement. Hells, if the army really intended to overthrow the king, perhaps they could work together.
The goddess’ stomach turned at that thought, though. She hated the idea of trusting that many moving parts—especially with humans at the helm. Still, she was paralyzed herself and needed the help of others. That much was clear. She could not do any of this alone. She had tried.
Dehaljadrun had taken the flat rock steps to one of her hot pools when one of Franciska’s memories forcefully returned to her. Rough hands and coiled ropes.
The goddess stopped in her tracks as a thick, sharp blade of pain shot down through the core of her. Her eyes began to burn, and she almost wanted to return her form to mist if only to avoid the tears that threatened to spill over. Rorrim had stolen her son. The son Rorrim had convinced her to make against every shred of her better judgment.
And now, the army had him. A hostage. A prisoner. Her son. A prisoner. The goddess coughed and swallowed fantasies of vomiting—not that she really cared to have that human experience—but the impulse passed, and she kept walking.
Without hesitation, Dehaljadrun dove into the largest hot pool, aching for the tingling pain as it pricked every inch of her skin. As the searing water cut through her flesh and almost made her feel fully corporeal, her mind streamed through several curses she knew in the gods’ language as well as many human curses she had collected over the years.
Emerging from under the water, she settled on the bank of one side of the pool. All too quickly, the lingering pain caused by the water’s heat subsided, and the goddess lay her head back, giving herself time to meditate on the situation. Perhaps there was an easier way out of all this.
What did the army want with her son? Had they already killed him? No, she was convinced that she would know if that were true. And why tie him up if they only planned to murder him? Surely he was a bargaining chip, a way to delay the king. They must be stalling for time.
But, wait, the goddess could answer some of these questions now. With a sweep of her awareness, she discovered Ramanujan wandering outside her palace. Entering his mind, she called him gently toward the pools. He was internally overjoyed at the goddess’ attention, the swirling mass of his lingering awareness clawing at her mentally with questions she could not and did not want to answer. Gods, she had left him a mess with all her memories and so few of his own faculties left. Still, when he arrived, his expression was as neutral as the thralls’ expressions always were. They were barely wraiths, these half-dream souls. But maybe this one could be useful.
She wished she could talk to Ramanujan, maybe have a half-stimulating conversation. She had tried that once, commanding words into a thrall’s mouth so he could speak to her. It only served to make her feel half-mad herself. Digging through Ramanujan’s memories would be sufficient.
What do they want with him? the goddess asked, sending mental images of who she meant. Ramanujan’s mind was too weak to supply a linguistic response, and there was a sensation of confusion before a blurry image appeared. On one side, a seated group of faceless people, each of whom wore a crown. And then, on the other side, larger, was her son, also crowned. Analyzing the image, the goddess stared in disbelief. They planned to put her son back on the throne? After getting rid of the king? She scoffed in disbelief and confusion. She did not pretend to understand human politics, but it was enough to know that they did not mean him harm. At least, not as far as this soldier knew.
Mentally thanking and releasing Ramanujan once more, Dehaljadrun sank deeper into the pool, and her shoulders gave her a blissful reprise of the tingling sensation as they warmed once more.
Patience was not something the goddess had in large supply, and she soon found herself itching for something to do before nightfall. Sighing, the goddess walked up the steps of the pool and decided not to dry herself off. Naked, she allowed her long, narrow cock to hang lithe, curling slightly now and again around the beginning one of her calves.
Listlessly, she began walking, the cold swirls of mist breezing against her wet body and making her shiver. She barely noticed. Before long, she found herself headed in the direction of her vineyard. After all, it might well calm her nerves and keep her mind occupied. Tending to the plants typically did. While she could manifest wine, it tasted better when it was grown, and she had selected the second-best plot of land she knew of in this realm for the grapes. She didn’t bother to build the trellises herself, however—the thralls and demons could manage that much. Still, for centuries now, the dark fae had conceded that the goddess’ wine was the best they had ever tasted, bitter though they may still be about it. They would soon come to barter for more of it, she suspected.
When the goddess came into the vineyard, she relished in the ways her bare feet curled into the soil and deeply inhaled the scent of the dark merlot grapes. The smell alone was enough to intoxicate her, and her mood lifted somewhat. There were several demons and a few Shel’ti tending to the vines, pulling off grapes that would soon be pressed and crushed, fermented and clarified, before they aged in the underground cellar. She had taught the thralls all she knew and had transferred the knowledge of the practice to their minds with loving attention. The goddess wondered if the Shel’ti would retain any of the information once she released them. If they did, they might be shunned for such knowledge—their leaders did not look kindly on that kind of debauchery. The thought amused her, which is why she continually sent several of them to labor here. Still, they seemed to enjoy it well enough.
Manifesting a basket, she began harvesting some of the grapes, methodically rolling them between her fingers before placing them in. It was quiet, mindless work that made her body hum with a subtle pleasure. This had been a good harvest despite… well…
She paused a moment to look at the trees surrounding the vast vineyard, her neutral expression falling into a heavy, dejected frown. The trees were a certain type of beautiful—their burnt, dark, leafless branches reaching up through the mist and into the sky, stretching toward the mist-obscured purple sun—but they were dying, had been dying for the years she had been captive. The land was a reflection of her, of her power and energy and potency—and Dehaljadrun suspected the vineyard would be one of the last places to go. It was one of the places she cared about most.
After several hours, she had filled the basket, and her head was pleasantly dizzy with the fragrance. Finally, she felt ready to return to her palace. Her cock slowly shortened and hardened, the two ridges along the top firming and coming together to a gentle point near the end, creating a canyon in the center. She was hungry again, and endlessly—not for food, but for the excitement of blood as it rushed under skin—and her mind kept returning pleasantly to the evening prior and its pile of indiscernible almost-bodies.
Given the position of the sun, there were still several good hours yet before she would need to enter any dreams. With a smirk on her lips, she began walking back on the
winding path toward a large meadow, still surrounded by trees. From here, it was difficult to imagine that there was a vineyard or a palace or hot pools or anything except the dying, smoking trees. And, still, it was breathtakingly beautiful.
At least, until purple flames erupted around her.
--
Let these worlds, the one of mist and the one of earth, be joined at this center. The goddess heard the prayer only moments after the circle of violet flame burst around her. She was being summoned, and she recognized the voice. It was her oldest priestess—Tehlunae. How had the priestess avoided Rorrim’s notice for so long? No other priestesses had summoned the goddess since the destruction of the temples, and Dehaljadrun had begun to suspect the worst.
Tehlunae had summoned Dehaljadrun twice since Rorrim had trapped her, both times to offer someone the priestess thought could help the goddess escape. Both had failed.
Though the goddess was idly curious what sort of person the priestess had selected for her this time—the old woman was very near the army encampment, come to think of it—the goddess instinctively balled up her fists and gritted her teeth in frustration. Of course the woman would choose now to entangle herself in the goddess’ plans, now after Dehaljadrun finally had a worthwhile lead to follow.
The goddess watched with impatience as a red orb grew in the middle of the summoning circle and began to lengthen and widen, becoming semi-translucent. Before long, it was just large enough for her to walk through, tall as she was at just shy of two hundred centimeters.
As disgruntled as the situation made her, the goddess heard the sounds of the priestess saying her name, and it pleased her immensely. Dehaljadrun stretched her neck from side to side, listening to the syllables as they rolled down her body.
The goddess pondered a moment about how she wanted to arrive. Nude, as she had last time? While that had been entertaining, it had left her feeling vulnerable, and she had longed for more opportunities to catch attention. After another moment of thought and listening to the thrilling pull of her name being spoken—chanted—the goddess manifested a thick black satin sash that she wrapped around her hips and tied on the left side, leaving her full, voluptuously sculpted breasts bare.
Really, she reminded herself, this was a good outcome. Perhaps this would make everything easier. Perhaps she would finally have some actual bodies to play with. Perhaps she would find someone waiting for her on the other side who would genuinely help. And yet, she was tired of hoping.
Tossing her long wavy black hair over her shoulders, she took a breath, shivered at the sound and electricity of her own name, and walked through the portal.
((OOC: Dehaljadrun's story continues here: viewtopic.php?t=4&start=130#p140.))
She would have begun to circle around him—maybe make it out of the tent, even—if she had not been so surprised by the way Evan bent his knees, grabbed one of Franciska’s legs, and pressed a hand hard down on her chest. The goddess scrambled for control, managing to swing a leg over Evan so he would at least go down with her, and she conveniently landed on top of him. Once there, the goddess wrapped arms and legs about Evan, pinned him, and squeezed tightly with a wicked, wild grin.
Dehaljadrun!
The sound of Franciska saying the goddess’ name in worship sent waves of uncontrollable pleasure through all three places the goddess inhabited at once. Her grin turned to a grimace as the rolling sensation rippled up Franciska’s physical body, starting in her toes and exploded outward, sending the goddess’ consciousness tumbling more fully back to Franciska’s dream.
Even there, the goddess spasmed and tried to cling to the human realm, though the abrupt departure from physicality left her feeling numb and robbed her of the full experience.
Distantly, the goddess heard a woman shout, “Get off him, demon!” souring whatever authentic worship Franciska had been offering her.
The second the goddess regained control, she smacked Franciska across the face with all the ferocity of her frustration, but it only partially connected as the dream dissipated
around her, and the goddess opened her eyes, gasping for breath back in the ritual circle.
“Gods damn them all!” she shouted as she pulled her leg away from Ramanujan and rolled onto her side such that she could reel all the pieces of herself back in. She had stretched herself too thin. She knew that, but how else was she meant to escape? Everything she needed had been right there! She had piqued Evan’s curiosity, and all she would have had to do was…
The goddess got up onto her elbows, knowing that there had been little possibility of her staying in control of Franciska’s body long enough to explain the situation to Evan or put him in her debt. She exhaled in a long, exaggerated sigh.
There was no way she could pull off a third attempt that evening. She was thoroughly spent—emotionally, physically, spiritually—and needed time to recover. If this was the path she was determined to tread, she would have to approach it again the following night when the camp fell once more into dreams.
Still, Dehaljadrun was more intent than ever at getting to Evan. She thought palpably over and over about the way his hand pressed on Franciska’s chest, throwing the goddess backward onto the bedroll. The audacity. Granted, she very much doubted that Evan knew he was dealing with a god, but…
The memory continued replaying in her mind as she stood, extinguished all the torches with a gesture of her hand, and called Ramanujan to follow her back toward her open-air palace. Franciska was nowhere to be seen. Why? Had the amplifier prevented her soul from leaving her body? Well, perhaps the charms did work, then. In a way. Fine, she thought, it was not as though I wanted another thrall anyway.
Ramanujan, it seemed, had not been wearing one. Granted, he probably had not wanted to be protected, she thought with a bitter laugh.
The chill air graced the goddess’ skin and made her shiver, but she comforted herself that she would be inside with braziers lit soon. Once there, she commanded all four soldiers she had collected from the army camp as well as a couple of the Shel’ti to join her in the room behind her throne and beckoned them all onto the bed with her as she lay down in the center.
Taking a deep breath, she expanded her conscious awareness such that she had tendrils in each of their minds at once. Seek pleasure, she demanded. And the ensuing tangle
of arms and legs, hands, feet, fingers—so many that it was impossible to tell whose limbs were where—was almost enough to make her forget.
--
Basking in a thoroughly satisfying menagerie of limbs for a long number of hours, the goddess instructed her thralls to disentangle themselves and finally rose from her bed with the morning well underway. By default, the thralls would remain in or around her palace, eager for instruction. Her lip curled at the thought.
What? Would you prefer if they commanded you? It was, of course, an echo of Rorrim’s voice in her mind. The goddess sneered at nothing in particular, angry as a wave of loneliness washed over her. Rorrim had commanded her. And in her haste to impress and appreciate him, she had enjoyed it. She could not have helped it.
So many humans the goddess encountered had secret desires to be overpowered, seduced and reduced to slaves in her presence. But not Rorrim. He had come to her with determination and a drive to ascension that she had never seen in a human before. He would not be subjugated, and it was difficult not to fall in love with that. She could let go of all her responsibilities when she was with him.
And yet, it had all been a ploy that not even she could have seen coming. He had shielded his thoughts from her, but… no, she should have been able to trust him. She had wanted to trust him. And he betrayed her anyway. The goddess scoffed and stormed through her palace, out into the mist and chill, not bothering with clothing. It was too early in the day to be thinking about Rorrim, unless she wanted to think about how much she wanted him dead.
She needed to plan. The goddess had the impression she was making progress with the captain—Evan—and if she could pull off another possession and get him involved, maybe they really could come to some kind of arrangement. Hells, if the army really intended to overthrow the king, perhaps they could work together.
The goddess’ stomach turned at that thought, though. She hated the idea of trusting that many moving parts—especially with humans at the helm. Still, she was paralyzed herself and needed the help of others. That much was clear. She could not do any of this alone. She had tried.
Dehaljadrun had taken the flat rock steps to one of her hot pools when one of Franciska’s memories forcefully returned to her. Rough hands and coiled ropes.
The goddess stopped in her tracks as a thick, sharp blade of pain shot down through the core of her. Her eyes began to burn, and she almost wanted to return her form to mist if only to avoid the tears that threatened to spill over. Rorrim had stolen her son. The son Rorrim had convinced her to make against every shred of her better judgment.
And now, the army had him. A hostage. A prisoner. Her son. A prisoner. The goddess coughed and swallowed fantasies of vomiting—not that she really cared to have that human experience—but the impulse passed, and she kept walking.
Without hesitation, Dehaljadrun dove into the largest hot pool, aching for the tingling pain as it pricked every inch of her skin. As the searing water cut through her flesh and almost made her feel fully corporeal, her mind streamed through several curses she knew in the gods’ language as well as many human curses she had collected over the years.
Emerging from under the water, she settled on the bank of one side of the pool. All too quickly, the lingering pain caused by the water’s heat subsided, and the goddess lay her head back, giving herself time to meditate on the situation. Perhaps there was an easier way out of all this.
What did the army want with her son? Had they already killed him? No, she was convinced that she would know if that were true. And why tie him up if they only planned to murder him? Surely he was a bargaining chip, a way to delay the king. They must be stalling for time.
But, wait, the goddess could answer some of these questions now. With a sweep of her awareness, she discovered Ramanujan wandering outside her palace. Entering his mind, she called him gently toward the pools. He was internally overjoyed at the goddess’ attention, the swirling mass of his lingering awareness clawing at her mentally with questions she could not and did not want to answer. Gods, she had left him a mess with all her memories and so few of his own faculties left. Still, when he arrived, his expression was as neutral as the thralls’ expressions always were. They were barely wraiths, these half-dream souls. But maybe this one could be useful.
She wished she could talk to Ramanujan, maybe have a half-stimulating conversation. She had tried that once, commanding words into a thrall’s mouth so he could speak to her. It only served to make her feel half-mad herself. Digging through Ramanujan’s memories would be sufficient.
What do they want with him? the goddess asked, sending mental images of who she meant. Ramanujan’s mind was too weak to supply a linguistic response, and there was a sensation of confusion before a blurry image appeared. On one side, a seated group of faceless people, each of whom wore a crown. And then, on the other side, larger, was her son, also crowned. Analyzing the image, the goddess stared in disbelief. They planned to put her son back on the throne? After getting rid of the king? She scoffed in disbelief and confusion. She did not pretend to understand human politics, but it was enough to know that they did not mean him harm. At least, not as far as this soldier knew.
Mentally thanking and releasing Ramanujan once more, Dehaljadrun sank deeper into the pool, and her shoulders gave her a blissful reprise of the tingling sensation as they warmed once more.
Patience was not something the goddess had in large supply, and she soon found herself itching for something to do before nightfall. Sighing, the goddess walked up the steps of the pool and decided not to dry herself off. Naked, she allowed her long, narrow cock to hang lithe, curling slightly now and again around the beginning one of her calves.
Listlessly, she began walking, the cold swirls of mist breezing against her wet body and making her shiver. She barely noticed. Before long, she found herself headed in the direction of her vineyard. After all, it might well calm her nerves and keep her mind occupied. Tending to the plants typically did. While she could manifest wine, it tasted better when it was grown, and she had selected the second-best plot of land she knew of in this realm for the grapes. She didn’t bother to build the trellises herself, however—the thralls and demons could manage that much. Still, for centuries now, the dark fae had conceded that the goddess’ wine was the best they had ever tasted, bitter though they may still be about it. They would soon come to barter for more of it, she suspected.
When the goddess came into the vineyard, she relished in the ways her bare feet curled into the soil and deeply inhaled the scent of the dark merlot grapes. The smell alone was enough to intoxicate her, and her mood lifted somewhat. There were several demons and a few Shel’ti tending to the vines, pulling off grapes that would soon be pressed and crushed, fermented and clarified, before they aged in the underground cellar. She had taught the thralls all she knew and had transferred the knowledge of the practice to their minds with loving attention. The goddess wondered if the Shel’ti would retain any of the information once she released them. If they did, they might be shunned for such knowledge—their leaders did not look kindly on that kind of debauchery. The thought amused her, which is why she continually sent several of them to labor here. Still, they seemed to enjoy it well enough.
Manifesting a basket, she began harvesting some of the grapes, methodically rolling them between her fingers before placing them in. It was quiet, mindless work that made her body hum with a subtle pleasure. This had been a good harvest despite… well…
She paused a moment to look at the trees surrounding the vast vineyard, her neutral expression falling into a heavy, dejected frown. The trees were a certain type of beautiful—their burnt, dark, leafless branches reaching up through the mist and into the sky, stretching toward the mist-obscured purple sun—but they were dying, had been dying for the years she had been captive. The land was a reflection of her, of her power and energy and potency—and Dehaljadrun suspected the vineyard would be one of the last places to go. It was one of the places she cared about most.
After several hours, she had filled the basket, and her head was pleasantly dizzy with the fragrance. Finally, she felt ready to return to her palace. Her cock slowly shortened and hardened, the two ridges along the top firming and coming together to a gentle point near the end, creating a canyon in the center. She was hungry again, and endlessly—not for food, but for the excitement of blood as it rushed under skin—and her mind kept returning pleasantly to the evening prior and its pile of indiscernible almost-bodies.
Given the position of the sun, there were still several good hours yet before she would need to enter any dreams. With a smirk on her lips, she began walking back on the
winding path toward a large meadow, still surrounded by trees. From here, it was difficult to imagine that there was a vineyard or a palace or hot pools or anything except the dying, smoking trees. And, still, it was breathtakingly beautiful.
At least, until purple flames erupted around her.
--
Let these worlds, the one of mist and the one of earth, be joined at this center. The goddess heard the prayer only moments after the circle of violet flame burst around her. She was being summoned, and she recognized the voice. It was her oldest priestess—Tehlunae. How had the priestess avoided Rorrim’s notice for so long? No other priestesses had summoned the goddess since the destruction of the temples, and Dehaljadrun had begun to suspect the worst.
Tehlunae had summoned Dehaljadrun twice since Rorrim had trapped her, both times to offer someone the priestess thought could help the goddess escape. Both had failed.
Though the goddess was idly curious what sort of person the priestess had selected for her this time—the old woman was very near the army encampment, come to think of it—the goddess instinctively balled up her fists and gritted her teeth in frustration. Of course the woman would choose now to entangle herself in the goddess’ plans, now after Dehaljadrun finally had a worthwhile lead to follow.
The goddess watched with impatience as a red orb grew in the middle of the summoning circle and began to lengthen and widen, becoming semi-translucent. Before long, it was just large enough for her to walk through, tall as she was at just shy of two hundred centimeters.
As disgruntled as the situation made her, the goddess heard the sounds of the priestess saying her name, and it pleased her immensely. Dehaljadrun stretched her neck from side to side, listening to the syllables as they rolled down her body.
The goddess pondered a moment about how she wanted to arrive. Nude, as she had last time? While that had been entertaining, it had left her feeling vulnerable, and she had longed for more opportunities to catch attention. After another moment of thought and listening to the thrilling pull of her name being spoken—chanted—the goddess manifested a thick black satin sash that she wrapped around her hips and tied on the left side, leaving her full, voluptuously sculpted breasts bare.
Really, she reminded herself, this was a good outcome. Perhaps this would make everything easier. Perhaps she would finally have some actual bodies to play with. Perhaps she would find someone waiting for her on the other side who would genuinely help. And yet, she was tired of hoping.
Tossing her long wavy black hair over her shoulders, she took a breath, shivered at the sound and electricity of her own name, and walked through the portal.
((OOC: Dehaljadrun's story continues here: viewtopic.php?t=4&start=130#p140.))