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Trapped in the Underdark - In Character

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    The two elves look at one another for a long, thoughtful moment at Dasyra's introduction.. at least they didn't seem to turn hostile, neither were they friendly though.
    "These lands hold their fair share of darkness already." "Yet she seems fair a maiden." "Hrmnn.. that hood. True beauty should not hide in shadows, as tempting as nights dark embrace can be."
    Then, the apparent leader, the one wielding a curved elf sword turned to her. "Many disgusting creatures live in these forests. Disgusting fae and filthy humans that get lost in our forests Only we fight for the few things that are left beautiful in this world. You are no eyeblight, but you are an outsider. The Daen should decide your fate."
    The other nodded to that. "Also for what you seek, the Daen might help, though as it pains me to say, some of the Fey's memory spans far longer."

    The elves reaction to her beauty was.. mixed. While the spear wielding elf seemed to have an expression of a little guilty arousal, the leader narrowed his eyes. "I have told it. No horns, not even a remnant. You are from the surface elves, even if your haunting darkness is more like our kin I'm not sure what to make of you, maiden of shadows .. perhaps your dying screams would be more beautiful than your twistedly alluring apperance.." Those were clearly not your ordinary elves. The leader eyed Ventus sword cautiously but they didn't seem innately hostile because of Dasyras undead nature. For a moment it seemed like Dasyra would have to fight, but then, the spear-wielding one came to Dasyras aid, raising his hand.
    "Nay brother, we shall not judge so swiftly. clearly, albeit twisted, she is a sister of kin. I want to see this beauty of the darkest night of hers in full.." This one requested, his eyes focused on Dasyra.
    "Hmnn.. Very well." The one called Mai'en nodded after another long moment. "The long hunt through these dreary land makes me too wary, perhaps. Strip, Dasyra Lughdoille, show us nights dark beauty and so it pleases, we shall aid you on your quest." Clearly they were.. intrigued, if cautious.

    (Charisma check against the elves.. Dasyra will gain a bonus if she reveals herself as they demand!)
    Last edited by Pervy; 4th February 2018, 12:40.
    Play my naughty games here:


      The Dark Fey Wood

      "My cowl hides only my hair, cautious Mai'en." Dasyra smiled slyly, and drew back her hood to reveal her slightly drained blonde hair.

      "If bringing me to the Daen shall settle your concern and mine as well, then bring me thither. I need not seek the eldest of sages, and if you respect this one's memory, then I shall as well."

      She held up her hands at her sides in casual appeasement, shrugging in a lilting laughter that hauntingly echoed through the woods, bouncing from shadow to shadow.

      "I was of the bright world, born into spring and summer. But I have passed through winter as well, my cousins, and seen the tragic beauty of eternity. Let me show you, since I have no need to deny you your request."

      She reached behind her and unhooked the clasps on her mithril armor, unbinding the covering from the back and letting the chest covering slide away and down, revealing the padded bra underneath that protected the skin from abrasion against the metal. This she undid as well, and holding it there for just a tantalizing extra second, she let it slip away to reveal the pale blue mounds of her breasts, on display for the two males to ogle. She then slipped out of her belt, unfastened the front of her leather trousers, and bent forward, letting her pert breasts hang down, she slipped the pants and underwear away, stepping out of them and her boots. Lightly she stepped forward, away from her clothing, towards the pair, clothed now only in her cloak

      "So do you enjoy what you see? If it's not to your immediate tastes - I can produce no horns I am afraid - then mayhaps something more physical could be shown to convince you? It has been some time since I enjoyed the company of male elves whom I was free to fancy~"

      [Roll was a 10 total, before bonus for stripping.]



        The elves seemed just a little nervous at the sound of Dasyras laughter, though both were soon distracted, examining Dasyra with clearly more than just professional interest. "So dark and haunting. Clearly evil in her beauty." "An elf, yet she looks as if she was touched by a dark fey." The two evaluated, clearly taking in Dasyras sight without shame.. at least now one of them was sheathing his sword, the other dismounting, leaning on his spear. Both of the elves approached her, the man handsome, if alien in their own right while Sylvie mused. Geesh, feeling extra slutty today, aren't you?

        The ghostly protes aside, Dasyra could see the mens desire.. their faces too alien for a human to read, but not for her, as they approached, looking at one another with the invitation, the arguably nicer one that had not introduced himself mused. "You look almost like a banshee given form, so.. dead. Still, your smooth elfish body might please the Daen. Why would you seek her out, you spoke of old wars?" The one leaning on his spear asked, while his companion already was stepping around Dasyra, pondering, his hand suddenly reaching out, cupping her breast without warning. "She feels cold too.. bewitched by death, no doubt. If she's not even alive, she might as well be property.. think the Daen might let me have her as spoils of the hunt? We shall see."Though rough his hand was suprisingly expert in it's caress, his companion musing: "Dead, yet beautiful, how strange. we ought to make extra sure you pose no danger to our tribe... ensure you hide no.. wicked trickery on your body, yes..."The man extended his hand, then hesitated. "Oh by the oaks, were are my manners, I am Daeren of the Wilt leaf-lodge. Excuse our brash approach, maiden. This is Gwyllion territory and their trickery is dangerous and strong. Also, if you truly be from the other world pay no heed to the rumors. I know many whisper that the Fey-wild has corrupted us, but in truth, we came here willingly, hunting down the blights and protecting what little beauty exists here, a heavy burden to bear.
        And you.. are beauty, such a strange one, twisted, but tempting in your twistedness.."
        By now, a tenting in the elfs trousers gave away his approval of the naked elf before him.

        "What my comrade means is that Beauty in all it's forms needs be protected.. and enjoyed... even ghoulish beauty like this. Who made that dead flesh so comely? No human necromancer would be able to make such a work. I see no scars and her skin is almost smoother than that of a living elf should be.. such a perversion.. hohoho." Mai'en was clearly licking his lips for a moment ther and if Dasyra did not stop him, two hands would be cupping, exploring and toying with her breasts now. "With a body such as this you surely understand." His companion meanwhile extended a hand to brush Dasyras cheek, pondering, clearly feeling her out too, though with more curiosity about her as a person. "I understand my companions suspicion, whatever you be, that sword you carry makes me feel unease just looking at it. it'd be a risk bringing you to the Daen. You might displease her which would reflect badly on us.. but we'd gladly speak for you, if you be willing to prove you have no ill intend. Sure you must long to give yourself into the embrace of your own kind after a long time in this disgusting world were humans and even dwarfs and other such creatures are allowed to live." He suggested, and although he was somewhat more gentle, his advanced were rather clear if Dasyra put no stop to them. His companion meanwhile added:
        "Daeren here is right, this beauty should be offered to those that understand it. And I demand prove of her willingness to ... cooperate. I don't trust outsiders, even elves, but there are ways to.. earn my trust. Hoho.. Frankly, an undead creature such as this should feel honored using her body to service us, true, living elves. Know Dasyra, that we Wilt leaf warriors are not of low rank." He asserted, ending this with a pinching of Dasyras nipples if she hadn't rebuked him yet.. albeit a far cry from the masochistic pleasures Ventus could have offered her here. Plus, after her gloomy isolation in the cool chamber, a dark part of her found the very warmth of the living touching her strangely unpleasant, not unendurable by any means, but like a sticky feeling one wanted to wash off at the next best opportunity.

        (Seems additional.. effort is needed to fully convince the elfs to help Dasyra here!)
        Last edited by Pervy; 4th February 2018, 14:40.
        Play my naughty games here:


          Dasyra responded in her mind to the ride-along ghost:

          Extra slutty? You can thank our sweet Mistress for my desires... she gave me a longing for the consumption of... seed. That's an intense desire to have to keep up for eternity. So it seems I'm fated to be a ghoulish succubus of sorts - might as well take to my role with gusto rather than bemoan it. Besides, once the Mistress is restored, I can return to a much preferred source of nutrition. These living elves... ugh, feels icky touching them.

          "Not a banshee, but an elf who has been touched by deathly energies. Speaking of which, take care not to get too close to this blade. I doubt either of you would survive touching it - and the results would not be as fair as I, for I had protection against it. Let your inspections fall upon me - a far more enjoyable prospect, I assure you."

          She was intending to approach the spear-wielder, when Mae'in reached out suddenly and clutched at her breasts. She raised her chin upwards and smiled at his boldness, letting her arms go to either side in a posture that welcomed further touch and groping. Then Daeren introduced himself while his partner molested her, and gave away his not-too-subtle desires to inspect her for 'trickery.'

          "Well met, handsome Daeren. I might take objection to being labeled as your Daen's property, or that of your lodge, for even if Death has grasped me, I am no lumbering husk, nor am I a dour-minded revenant with a singular purpose. I am elf, given haunting immortality, by the grace of the divine. Aid me, and you and your lodge may prosper. And I welcome your inspection~ But take delicate care not to deny me, gentle cousins, for to do so is as folly as to attempt to deny death itself."

          At this, she slowly raised her arms, one to touch on either of the males' shoulders, drawing them towards her slowly, gently, caressing their horns and their faces... then lowering to rub against the obvious bulges in their trousers, groping the curves of their balls and stroking their shafts through the leathers.

          "You're quite observant, Mai'en. Of course, my form of beauty is a working of elvish magics. How could you doubt this, seeing me as you do? Feeling me as you desire~ Ah... so forward." She licked her dark cherry stained lips, as he began to expertly toy and play with her orbs, kneading them in his palms. Despite the sickly feeling of his living faculties, the pleasure was still enjoyable, and she honed in on it, slightly swaying her body and pressing forward into his hands, letting her undead flesh pancake against them.

          "Tell me, or show me, how you wish me to prove no ill intent, Daeren," she smiled, and stroked his cock more insistently through the clothing. Her red eyes locked with his, a knowing, coy expression across her face - one that was inviting him to drop the pretenses.

          "Well then, boys~ Turn about is fair play. You want to use my body? You'll need to strip too. But you're setting the bar a bit high, don't you think? The two of you will need to live up to all this boasting. I expect quite a generous... inspection. Think you're up to the challenge? You both know you never had an elf-maiden like me.~"

          Say, Sylvie, are you able to feel what I feel? Because if you are, get ready for a double pounding... remind you of your younger, fleshier days? Dasyra teased the ghost inside of her as she prepared herself to receive the attentions of the two Wilt-leaf elves. She was feeling minor hunger pangs, and believed it only sensible to have a light meal, if these boys were offering one...



            Heh, yeah, Ventus acts all honorably and proper but deep down is quite messed up. Though I think that was mostly the lich messing with her head, made it so she get turned on by turning others into undead.. and moreso fucking up anyone you sleep with as well. If she were to be destroyed you'd be forced to hunt and turn others into cum-hungry ghouls just like lesser versions of yourself... Fair warning, you give one of those elves a proper blowjob they'll be slightly more dumb afterwards if you catch my drift. Sylvie mused, seeming content staying in Dasyra and.. observing.

            "That blade looks as if made of a winter-fairy, if not worse. Why do you carry it?" One elf inquired, sideglancing to Ventus dark blade.
            "She certainly seems to speak for herself, Mae'in." The Feywild elf mused to his partner, to which he responded. "True.. and no offense, but 'tis for the Daen to decide, you are certainly.. unusual." He accentuated this with another curious groping of Dasyras chest, feeling her out unashamedly.
            "I think this one is threatening us if we don't cooperate. I don't like it." Mae'in stepped back, though the other elf mused. "Well, what could you offer us, the Gilt leaf Lodge?"
            Both of the elf-men moaned out at Dasyras bold touch, her.. approach seeming to silence their concerns for now, with Daeren adding: "..Besides the allure of your strange body?"

            "Hamnn.. well, you seem.. cooperative. If you harbour no ill will we can escort you to our hold, where someone wiser than us can decide where we shall move." Mae'in finally determined. He seemed the more cautious one of the two and the senior, his expression slightly colder, even now.
            "Well, she speaks true.." The elves smirked, undoing their armor, though Mae'in did only do so after looking about cautiously, each of the elves.. were quite pretty. Sure, they would be far prettier without the warmth and flush of life, but their skin was smooth, their bodies slender, yet well toned and without scars, both of them could be voted above average.. both of them also stood at full attention, Mae'in, on whom Dasyra had focused a little more, showing a glistening of precum on his slender elfish shaft and grinning. "Well, us hunting companions are used to share.. meal and fight and.." He gripped Dasyras ass, leaning down and inspecting her dark pussy with a certain hunger. "Tzk, don't be too confident, M'lady. The surface-elves are not used to the hardships we deal with, stealing our minds.. and bodies. We shall leave you breathle... " Daeren hesitated, realizing his mistake. "... yearning for more." He said, with a hint of a blush, caressing Dasyras cheek and smiling, while Mae'in, rougher, though not brutally so (almost a little too gentle for Dasyra as she had become for Ventus!) pushed her forwards, onto all fours.

            Ohohoho.. I can most certainly feel everything. Well, more or less, it depends on if you accept or fight me.. with you, undead and not fighting my posession, it feels like a touch through a thin, snug glove all around me. You know, after I heard your slutty-ass with Vel, I wanted to suggest to Ventus we find a good puppy for me to make a more permanent home in and enjoy you. Oh.. fair warning though. You can propably fuck both of them once and they might blame you being just that good, but if you go for several rounds you'll drain them.. don't want to lose these weird allies. Sylvie cautioned, as Mae'in lined himself up to thrust into Dasyras pussy, Daeren taking her mouth, both of them lustful and agile, smirking slightly at one another as they took the dark skinned elven beauty, both of them moaning at the soft wetness Dasyras body offered them. "She's so cold.." "Hmnn.. yet so tight.. I apologize that we can't enjoy your body throughoutly in the wildernis,. .haaamnn.. too risky.. but if you seek to ally yourself with us.." The elf grinned.
            Play my naughty games here:



              I can dull my poisons to have at least one fun go around - it should just leave these guys in a daze that they can sleep off... at least, I hope that's the case. Funny though, a part of me wants to help them cross over into death. Their life force is bothersome... I wonder if that's the curse of the lich acting up in more, or if truly all undead just can't stand the living on a fundamental level? Oh well... questions to ponder later.

              "I carry the blade because I'm the only one who can, and it has a destination to get to," she said, answering the question without answering. She didn't care if her words were cryptic. It was her perogative to not give away her game and also maintain an air of mystery. The unknown was sexy.

              "Oh, I can see it in your eyes and feel it in the warm beat of your hearts' blood. You want to cooperate with me. At least long enough to feel my tight, wet holes and to make a good effort to fuck the breath back into me.~" she teased and taunted the cautious Mae'in for his reaction to her half-hearted threat that she was fairly confident she could back up.

              "Oh come now, Daeren - do I LOOK like a typical surface elf? Let me show you what real hardship is..." She took hold of his shaft in her grip and began to pump it, letting the soft smooth palm of her hands cradle and caress the shaft to make it rock hard and stiff, primed and leaking with pre, just like his companion. She was shoved forward then on all fours, and she giggled at the display of power and light dominance. She cooed softly, looked over her shoulder and curved her body so as to stick her ass high, like a bitch in heat waiting to be taken.

              Okay Sylvie hun, you get nice and comfy. I know you've grown accustomed to watching, time to feel it with me. Of course you could probably stop feeling it if you wanted to, but you're a slut like me deep down, aren't you? She mentally chided her ghostly sister-wife and then settled into the plunging warm tool that slid inside of her slick honeypot and began to stir her up.

              "Ha-aah...Very nicccccce~ Don't worry yourselves dear cousins, a short inspection here in the woods, and perhaps an extended one some other - ahh~ - time!"

              She then looked up at Daren, his hardened cock proffered at her lips and with a wink,she hungrily took his length into her mouth, her prehensile tongue, slick with poison as dulled as she could make it, wrapping around his shaft four or five times like a corkscrew, and squeezing tightly to coax out his precum, while her lips sucked and formed a tight vacuum on the base of his rod.

              "Ommph... mmmmmm~" She moaned and mewled in delight at being spitroasted by these two mortals, for though their life force was repulsive in a way, the sexual energy and the promise of drawing forth a good meal of male seed was an enjoyable prospect. Her head bobbed forward, hilting against his base, her nose buried in the fine male elf pubis an filled with the sweaty musky scent of his masculinity. Her tongue went to work, tightening and untightening, slathering his cock in a helix motion and massaging him like no mortal woman ever could. Behind her, her dark elven pussy clamped down on Mae'in, and her hips bucked in time with his thrusts to make their contact that much deeper and more enjoyable.

              One hand moved up to grip Daeren's hand and guide it so that it gripped a tuft of her blonde hair to use as a handle, and then once he got the message, it then moved to cup his balls and fondle them as her mouth continued to work necrotic delights upon him. Her debauched hunger drove her to work extra hard to get her meal out of him quickly, in the hopes then that she could turn and have Mae'in's release be taken out of her pussy and sprayed onto her face and waiting tongue, but if the men proved to have the stamina, she wouldn't mind shifting positions eventually and letting Daeren and Mae'in try to lift her up and have a simultaneous go at either of her holes.

              Feel free to chime in with a suggestion if you're missing a certain favorite position, Sylvie.~ She mentioned mentally to her ethereal passenger.



                Dun ask me, I pretty much don't care about the living. A warm body is fun and all but after a while all this breathing and living juicing gets on your nerves. If I had to guess it differs depending on what kind of undead you are. Some hunger for the living, some loathe them.. Sylvie mused.

                "And what destination would that be?" Mai'en inquired, whereas Daeren simply smirked at the idea of fucking the breath back into Dasyra, her pumping quickly rewarding her with the tempting scent of precum, calling to the darker hunger within her, not just the two elf-men but also Sylvie moaning out at Dasyras lustful forwardness, the ghost girl musing: Haaah.. well, we're all sluts for Ventus hmnnn.. I just usually don't get to indulge so directly.

                The taste of Daeren's precum was blissful, it seemed even if it wasn't Ventus Dasyra was truly addicted to the taste of cum as the elf moaned out, too aroused to be worried about the strange things Dasyras hungry tongue could do. "W.. woah.. who teaches you such things.. aaah.. " He sighed out in growing lust.
                Due to the skill of Dasyras tongue it was Daeren that first tensed and twitched, clearly nearing his limit while Mai'en pushed into the undead sex presented to him with rough lust.

                "Haah.. aaaah.. I.. c.. can't.." Daeren gasped, as Dasyra was quite sucessful coaxing her sweet reward from the man, him holding onto her while she massaged his balls, though almost too gently. Sylvie too was moaning in Dasyras mind, cooing out: Haaah.. you really are a slut though. n.. no complaints.. As she seemed to be enjoying her ride. Mai'ens shaft twitched and Dasyra acted barely in time, pulling back and letting herself be hit by the warm, delicious cum, all there for her to suckle up and satisfy her unnatural hunger, both elves a little sceptic at the dark beauties unnatural tongue if she licked up their load, but too.. pleased to much mind it. Daeren looked a bit out of breath.. but not too worse for the wear after just a single go, with Mai'en slapping Dasyras bottom, nodding appreciatively.

                "Alright. you have demonstrated your desire to.. cooperate. Get dressed, you can ride my stag if you keep that strange blade away from it." He nodded and re-dressed, Sylvie still softly moaning in Dasyras head, slightly distractingly.. apparently she didn't get to do this often.

                If Dasyra didn't oppose the idea she'd find herself mounting the Stag, her undead nature causing the mount to snort disapprovingly, though it continued on with a simple whisper of the elfs. The three of them then road onwards, with Daeren lifting his spear warily.
                "The dark fey are watching us. Be wary of their trickery."

                He adviced, and indeed, as they continued through the foggy forest it was as if many, many tiny eyes kept themselfs on the two.

                As they continued riding onwards, an old, wizened woman like looking creature wandered over their path, too small for a normal human. The creature looked up.. only to be impaled by Daeren's spear before it could take any further action, twitching and whimpering briefly before collapsing.

                "Disgusting eyeblights." The elf-man cursed, pulling his spear from the small, impaled creature, cleaning it off with a cloth and an expression of loathing. "The burden of staining my spear with their blood is almost as bad as seeing the things." Then, without paying the killed creature any further attention, they'd ride on.

                After a while, they came to a perimetre of strange runes, glittering on the trees around. Beyond these runes the forest was.. still alien, but far more beautiful, moreso than most forests one could find on the prime, infact.:

                "Welcome to the Lodge.. one of the few bastions in this world against the disgusting uglyness of the Feywild." Mae'in introduced as they rode on. A few more elfs, sentries, propably, were easy to spot for Dasyras keen elfish eyes, though with her being accompanied by a patrol, they left her alone, just watching with curiosity.

                The trio rode on, Mae'in giving a hand-signal to what seemed to be another elfish guard and dismounting from the stag before they entered what could only be described as a beautiful natural spring. Water rushing, the smells of nature more vibrant than Dasyra had ever known them, the place was, for lack of a better word, beautiful.
                In the middle of the area, besides a pond, stood an elfish woman. Armor grown of living leaves, a crown of leaves, propably denoting a higher rank. She was.. beautiful. There was no other word for it, even if she looked different from the elves on the prime material plane. However, as soon as Dasyra closed in, her expression turned sour, ugly even, looking at Dasyra with unhidden disgust, her hand coming up, branches forming into a living bow with an arrow notched upon it, though not aimed at Dasyra right away.

                "Mai'en. What is this thing you bring here?" She demanded to know, with Daeren remaining silent, and trying to avoid being noticed. "We found her on the ashen forests border, she-" "I care not for the undead elf!" The presumamble Daen interjected, pointing at Ventus blade. "Souleater and lifedrinker. How dare you bring such a twisted thing to a place of beauty."
                Play my naughty games here:


                  Dasyra's pace and efforts rewarded her with a quick serving of some enjoyable, nourishing man milk - though she found herself pouting internally, thinking of Ventus and how much sweeter, thicker, more delicious her taste was, in quantity and quality. She longed to have her Mistress' undead stamina back, the overpowering nature of the deathknight, resolute, unshakeable and dominant. It was unrealistic to expect the sexual prowess of these male elves to come anywhere close to Ventus, but she couldn't help but compare the two.

                  Daeren bottomed out in her throat, and her prehensile lingual muscle made certain to wring and massage every last bead of cum out of his shaft, before letting him pop free of her dark cherry lips, and turn her attention fully to Mae'in, who delved deep into her pussy with a satisfying effort. Her vaginal muscles squeezed hard, and she grinned at him as the tightness threatened to overwhelm him. The slippery feel of him thrusting inside of her sent a timgling feeling of pleasurable delight cascading through her senses.She waited, apprehensively, then acted when his first throbbing started,drawing away from him and opening her mouth.

                  "Aim here... I want it in my mouth, across my lips... let me drink it~"

                  He was on edge as she withdrew, and could not hold back, spraying hot streams of cum onto her breasts, chin, and open-wide tongue. She used her tongue to lick up the parts that didn't land in her mouth the first time.

                  She giggled at the slap on her rear end, refusing to be offended by such brazen actions.

                  "Ride your stag? Very well. Seems you've warmed up to me quite nicely. How's it feel to be a necrophiliac?~"

                  She laughed delightedly at the elves' expense if either of them had difficulty reconciling the fact that they had each just fucked a corpse - even a beautiful and talkative one. She then redressed in her armor and climbed the stag carefully, being sure to keep the blade held at all times in her guantleted glove, away from touching living flesh. The ride through the wilderness attracted dark fey, but nothing powerful enough to worry her new guides, who skewered a hag along the way. Dasyra would have taken issue with their bloodthirsty, xenophobic approach in the past, but the concerns of undeath were dearer to her than to correct the Gilt-leaf Lodge's attitude towards ugly things, even if she did not harbor ill will to so-called eyeblights. Dasyra had willingly lain with humans in her lifetime, something she was certain would have earned her scorn here. But she was well past such concerns.

                  "Tis a beautiful place, it reminds me of our sacred groves in the Brightwood." she commented, then fell into silence as they pushed deeper and eventually came to cross paths with a beauty that Dasyra assumed was the Daen, by dint of her authority and the affect she had on these two. The crown itslelf was anther giveaway.

                  "She is right, Mae'in, it was probably ill-advised to bring this blade here. Now I am the only one who can safely carry it away from your beautiful Lodge without it corrupting anything. Fear not, however, this undead elf - whose name is Dasyra dar Lughduille, Ranger of the Brightwood and now Shadow Servant of Evening's Glory, shall gladly carry it away - though elves who count themselves among the wise shall wish to hear more of my tale - 'ere any judgement is made."

                  She smiled unapologetically at the Daen, not with challenge, but with respect, knowing that a true protector would not test such a claim.

                  "You are, I think, too optimistic in your view of this blade. There are few in number, the blades that could boast a greater tally of evil, vile deeds - but none moreso than the profanity that this blade in its current form represents to elvenkind. It is a profanity that I would - with all my being - work to undo. This blade is the prison of a mighty elven soul - the one known as Ventus Nightsong, Amalor of her people, champion and protector, hero of countless battles against the blight.

                  "Long ago, a blasphemous evil in the form of a lich sought to undo this greeat elven commander - and trapped her soul within this blade, commanding this hero into a form of undeath - a deathknight - and turning her against her people, in a sick and twisted revenge, to demoralize the fairest race. This lich has, in the interim of many years, been defeated, but her curse lingers on, and my great Mistress, for whom I have willingly risked eternal undeath for, must be freed if justice against this moral outrage is to be realized. The long memory of our peoples cannot endure this curse's tragedy to continue eternally - I seek elven wisdom to purify the blade, or failing that, breaking the curse that keeps Ventus Nightsong hungering to undo that which she loves - our people."


                    Mai'en left the necrophiliac comment unaddressed as they rode on, Dasyra at best eliciting a disavowing grumble of emberassment with her joking, the lefs could hardly argue her. Dasyra also noticed a dripping of red from her glove on the path to the elfs lodge.. it could hardly be her blood anymore. A closer look revealed that the elfish glove had begun rusting through slowly, apparently iron and steel alone were not enough to hold the cursed blade for long. The old armored glove held, but doubtful for much longer.

                    "Evening Glory? This is the Feywild, deities, dead or alive hold little sway here. Speak then and be hasteful lest my disdain overtakes my curiosity." The elfs leader said in the calm tone inherrent to people that could make good on their threats.

                    "I don't know the exact blade, but I can tell a soul-eater when I see one. If it has consumed a soul of an elfish champion then break it and free her to go whence she belongs, the lush forests and star filled skies of Arborea." The Daen interjected, before Dasyra finished her explanation.

                    ".. what you describe is a matter much different." She seemed thoughtful, which ment her expression was slightly less disgusted for the time being. "As I recall, a deathknight is a mighty holy knight, fallen to darkness and decay, often their spirits bound to their very weapon like a lich binds themselfs to gems or relics. In that case, destroying the weapon would destroy her as well." The elf crossed her arms. "I guess you destroyed her to take this blade, for she would not willingly have anyone else carry it, and it's clear now that I look close that the sword does not obey you. But her soul is bound. Her body will reform quite soon. I must think about this."

                    The elf did just that, releasing her bow and leaning back, a branch growing from a nearby tree to support her as she leaned back. "'tis not right, you speak true. I heard distant rumors of a blight of undeath from the previous Daen, but the world beyond interests us little. We have our fights to fight.

                    I know little of undeath and how a deathknight is made. But if her soul be unwillingly cursed ... hmnn.
                    This blade cannot be redeemed, like water cannot be made to burn. Maybe a century ago.. but it has caused too much suffering. None short of a deity could affect it and seeing you here speaking of Evening Glory, only the greatest of powers could. Corellon Larethian, Queen Morwel, .. but you did not seek those out knowing they'd dismiss you for being different, just as we are. The Eladrin call our quest for beauty cruelty...

                    I'll praise your wisdom coming here, for I can respect fending for elvenkind and fending for yourself. I shall answer it with wisdom in kind.
                    I believe there is a way indeed."
                    The Daen folded her hands. Boooring! Sylvie commented after another long, thoughtful moment. One of the downsides of dealing with elves over humans was their tendency to draw things out. Sure, Dasyra had even more time than the normal elf now, but cold emanated from the sword in a way that even she could feel. A tangible vileness oozing from it, though, almost like an after-taste, there was also a feeling of comfort within that.. Ventus soul was residing within right now, after all.

                    "The sword needs to be broken completely and reforged. If done right, all the souls trapped within will be released. Depending on how it is reforged, it can be changed, though it will never be a weapon of good. 'tis no easy task, however. First, you need a temporary Vessel for this Ventus' soul, lest it be ripped apart with the blade. Then, you need a strength great enough to break a weapon such as this.. thirdly, you need new material to fill the sword, some celestial metal to counterweight the darkness that has filled it... and finally you need a smith skilled enough to reforge such a blade, in a short enough time. If your mistress truly was a mighty champion, then her soul will burn through any lesser vessel than a sword such as this.
                    Once the blade is reforged. she would be reborn as well, bound to blade but freed of others will."
                    The Daen theorized.

                    "The Vessel you chose might have a subtle effect on her, where the metal might change the weapons strengths. Let us begin with the easy things...
                    For a Vessel, I could offer to summon a spirit-wolf, a nonsentient animal that could bear a noble soul. The upside of this version is that you'd have her by your side again right away.. however, a living vessel burns out the quickest and is prone to instincts. Be not mistaken, it would not be her by your side, but her if she was born a wolf.
                    I have an old, disgusting tome of spellcraft that could hold souls. It would be the safest option as it was made for this purpose, but some of the eldritch magic spoken upon in its pages might seep into the trapped soul. This is a vessel that would not burn out but you should still hurry.
                    Finally, we could bind her soul to a strong tree, like a dryads. This is safe as a vessel as well and would not affect her much in any way, but obviously the tree could not be taken with you. I'll leave the decision up to you, but make certain.. drawing a soul out of a.. thing like this is no easy feat. Indeed, you shall consider yourself in my debt for it."

                    The Daen mused, then continued on:
                    "The metal to reforge the blade is purchased easily enough.. aurorum, Celestial steel or Ysgardian heartwire would do. Aurorum is a unique metal that heals as if it was alife. Heartwire is a rare metal, harder than adamantium, some say and finally celestial steel is poisonous to evil."
                    She continued on. "But that is something to worry about last, for the two largest problems is finding a smith that can work on a blade of this magnitude.. and destroying the accursed thing in the first place. I can not help you with either.. this weapons craftsmanship seems of undead design, certainly not elfish. None of my smiths could recreate it. As for how to destroy such a thing.. It's an artifact of evil undeath, if I'm not mistaken. I could guess ways to destroy it, like striking it with another artifact while on the positive elemental plane, but that is as much a danger to you as it is to the sword. The positive elemental plane kills living things within minutes by overexposure.. and would kill something like you within seconds.
                    You will have to find a better answer from someone else. Perhaps ask your godess, if you believe yourself in her favor?"
                    The Daen mused, but remained silent again.. which Sylvie took as an opportunity. All this xenophobia nonsense aside, I bet a few dwarf-smiths would take reforging that sword as a welcome challenge. Just need to find a non shitty one and give him what he wants.. gold.. which.. we're kind of short on. Ventus didn't really care about it.. and before you ask, no, I got no clue how to smash the sword. In all of Ventus battles that thing hasn't even taken a scratch and trust me she swung it around a ... hold on.. that's not true.. We had some adventurers once.. you know, the usual noble dumbasses wanting to smite great evil. Ventus sent 'em home to mommy crying, though when she came back there was a single, shallow chink that took a few days to heal on that blade, I remember asking about it because it was weird.. Heh, if only we could ask those guys what they tried... But that was like .. I dunno fifty years ago? They're all propably dead by now.. humans, half-whatevers and even dwarfs expire so quickly..
                    Last edited by Pervy; 8th February 2018, 22:06.
                    Play my naughty games here:


                      The dripping, rusting red did concern Dasyra as she noticed the continued danger that the blade posed. What was it about Ventus' armor that had prevented the rust? Or had she always held the blade with a naked hand? The undead ranger did her best to recall while also wracking her mind to think of alternative solutions to carrying the evil soul drinker.

                      She let the interruptions to her story pass, and was pleased at the turn in attitude of the Daen once the situation was fully explained. She felt justified in making the decision to come here, to the dark fey wild, as it was here more than other places that she could find those sympathetic to traditionally elven matters. Some prime elven species had grown too distant from the old ways - her own included. She nodded in acknowledgement of the Daen's words. In her present state, she doubted that she would have gotten a word in edgewise with the leaders of the Greater Powers of elvenkind... Corellon, Morwel and the Court of Stars, Titania and her Summer Court, and even the Queen of Air and Darkness. All had little love in their hearts for the undead. Destroying the sword and Ventus' soul along with it would have been their view of 'mercy' and they would have destroyed her too for having accepted undeath - a normally insane notion for an elf.

                      But not if the sacrifice was worth it, she told herself. The Mistress was worth it.

                      "How long would Ventus' soul be able to reside inside the spirit wolf before burning out? And if it did burn out, would her soul return to the blade? I would long to have her by my side, no matter what form she might take, but I must be practical. I will need time to locate and travel to a place where the blade might be broken, and I must do this only after I have found both a willing smith and a metal worthy of creating a new blade to begin with. If her soul could only manage a matter of days, then your gift would be wasted."

                      She waited for the reply. If it were a matter of months, she would be inclined to accept, but if instead it were a matter of weeks, then she feared she may have to select the book or the tree.

                      "I can follow your advice about beseeching my goddess to locate the solutions to these other problems. In the meantime, tell me Daen, what I might do to earn this favor of a new form for Ventus' soul? My journey, if successful, will no doubt take me to many a wild place, and I would not wish to be in your debt for too long. Your men indicated that there are many eyeblights in this place, rivals to your desire to preserve elven beauty. Tell me how I might bend the bow of shadow to aid you in your people's purpose?"

                      In her mind, she responded to Sylvie.

                      Yes, dwarves are known for their abilities at the forge... but elves are not unfamiliar with the grace of sword smithing. In either case, a king's ransom will be needed to forge something that could be a phylactary AND involves knowledge of folding a celestial metal. We're talking serious runemages and runesmiths here. Better get shopping around. As for those adventurers, maybe if we looked them up, I'm sure some of them would be alive and want to get the better of Ventus for all those years ago. Might give an old man or woman some solace knowing that at least their quest to defeat the blade's curse will be complete, even if they couldn't manage to overcome Ventus herself.

                      Do you remember any detail about them? Sigils? Crests? Banners? Home cities? Card carrying members of an Adventurer's Guild? Must be some way to track them down. I'll wager good coin it has something to do with positive energy anyhow.


                        On consideration, while Ventus had favoured proper if form fitting armor, very form fitting.. Dasyras memory wanted to distract her, she had actually always held the blade by naked hand, or by means of the contraption by her throne, which certainly had had magical properties to keep the sword contained. This would need solving too, unless she wanted to leave the sword somewhere unattended. Well, for now the amored glove worked, perhaps if she could use a few of those and rotate them when they had rusted through...
                        Whatever she decided, this one glove wouldn't last that much longer.

                        "I can not accurately tell the strength of a soul. You have to decide. I can only suggest that, if you were to trap the soul of a godess in a wolf it would burn out in a matter of moments, whereas where it a young one of a lesser kind like human, it could last for many years. Obviously mortals fall in between. A champion of our kind if they be deserving, I'd guess a few weeks to a few months at the most.
                        I would not suggest impractical sollutions, but there is not exactly a completely save option here.. If the Vessel burns out the soul would try to return to the sword, but be aware that we can't keep pulling a soul from vessel to vessel, even the very first time has risks which can be managed.
                        If the Vessel burns out the moment the sword has been destroyed and is being reforged.. well, better hope your mistress soul was indeed strong."

                        The elf tilted her head at the offer. "Oh but I like collecting up on debs and favors, it's a thing we do here, haven't you heard the tales of firstborns being promised to the fey? It's like they got nothing better to do. Of course not to my taste and your nature would forbid that either way." She crossed her arms and smirked, ever so slightly, again taking longer moments to consider what she could request.. which Sylvie used for her part of the conversation.

                        Oh don't get started like her, elves take months coddling their sword to sleep every time, we need quality and we need it without a council of hand-holding-sing-songing in between. Don't go all elven pride on me, you just -look- like one of them. Hey, perhaps you like pretending to be one of them but you're part of our club now, the great, big all inviting all accepting undead race. I know, I know, most are hunter-gatherers, so no way you could have heard, but there are grand necropolises.. necropoli? Necropolu.. fuck it. Big undead cities too, where folks like you and Ventus are the upper class. Just saying.
                        You wanna look for old adventurers? Ugh next you're gonna ask me to remember their generic-ass names, I mean I did look a bit into it because I was curious how anything could harm Ventus blade but this was decades ago.. this is not so easy you know!

                        Hmnnnnnn.. I dunno.. hmnnnnnn
                        And Sylvie 'Hmnn'd' on in Dasyras mind semi-distractingly while the Daen spoke again.

                        "There is some use you could put yourself and that accursed sword to, though I wont lie, I would only sent you because all living elves I've sent have been lost, the latest being a trio of capable hunters.. There is a particular dark fey residing in the south-eastern forest, in a tower hammered from shadows and nightmares. You might be quite a bit more resilient to her charms than the living elves she likes to trap... she harvests a living beings life-force to turn into jewelry, you see. I want her dead and gone. Do this while I prepare for the ritual and we shall be even. One of my knights can show you the path, though none will accompany you the whole way." The elfish leader explained, then added.: "Leave soon, I can't calmly prepare with this blade here."

                        Hmnnn.. you know thinking about it your plan could work. If they got up to Ventus fortress they must have been at least somewhat capable and if they didn't simply get eaten on their way out of the underdark they might have made a name for themselfs.. That said, these types usually die young. Problem is I really can't remember specifics because I didn't really care. Only that a bunch of years back there was this group of generic sounding hero names.. ugh.. what was it... they were lead by some sort of justice-paladin, Ulrich Lightbringer or some nonsense like that, some human barbarian named Markus the Swift, some Dumbass gnome illusionist with a name like if you had the hiccups while naming him oh and finally some dwarfen fighter named Del Foehammer. Pretty sure on that name because that's a name you can at least respect. You know, the kind of hero-guild party that was only looking for 'Eldrik Darkborn the tiefling warlock' and 'Lira'aen Leafsong the wood-elf archer' to complete their adventuring bingocard. Perhaps they -should- have gotten some more folks because Mistress send them packing after a pretty short battle. Well, her fearful determination takes out most living fighters before the battle even begins.

                        ..Oh, oh hold on, got one more: 'Stephan Forestborn the half-elven bard' heh.
                        Last edited by Pervy; 13th February 2018, 10:51.
                        Play my naughty games here:


                          Sorry babe, once an elf, always an elf. We are the prettiest both in life and after it.

                          Dasyra teased the ghost girl with her thoughts.

                          Don't get me wrong though. I'm an eternal undead shadow mistress and fully intend to rock this unliving body for all it's worth, but when I free Ventus, it's going to be because I love my people and they deserve to have her freed as a victory to all our kind. And I take ever so slight offense to your dim view of elven swordsmiths! Nothing easy was ever worth doing, and taking the proper time and observances is important. Llolth's poison-filled teats! Even the dwarves know that much... hrmm... upper class undead did you say? Does that mean we're owed a spooky mansion somewhere? With a nice dungeon... plenty of chains... a pillory or two... implements of bondage and... hrm.... I'll bore you with those thoughts later. Hurry up and remember while I talk to Miss Xenophobia here.

                          "Then to play it safe, I think I shall request that Ventus' soul be contained in that book. I'd like to keep her close to hand, and be she a wolf or in a book, both can be equally brought to harm. At least the book can contain her for longer, and gives me some lee-way to complete the quest... As to your wanting my firstborn? It's as you say, that ship has sailed. Not that I am not fond of going through the act of trying.~ "

                          She listened to the Daen's request with a growing smile on her face as the dark fey's abode was described.

                          "I see... lost hunters to her have you? Covets living beings' life forces? Sounds like a soul stealer. I can sympathize with your need to remove her. All right then... grant me some arrows and some spare gauntlets and a harness to carry this blade safely, and I'll end your problem. Ere my return I'll grant her passage across the veil of death, and her shadowy home shall not give me pause. The darkness becomes me, and I it."

                          She would leave, but not before seeing if the gilt-leaf elves could provide her with some arrows to restock her empty quiver. Best to be equipped to do what she did best after all.

                          Of course my plan will work. You've been ethereal for too long, forgotten what interacting with mortals is like. Humans and dwarves may have short lives, but they're quite ornery about giving up the ghost. I'm sure at least ONE of them is alive somewhere on the surface of our prime world. We just need to follow the names. We'll start with that memorable one, since you're so sure of it, and we were going to visit the dwarves anyway for their precious forging skills.... I still worry that they'll make the new blade all rigid and blockey... probably etch a bearded face on it too... ew... no... no way is Ventus toting around a beardy sword for eternity!


                            Hrmphf. I don't get why everyone likes skinny chicks with long ears. I'll let you know my ectoplasm is pleasantly plump and cushiony. It didn't take much to tease Sylvie, after all. You could propably earn a mansion with spanking-dungeon. Though, full disclosure, those cities are usually lead by liches, reason Ventus avoided them, well, apart from her permanent vigil thing. I wouldn't recommend spooky mansions though, It's lots of work establishing yourself as the top bitch and until I do you might have some joker tossing the cutlery around. Trust me, ghosts come in many shaspes and colors and most think spectres are as bad as it gets only because they've never met a fucking poltergeist.
                            'Dude.. dudeeee yo duuude you know when she took a bath.. I turned the water into BLOOD!'
                            'Far out man! High five.. oooh got you!'

                            Ugh. Giving everyone a bad name... at least I'm a proper classy apparition..

                            Sylvie ranted in the elfs head, while the elfish Daen nodded. "So be it. I'll prepare the book if you spare me further details." Apparently, she was not as easily seduced as her male counterparts.
                            "Arrows are no issue.. and I guess I can find an armored glove or two, though there's no magic strong enough to contain this sword, here. You... for obvious reasons would struggle finding much support in those that normally seal away the undead, they might get overzealous. Search out one of your own kind or a more morally ambigious wizard.. or find a few good gloves. Mithril or Adamantium should be resistant to the swords effect for a long time."

                            Dasyra found her quiver restocked with living arrows, that was, arrows still with leaves growing from them, made from Greenwood. Quite useful as they could simply be regrown if they broke on impact, though her undead nature would propably mean the same arrows would reject her and wither in due time, faster when in proximity to Ventus blade. Exchanging gloves revealed that the dark sword had almost fully eaten to the glove in the time it had taken to escape, travel to this place and speak with the Daen, so she'd likely run through another glove by the time she had dealt with the elves problem and returned, though perhaps it would last longer, considering the glove she had taken had already been lying in the old elven fortress for likely centuries. Still this couldn't be a permanent sollution, but it had to do for now, perhaps.

                            Why would you hold onto your ghost though, that's the most important part... eh. Hey, I get you dun wanna change over sides, I was hesitant about it too when I didn't know any better, still feeling a bit melancholic sometimes but you wanna contain that as a ghost, thats a path down rattling chains and doing the same thing over and over..
                            ..I'm sure theres other options than dwarfs, a dragon or two might dabble in smithing, even angels, you do want angelic smithing, just be really careful those don't just remove an h when they see you, fyi, that stuff can really hurt you now. Actually, it'd likely hurt even me within you too. Actually forget I brought up angels ok.

                            Pehaps she slowly grew accustomed to Sylvies brash way of talking, but it did keep her busy as she moved out of the elven lands, always under watchful eyes, with one beautiful but alien elf pointing the way down the same path she had arrived on, but with a sharp right turn, leading to lands that were even darker and debilitated than the woods.:

                            Each of the strange rock formations she passed through seemed to have a meaning and the scent in the air was not quite one of decay, somewhere otherworldly. Luckily, most of the smaller fey-creatures that could bother her left her alone, either due to her elfish nature, or due to the aura of cold from Ventus sword. From time to time Dasyra noticed herself being watched, by shapes that were somewhere between people and trees... and she knew far better than to follow the one daring will-o-wisp that lighted up in the distance over the moorlands.
                            Her goal was easy to discern anyway. In the distance, growing up in the sky like a jagged tooth was a dark tower, not bad craftsmanship it seemed as Dasyra closed on in. About 6 stories tall and relatively wide at the base it would hold space for a Fey.. and a few footsoldiers too as desired.
                            There was a front-gate of dark ebony design with a writing in an archaic Feywild dialect loosely enough based on elfish that Dasyra thought she could assume it as someone offering up their wares for interested buyers. If forcing her way through the front door was not her approach she could see second story windows, albeit small and with almost bone-like designs, they might need a little effort breaking in. It seemed Dasyra had some time planning her next move, examining the sight before her, well, more time than the might have to decide when inside.
                            Not a bad tower, 3.5/5. Expected a house with candy to lure in little elflings after the tales though. What lures in little elves anyway. Treehouse with poetry and arrows on the walls? Hrmnn..Halflings and humans.. food.. dwarfs and dragons.. gold. I bet I could even come up with a way to lure one of the elementals, but elves.. yeah yeah, I know, that's because your proud people have no vices to exploit, listen, Ventus never does anything totally against your will so whatever mess she proclaimedly made out of you, you already had it in you, just saying.
                            Last edited by Pervy; 4 weeks ago.
                            Play my naughty games here:


                              Dasyra let the ghost go on inside of her head without answering for a bit. Maybe there would eventually be a point where she might consider herself more undead than elf, but she couldn't see it. To be undead was not a transition of race, but of remaining animate after having crossed the veil of death. She was both undead and an elf. She was just lucky she had avoided the curse of the banshee, which was what threatened most of her kind.

                              The dark ranger equipped herself with the living arrows, admiring them even as her inner nature loathed them. She couldn't fault them for their quality, but she resolved to figure out how to get a source of ammunition worthy of her new mantle. How could she propose to serve the greatest unliving commander of elvenkind and not have some arrows infused with the powers of undeath to unleash upon the foes of Ventus? She would take the sword to a magus of true death and find both proper arrows and a sheath for containing the sword's blight.

                              As she walked away from the sacred glade of the Gilt-Leaf Lodge, Sylvie's rambling suddenly alerted her to a subconscious memory, one that bubbled to the surface.

                              "Hold on a minute..." She whispered. "Cratus the Swift... not Markus. That group that fought Ventus. You've managed to not get one of them right on, but together, I'm fairly certain I know that troupe. I used to journey with them, before I went my separate ways to have a fling with a druid in the Sapphire Woods. Hah hah! I'm sure I can find them. I know that dwarf's clan. And the barbarian's tribe."

                              Later on, after some traveling through the moors, she approached the tower with curiosity.

                              "A sign offering sale of wares? Now who would they get around here as a regular customer?" She murmured to herself, watching along the gate. No need to alert her quarry to her presence if possible.

                              She glanced up at the windows, and then nodding, she moved towards them.. If there were shadows inside, she would get as close as she could, climbing if she needed, and then shadow jumping into the tower if able to manage it.

                              "Elves like candy just as much as any human child, and pretty gems are fun if arranged elegantly in a necklace." She responded to Sylvie mentally.

                              "Actually, when we're small, we're frightfully hard to look after, and quite mischevious. Wouldn't be hard for a big bad witch to grab us. Except of course that witches are usually a bit more hesitant to piss off elven parents. Unlike human townsfolk, elves tend to know how to deal with magical foes. And how in the nine hells did you get the stereotype that we don't have vice? Don't just say things, say things justly. I'm damned sure that I didn't learn to fuck from being dead. Now excuse me, there's probably a hag in this tower I need to deal with."


                                Cratus, Markus, potatoe potatoe. Sylvie mused condescendingly, though she offered input on the sales-sign: Someone really good, or really desperate?

                                Huh. Mischievous elves? Interesting.. So, where did you learn to fuck? The spirit enthused. Apparently Dasyra had walked right into that one.. Also, don't underestimate human creativity, they can solve any problem that can be solved with torches and pitchforks. Also, try not to get cursed!
                                I dunno much about witches, but pretty sure they steal your hair and curse you or something.

                                (Climb check to see how good you are with your window-approaching. Throw in stealth for good measure.)
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