Tsunami Saga 1

From Grigbertz

Eiren`s Saga By Maglad

Eiren`s Saga: Book 2, Chapter 1

Lorail was curious, and just mildly offended. It was not often that men rejected her services at the Alquian bath house of her master. She knew herself attractive, the large pool was an excellent source of exercise, most of which was obligatory as part of her daily routine. Her body was now more fit than it had never been while she was free, toned without being heavily muscular, well rounded –she always wondered just what did the slave breeders put in their food. She had no complains about its effects, but wondered if they couldn't make just as much money by selling whatever secret ingredient was responsible for her nicely filled curves and firm, pleasantly filled breasts- and, she knew for how popular she was within the city neighbourhood, extremely attractive. Her long, shapely legs supported a petite, sensual body with a firm bottom and pleasantly filled breasts with no bounce, a round, cute face, hair and eyes like coal, all nicely wrapped in a glossy, perfectly tanned skin as soft as a flower's petal. All of this, of course, perfectly exposed and adorned in a manner calculated to entice customers. Her bracers, collar and piercing where of polished copper and her bondage was enticing while delicate, speaking of her sensual helplessness and immediately clarifying her status as another piece of equipment for the pleasure of visitors. Also, her mannerisms and attitude were those of a perfectly trained pleasure slave, one that knows more about her own feminity than many goddesses.

Therefore, it was understandable that the beauty was curious and somewhat offended when the handsome foreigner of the almond eyes rejected her –and every other girl that approached him- before going on his own to a secluded bathroom. Of course, there was the possibility that he was attracted to men, but he made no especial request to have such sent to him, nor did he appeared to her as the ascetic nor the shy kind. Rather, he appeared as a strong warrior, one that is wise on the ways of the sword, and survivor of many a battle, a man by any definition, and one that would most certainly know what to do to have a woman heel his footsteps and please his whims.

Of course, the warrior had noticed the pretty slavegirl looking at him from behind the large indoor plants that surrounded his little corner of the baths, but it made no difference to him, as it would make no difference to any other free man on the city. He was pleased with the city so far. After travelling much, he had learned that the ways of his people where not everyone's ways, and that in fact some folks considered the owning of another sentient being as some kind of punishable crime. Yet as soon as he arrived to the desert, he saw –and in fact had to defend himself from quite a few- raiding groups and nomad tribes with slaves of their own. True, he couldn't agree with them most of the time, seeing their treatment of their own slaves as barbaric by the standards of his own land, where slavery was a condition as noble as the status of the warrior, and usually a brief misadventure from which the men captured on battle came out humbled and wiser after a few years. It was this tradition of taking battle captives what kept slaves from being abused and mistreated, as most of them would be later freed and either sent back to their own clans or invited to join the one it served on. This also meant that the concept of a runaway slave was something completely new and foreign to him, and most of the time, the slaves kept by other peoples seemed to him as stunted and misfortunate, broken and hopeless people he preferred not to involve himself with.

Of course, the women were an exception. Unlike men, women would not train as warriors in his land, and were, at best, seen as delicate animals, exquisite to keep, and pleasant to posses, in his land or any other. It was not a urge to avoid the girl, then, what kept him from reaching over around her waist and carrying her off with him, but rather, the cost of having such a girl, as no doubt her services would not be a courtesy of the house, and he hated that the most. On his land, a beautiful slavegirl was very much like a good wine, something to happily and freely share with visitors and friends. True, a slavegirl was possessed, but still, had a status and dignity that he found completely missing now, and he couldn't quite get used to it.

Tristan: "Lady Mako, you can come out now; it should be far enough from the sands"

She had seen genies appear from bottles, and wizards summon servants and monsters, but Lorail still was surprised when the medallion that the stranger held didn't seemed to summon as much as call a door, a rectangular window appearing on midair, the sight of a far away land visible trough it before a stunningly beautiful young woman reached forth trough it and flowed into the arms of her master. Feminine and fresh, with an unearthly beauty not unlike what Lorail imagined would be the beauty of a nymph or some other such incredible creature. Her face was petite and cute, with almond blue eyes that seemed like windows to heaven, raven hair longer than she was, with skin so fair and delicate the tanned slavegirl thought it the color of milk, a figure both small and sensual, with curves that would be the dream of a slave breeder, full and pleasant, without the hardness of those who had been forced into shape, but the grace of those who had simply grown into their figures, a natural beauty. What little of her skin was exposed was incredibly fair and soft, her clothes foreigner to the bath girl, large flowing robes of delicate fabrics and clear colors that clothed her beautifully in a manner both discreet and elegant, while at the same time enticing and sensual, turning what little of her was exposed into a promise of pleasure. The slavegirl was stunning, her gestures and feminity as gentle as a dove, her raven hair floating behind her as if underwater, her face still blushing brightly as her master reached forth and gently caressed her cheeks, the couple sharing a loving gaze that spoke volumes of their relationship, making the Alquian girl smile as she saw their fondness for each other, immediately understanding she could not possibly be needed by such man, not while he possessed such captive beauty, not while she would kiss his chains and worship her slavery, not while they loved and cherished each other as much as they did. Satisfied and smiling, Lorail retreated and returned to the main pool, laying down at the edge as she day dreamed of a love master that would choose to keep her by his side, enjoying and loving her, having her love and worship and attend him, keeping her by his side.

She was thus caught unaware when a regular of the house saw her on the shore and lifted her up on his arms, kissing her as he took her away into a private, taking her and having her service him perfectly and fully in the way that only a captive female can serve a free male, with uncompromising perfection and absolute passion.

Meanwhile, the warrior was smiling as he received the beautiful spirit in his arms, holding her gently and drinking in her beauty once again, just enjoying the feeling of his beloved partner, slave and guide between his arms. She was blushing on bright shades of red, which he could find no less than charming after everything they had done together already, ever since the elders of his clan designed him for his task and granted her to him to assist him on his journeys. It had been over two months, and it had been just a few miles before he took out her mask and looked into her eyes, and then just a few days before he finally ravished and then loved her, both of them finding it as natural as if they had been meant to since always.

And yet she blushed whenever he called her, and shivered whenever he held her, even as she stood on tiptoes to raise her lips to his, or even as he embraced her, her fair skin turning softy red as her gentle embarrassment spread from her head to her toes. This time it was no difference, her eye down as she averted his gaze, his arms around her, soaking her clothes as he rested on the edge of the low pool, neither of them caring for such things.

Mako: "How can I please you, Master Tristan?"

Tristan: "You please me well enough already, my lady Mako; just let us stay as we are for a while"

She nodded softly, and he softly brushed some raven hair from her face, caressing her cheek as he enjoyed the closeness, the sweet scent around her, how the colors and the sounds and the world in general seemed more alive in her presence, warmth more pleasing, water more fresh. He knew this to be not a illusion of his senses, for he first experienced it when, disguised behind a mask, he had found her amongst a crowd of identically clothed females to show the elders his sensitivity to the spirit world, and he knew it was no illusion now, the world around him more pleasant by her mere presence in his arms, where she belonged and from where he would never let her go, had he a say in the matter.

Mako: "Master Tristan, can I speak?"

Tristan: "Of course you can, you don't need to be so formal on my arms"

He caressed her forehead and cupped her chin to kiss her lips before letting her continue. It was true, he had never denied her talking, yet they both enjoyed this little ritual so much… she would ask him, he would caress and kiss her. It was one of those little things that couples do for each other as they grow closer, one of their games, and they both knew it.

Mako: "Master, why are you alone, did you not found that girl earlier, pleasant?"

He had knew for a time now that even while not manifesting on the same plane as he, she was always watching over him, and could see what he saw, and hear what he heard, but more importantly, she was far more than just a slave or a tool, she was his love, and he had found the lips of other women not as sweet, nor their skins as soft as hers, preferring her company to that of any other. Only once had he seen her hurt, after a time when he had accepted the hospitality of a clansmen before leaving the ancestral lands, and as by tradition, enjoyed of his finest girl. She hadn't said anything, of course, her lips just as sweet, her tone just as gentle, and yet he could see her pain in her eyes and feel the added shyness of her touch for terrible, painful days afterwards, a horrible and soul tearing experience he did not wish to repeat.

Tristan: "She was very beautiful"

Mako: "That she was"

Tristan: "And very eager"

Mako: "You are most handsome, master"

Tristan: "And would have been most pleasant"

Mako: "Master! ...of course master, she is a slave"

Still, he oh so loved to tease her

Tristan: "And I could still call he"

Mako: "But you won't?"

He smiled and tightly hugged her, making her gasp a little as he held her from her sides, her figure weightless, and lifted her to his lips, starting a long, sensual, lustful kiss, a kiss like only she could give him, fresh and burning, loving and loved, soft and harsh, the kiss of his beloved slave, of his favourite companion.

Tristan: “But I won't”

Mako: -embarrassed and blushing- “Master! Is this place safe?”

Tristan: “It is a public place”

Mako: “Could people see us?!”

Tristan: “At any time, maybe a master would come out those plants with a slavegirl on his arms and take her before us, across the pool over those stones, have her please him in any way”

Mako: -now definitively red, and trembling in his arms- “O-of course, for she is a slave”

Tristan: “And he is her master, if only for a while”

Mako: “Like you are my master?”

Tristan: “Indeed, and how you are mine”

Mako: “Master?”

Tristan: “My slave, are you not?”

Mako: “Yes master!”

Tristan: “Completely?”

Mako: “Of course!”

Tristan: “And can not a master, do as he wishes with his slave, at any time, on any place?”

Mako: -almost fainting- “At any time… on any place”

Tristan: “Even in a place such as this, or in the middle of a street?”

Mako: “O-of course”

Tristan: “Would you like that, sweet slave? To be taken on the middle of a street?”

Mako: “M-master!”

And then he kissed her again, his hands roaming down her figure, enjoying her gorgeous curves, exploring her warm body, caressing her raven hair. Holding her in such a manner, expertly undressing her, removing her delicate garments, caressing her silken skin, kissing every inch as it was exposed to the air and water of the little hidden pool, enjoying the moans and shivers of the beauty wearing his collar, of the angel under his chains.

She lets out a little cry, and he smiles as she blushes when he finally pulls her wet clothes from her figure, exposing her fully to the baths, kissing her on the lips and moving down her chin and throat as he enjoyed her before placing her on the sands.

Tristan: “Is this embarrassing, sweet slave?” Mako: “Y-yes master!” Tristan: “Would you want me to stop?” Mako: “W-what are… ah? what are a slave’s wishes?” Tristan: “They don’t matter, true, but would you want me to?” He gently turned her on her back, having her stretched over the sands, her gorgeous figure exposed, her knees slightly apart, her hands next to her shoulders on the sands as he caressed her body, as he cupped a breast and gently played with a nipple, twisting it between thumb and index, giving it a tiny squeeze and a pull, making her whimper and squirm.

Mako: -as soft as the whisper of a fairy- “No” Tristan: “What was that? A slave should be clear in her speech, especially one as lovely as you” Mako: -a little louder- “N-no” Tristan: “As you wish, then”

He smiled and moved over her to find her lips with his, gently parting them with his tongue as he kissed her, supporting his weight on an elbow, using the hand to gently hold her head while the other roamed her body, his rough, strong fingers caressing her silken skin, travelling over mountains of abundance and fertile valleys, moving south towards the secret of her world, now gently cupping her flower, and even gentler in the caressing of its petal, encouraging it to blossom and ready for when it happens.

Mako: “M-master! Oh master…” Tristan: “Sweet Mako, good slave”

Again he kisses her, now his fingers gently and expertly caressing her blossoming flower, playing with the pearl of her feminity and softly exploring the source of her moisture, delving into her tender, soft passage while his tongue does the proper past her lips and over her own. Now the sweet girl cries unto his lips, for his fingers have found the core of her feminity, and are relentlessly assaulting it on the kindest manner, on the cruellest manner, kindling fires of slave heat in her body, flames brighter than the suns and hotter than a dragon's breath and just as all consuming.

Now she whimpers and moans, her nubile, stunningly beautiful body stretches and squirms under his, her back arches and her body rises to meet his as he moves above her. Her hands closed into tight little fists next to her shoulders, for a slavegirl is not allowed to touch her master, her figure thus completely exposed, her chest going up and down as she gasps and moans, her delicate face moving a little from side to side as she shakes her head on heat, as she squirms under his touch, as he enjoys her, pleasing her, loving her, having her moan and squirm for to have her do such under his touch brings him a pleasure of his own, for to have such exquisite, delicate creature responding to his touch and control, to his mastery of her body, to her worship of his malehood is what brings forth the true pleasure on a master. To know that it is he, the one that triggers such wondrous reactions, such beautiful movements, such musical sounds.

She cries out softly, her voice as sweet as an angel while she calls out his name, while she calls out in pleasure, while she calls out in need.

Mako: “Mas—aster! P-please! I… I'm so close!”

He smiles and leans down upon her gorgeous figure, kissing at a nipple while he gently inserts another finger past the petals of her flower, masterfully rubbing at the core of her feminity while his thumb teases her clit, soon having the girl crying and moaning as her body arcs trough her orgasm, her sweet voice crying out his name. Her figure is glorious, her ebony hair a mess on the sand, her body glowing with drops of perspiration like pearls upon her fair skin, her beautiful legs parted softly for his hands to explore the secret flower between her thighs, her delicate toes entwined with the sand as he simply drinks in the sight of her afterglow, caressing and pampering her before leaning down to the side of her ear, whispering dirty words to make her blush and shiver.

Tristan: “Now my sweet Mako, it is time to attend at your master” Mako: “Of course, my love, Tristan my master”

She smiles at him and gently rises to her elbows, kissing at his lips with unbound passion, worshipping them with her own, then licking down his body to his chest and taking upon the caring of his body, with her lips leaving no inch untouched, dutifully and lovingly moving as he lies down on his side, a hand caressing her hair while the other caresses her body.

She moves lower still, planting loving kisses down his chest and lower over his stomach, the heavenly slavegirl rising to hands and knees as she reaches down for the head of his malehood, then like a children from its mother, urgently suckles at the manly organ, her tongue and lips a dedicated shrine to her masters pleasure. The warrior groans and let go of her as he lies down upon his back, supporting his upper body on his elbows to enjoy the sight of the lovely slavegirl at his malehood. She moves lower now, eagerly taking his malehood deeper past her lips, caressing its sides with her soft tongue, sending shivers of almost electric pleasure trough her master body, making him grunt and lean back before suddenly, urgently moving her over the sands, having her under him on her stomach as he leaves a trail of kisses down her neck and shoulders, urging and caressing her, pleasing her and himself.

Tristan: “Raise your sweet bottom, slave, for I will invade the star between your moons”

She moans and shivers as he whispers and nibbles at her ear, swiftly complying, moving back slightly as she raises the perfect softness of her buttocks, spreading her knees widely over the sand while keeping the upper part of her body down against the sand. There goes her master, moving behind her with the slow majesty of all things inevitable, positioning himself between her spread thighs, caressing them as soft or hard as he desires, taking his time at enjoying her figure, keeping her aroused and sensual by his touch, then spreading his own legs slightly between hers to further ready her for the invasion of his manly member, probing first into her flower, gently and teasingly, entering her ever so briefly, ever so little, merely coating his malehood in her nectars while having her suckle and lick at his fingers, then pulling them from her lips and moving them above her star, gently caressing the little spot and slowly sliding one past the sphincter of her flesh and into the warmth of her body.

He enjoys her moans as she relaxes as taught, her divine figure embracing his attentions like the dry land welcomes the rain, a finger to its first knuckle, to its second, all the way, and then another, twisting, caressing, spreading, readying her for the intrusion to follow, as his pleasure and pride as man comes from mastering her body, from making her cry and tremble and come of so gloriously and beautifully despite of what he does to it, to have her beg for more and whimper as he leaves her, to see her glowing in the aftermath of her pleasure, to posses her, with complete control over her pain or pleasure, to own her heart as she owns his, to make her his completely and without fault.

She merely gasps as she feels his malehood retreat from her flower, as his fingers leave her star gasping and trembling. Readying herself, she relaxes and waits for her master to invade her, to enter her in strength and power as he always does, to posses her and have her betray herself to him, to have her beg and thank him for his use of her. She prepares. She needn't wait any longer, for he moves into her and pushes her into the sand, his malehood swiftly moving into her flesh, white hot spear or pain and lust that penetrates her to her heart, pins her to the sands and kills her with pleasure.

She cries, and trembles and squirms. He grunts and steadies himself, soon the couple moving as one, their bodies meeting each other while his hands roam over her figure. Leaning down upon her, he kisses and bites tenderly at her shoulder, his hands caress and tease, pinch and twist, her fingers finding both her clit and tongue, his malehood spreading her flesh as he takes her.

Soon he feels himself ready, and giving both a gentle caress to her clit and a harsh slap on her perfect bottom, calls out to her, orders her to come, hurries her to please, drawing out his pleasure as she cries and moans and comes under him, with him, in response, her body a finely tuned tool for pleasure, her temper a gentle source of love.

They rest above the sands, his weight on her elbows, for he fears to crush her, his precious slave, so beautiful and delicate, so feminine and sensual, so strong, so gentle, companion and lover, slave and advisor, confident, the source of his strength, his own priestess, his link to the spirit world of his ancestors, and the object of his affections.

Tristan: “You were perfect, my sweet slave, tender love” Mako: “Master… I love you”

But the time for love is past, and they must follow in their quest. He withdraws and kisses her a last time, then gently caresses her while lying at his side.

Tristan: “We must go now, and I do not wish for you to brave the desert outside” Mako: “As… as master wishes. Master Tristan, can I speak?” Tristan: -smiling as he caresses her face- “You may indeed” Mako: “Are your wounds healed, is your body alright?” Tristan: “Of course, you can feel my pain; you would know if I was hurt, would you not?” Mako: “I can, indeed” Tristan: “Then why do you ask?” Mako: “I… prefer to hear it from your lips, master” Tristan: “I am fine, my wounds are healed, and I just ravished the most beautiful slavegirl this side of the sea. I’m ready to go –he smiles and kisses her again- Come on now, I do not wish for you to face the heat”

She nods softly, and he watches as she slowly fades away into golden mist and evaporates like the dew under the sun, the amulet at his chest growing warmer and slightly heavier –ever so slightly-, telling him she is in there, letting he know she is safe and away from the heat and, more important, away from the terrible curse floating on the desert, a curse that, to a water spirit like her could be fulminating and deadly.

Shortly after leaving the bath house, the young warrior attended to his reason to come into the city to begin with; the great Library of the Dao, one of the largest and oldest sources of knowledge still surviving, except for dragons or immortals, all of which had been unsurprisingly unwilling to assist.

The streets where dusty and dry, a blazing heat so terrible he could see the very air dance and waver with the temperature just a few feet ahead of him, every tavern overflowing with customers trying to escape the heat, the coin slaves the only ones without some shade or protection, bound to their posts until someone wished to rent them for an hour, their bodies deeply tanned by the sun, their bodies exposed as they kneeled at the foot of their pole, sitting on their heels, knees spread and hands bound behind them, secured by their collars to a single ring going around the pole.

A few wealthy locals rode in wagons pulled by animals or slaves, protected from the sun and supplied with food and drink while they went about their business. Most folks would dress in a similar manner; long flowing clothes to ease the flow of air over their bodies and shield them from the heat, large hats that would shield them from the blazing glory of the daystar and the cold wings of the nightly winds. Of course, he had considered adopting the local fashions, but he expected not to remain for long on the city, once he had learned what he wished.

The library was grand, and wealthy, and in ruins. The last of the Gryphon wars had seen it become a stronghold after the fall of the palace, and the triumphant armies of the north had taken down much of its old structure. Still, it was a magnificent building, larger than any of the new palaces, designed in such a manner as to keep a constant flow of fresh air trough its hallways and corridors, and the proper amount of both humidity and heat on the libraries themselves. He approached the grand brass doors and one of the traders at its gates, the man dressed in dirty clothes than at one point may have been red and yellow, holding the keys to the chains or a line of slaves, no less than five young men dressed in simple robes, rented to the elderly sages to carry their books for them, climb shelves and read to those with eyes far too old for the task. Truly, they where literate slaves, and, as far as slaves go, one could even consider them high slaves, many of them sages themselves after years of doing the research of sages. Certainly more educated than the majority of the city folk, and certainly more expensive, and thus better cared for, than the coin slaves.

Tristan: “Good day, Is there a clerk I can talk to?”

Merchant: “A single shield for an hour, I can rent you a guide for a shield. He knows the books better than any servant”

Tristan: “I´ll take him”

The young man was thin and energetic, dressed in white robes and wearing a brass collar around the neck to mark him owned, with white sandals and a manner with words. With his assistance, Tristan learned that the documents he was looking for, the writings of Lobos where indeed on the building, or most of them, anyway, for a few scrolls had been taken north after the war. Still, he managed to learn that indeed, one of the orbs was indeed under the desert. Lassio, the previous champion, had hidden one under the sands, on the ruins of an old temple to some forgotten deity.

He wrote down the location of the temple and dismissed the young slave, sending him back to his master with an extra shield for his help. Then he ripped off the bit with the information he came for, and left. No reason to leave clues where the other champions could find them.