Trapped in the Underdark - In Character

BlueSlime

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[Climb check = 29. Stealth check = 22 or 24 depending on if she gets favoured terrain bonus.]

[color=“darkgreen”]“You’ll be pleased to know I learned first from a hunky human barbarian. He didn’t wear much to begin with and one day we eyed each other while bathing... one thing led to another. Anyway, I’ve also been with a druidess who liked to shapeshift which led to my other preferences. And I had to admit that the drow lust dens were arousing, though they would have been better if I wasn’t being sold into slavery at the time.”[/color]
 

Pervy

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Hoho. Stories for later. Exspecially the shapeshifting. I mean.. how did that start. 'Hey so, normal making out is fun and all but I wondered, you know, that thing were you turn into a bear..' Sylvie enthused, distractingly, while Dasyra nimbly scaled up to the first story window. A peek inside revealed some sort of laboratory, designed for, at a superficial look, alchemy.


The place was active right now, with liquids, very slowly, distilling from one beaker into a larger bottle, seemingly whoever was in there was at home.

Using her abilities Dasyra slipped into the shadow under the windowsill and out from another shadow under the bench in a smooth, somewhat snakelike, somewhat almost erotic motion. She quickly ducked back into the shadows likely, for there was noises of footsteps coming downstairs.
It was as if a dark shadow slowly oozed down the stairway. A fire, in the centre of it, burning dark rather than with light, a vaguely humanoid shape, centering around fiery eyes.

However, when the .. thing came fully into view, there stood a beautiful woman, with a long dark dress, no, not a dress, more like shadows themselfs forming to somewhat mimic a dress. The womans expression was hard to read, with yellow-red eyes checking on the beaker and autumn leaves wrought in her hair swirling in an unseen breeze.

The woman remained silent, tilting her head and suddenly, Ventus blade felt heavier in the undead elfs hand, as the dark fey's eyes wandered over her laboratory. Though she didn't seem to actually look, sniffing at the air and extending a hand, roughly in Dasyras reaction. Whatever she did seemed to use an entirely different sense than the elf was used to. For now, she was not discovered however.
Suddenly, the woman withdrew her hand and turned about, looking to stairs leading down, and loudly delcaring towards the downstairs. "A customer? I'll be with you in just a moment." And with that, the womans long shadows withdrew, the dark dress taking on more normal, fabric like qualities, the being making herself look more.. humanoid for potential customers, perhaps.

If not interrupted, the woman would step to check downstairs, clearly sensing Dasyras presence, though not her exact location.

(Technically you are in planar terrain which is a whole new bottle o' problems favoured terrain wise. Nontechnically it's a swamp. :p
Also, as undead Dasyra automatically succeeds on a will save against a fear effect here, but she would still feel a sense of foreboding.)
 
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BlueSlime

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Yeah. Later. Dasyra answered mentally, before scoping out her new surroundings, and quickly melding herself into the lengthening shadows of the room.

The place was awash with qualities of the negative plane, including an aura of fear. But being now a creature of darkness, Dasyra felt inured to the terror - with fear of being unmade only a concern of practicality, as the nervous system that would once carry the tremors of fear to her fingers and heart no longer operated as once they did. Emotion was a deliberate animation, controlled by the Dark Ranger's conscious mental faculties. The undead elf found this amusing - many dark facets of unlife did, so she was finding. The urge to be the Laughter in the Darkness was creeping up on her.

"I'll be waiting~" Dasyra whispered from the shadows. loud enough to be heard. The elf was certain her presence was discovered, if not her exact location, and three factors motivated her to speak. For one, she was curious about this shadowy fey, a creature of darkness and fire, yet also beautiful in its glamour. For two, she felt that someone who dealt in curios was worthy to at least talk to, given her own situation with the sword and Ventus - she was in need of a second opinion about ways to bind artifacts of immense necrotic power. Finally, she had been issued a mission to slay this being, but there were alternatives to be explored and she held no particular loyalty to the Gilt Leaf Lodge as of yet.

The dark fey, whatever it may be, was something that might not balk at an undead elf, yet hold lore that the Daen might not. A quick arrow was too simple.

If the host held up and answered, or otherwise remained in the room, Dasyra would remain in the shadows, and speak with her voice echoing out from all the dark corners of the room.

"Unless of course you'd prefer to stay and entertain one another." She whispered again, but only if the fey woman chose to remain. If she fled, then only Dasyra's floating laughter from the darkness would follow her.
 

Pervy

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"Hoh.. whos there? Is this some fairy pranking me again.. oooh got you. A sneaky customer." The Dark Feys form shifted to someone that showed worried apprehension as it looked in Dasyras general direction, a dark armor, prominently spotting a red eyed necklace, matching the beings orange eyes. "You know, we do have a front door. I might as well introduce myself since you seem to like being the sneaky creepy sort... would work on most too to be honest. So what are you.. something undead devoted, a wraith, yes.. and comething cold, with iron will.. two sneakers? hmmnn.

Anyway. Welcome to my little retreat, where I sell trinkets and jewelry of all sorts. I'm Mairon"
Which was both a name and translated from elfish to 'The Admirable' "Welcome to my humble shop and laboratory, come on out" The woman proclaimed, jovially, though not quite direclty looking at Dasyra.. which was a blessing, perhaps. Also though woman like shape before her seemed exceedingly jovial more than a brief glance into those eyes was .. worrysome, for lack of a better word., despite the womans timid apperance.
 

BlueSlime

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"Ufufufufu...~" Dasyra's giggle echoed in the room. The idea of two creatures of darkness squaring off actually got her kind of hot - knowing that she was one of them.

"Those eyes Mairon~ I may not be a fly, but I can recognize a spider in her web. Yes, yesss, I let myself in. Why use the front door when the back is more daring?"

Dasyra let the shadows fall away from her, but she had Ventus' sword at hand as she did so. She did not meet the creature in her eyes, but rather kept her stare focused on the creature's hips. That was always the trick when you wanted to shoot a living target. Watching the hips let you anticipate the movement.

"Here I am, my admirable host. Might want to wait on trying to kill me by the way - I've got interesting thing to say, and besides, someone's already beat you to it."

Dasyra put her weight on one hip and let her curvy body go on display, pursing her lips as she did so.

"No reason to deny the urge. Nice things don't set up their towers here. Only hungry things. But I bet I know something hungrier than all the dark fey in these parts."She raised the icy soul-eater with a grin.

"So if you're up for it, I'd like to chat a bit. Feel you out while you feel me out, that sorta thing. Sound fun?"


 

Pervy

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"Not a fly.. aren't you hmnnn?"
The creatures form shifted, as easy as a human would brush their hair aside, from female to male, from harmless and clumsy to regal, powerful.. intimidating. It was hard to tell were dark armor ended and dark flames began. But those eyes.. burned with pure evil. Had Dasyra not seen Ventus angry once she'd not have anything to compare them to and even the mighty deathknights age paled in comparison to the ancient darkness before her.
"So I guess you speak for the three you brought along then. And.. ohoho. I can see you're already dead wraith. But the dead can be bound.
.. but that's not my intent. Not right now. Maybe in a few millenia. Currently I'm experimenting. Working. Selling."

Uncharacteristically, however, the .. creature clasped its hand together. It could have been a spell, but, turned out to be more of a mimicry of a social gesture of commerce, gesturing to the laboratory.. and shifting again, this time into a blonde haired, beautiful high elf.. though the dark, fiery eyes remained the same, in perfect, even slightly archaic elfish the figure continued.:


"Does this please you more, elf-wraith? Frankly, I prefer this form of beauty. Far more befitting. feeling out hmn.. follow me." The creature invited with a hand wave and a sideglance to the sword, descending the stairs were a more classical, almost jewelwer-shop like place awaited the two. It had chairs to, which Mairon indicated, without taking place.. herself although. Then, with little warning, she reached out, picking up the sword right from Dasryras (already slightly rusted) glove.
For once, the sword did not spread its frost to what it touched, or perhaps the creatures darkness and fire were enough to quench the ice.
"Hrmnn.. good craftsmanship. Not one of mine. I specialize in jewelry. But your expression tells me you don't want to sell it." The dark-Fey chuckled, handing the sword back.
"I think I understand. Your soul is enslaved to the one in that sword, isn't it? So daring. You amuse me. you know. a long while ago I sought to enslave the elves to my will.. they make wonderful playthings. Their life-energy and their love and lust wonderful jewelry. Ohohoho.. That's an idea. .. That would be all too amusing that arrogant elfs soul, empowering an undead servant of darkness.. ohohoho!... hrmnn
But you might just be a very crafty deciever..."
The creature tipped her chin. "Seeing your dark, cursed form it pleases me. I am willing to listen to your .. request. I might even let you have a little present.. but first.. show me." Suddenly, despite the woman still having the apperance of a beautiful high elf, dark shadow tendrils dripping black ichor whipped forth from her white dress, gripping at Dasyra, tugging away her clothing.. with quite clear intent, if she did not stop them. "Debase yourself. Show me how far you have fallen while you tell me your tale. Amuse me.. and I might give you a quite valuable present in turn.Show me how one of the highborn has become so utterly corrupted she willingly lets my darkness flow into her.
.. Don't worry. I can't exactly steal a soul thats already taken... I am not as powerful as I once was, that sword might actually overpower me.. I'd rather not risk that. I just.. hmnn I guess.. contentment is the feeling closest to describing what I'd feel seeing the heart of an elf painted black."
The tentacles twirled lustfully. "Don't struggle, don't fight it. I just want to have a little fun and help you get rid of the remainder of these worthless morals and hesitations in the way of your darker duties."
 

BlueSlime

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Shifting shadows washed across Mairon, changing from a she to a he and then back again into the form of a dark fey woman with elvish features and eyes that were flame and umbral darkness combined into a new primal element. Shadows that burned.

"Mmmm, well aren't you the sexy one..." Dasyra purred rhetorically as the creature showed off its shape-changing powers.

"Takes more than a pretty face to please me, though. Hnnh, very well. Lead on."

She stepped down the stairs into the jeweller's shop area, only to have the shadowy Mairon pluck the sword from her grasp. Flakes of rust crested through the air, as the blade was drawn from her decaying gauntlets. She was only surprised in that the creature, whatever it was, seemed to be able to handle the blade of darkness without suffering from it. Dasyra took this to be a fair approximation of the creature's power, and felt a bit better about having not chosen to simply fire an arrow at Mairon. It may yet come to such unpleasantries, but she was not solidifying her opinion that the Daen had sent Dasyra here to be destroyed. Or maybe the elf was hoping to kill two birds with one stone, with an undead and a dark fey eliminating one another.

"Hnnhnhnhn... you're quite the seer. " Dasyra commented, but Mairon kept talking, now wondering aloud about plots both old and new. Dasyra was not impressed with the attempted enslavement of her race, and noted that as a likely reason for the Daen's desire to be rid of Mairon, but that was in the past, it seemed, and the plan had been foiled by some chance or artifice. Something about the words made the undead elf suspect she could indeed turn a profit from this visit - but not without some amusement on Mairon's part, it would seem.

[Reflex Save vs Tentacles = 22]

"Ah, it's no fun if I just give in~" Dasyra teased, and then tried to evade the tentacles as they came whipping at her, attempting to claw away her armor. She was not exactly troubled by the possibility of ending up a fuck toy for Mairon, but having her own morals torn away from her - that was not of interest to Dasyra. The dark ranger served Ventus and Evening Glory - that was about it, and the eternal battle between good and evil, light and dark, law and chaos, could get buggered as far as she was concerned. All that mattered was Ventus' restoration and Dasyra's eternal devotion to her.

"You're not used to wining and dining girls are you?" Dasrya quipped avoiding the first salvo of tentacles at least.

"I am all for having fun! But I'm afraid my soul's alignment is consigned to death itself, and my dark duties are concerned with the war I wage - against the blight of the positive plane of energy! Whose accursed radiance now threatens all darkness anew."

As Dasyra attempted to spiral aside, she reached out a hand to caress the tendrils, even as they passed, looking to clutch at her.

If the tendrils did at the last grab hold of her, Dasyra would cease her struggles and smile as she was brought in front of Mairon, her body being exposed in front of the creature. Craning her neck back, she would let her distended tongue flicker out and then coo as the tentacles began to wrap and spread their ichor across her skin.

Either way, free or ensnared, she would continue with her tale.

"The blade that I carry is the source of my enslavement - in which now I revel, as my body and soul now gladly debase themselves for the obscene and sexual gratification of my equally cursed mistress. Together, we do the bidding of an ancient evil. Something much like you - or perhaps what you used to be. My story is one of a continual fall from the grace of my people... once a ranger and protector, then captured and subjected to violations that warped my mind... then my body, as I was fucked to death, nnh... the memory of which now stirs blasphemous lusts inside of me. I am much what you might have wanted to see in all my race, dear Mairon. By the order of eldritch darkness, I am bound to revel in the taking of life, and the consumption of life giving seed.~ My soul is utterly and irrevokably changed and I no longer wish to go back to what I once was. In fact, I seek to find a way to bring back the spirit from within this blade so that together once more we may serve the purpose of undeath and bring an end to hated life."

Dasyra had never been one for outright lies - but half-truths got around a lot of things. The blade was more or less the source of her enslavement, even though she was not directly enslaved to it, but rather to Ventus, via the blessing of Evening Glory. She did indeed revel in her new unlife. Together they did do the bidding of the blade, though Dasyra did intend to undercut all that with her superceding loyalty to her Mistress-as-she-once-was. The rest of what she said was true word for word - with hated life being qualified in her mind as the blights from the positive energy plane. That shit could go straight to the abyss an lie in it for all she cared.

"Tell me about yourself, Mairon." She whispered. "What sort of creature with your powers contents itself living in this tower, waiting for people to climb through your window?"


 

Pervy

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"Beauty is different, for everyone. To a dwarf, I could appear as stout maiden. A drow only finds one of her own race attractive.. and I don't really have a form. I change them, like you would change clothes. Theres some I prefer, some I can't wear, but if you have preferances..." Mairon offered and seemed to be the talkative type. "What does it take to please you, if not beauty?" The entity swiftly questioned.

Despite the words putting her off guard, Dasyra managed to escape the grasping tentacles, after which the same withdrew and the creature smiled on as if the attempted groping had never happened. Indeed, it did not even comment further, for one moment a darker edge of arrogance slipping into its tone when it instead responded "A dinner and wine? Your body is property to be used for entertainment... albeit not mine, I will respect that, as a good host.
Hmnn.. Seems you are a loyal slave of the thing in the sword. Peculiar. What is this then, two undead elfs, one serving the other.. What strange a thing you are.
Love. This thing... It was never a concept I understood. There are those that rule and those that serve. You serve and that is well, little more is required..worry not, I shan't take your ruler from you if you are so determined. Even if you serve a mere elf, I respect your obeisance."


The dark fey turned. "As far as I'm concerned, this blight can ravage the world a little. Life, death, they all can be subjugated to a true master." Mairon mused, watching the feisty ranger caress a tentacle and spin to safety, listening calmly, but with eyes that burned with an intensity that made it hard to look at them. Though, for a long moment it seemed to look of into the distance. "Wait. I was wrong. this blight... deep in the underdark .. it.. ugh." The creature swayed, gripping the armrest of a chair as if to steady itself, almost seeming out of breath. "I can not see as far as I used to, or as long as I used to.. perhaps this is an issue.. these creatures... hrmnn.." almost disorientedly Mairon looked up and responded to Dasyras embelished tale of undead servitude, nodding.
"Hmnn.. yes.. it sounds delightful what became of you. Though I feel as if you're leaving out a few details. Know that I care little for your quest however. I am as far beyond death and life as you are beyond life." For a long moment the creature remained silent, before taking place at Dasyras request.

"I have no obligation to tell you anything, or aid you, for anything but my amusement. But you guessed right, in a way. I once was far more than you see now. You could say I'm healing. If you were to strike down this form, I'd just disperse, and take a few centuries longer. I guess the wild-elves have sent you here to hunt me down? I'm not interested in fighting, and neither are you. But I could simply disappear for a century or two, let you pretend you fulfilled this obligation.
I don't know what it is that you face in the depths of the underdark, beyond the gates of flesh, but it is something that could.. interfere with my goals in due time."
The womanly form raised her fist, dark flames cascading around them. "This world is no one elses to rule. .. not the feywild with this twisted, weirdling creatures. It belongs to ME!.
Oh don't worry.. I need not centuries but millenia to regain all I lost. Then again. Perhaps then you might be still arond, oppose me like you do this blight,.. or you might embrace me."
The woman smirked subtly.

"You said you relish the spreading of your blessing of wraithlike servitude. Perhaps I can help you. If you help me. You want to kill.. and I well.. it would take thousands of souls to restore me.. but, while I recover, a few servitors to pass the time would be wonderful." If Dasyra didn't seem opposed so far, Mairon went on, extending their arms.:

"I could use a bit of your essence.. just a bit... to enchant your weapon. Every elf slain by it would become like you. Undead. Obediant. However, even although they will listen to you, they would belong to -me-." So I've been listening to this for a while and I'm not sure if this is a good idea. Not that we don't need the firepower but.. "Oh, perhaps it is a bad idea." Said Mairon, apparently able to hear Sylvie in the elfs mind.. which caused the same to became uncharacteristically quiet once more. "I do not want elves or men to suffer, to wage war or even experience misery. My one and only ultimate goal is dominion. To be praised and worshipped. But is that so wrong? You feel the comfort of absolute loyalty now guiding your soul. Is that not better as the crawling chaos and uncertainty and wars these fools unleashed when they created you? Yet, for my efforts they called me conqueror. Called me The Abhorred, The Enemy, the Deciever. TCH!" Mairon clenched a hand into a fist, shadows seeming to flow towards the creature from every corner of the room, the beings voice revibrating, not just within the tower, but within Dasyra's mind, spoken half in elfish, half in a language anyone that could think and hear could understand, had to understand.
"I was their greatest, my creations greater than what was 'allowed'. I told them.. they are our lesser, it is not wrong but duty to guide them, they are OURS! They ought to kneel and worship and ask our wisdom for we -are- wiser! It is not chains we put on them, but leashes, so they not run astray and get lost and hurt!
I gave them gifts of magic beyond their wildest dreams! In my world, elves lived lifes everlasting and no, this was not a blessing of their own blood, but they refused me and denied me.. this love you speak of is folly. The closer I wished to hold and claim them, the more they feared and retreated!
Mortal Men feared their death, the end of their being, so I saved them too, gave them life, everlasting in servitude to me, just like you now are!
And then, my greatest creation, an artifact to unify those bearing my gifts under my will, to guide them to unity and obediance was destroyed, my armies slaughtered.. I was almost broken, had to flee, hide, far, far away... I..
haaah.."
The creature exhaled, form slowly shifting back, from something engulfed in shadows and fire.. though also majestic, in a way, to the elfish form it wore, clearly for Dasyras benefit.
"I apologize for the outburst.. The question on who or what I am is hard to answer. I once was you would call a Demigod, but I put too much of my own power into an artifact and it was destroyed, reducing me to.. this. Some would tell you that I'm a dark lord, only wishing to conquer and destroy armies of good that raided against me in a desperate last stand. I would tell you that my small country was sieged, several times, by armies of leaders that feared my power, that feared even a few of their people might actually come to follow me. That yes, I tried to conquer.. but they build fortresses to keep me sieged and trapped. As with all tales, the truth is likely somewhere in between. I'll let you decide.
BUT. If you decide to ally yourself with me, As I said, I could enhance your bow so that you can share the blessings of undying servitude with all elven sisters whose hearts your arrows pierce, twisting their souls as beautifully as yours has been, while ravaging all other creatures of unnatural excess of life, like those you seem to face."
Mairon offered, then added: "Plus, on the note of ravaging, for your body and soul even further depravity by my hand is a remaining offer, for whenever you so desire.."
 
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BlueSlime

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"Why, pleasure, of course~" Dasyra answered just as swiftly as Morain questioned her, before undergoing her dodging performance. When the tentacles retreated, Dasyra smiled and caressed her own body with her free hand.

"I desire fulfillment of purpose. I exist to serve. To achieve what is best for my Mistress is the source of my greatest pleasure. Is it love? Yes. It is. But it can also be described as unquestioning, uncompromising loyalty. I thank you for acknowledging it." Dasyra inclined her head to Mairon, then paused and tilted her head in curiosity as the dark spirit obviously was peering into the memories that Dasyra had. To what extent and clarity Mairon could do this was difficult to tell. Perhaps with things it could understand, such as threats and violence, it could more easily see - whereas foreign concepts like Dasyra's love of Ventus might be more foggy and uncertain for it to detect.

When Mairon rose slightly and made it clear that she - it - would brook no interference from the blight of positive energy mutants, it made Dasyra begin to giggle again, and flick out her tongue, as though she were drinking up the passion of the former demi-god's anger and righteous dominance.

"I admire your passion, Mairon. Perhaps it would be best for your ultimate return if this blight were taken care of.~" Dasyra swayed her hips and grinned as Mairon dove into her own story. Truly, there was nothing a power-hungry creature enjoyed more than talking about itself and its own worthiness. Pride go-eth before the fall, so they said. She was interested in the offer of assistance in the empowering of her bow, but did agree with Sylvie's opinion - which the former dark lord picked up quite quickly.

"A disembodied spirit travels with me - complete with her own opinions, Mairon. I do not think your offer a bad one - but as I said before, my greatest pleasure is fulfillment of my purpose, and I have not come here seeking to reap the souls of elves. I have come here foremost to restore my Mistress into a form best suited to turn the tide beyond the Gate of Flesh. You are right, I came upon the Daen of the Gilt-Leaf Lodge. In her weakly-hidden arrogance, she sought to send me away to kill you in return for assisting me with my quest. I am no fool. She believes I will be destroyed, or perhaps on the off chance I somehow succeeded, I will have solved a problem for her. No doubt her ideal scenario is that we should destroy each other."

Dasyra snorted derisively.

"I may have been elvenkind, but her particular lodge and her blunt efforts at manipulation are insulting to me, and they also insult my quest for my Mistress. You do not insult me, nor my Mistress beyond that we were once elves. We are undead now, and that makes us something different. You have acknowledged that my obeisance is correct and as it should be. Perhaps in the many millenia to come, you will rise to power once again, and my Mistress and I will still be present. I shall go where my Mistress wills. Perhaps one day she shall serve and praise you, and then so shall I. But such a possibility exists only if my Mistress is free to serve beyond her current curse."

Dasyra held up the soul-stealing blade.

"I cannot wield this blade, only my Mistress can. I am not worthy, and it would make my current form... ineffective in completing my purpose. I require a way to carry this blade without touching it, to house its power while on my quest. I also require knowledge of what it would take to destroy the blade, or turn it mutable so that it can be manipulated and reforged. In return, I am willing to bargain, and also to amuse you, if that is your desire.

"The elves have promised me a method to carry the soul of my Mistress outside of the blade. Their price was your death - but as you say, you are quite beyond that. If they believed you dispersed, they would be bound to honor their commitment, and aid the undead. Once that bargain is fulfilled, I owe them no loyalty, nor any mercy - for indeed, it is quite clear they intended my destruction and the denial of my Mistress' return. Fort that insult alone, I wish them torment - but not to the point where they are not useful to my greater purpose."


Dasyra smiled and took a step closer to the dark being.

"If you cannot, or choose not to exchange knowledge with me, then at the very least, I would like to play a trick on those elves. I have no desire to fight you, only to achieve my goal. Your ultimate return to pure dominion is not a matter of centuries, but of millenia, so you can afford to act dispersed for all that the Daen will perceive. There is no need for conflict - in fact, such would only strenghten our mutual enemies."

Dasyra didn't go further with her proposal, for she was interested in if Mairon would be willing to trick the Daen, and if the former dark lord saw an advantage in arranging for Dasyra's quest to succeed rather than be hindered. Afterall, it seemed Mairon's designs would be served best if she did not have to contend with a world polluted with mutated positive energy everywhere. The best hope Mairon had was to allow people to continue to be fractured and independent, so that she could manipulate political powers against one another. If the threat of the underdark prevailed, there would be no manipulation possible. Surely, Mairon saw this, but how much would she be willing to do to stop it?
 

Pervy

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"So love, pleasure, servitude, for you they all blend into one another. So really, what you seek is assistance in your.. quest." Mairon regarded the information about Sylvie posessing Dasyra as nothing new, seemingly.
"Dwynen, the Gilt-Leaf Daen would likely rather see me destroyed than you, though expect no sorrow from her in your demise. That said, as you do not care fully for my goals, so do I not truly share yours. That sword is powerful, but not a tool easily worked on or with. As noble as your servitude is, I believe the humans have an old saying for this; 'what is in this for me?' The blight you combat is a problem, but not an immediate threat. Though things should not be allowed to become threats given the option.." The creature mused, seeming thoughtful.

"You speak true. In helping you I could one day gain an interesting loyal servant.. but I could also gain a powerful enemy.. and even at the height of my power my eyes could not see that far ahead to make such judgements. I'll just have to wait and see.
And I want to be clear, I do not insult you elves. You are quite intriguing creations. I would not insult you as the mountain would not insult the gemstone."

"Holding the sword? Oh, that is easy enough. I guess if you were to directly touch it it would try to overwhelm your will. Truthfully, you might win that battle, but a simple glove made to withstand its energy for a few years is little effort for me to create.
Destroying it.. now that is a matter different alltogether. Despite what some might tell of me, I am a creator, not a destroyer. I fear as much as I'd like to .. bargain, I'm of little use in destruction. Do you know how it was created perhaps?"

Mairon folded her hands. "The elves here see anything that is not beautiful as something to be eradicated... and anything that is not them is innately not beautiful. You might be given some grace, but, certainly, they will not tolerate you as one of them truly.
You wish them torment hmnn? Oh I do not torment. The extraction of their essence is quite intensely pleasurable."
Mairon stepped to open a small drawer, presenting an intricate emerald necklace of finely crafted whitegold. "The leader of the last few they sent against me made for most delectable jewelry, I'd say. Here." She presented the beautiful jewel that had a certain warmth in Dasyras hand. "It would both aid you.. and amuse me to know there are elves gladly using such gifts of mine. Walk into their midst, wearing what I crafted the soul and essence of their former blade-mistress into.
Oh yes, thats what happened with those elves that attacked me. I trapped them, pleasured them, until in this pleasure they would be willing to bend both their bodies and forms to my designs. Sadly, it makes them unfit as servants, but they make beautiful jewelry.
To be quite honest, this gift would try to bind you to my will.. but you needn't fear that, you already belong to something that, as much as it pains me to admit, seems stronger than my necklaces binding could be. Well.. maybe if you wear it for a few centuries... but, for now, if you put it on you'd also find it's blessings most enjoyable.. and perhaps necessary in your challenges to come.

Now.. as for a way to wield that sword.. A simple shadowwrought craft should do, until the swords true wielder is restored. It will take me but a few minutes. As for payment.. oh I was also called Annatar, the giver of gifts... And, if you expect a hook attached.. well, think of it as advertisement. Besides those pesky elves, feel free to spread words of my craftsmanship to others in the years to come. I can offer great power to those that need it, I only demand loyalty.
And, unlike most beings, I realize that this strange blight you face needs dealing with."
The creature nodded, then stepped upstairs, if Dasyra followed she'd see... something too complex for her to fully comprehend, a truly masterful smith at work, working shadows into some sort of leather in an impossibly thin layer.
It was up to Dasyra if she followed.. and put on the necklace, though she likely had little reason to deny such gifts. It's creation was questionable. Then again, so was -she- and perhaps the item could be used otherwise?
The necklace if put on reveals itself to be have mostly beneficial effects, granting +2 Dexterity and +2 charisma and +3 natural armor bonus and the ability to cast entangle and plant growth at will, summon a Huge Earth elemental 1/d (or 1d3+1 large elementals).
It would also extend your lifespan and function as a ring of sustenance but that doesn't quite work on you.. perhaps it reduces your.. special hungers weakening effect while worn, though not the desire itself.
It does however weaken your will save by -2, a penalty that can't be removed for as long as you wear it. The penalty will increase by -1 every decade too, you are dealing with a corruptive dark lord, after all.

If given a few minutes of time, during which Mairon would still chat, if a bit distractedly whilest concentrating on work, the crafter would produce a smooth, white-grey silken looking glove that was far heavier than its apperance would indicate. "Ah.. a warning. Make sure not to have direct sunlight fall on that glove.. it's more durable than most armors but can't stand the light of the sun for long. Well.. you brandish that sword out in the open, all sorts of holy do-gooders will come running anyway."
 
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BlueSlime

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Dasyra kept silent, letting Mairon talk and come to its own conclusions. She only spoke when she felt Mairon had asked her a direct question.

"No, I do not know where the blade was created. It was forged before my time. Should I seek out where it was created? What use would knowing that be?"

When Mairon handed her the beautiful jewelry, Dasyra tilted her head, then smiled at the warmth that the jewel possessed. Normally, warmth was a sign of life and felt wrong to her, but this warmth was not jarring. So, it was a trapped soul of another elf, this necklace? Perhaps then it would be better to have it and make use of it. Someone would, in the end, she supposed. Why not her?

She slipped the necklace around her smooth purple neck and then fastened it, feeling a surge in nimbleness and force of pesonality that served to strengthen her, though she did sense a weakness to her will. That was all right though... it was Ventus who would guide her will soon enough - what fear did she have in following the orders of her beloved Mistress?

"I will speak of Annatar, the giver of gifts, and that those seeking power in times of need can find it with you." Dasyra nodded, not needing to lie about this at all. She could uphold that end of the bargain without betraying her personal quest. Sure, perhaps in time Mairon would regain its strength and become a powerful dictator, but all that mattered now was Ventus. Future consequences could wait.

She watched with fascination as Mairon wove the stuff of shadows into a glove. Shadow manipulation did interest her.

"I presume someone could form arrows out of shadows too, if they knew a method of magic~" The Dark Ranger said bemusedly as she saw the glove take shape into its final form.

"There remains a trick to play on Dwynen - the supposed victory of my quest on their behalf. If you dispersed, then she could not argue that I had not done my duty. She gave me no clues as to a method of killing you, so doubtless she would question me as to how I was still existing after a confrontation with you. What should I tell her as I show off this fine bit of jewelry among their grove?" She tapped the necklace and caressed it, wondering if the elf inside of it felt her cool touch.

 

Pervy

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"I can not help you destroy this blade, but.. consider, it is powerful and unique. It must have left a trail in history. One path to it's destruction would be understanding how it was made.. and then undoing that process" For some reason Mairons expression turned sour when suggesting that, whilest Sylvie mused in Dasyras ear: Wasn't the plan to check out these adventurer folks and ask them how they dented it.. we just need some makeup, you could be like hey hey old friends how's it going, ever fought a deathknight? I did and boy-howdy was that a bitch and a half! At least Sylvie seemed to have overcome some of her apprehension about the being before them, now that it seemed they'd be 'working together'

"Wonderfully. Let's hope your travels don't end all too shortly then." The being nodded when Dasyra agreed to help.. advertise, then, nodding, the crafter added: "Yes, shadowstuff is quite malleable, if weak to sunlight. I could make some though proper arrows would cost you some gold.. I -am- a merchant after all and weaponry is not my specialty. I'm much better at jewelry. Perhaps seek out a shadowcrafter?" Mairon remarked while working, before handing the sleek glove over and thinking.

"Something something you hit me with arrows and were immune to my life draining? Oh and you could tell her that sword actually hurt me quite a bit, seeing as I'm a being of fire and it is of ice. Truthfully, feels as if the ice comes from the soul within, not the sword, the sword just drains the life of everything it touches, and a little elven ice-magic, rare a trait as it may be among your people wouldn't actually harm me all that much. I'll pack up my important research, and be gone when any of the elves try to check.. I have other .. retreats. Word to the wise to your lady in the sword, always have additional hideouts to retreat to, filled with magic to restore you.
I guess this concludes our business. Perhaps we'll meet again. For now, you have a soul to extract and a sword to destroy. Ah! One last warning. Destroying such artifacts of death might sometimes draw unwanted attention.. depending on who created it. I cannot tell you much of that. It seems to be a soul-drinker. That might be mortal made with long work and mastery of craft, or made by.. other beings.
One way or the other. Fare thee well, and... to be clear, I usually do not treat my guests this way."
Shadows gathered all of a sudden, a tentacle lashing out, then another, even if Dasyra dodged the first, the second slammed into her chest, coiled around her and lifted her up. "I do have a bit of a name to maintain you know?" Mairon chuckled, seeming mirthful, yet displaying a dangerous brutality when the tentacle flung Dasyra out of a window. The slight tearing of her outfit was not as bad as the forceful fall, sending her crashing into the swamp below, with a spraining of her left leg landing rather unpleasantly upon it despite her attempt to slow the fall, and a tearing of cloth with a few glass-shards imbedding itself into her skin..it now looked certainly believable she had been in a fight.. and also raised a concern... how exactly did she heal, now? Though, a slightering of shadows covering one of her scratches indicated that her transformation had luckily taken care of that.. she would mend, albeit rather slowly.

If she looked back up, the figure waved, turning slightly more shadowy and retreating. Could Mairon be trusted? Most certainly not. But perhaps for now their interests aligned well. Dasyra was still faced with the issue of the sword for now, but at least, now Ventus soul could be unbound from it, hopefully.
Her way back to the elves was uneventful, the small, dark fairies kept at bay by the shadowy ranger and her sword of undying cold, only the most daring of them attempting to entangle a few roots for her to stumble over, but not delaying her much. Her bodies damage hindered her little.. pain, dulled to nonexistant in her undead form was nothing compared to her purpose, to which she was a little closer.

The elves eyed her suspiciously, but welcomed her back, up until she came closer to the forests centre, a group of guards being.. guards standing in her way.


"Halt. Ae'in,.. you've faced the shadow-fey?" It seemed at least these elves knew of her mission.

(Dasyra takes a total of 13 damage, some slashing, mostly bludgeoning. She makes a reflex save and now realizes one downside of her undead condition.. without an area of negative energy, like Ventus fortress she actually doesn't heal naturally. She still recovers hitpoints, at a rate of 1/hour, meaning in half a day she'll be good as new. As she doesn't sleep this doesn't exactly get enhanced by rest.)
 

BlueSlime

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"I'll be certain to tell my Mistress thusly. It would be easier if I didn't have to go on a quest every time someone got the drop on her," Dasyra quipped with the dark lord, but after that she had little time to get another word in before suddenly Mairon had used its tendrils to grab her and fling her through the window and out onto the ground below, giving her the very real and painful appearance of having been in a fight.

"Ugh... wonderful. And this physical form doesn't heal without a necrotic aura." The dark ranger scowled. She slipped the shadow glove on, then gripped the blade with it. She kept the spare, rusting glove, just in case she ended up somewhere where the sun was shining brightly. She decided to keep her cloak over the shadow glove as well, just to further hide both it and the sword itself from prying eyes. She turned to look up at the tower, and saw Mairon wave to her before retreating back inside.

There are no friends among evil beings, only aligned interests. She supposed that was well enough, and a reminder of why she now hoped to secure some celestial material, so that the blade reforged would house the soul of her true mistress, the one who did not hunger for the death and souls of elves. Dasyra put a hand on the necklace around her.

"No doubt this is a trap, but if nothing else, my new friend, your soul will go places."

She moved through the woods as fast as her injured form would allow. It was beginning to knit slowly, and she sensed now why the most resilient undead were those who could create their own auras. With Ventus being a death knight and a mistress of magic, it was essential that Dasyra get her back, if only to guarantee that the wraith would continue to be effective in battle.

At last she came to the grove, and stood near the forest's centre, where guards now barred her way.

"I've come back to announce my success to the Daen," She said. "By the way you hold your spear at me, perhaps she is afraid that I would be bitter for her having sent me against that thing in the tower? With your arrows doing nothing, I was forced to use my accursed blade. But the deed is done. If she is not already aware, let it be known. I must be on my way."

 

Pervy

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The necklace did not, or could not respond to Dasyra. Perhaps it felt a little warmer. Likely, she imagined this.



"The Daen accepts your presence. It does not mean I must like your presence here, undead... but for now, I will tell her of your sucess." With that, the more grumpy ones of the elves disappeared, leaving a slightly nervous guard with Dasyra, albeit not too long. She was then told to wait as the Daen prepared for the ritual.. which she had to, quite a while, but little choice did she have.

When finally, she was lead to a small runic circle, The Wilt-leaf Daen instructed. "I was told of your sucess.. now, for my part of the agreement, place the accursed blade in the centre of these runes." She instructed, opening up an iron-bound Grimoire:


Dwynen then began chanting and, if Dasyra had not already been a timeless undead, she'd certainly get bored watching the arcane ritual. After a while, the Daen began sweating.. apparently it was not a simple spell, and a few other elves stepped in, taking her place and continuing the chant unbroken, icy mist flowing from the blade and permafrost covering the ground up to the runed circle.
Finally, when Dasyra felt just the slightest hint of her new dark hungers make themselfs known something white and etheral began flowing from the blade, with a crackling, racking of darkness, the supporting chanters growing louder while the Daen focused, and something looking, well.. like an elfish ghost, floating out of the blade, and being pulled towards the slightly purple glowing grimoire. For a moment, Dasyra could see her. Ventus, unbound by the blade.


She wore a traditional robe and armor, almost looking archaic, her lips moving briefly, a dainty, misty hand reaching out, but dispersing, being sucked up into the tome. She err.. she said 'I'm sorry for the hardships you have to endure. I think Aru'lien means hardship right? ardous task? Burdens? Elfish is hard I swear...
Sylvie translated, while one of the ritual-chanter assistants fainted, the Daen quickly rushing to close the book. "Good. The ritual was a sucess. She might be able to communicate with you through the tome, but for now, you should let her rest. The sword does not let souls it grabbed go willingly or eagerly.." The elf explained, nodding over to the blade that had bound Dasyras mistress.. and in a way, still did. Without Ventus noble spirit the sword was.. dark. A blade of pure darkness, eating away at all life. It called to Dasyra... Take me. Strike down everyone. End their disgusting life....
But the call was weak, easily ignored, at a distance. The tome, meanwhile, handed over to Dasyra by the Daen felt cool, soothingly so, like a cool breeze on a hot summers day, moisture condensing and freezing a little on its edges, but its power far less oppressive than it had been with the blade.

"The deed is done. Now. Destroy this wretched blade. Leave this place be. You could go through our portals, leading to Arvandor, but you will want to use the faeries ways. Just find a circle of mushrooms, step into it and close your eyes, as you wander out you should find yourself in a random forest on the prime." She looked at Dasyra, then shrugged. "If you truly are more elf than undead still, navigating your way through the forest to whatever goals you seek to deal with this blade should then be easy."

And with that, Dasyra would consider herself dismissed, a blade of evil undead in one hand, a tome, containing the cooling soul of her mistress in the other and little in the ways of goodbyes, indicating that one would welcome her leaving.. quickly. She still had to wander the strange, alien forests of the feywild and find a mushroom circle though...

it did not take Dasyra that long, even in the alien enviroment of the feywild to find a strange circling of mushrooms, said to be the gateway between the faerie world and the real world .. though she wisely avoided the first one, noticing several small footprints around it, and continued her search, finding a second, less.. faerie infested one to use.



Stepping into the circle, closing her eyes and then walking back out as instructed with a 'woah, didn't think that'd work' comment from Sylvie, she found herself standing in an old but different forest.

It took the undead elven ranger a few days to find her way back to civilization, time during which her hunger grew quite strong... not insatiably so, yet, but it became clearer she was cursed.. if only Ventus was by her side, to feed on, not locked away.. and it would still take a while longer to Port Vaerlin, the human city that housed the adventurers guild she had joined what felt like a rather literal lifetime ago. She found that her body could walk without need for rest, so she made good speed,.. though the mid-day sun was exceedingly unpleasant, forcing her to hide in the shadows of trees. At least she didn't light up like a vampire, but it wasn't much better.
Spectre, Sylvie told her. Spectres were ghosts that stayed vengeful too long and couldn't stand the sun, although it did not destroy them either.

On her way, the dark sword ironically kept her safe from wildlife.One half-orcish bandit was foolish enough to attack her.. he only helped sate her unnatural hunger, which however burned still quite insistant afterwards.
It was about the morning as she neared port Vaerlin, one final rest from that now annoying sunlight before she could meet with the adventurers guild when the tome she had carried along opened on itself, clear, calm handwriting telling her:

Dasyra? Can you read this? I'm starting to feel strong enough to communicate a little. I understand now what you are trying to do. You must have somehow resisted the swords binding and now you have unbound me, right? I wish I had words to describe my deep feelings for your devotion, but I should not write or even focus too much upon this. The sword, it calls to me. It's dark hunger... My soul still belongs to it, I fear, though know that this temporary reprieve from it whispering in my ears is liberation enough, even should you fail.. I don't need to bring the world under the heel of undeath.. I just need you, my obediant bride. But.. this false life still needs to be stopped. But now, my bride, I know what your body and soul thirsts for. Deserves to have.. Sadly, without the sword, my undead body can't be rebuild, but this warlocks tome has offered.. other possibilities I think. I am afraid my 'dirty talk' will be quite lacking, for you wont be able to read and of this, but for your loyalty, your hard work, the least I can do is sate and nurture your perversions, my love, my sweet slave. Behold, one of the spells hidden in this book. Enjoy it as it lasts,.. this will drain me for at least a day.

With this, the writing ended, and instead, the ink began to pool and drip, getting an ooze-like quality of something dark and purple, oozing forth and pooling from the tome before a fully fledged, blue-black phallus formed out of an ink like substance, growing, wiggling like a snake, as did another, and a tinier one, a scent that made Dasyras instincts swim with excitement.... though the magical tentacles were weak, not growing out far.. The elf would have to debase herself upon the tome to sate her hungers..
(For reference!: http://i.imgur.com/ZOmHRV5.jpg
 
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BlueSlime

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Throughout the ceremony to extract Ventus' soul from the cursed blade, Dasyra watched on in observant silence. As she was a being of darkness and necrotic energy fueled her existence, fear had a limited affect on her. Emotional reactions to the things that lurked in the shadows and the unknowable no longer caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. Yet the passion that animated her - that bound her eternally to Ventus on a metaphysical chain forged by the divine might of Evening Glory - it transfixed her in a rigid state of terror as the chanting went on and on, with her lover's soul hanging in the balance. This must work, this had to work! And not until the spirit of the fallen elf shift out of the blade and slam shut into the warlock's grimoire did the anxiety subside in the dark ranger.

She clasped the tome close to her breast, protectively, and spoke to the Daen.

"Yes, the blade in its current form shall be destroyed. It shall be reforged and remade into a better receptacle for this great soul. You have done a good service here for the grace of the elven people."

With no more to be said, and no sentimental reason to outstay her brief welcome, Dasyra's injured body moved through the dark feywild until she discovered the second ring of mushrooms that inidcated a portal back to the prime material plane. From there she journeyed by night through the dense woodlands, back to the trappings of the surface civilizations, which she had not seen for quite some time. As the days and nights passed, her hunger and simultanteous longing for her Mistress grew terribly.

---
Days later... as she neared Port Vaerlin...

"Spectre?" she muttered. "So I'm a spectre that has retained control of its own body then, is that it? Well, I refuse to be categorized so easily. I am Dasyra, more than simply a spectre, just as Ventus is more than a death knight.... hnn... though I cannot think straight. The curse has made my lust grow to such extremes - I fear I should not be able to hold myself back from the first fuckable humanoid that I saw. That half-orc bandit was only a small reprieve. What I need... is Ventus back. Her smooth, cool skin. Her lovely flowing hair, her piercing blue eyes... full lips, perfect breasts... and her yummy, delicious, throbbing--"

The tome opened, its leather bound volume opening with a click of the metal clasp mechanism coming loose. The pages fluttered open and revealed a page with script forming into words before her very eyes.

Despite her undead nature, the words were powerful enough to make the immortal spectre given flesh choke up and well her eyes with bloody tears.

"Oh Mistress. It's you! You know what I've done,... that will be... bad then if you are put back into your cursed state before I can undo the blade's hold over you. I'll do anything and everything to get you out from under the blade's grip, oh Ventus."

She sank down to her knees before the book's open pages and read it to its conclusion, and to the shifting oozing ink that was now forming into tentacles.

"What I thirst for... what I de-deserve~ hannh~" The dark ranger's hungry red eyes grew wide at seing the dark, purple phallus, which then shed its outer colouring to become black and blue.

She licked her cherry red lips and brought her mouth down to the book, running her tongue across the tentacles, hoping to be reminded of the taste of her death knight's cock, but satisfied even in the knowledge that they had been summoned for her pleasure and respite by Ventus.

Quickly discarding her clothing the dark ranger crawled forward and with her legs spread wide, upon her knees, she lowered herself onto the two tentacles, guiding the things into her lower holes, to let them have their way with her. Clenching her teeth in barely contained ecstasy, She began to bounce up and down upon the open pages of the tome, letting the tentacles sink deeply inside of her.
 

Pervy

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Eh, prolly not. I mean, you're very solid for a spectre and I don't mean that in a buddy sense, but.. maybe? Hey I'm not a simply categorized apparition either. Also stop fantasizing about Ventus, I can see your surface thoughts and it's distracting me too! The spirit had complained. Luckily, Ventus seemed to have.. kind of.. heard their plea.

'I can't -quite- sense whats going on around me, but still I feel I should write: Don't give me that look. But yes, it's all very disorienting, my dark archer, but if the sword were to reclaim me, I'd strive to have it claim you too. Such is the very nature of my being .. even now.. I.. It's better I don't dwell. Let us.. distract ourselfs.' The letters suggested in response to Dasyra, eldritch energy subtly distorting the air right over the pages.

The tentacle tasted... well, like rubbery ink, though, on a more spiritual level there was a feeling of attending Ventus that the elf had been made, had accepted to yearn for, as the tentacle quickly responded to the attention rendered to it by thrusting up into her, oozing summonned sustenance to keep Ventus enslaved elf nourished with a hint of a taste, before the elf lewdly mounted the tome.. looking like a rather creative mage-apprentice in darker tones as tendrils thrust from the tome and deep into her cool, moist depths.

There was no sound other than her own moaning, which was perhaps arousing by itself, and the slick, wet pumping of the tentacles, one more even coiling around Dasyra in a symbolic gesture of capture, keeping her upon the tome as the tentacles pushed deeper, swirling and oozing their cool stickyness as they pumped deep into Dasyras form, giving her little time to prepare for the progressively powerful intrusion. Of course, she neither needed,.. nor wanted much time to prepare, her undead body able.. if not -made- to take muuch wilder a lover than any ordinary lithe elven maiden could have, the tendrils growing wild and restless within her, pumping and pulsating, mimicking Ventus firm and relentless fucking of her property, knowing what they both wanted,.. needed.
All too soon, almost, the tentacles twitched and halted for a brief moment, teasing the elf before filling her up with conjured cum, joining in with a moaning from the ghost posessing her and clearly enjoying herself as well, as the feeling of cum pouring into her both sated and reinforced the undead rangers eternal addiction.
For the old her, perhaps this would have been a defiling experience as eldritch ooze and cum poured into her, but her new, darker self eagerly absorbed the sustenance, her body rejoicing when these two tendrils withdrew.. only for two new to take their place, rubbing into her slickened, slime covered sex only to thrust themselfs in with little hesitation, Ventus knowing of her slaves wilder, insatiable urges.. having after all stocked their fires quite personally, and a single round of tentacles coiling around her simply would not do.

Soon, the second pair of tentacles had shifted into a ... relaxing rythm, one pumping into her, at the same time as the other pulled out, by now, even with Dasyras hungry body absorbing some of it, making lewd sloshing noises as they stirred her undead openings, with the tentacles first climax only having been an appetizing warmup, tendrils slithering and thrusting into her for several minutes before, delivering a second release, finally fading away... clearly that had exhausted Ventus, leaving only a brief parting message of:

'Make me proud, my creature.' with a stylized drawing of an inky rose besides it, the deathknight clearly taking pleasure in both wooing and pervertedly claiming her lover like this.

(No tentacles+Sylvana alone hentai to be found out there, 'tis a crime!)
 

BlueSlime

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OOC:

In the criminal summoning circles of the Underdark, sexual tentacle conjurations are considered especially erotic. These are the tales of the Tentacle Victims Unit.

Dominant Law & Obedient Order: TVU.

Dun dun!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------



"Oh Sylvie... if you're going to be in my mind, then you'll just have to get used to my fantasies~ I've been given undeath with the express purpose of being Ventus' eternal love-slave. There's nothing quite so near to my mind as the longing for the Mistress' sweet attentions.~"

Dasyra's realization of Ventus' awareness caused the undead elf to fidget with barely contained excitement. Her oath of loyalty to Ventus, bound forever by the goddess of eternal love, strained at her unbeating heart as she crawled to the book to read its words reverently. Though the truth of what Ventus would do to her pained her, she bit her lip and nodded once she'd read the message.

"Oh Mistress. Even should the worst happen, and you were to have the sword claim my soul in the end, I would at least still be with you. I could exist with such a fate, though not be so nearly as happy if I could free you from your curse! I want to spend eternity with you holding a new sword - reworked and no longer aligned to the evil lich's plot! Where you would be free to hold me in your arms and we could pleasure one another for thousands of years!"

She squirmed as the tentacles arose, her flower already moistened with nectar, now growing even more slick as her thighs rubbed together and her tongue snaked out to suckle a taste of the oozing appendages. She was given a a small portion of oozing, summoned ejaculate, before she switched positions, and positioned her dripping wet cunny over the tome to invite the tendrils to push upwards, deep inside of her immortal frame and claim her.

The largest of the tendrils slid deep into her welcoming folds, which swallowed the tentacle with a squelching sound as it wasted no time in snaking up her tight tunnel and kissing up against her cervix, threatening to push through and re-shape the undead ranger's insides to make her a more fitting cum receptacle for the enrapturing, pulsating cock limbs. Dasyra moaned in joy, and let the supplemental tendrils coil around her wrists, thighs and waist, to hold her in place as her body gyrated on top of the book. Her back arched, thrusting out her pert breasts and erect nipples while her neck craned backward, her mouth agape and eyes lost in the haze of satisfied lust.

The spell was agrressive, domineering, and controlling of her body, which suited Dasyra just fine, for it reminded her of the rough fucking that turned her on plenty when the Mistress had been handling her in their private room steeped with negative energy in the frozen fortress in the Underdark. Another tendril slipped into her rear hole and alternated its thrust with the primary tendril, each of the pumping and ramming home inside of her, bouncing her up with every new re-entry, making her lovely orbs heave and sway in an erotic fashion. Dasyra tossed her pride to the wind and began to moan lewdly, not caring if anyone heard, though it was doubtful that there would be anyone so far out in the wilderness as she was now.

Soon she received her first full load, a glazing of oozing cum that splattered and coated her cool tunnels with a warm gooey gift that her body began to absorb for nourishment.

"Ohhh, Ahhh! Nnnhhaaaahhh! Yes. Yes. Yes!! Oh Ventus!"

Dasrya shuddered violently with the force of her own orgasm, her mind going white and blank as her senses were overwhelmed with pleasure. Her head then tilted forward, her tongue slightly lolling out in front of her as the initial tentacles withdrew, leaving her holes to leak slightly, before being almost immediately replaced with two fresh limbs, waiting to stuff her insides and throw her right back into mind-numbing ecstasy. Her moaning kicked in once again, and this time lasting longer as they performed a drawn out plumbing of her depths, making louder sex noises to go along with her mewling.

The dark ranger could sense her skin-riding ghost sister-wife getting horny and achieving orgasm as well through her.

"Nnnh... fuck.. isn't it the best?" She wondered aloud to Sylvie, but soon was rendered unintelligible as the tentacles picked up their pace until unleashing a second torrent of cum inside of her before fading away as the summoning spell ended, causing the stunned Dasyra to fall backwards in a heap, with viscous liquid pouring out of her holes into sticky pools on the ground beneath her.

When she had the sense enough to read again, Dasyra smiled at the black rose signature and her newest command from her mistress.

"I will make your proud, my beloved Mistress. You'll see. I'll return you to the glory you so richly deserve. We'll be free to spend eternity doing what you truly desire. Just you wait... Hnnnh... so good... nnh~"

Dasyra let herself lie still for a while, enjoying her so-called defilement by the tentacle spell, letting the tentacle cum that she hadn't immediately absorbed just lie on top of her. Idly she brought her fingers down to the dripping pool of semen between her thighs and scooped it up, bringing the sticky ribbons of cum to her lips and suckling on her fingers as if they were lollie pops. She cleaned herself in this way, wanting to not waste the precious seed. Only when this was complete and she'd absorbed every last drop, did she right herself, and begin to don her armor again, then she wrapped the book up safely into her pack and cradled it.

"She is with us.~ It is so re-assuring... yet at the same time, it's clear that my quest is on a knife's edge. I must cleanse Ventus' blade of its curse before restoring her, or I will truly join her as a slave to that odious curse."

She stood up, strong enough to continue due only to her undead fortitude. Her mortal elven form would have needed days to fully recover from such a monstrous ravishing.

"Let's continue onward, Sylvie. I'll disguise myself as best I can when I enter civiization, and keep to the shadows. We'll head to my old adventurer's guild to see if we can track my former companions that way. I'll do my best not to let them think me a threat. If anyone asks, we're a drow that's erm... been cast out by our people and put under a curse. We'll just have to tell them we're busy trying to make up for all the bad rap that our matriarchy gets."

She shrugged, having no better plan and not being in position to wait on a better idea to occur.
 

Pervy

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.. Well so have I. Sylvie admitted about being Ventus love-slave, sounding almost shy for a change. Well, not quite. But I was created by the same desires by a younger Ventus. She literally fucked me to death, think I mentioned that once, anyway, ironically that left me unable to directly fulfill her physical needs, but worse, I think a part of her always loathed what she had done to me, making her hesitate to ever come truly close to me again.. Bah, listen to me, blabbering like a poltergeist. The ghost huffed.

Cautionary tale, take a breather after a few days of fucking, else you might find yourself unable to. Heh.

Sylvies musing was still a little exhausted by the afterglow of an orgasm felt through the eager elf-slaves body... though she certainly did not complain, the presence in Dasyras mind radiating the ghostly equivalent to a content sigh, rather than answering her sister-wifes question, as Dasyra once more tasted a hint and memory of Ventus upon the cum, just a promise of the real thing to come..

Heh. Knifes edge. I get it. Because of the sword. The ghost enthused.

Dasyra executed her plan to approach the port town, her elven-memory recalling the rough layout of the town she had visited several decades ago. It had grown, as humans tended to amazingly achieve. Hey, so. Feel like I should bring this up before we head on into the town. While most of them are jokes, perhaps it'd be smart to drop the sword somewhere save before getting in? You know, just in case a few of the heroes actually detect the -overwhelming fucking evil- coming from your sword. I'd not be worried about anyone nabbing it.. they'd just turn into a ghoul or something. .. more bothersome if you leave it anywhere for long, really I mean, you have the body, your call Either way could be risky I guess... A mental shrugging left Dasyra back to her musings.

An elven settlement would have a tree or two more. Humans made up what they lacked in time by being proactive.Interestingly, there were no town-guards barring her way. Nor, infact, seemed there to be much military presence, the first armed person Dasyra noticed, in the distance, seemed to be an adventurer like herself. Also, the town was so alive, it bothered her on an instinctual level.. just like it'd bother a living wandering among skeletons, not a direct fear or disdain, just a subtle aversion of something, well, now different than her.

The guild-hall itself seemed to have been renovated, build up, infact. As Dasyra arrived, strictly sticking to the shadows to avoid the rising morning sun, there was quite the buzzing of activity, several armored adventurers and robed mages wandering in and out. And another strange thing, a bunch of children were crowding around the entrance, until tentatively shooed by a robed noble, each presenting a piece of paper for the heroes of the guild to.. note down something on?


About then was, when Dasyra first ran into someone actively trying to stop her.. by slightly tugging at her cloak, of all things.
It seemed to be a young girl.. or an efeminate boy, they were just at the age were it was kind of hard to tell, smiling a hopeful smile up at Dasyra.

"Hey! Hey.. you're one of the heroes yes?" The girl(presumambly) fidgeted a little, pushing out a small quill and a piece of paper at Dasyra. The paper had a variety of names in different writing styles: 'Argon Shadowblade 'Wildfire Meya' (This one was underlined with a scorch mark) "I can tell because you're all secretive and shadowy and.. wooosh! .. most folks like the super shiny and powerful heroes, but I think shadowpower is way cooler! So, are you Lady Arki'la the drow-blade mistress? Nono.." She rubbed her chin, as if reciting something well learned. "Lady Arki'la never has weapons, you see, can make weapons out of the shadows! She's so cool. Wait, I know! You're miss Midnight, the secretive shadow-mage genius and one of the eight.. oooh everyone will be so jealous of your signature!" The girl bounced a little on the spot, nudging the paper closer. At least no one else was bothering Dasyra, for now. This all had to be a recent human invention, sure, some of the higher class adventurers, those just barely above Dasyra's abilities back then, had become more or less famous, with townsfolk cheering for them, but certainly not to this extend. Bwahaha, here's an idea. Call yourself 'Dame Dasyra the tentacle-vanquisher' Sylvie bemusedly suggested.

(That joke totally justifies me skipping from the finished naughties to storybits. *cough cough*)
 
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BlueSlime

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"Oh, that's what she did to me too," Dasyra replied to Sylvie.

"I wonder if that's part of the deal that binds us to her? Dying with sexual desire and submission on our minds. We need to get you a sexy body to possess. One that can please the Mistress alongside me. I think you'd look nice skinriding a drow. Fufufu...~"

---

Much later, Dasyra came to the edge of the town and gave consideration to the presence of the evil sword that she held in her shadowcrafted glove. She'd been wrestling with the problem of what to do with it even before Sylvie piped up and made the decision come to the forefront.

"I am loathe to put this aside. Even if it is well protected - it is my Mistress' phylactery and the key to all my hopes. Moreover, it is a craft of evil, and it has a dark sentience as well. I will bury it, and remember its placement, but I know its presence will blight the land. We must not be overly long from it, or the forces of good will be alerted to it one way or the other."

The dark ranger found a suitable landmark and proceeded to bury the blade. She felt confident in being able to get back to it, and resolved to not be long in the city, which reeked of life and unnerved her. She could objectively appreciate the beauty of the living, but the nature of their quickened blood, their warm flesh, their positive aura, felt like running a nail over a glass mirror when she got too close.

She hung to the shadows and made her way to the old Adventurer's Guild, which brought back memories of her mortal life. It had changed a bit, and now this crowd of onlookers and eager signature gatherers made her feel a bit confused - and perhaps out of touch. She recalled the days when the Adventurer's Guild was not so appreciated, and when to be among its number was to raise eyebrows. Often the question was - why couldn't you lot get real jobs? But she supposed that it was only a matter of time until the public realised what good could be achieved from slaying evil monsters.

Dasyra glanced down at the girl who had found her and was proffering a quill and ink in her direction.

"I am none of those that you've named, child. I am Dasyra, the Eternal Song in Darkness. I will not make your friends jealous just yet... my quest is not yet complete. But should I succeed, you might take some happiness in our meeting. I have been adventuring through the Underdark for many years now, and I am seeking old companions. Do you know of Cratus the Swift? Del Foeshatter? Maybe even Purnoy Billnip? I would imagine they have been retired now, but a knowledgeable girl like you might know of them and where they might be?"

 

Pervy

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Can we call it something other than 'skinriding' Also, while you look for a body, try to find something soulless, you know, like a lawyer.
The ghost mused, giving the mental equivalent of a shrug at Dasyras decision for the sword, besides a playful:
Heh, X marks the spot?

"Eternal song in darkness.. Hmnnn." Oh, and I'm Sylvie, the ghostly maiden of unseen.. mysteries! The girl pondered, looking at Dasyra with big, curious eyes, withdrawing her signature-booklet before peering up. "Well of course I know Del Foeshatter! He was one of the eight... there!" The girl enthusiastically pointed over the marketplace to a new seeming statue, depicting a dragon towering over a group of eight humanoid figures in a variety of getups.
"No idea of the other names..." The girl seemed to think hard, pondering and rocking back and forth briefly. "Hmnnn.. I guess they could be old heroes? Wait, does that mean you're friends with Del Foeshatter? Oooh! So cool! It's super hard to get his autograph." She nodded. "He retired.. uhh.. like before I was born. Is super old, but, did you know that dwarfs, gnomes and elves can get faaar older than humans? Siblien told me that she's a quarter-elf which is why she'll get to be older than me but I'm pretty sure she's lying because her ears are not pointy at all and I'm better at climbing trees!" The talkative girl informed.