A blade on a demon’s hand

Act I

The lovers

It’s another time, and it’s another place. The female right there, clad in leather and rawhide; she is the scion to the throne in a House that time forgot. And though her kinship with the clan bestows immense riches upon her hands, she has other things on her mind tonight.

And her counterpart, the male dressed in black and tan and currently tethered to the bedposts, he is a noble halfling. And more importantly, he is her lover and property.

Neliah’s quarters are in the Keep’s upper level, away from the bustle of the daily life going on in the levels below. An army of halfling maids and human vassals criscrossed the dwelling, ensuring that all aspects of the House run smoothly. In times of war, the Keep is a busy place indeed.

But up here, Neliah lives her own existence, at her own pace. She’s not interested in the pointless wranglings of the Upper Caste, nor the petty conflicts that more often than not sparked even more futile conflicts with some council or another along the Outer Arc. Instead, Neliah gazes at the stars in the night sky sometimes, imagining that one day she will become one, as Father used to say. You were born to last an eternity, like the stars that shine at night, he used to tell her, when she was little. But that was a long time ago. Neliah had long since become a full-bred, and her physique left no doubt that she was in her prime.
She was ripe.

Presently, she stood at the foot of the large bed where she spent a lot of her time. Set on the very center of her quarters, the bed kept Neliah warm during the long winters, and very much entertained during her frequent play sessions. Foraging parties made out of the strongest axe men (and always escorted by a detail of the Keep’s troops, as ambushes by marauders were common) cut down gigantic redwood trees and brought the rough wood back to the Keep, where it was crafted by artisans and turned into weapons, kitchen tools, beds, or any other item or piece of furniture that may be needed.

And Neliah loved her bed. So much comfort, so many memories; so much room to play with her favorite toy. She watched him there, her muscular body as helpless as a rabbit caught in a snare. And that majestic cock of his, erect and at full girth for her, just the way she liked it. It was hard to look away from that glorious manhood. Still, Neliah resisted the urge to take that throbbing wonder of nature into her mouth -for a while, at least, and looked around with a mischievous look in her yellow eyes. When she saw what she was looking for, she cast her roguish stare back at him. He looked back at her, but remained silent. He knew better than to speak at the wrong time.

Neliah used her tail to pick up an item, and almost in the same movement, she leaped nimbly onto the bed, landing on all fours on top of him. He grunted and winced. She was light, but not that light. He looked into Neliah’s eyes. Her yellow, cat-like pupils bore down on him as she swung her tail around to show what she had picked up.

‘This is the Skean of Dawn,’ Neliah said, and brought the blade gently onto his lips. ‘The riddle of the Elders is written on its hilt, and some say that the specter of this world’s creator dwells within.’ She ran the blade across his face with great care, her feline eyes never leaving his. ‘This skean has pierced the heart of champions, Mortain. One cannot understimate its power.’

Now up close, Neliah took in the scent of his body. Mortain’s smell always mesmerized her. He smelled of forest, and leather. He smelled of war, too. Of danger, and violence. Mortain wasn’t the only halfling she knew, but certainly was the only one she had ever fucked. And yet, there he was, this highborn man-o-war tied up to her bed, all vulnerable and somewhat undignified.

Neliah glanced at his cock, and her lust maxed out. She moved down, squatted, and half closing her eyes, took in the entire length of Mortain’s virile power in one long, slow motion. Mortain’s eyes widened as Neliah’s body fused with his. As she pressed down with her hips, Neliah’s pussy opened wide to take him in. His cock always felt divine inside of her, and this time it was no different. Her pussy swallowed him whole, without hesitation nor shame.

After taking his male pride, Nelia set her hands palms down on his wide chest for leverage and again used her tail to swing the Skean of Dawn into play.

‘Do you know, Mortain,’ she said as she began moving her body up and down along his cock, fucking him. Her pussy juices began coating his cock at once. ‘The blade on this skean has been forged a thousand times,’ she added, and began moving the blade down his throat. ‘It’s quite a deadly weapon. Do you trust me with your life, Mortain?’
‘There are many secrets inside those eyes, Neliah. But murder is not one of them.’

She smiled. ‘Even in the heat of passion?’ Neliah kept moving the skean across his chest, and around his nipples.
‘You wouldn’t want to cause a political rift by slaying the firstborn of the House of Atreos, would you Neliah.’
‘Well, the way I see it, as long as I have the firstborn’s mighty cock inside of me,’ she said, and moved her face closer to his. ‘I have the power.’

He thrust upwards suddenly, making his cock reach further into Neliah. She moaned loudly. ‘You may have the power, my dear. But I own this cock.’

The sudden motion took Neliah completely by surprise. Her tail swung wildly and the blade made a slight cut on her lover’s chest. Crimson blood oozed out from the wound, and Mortain grunted.
Neliah saw the vital fluid running down Mortain’s body, and immediately reached down. She licked his blood as eagerly as a thirsty nomad drinking at an oasis. Her tongue lapped every drop, and her eyes never left his. Mortain’s excitement grew exponentially at the sight of her raw craving for him.

‘All of you taste heavenly, My Lord. Inside and out.’
‘My fluids belong to you, Neliah. Drink, and be sated.’

Neliah did. She took in every last drop of the flowing life fluid, until her lips and tongue were painted with crimson tones. She kissed him then, and shared the blood. Mortain accepted this without hesitation, and his cock acknowledged her deference by growing ever thicker inside of her. Ripped and powerful, the shaft now filled her fully.

Neliah wasted no time. As he licked his own blood from her tongue, she began fucking him harder. Her pussy, now fully aroused, became stretched open by his virile manhood. She moaned, and her pleasure resonated inside his throat. Mortain thrust upwards, feeling his cock touching her innermost recess.

Once Neliah’s breed reached maturity, their genitalia became the ultimate pleasure machine. Lining up its fleshy walls, there grew a myriad of small stalk-like hollow conduits full of nerve endings with the sole purpose of inducing sexual enjoyment. Once aroused, pleasure-generating enzymes were secreted through a small opening at the top of these stalks.

And she knew how to use this natural ability to her advantage. The enzymes had an addictive quality to them, something that Halflings didn’t know. Neliah kept her lover literally hooked onto her, without him realizing it.
And presently, she rocked her body down, taking in the entire length of that marvelous cock of his. And as she did, as she enjoyed her lover’s body to its fullest, she closed her eyes and let her mind soar back in time. She whispered ‘Remember…’

Reaping Moon

…that tonight is Reaping Moon,? Father said.
‘I do, Father’
‘Look skywards, child.’ Neliah did. The moon was full, and fat. Also, it loomed closer than ever, taking up a large sector of the night sky. Its silvery glow bathed the Keep in a ghostly shine, making its walls glow with the eldritch knowledge of centuries past.
‘Reaping Moon heralds the advent of The Harvesting. Soon, the fields around the Keep will be stripped of their yield, and our pantries will be full for another year.’

Neliah’s tail was swinging gently, almost playfully. She loved listening to Father’s voice there in the balcony outside her quarters. It was her favorite place in all the Keep. It opened up to a landscape of rolling hills and crisscrossing rivers in the distance. And on clear nights like this, one could easily make out the circle of limestone monoliths that the Elders had erected aeons before. She had never been allowed that far east from the Keep, specially at night. Father said that wraiths wailed and danced around that place after nightfall, and those unwary enough to wander close would become ensnared in their musical thrall, and their mind would be lost forever. The circle is a bad place, Neliah. Never stray too close, Father always said. Such tale had given her plenty nightmares through the years as she grew up.

‘Reaping Moon is also a time for change for females, my dear daughter.’ As if to highlight this, a cicada began singing somewhere near the Keep, far below in the fields. ‘When the moon is full and big in the sky, and the crops give up their yield, all females of our breed enter a new stage in life. Your body is now mature enough to bear offspring.’
‘I understand, Father.’
‘But you shall not concern yourself with such matters tonight. Tonight, I host Reaper’s Masquerade. A time to enjoy and have fun.’

Neliah nodded, and snuggled closer to Father. Their tails entwined and braided around each other, a sign of their love for one another.

‘This is a time of uncertainty, Neliah. It’s a time of war. The other clans vie for control of the West Ridge, and the Keep stands right on their path. But tonight, we celebrate. All clans respect Reaping Moon. And we must get ready, child. Guests will begin arriving soon.’
‘I will, Father. But I would like to stay here a moment longer. Alone.’

Father smiled as their tails separated. ‘Of course,’ he said, and walked back inside, and though Reaping Moon was indeed a sacred time across the Domain, he would make sure all the outposts were manned with extra men and the lookouts kept a sharp eye on all the approaches. Just in case.

As Father went inside, Neliah leaned on the balcony’s balustrade, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. She loved to smell the night. It gave her an indescribable sensation of belonging, as if a bond with Nature manifested itself on the night air flowing through her body. And she did feel the change that Father had talked about. Deep within her, she felt her body had matured. And the change had also brought on certain cravings, of a kind that she could not talk to Father about, or anyone else, for that matter.

Neliah had become aware of things that moved deep within her body, things that felt good when rubbed. There were nascent desires inside of her, a youthful lust that screamed to be fulfilled.  She opened her eyes, and for a fleeting moment, she perceived some movement across the monoliths. It could have been an illusion, or a mind trick. Whatever it was, or wasn’t, did stir something within her. Fear, perhaps, or awe. Maybe both. Neliah’s mind conjured up images of wailing demons dancing around the stones naked, perhaps at a time of their own change, reaching maturity. She thought of demons engaging in wanton sexual encounters, and such train of thought aroused her inner fire. Something stirred very deep inside of her, and she felt a sharp and wet sting of longing. Neliah moaned, half in desire and half in frustration. She looked eastwards again. All appeared quiet at circle now.
Neliah went inside and…

The lovers II

…at the moment of climax, all the stalks jetted out a thick, translucent fluid that kept the male and female both lubricated and fused. Ancient chemistries that nobody understood took over, and as she reached orgasm, Neliah coiled her tail around Mortain’s neck and arched her body backwards. The ecstasy was powerful, and incredibly satisfying. It rippled through the lovers’ bodies with amazing strength. The stalks inside her held onto the erect cock and rubbed against its hard flesh, elevating the halfling’s arousal to a whole new level. Neliah screamed first, Mortain soon after. And when he began squirting his seed inside of her, the stalks blossomed and absorbed the fluids through pleasure organs that prolonged the lovers’ combined ecstasy. At times like this, when both body and mind are in the thrall of sheer pleasure, when passion erases all rationality, there’s only one thing to do. Scream each
other’s name, and that’s just what they did.

A Feast, a Masquerade, and a Lover’s Dance

The Paladin’s Ode kicked off the Reaping Moon festivities, as it always did. All attendees expected it, and traditions were strong in and around the Keep’s circle of influence. The Ode had been sung for generations, and it would probably continue to be sung long after a thousand winters had come and gone. Bards with lute in hand sung it with the passion and zest of those who truly love what they do. The Ode’s melody was dotted with words of defiance, and victory, and also the death of hope. Nobody remembered who wrote it in the first place, as the lyrics were passed down the ages by word of mouth, and in all likelihood, every bard and every generation added and substracted bits here and pieces there to suit a particular epoch. Still, the Paladin’s Ode was a staple of the Reaping celebrations, so omitting it would be unthinkable.
Neliah loved the Ode, and because tonight was her first Reaping as a full-bred, the melody took on a more poignant significance. She listened to it respectfully, with her head bowed and her tail resting on the floor. All attendees paid heed to the bards’ words and kept their silence as the Ode was sung. And at the end, all females threw a curtsy and all males jumped and clapped twice to honor the Paladin’s memory.

Then, the feast began.

A feast fit for a king

All tradesmen, craftsmen, and itinerary merchants invited to the celebrations sat down to eat, and as they did, an army of wenches brought out seemingly endless trays of cold meats, red meats, and huge bowls full of mashed potato and gravy, with vegetables on the side and enormous tankards of mead and grain beer to wash it all down. The Keep’s denizens were a hungry bunch. By the end of the night, there would be nothing but animal carcasses left behind, a very messy tablecloths full of gravy, beer stains, and likely someone’s vomit.

Throughout the feast, bards and jesters entertained the guests, and all through the night, trade deals would be done, fragile political alliances would be forged, and even one or two  shady transactions were likely to take place, specially after the second or third tankard of beer.

And tonight there was a special delegation of Halflings in attendance. They had come from Reene’s Peak, the neighbouing keep riding on the border of the Outer Arc, on a trade mission, Father had said. ‘Halflings are only good for two things, Neliah,’ her old man had told her earlier that day. ‘Business, and playing the lute with one hand, mostly when drunk.’ Neliah had laughed at that, and she would soon discover that Halflings -at least, some of them- were good at something else, too.

The atmosphere inside the Banquet Hall was jovial and relaxed. Even in the age of war and disquiet, a banquet was a time to relish and enjoy. All vestiges of political disillusion or incumbent citizen unrest dissolved inside tankards of rich wine and plenty red meats slaughtered just for the occasion. And as the feast got underway, there was but one thing in everyone’s mind: eat, eat, and then eat some more. And drink the seemingly inexhaustible supply of mead and other liquors. Neliah sat at the Great Table with Father to her right. Mother would have sat to his right, had she been alive. And though she was long gone, Father always made sure a empty chair was placed there, to honor her memory. Beyond, Baron Kalen -Neliah’s uncle- sat beside his mistress, an albino Northern Princess with sultry red eyes and flowing silver tresses. A long, richly decorated crimson tablecloth sporting the Keep’s elaborate coat of arms covered the entire length of the table. The guests had to accommodate themselves on long -and rather uncomfortable- wooden benches running alongside equally long wooden tables. Those who had been previous guests at the Keep and knew of the tiresome benches sometimes brought their own cushions, to alleviate the numbness.
‘Bureaucrats, child,’ Father said, and Neliah winced out of a reverie. ‘I hate them.’
‘Pardon’?
‘Bureaucrats. The low caste,’ Father said, nodding to a place about twenty feet from the dais and to their left. ‘Over there.’
Neliah followed her father’s gaze and spotted three men from the low caste. Short, stocky, with protruding eyes and disproportionally large ears. All wore garish, ill-fitting tweed garments and hats decorated with a white goose feather. As Neliah looked, the three were drinking mead and appeared to be having an argument with a young squire who stood beside them with a bewildered look in his eyes. The din inside the hall made it impossible to hear what the argument was about, but the vigorous arm movement of the three bureaucrats left little doubt it was a heated one.
‘They come from the slums, those three. They always cause trouble. Hate them,’ Father said, tucking into a chunky turkey leg.
Neliah was about to say something else when the oak doors on the far side of the Hall opened up. Five male halflings and one female entered, followed by an entourage of Lairds and squires.
‘Ah!,’ the king said, putting the mangled turkey leg down. ‘Here they are. The trade commission.’
In walked the delegation, led by a broad-shouldered Elder, middle aged perhaps, with a long beard the color of sunset and thick eyebrows of similar hue. He walked briskly across the hall towards the Great Table, carrying a neatly rolled scroll in his right hand. The rest walked behind him at an equal pace.
‘Your highness,’ the Elder said, dropping to one knee at the foot of the dais, before the king. All the others followed suit.’We thank you for the invitation. My people and I would like to avail of your hospitality. We are greatly honored to be your guests.’
‘Your kind words are well received in this House,’ the king said. ‘You and your people are very welcome here.’
‘In the name of the House of Orel, we accept your hospitality.’
The Elder stood up and went to hand the scroll over to the king, but the monarch waved him away. The Elder stopped mid stride. ‘Business tomorrow. Tonight, we eat. And we drink!’
The Elder nodded, bowed, and retreated politely. The rest of the delegation stood up, and as they did, one of the halflings caught Neliah’s gaze, and held it.
He was younger and not as broad-shouldered as the Elder, but still robust and well defined. He had a rugged look about him, Neliah thought. His face was completely devoid of hair, she noted, very rare in a male halfling. Even females sometimes had hirsute faces, but the skin on this one looked pristine. And he was tanned, way more than the rest. When he noticed her stare lingered on him, he nodded almost imperceptibly and smiled a little. Then, he turned and walked with the rest of the delegation towards a vacant space on one of the long tables, near its far edge.
Neliah followed him with her eyes, and wondered.

The feast went on for almost three hours. Vast amounts of meat, breads, and broths were consumed by the guests, all washed down with gallons of grain beer and grapefruit elixir. Towards the end, quarrels had erupted, deals had been sealed, and some cash had surreptitiously changed hands. The halls were an unholy mess; bits of discarded food littered the place, and puddles of beer and congealed gravy had appeared everywhere. The kitchen staff had some job to do. Yet, Neliah cared little about such menial tasks. Specially tonight. She could not get that handsome halfling out her head, and had been trying to catch glimpses of him all throughout the meal.

Neliah looked to her right. Father had drank the usual too much and was now having a lively chat with Kalen, who was just as drunk as he was. She scanned the hall again, and spotted the halfling just standing up from the table. He saw her looking, smiled, and once again nodded in her direction, this time holding her gaze for a moment that seemed to stretch forever. And though he was all the way across the hall, the intensity of his eyes made her stomach flutter. And much to her surprise, she blushed. Such an unfamiliar sensation to her, as all of a sudden she could not remember the last time she felt that queer heat creeping up her face. Almost in fear, she looked away from him. Her tail jerked and knocked a tankard of mead over. ‘Gods…,’ she said, feeling silly.
‘Oh dear,’ Father said, leaning over, and almost falling off his chair. Kalen just about managed to steady him. ‘What is the matter, my little one.’
‘Sorry Father. I’m so clumsy sometimes.’
‘You know Neliah…all those people out there, they’re pigs. Look at the state of my hall. Pigs!’
‘Father, please, calm your tone.’
‘Pigs I say. Anyway, Neliah. Feast is over. Tonight’s your night. Go and dance, and be merry. Now, one more for the gods,’ he said, and took a long swig off his tankard.
Neliah smiled and looked down the hall. The handsome halfling was gone.

A Masquerade
While an army of squires and vassals moved swiftly to clean the mess in the hall, those guests who could still walk moved to the Great Chamber, where most after-banquet parties and events usually took place.