Kiss of Death - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The Cyvan woods, though the humans undoubtedly called it by some other name, were calm beneath the midday sun, the peaceful noises of a living, breathing entity, the forest itself, carrying to those patient enough to stop and listen. Only the faintest rustle of the mid-level branches, like a zephyr through the forest, gives any indication of the passage of a stone giant.

She was not large for her kind, perhaps only seventy or eighty years old, and yet she was fully grown, and probably had been for nearly a decade. Her skin was a deep granite in tone, though her face and form were far from hard. Nearly ebony-gray eyes sparkled merrily in the uneven light of the sun through the green-black leaves that had earned the forest its elven name. Her breasts, were she human, would have on the smaller end of average size. At eleven feet, eight inches tall, they looked like nothing so much as a pair of mountains, swathed and supported by a well-shaped garment of an emerald, silk-like cloth, a few steel rings, and just a touch of leather for variety.

Her clothing was of elven make, four thin strips of leather attached to three steel rings and a buckle adorned her neck. Two of the steel rings each held a strip of emerald cloth, which flowing gently down her chest and over her breasts to a single ring over her navel. The other was attached to a leather strap that extended down her spine where, it too connected to a steel ring. The ring over her navel was again attached to twin strips of cloth, which extended each to a steel ring to which was attached an emerald green pair of panties that were attached in similar fashion to the leather strap down her spine. Finishing off the outfit was a sarong of identical coloration, tied loosely around her waist, it was the most substantial covering she wore.

The rest of her body was bare, smooth, shapely, arms with well-muscled biceps gently bent tree limbs with a practiced ease from her path, never pushing hard enough to break the supple yet delicate branches. Her long, attractively muscled legs as thick as the trunks of some trees made travel through the forest nearly effortless for her. She wore neither shoes nor sandals nor moccasins, for she needed none, her thick skin was impervious to the normal hazards of the road. Her straight, mud-colored hair fell midway down her back, held in a loose pony-tail by another strip of emerald green.

Two figures walked in her shadow. At less than half the height of the giantess, they were far less distinct. One in particular, seemed almost elusive; hidden from peripheral vision if the head was turned away but slightly. The other was a young woman, no younger than sixteen or seventeen years old were she a human girl. She wore a garment identical to the one worn by the giantess, save it was of ruby hue. The addition of a cape of dark brown, and heavy boots, well suited to travel, did nothing to take away from the girl's figure.

At five feet, nine inches tall, her frame was a plethora of pleasing contrasts. Well shaped shoulders extended down to breasts that were just slightly more than a handful in size. Her flat, muscular abs extended down to an elfishly slim waist. Her hips were pleasantly well rounded, extending to strong, shapely legs. Her hip-length, honey-colored hair hid the only real trace that she was not human. Her ears were pointed slightly at the tips, and just a bit larger than they should be. Her face was exotic too, though not enough so to be completely alien. Her expressive hazel eyes were slanted only slightly. She wore a perfume that she always liked, though the third member of their group always said it smelled like lilacs and lavender, with just a touch of oranges for a bit of contrast.

He was an elf, and the shortest member of the group. At five foot four inches tall, he did not seem to possess the frailty that many associated with the elves. Though not large in any sense of the word, he was built powerfully, with well-toned muscles. His skin was tanned heavily from years spent under the sun, though no tattoo blemished his skin. His head was shaved bald, a personal preference that left him nothing to snag on branches. His body was covered a tunic of black, and leggings of a matching hue. His supple boots were of the darkest brown leather, as was the thick overcoat he wore to protect him from the claws of wild beasts. His right bracer was studded with small spikes. Though not exactly dangerous in combat, they accentuated the armor and, according to the man who'd made the armor, could catch or block blades so long as you were willing to risk losing your hand.

Eyes of the coldest, frozen blue stared from his face, the long cloak about his shoulders not so much as fluttering in the breeze. At his hips, clipped to his weapons belt, a sword and a dagger. On his back, a quiver of arrows and a longbow, unstrung to prevent unnecessary wear-and-tear.

Of the three travelers, he was in the worst mood. Even the gaunt, naturally grim-faced stone giant looked happier than he did. He had walked for hours in silence, while his companions talked quietly. Silence suited him just fine.

"You didn't have to come with me, you know," the wood elf said softly, his companions turning to look at him as he spoke.

"Don't be stupid, Kat," the half-elf replied, her melodic voice carrying easily over the wind and sound of the little woodland creatures. She leaned towards the elf, her fingers brushing lightly over the leather covering his chest. Her lips met his, briefly, but passionately before she continued speaking. "Don't you dare think that I'd let you leave me behind you oaf! I swear, sometimes... you can be such an orc!"

The giantess chuckled at the statement, a husky, pleasing sound in the spring air. Katiael, the elf, couldn't help but crack a smile.

"I'm sorry, love," he said, returning her kiss, "It's just that... you might never be able to go back. I... didn't want to involve you in this. Either of you," he added, looking up at the giantess.

"Big brother," Solaliki, the giantess, said, her downward glance taking the little elf in full. "I fully expected you to leave last night. Why do you think I was waiting for you at the base of the tree? We know what we're doing and we're here by choice... I know this is hard for you, but that's no reason for you to face it alone."

His head dropped, as the elf pretended to study one of the bushes they were passing. He quickly wiped away his tears with the back of his hand before raising his eyes to the road ahead once more. "Thank you. Both of you," he said finally, when he trusted his voice enough to speak. "I don't know if I would have been able to stand this... alone."

---

Hours later, the three still had not cleared the woods when they stopped for the night. Though his companions were in an area they had never traveled, Katiael knew the forest's every tree... at least well enough to know where the best places to hide were, and where dangerous creatures might frequent. He slew a small deer with his bow, offering a prayer to Solonor Thelandira in thanks for the animal's noble sacrifice.

As he dressed the animal, and began to carry it back to camp, his fingers brushed yet again over the holy symbol hanging from his belt. Crafted of silver, and inlaid with onyx, twin eyes, blue eyes like his own, stared out from the black background. This symbol was the source of his grief in recent days. Fenmarel Mestarine's symbol, the god of the outcast, of those who isolated themselves from society willingly.

Or unwillingly. The message was a clear one: he was exiled, never to be allowed to return to his village, his home for one-hundred and twenty years. It was a blow that had hurt more than anything physical ever could have: it had taken a deep, perhaps even mortal stab at his spirit, but left his body intact.

"Fenmarel, give me strength," he whispered softy. He butchered the animal carefully, then, his companions watching silently as he set the carcass cooking. Trained as a ranger, Katiael knew well the ways of the forest, far better than either of his companions could ever hope to match.

They ate in silence, the largest portion of the meal going to Solaliki. Afterwards, they retired to bed, though Katiael refused to enter reverie. He kept watch in silence that night, as his companions slept, keeping their fire going and a keen eye to the woods about them. The last thing they needed was to have a bear stumble into their camp looking for a free meal. Despite his wariness, Katiael soon lost himself in thought.

A scent brought him back to his senses. It was faint, carried on a nearly-still wind. He made no move, though he longed to draw back his bowstring, an arrow already knocked and ready. Alert now, he became aware of what he could only describe as 'a presence', pressing in at him from all sides. He caught motion out of his peripheral vision, though he did not turn to look. Attack, he knew, would come soon enough.

"Awake, my friends," he whispered, almost silently. He knew it would not be loud enough to have the desired effect, "for we are beset by worgs. Nalasria Ruaiat."

The first attack started with a growl, but ended in a pathetic whimper. A large black wolf with glowing orange eyes, perhaps trying to intimidate its quarry, growled as it charged in for an attack. It would bite once and run, Katiael knew, unless he proved himself to be easy prey. He drew back his longbow, and fired, his arrow magically bursting into flames, his earlier whispered command words drawing out the bow's power. Though a hasty shot, the burning arrow caught the first worg in the breast, slipping between its ribs, it imbedded itself to the fletching in the beast's flesh. Whimpering in pain as the arrow seared its insides and started its fur aflame, the worg stumbled and tripped before attempting to retreat into the shadows. Its burning fur made it a clear target in the night, and the rest of its pack kept well clear.

"Solaliki!" he exclaimed loudly, calling out first to his giant sister, "Sivia!" He added, calling to his love. "Awake! Worgs!"

It was all he needed to say, his friends springing awake in an instant. They knew enough to sleep lightly in the wilds, though Solaliki seemed almost typically groggy, her mind still dulled by sleep. Three worgs charged Sivia as she stood, expecting her to be tired and an easy meal. Katiael pierced the leader's skin with an arrow of fire, pinning it's left front leg to it's chest. The worg stumbled as it tried to bring its weight down on a leg that simply refused to bend that far.

Sivia herself was far from helpless. Though unarmed, she hardly needed a weapon. Her training took over the moment she perceived herself to be in danger. One of a few willing to make the commitment, Sivia was a dedicated martial artist. Her first strike was defensive, slapping away the first worg's head with an open-palm strike.

Her next move was offensive, her body recoiling from the first worg as it tried to bite at her again. She drove her elbow into the second's skull with a resounding crack, sending the beast sprawling to the ground.

Katiael did not see the worg that bit him, though that did not make the pain any less real. Toothy jaws clamped about his right thigh. He briefly felt the sensation of flying until the ground smashed into his side. Fetid breath reached his nostrils as another worg closed in to deliver a killing blow to his throat. Katiael's hand stretched to his dagger, though he knew he wouldn't be fast enough.

Fortunately, he didn't need to be. The second worg yipped in surprise as Solaliki's massive fingers closed around it from both sides. The giantess hefted the evil wolf in both hands, and raised it well above her head. Known for their ability to throw rocks that might weigh up to three hundred pounds, the stone giantess had no problem giving the worg an impromptu flying lesson.

Katiael was not out of immediate danger, however. Words came unbidden to his lips as he struck out at the worg who's teeth were imbedded in his calf. Almost intuitively, he knew exactly how it would react... how each of its visible fellows would move as well. The wolf ducked its head instinctually as his dagger flashed in, just as he'd expected. Katiael put the sharp metal point into its eye and twisted, driving his blade into the evil creature's brain.

Whimpering softly, the worg collapsed into death, jaws still locked about his calf. Katiael took a moment to assess the situation as he sat up. His bow was out of his reach until he could free his trapped leg. His gaze fell to Sivia, worry flashing in his eyes as he saw a worg lunge, only to be struck in the throat by her fist. The two monsters harassing her had yet to get past her defenses.

With a yipping howl from the pack alpha, the worgs pulled back. The pack had tried to bite off more than it could swallow, Sivia and Solaliki had made that abundantly clear. They vanished into the underbrush as quietly as they'd come, the only evidence of their passing was the dead worg who's jaws were still locked about Katiael's calf, and the dirt that had been kicked around during the brief struggle.

His friends waited in silence as Katiael listened, his ears searching for the telltale sounds of a renewed attack. Only the gentle crackling and popping of their fire reached his ears, and gradually the nighttime forest sounds, hushed by the worg attack, began to return.

Only then did Katiael free his leg from the dead worg's jaws, and retrieve his bow to unstring it. Limping heavily on his wounded calf, he suffered the concerned looks of his companions in silence, neither confirming or assuaging their fears. He knelt carefully by the fire, his right knee raised high in the air as he probed the wound with his fingers.

There was no doubt as to its depth, the monstrous wolf had had more than enough time to savage his leg with it's teeth. "I'll need the bandages," he said softly, to which the giantess nodded. She turned and began rummaging through her rucksack, searching carefully for the medical supplies she'd had the foresight to pack.

Katiael carefully stripped off his boots, carefully inspecting the right one for damage and, finding it unharmed, setting them aside. He stripped away his pants, careful not to tear the right leg any more than it had been already, uncaring that it left him exposed to the air. Solaliki made no comment as she passed him the bandages and a water flask, she'd spent most of her life among elves, casual nudity was nothing she hadn't seen before, and she wasn't exactly a stranger to nudity or injury either.

Easily the best healer of the group, Katiael cleaned and bandaged his wound, though he knew he'd walk with a limp until he either saw a cleric or a healer. He carefully tied a second bandage farther up his leg to slow the flow of blood to the wound. It was tight, but no tourniquet... he was nowhere near crazy enough to tie one of those unless it was absolutely necessary.

Solaliki quietly played her stone flute as he bandaged his leg, touching the wound with her too-large fingers. The pain lessened as her bardic magic started the work of closing his wounds. He nodded, and smiled up at her in silent thanks as the giantess returned to her slumber.

Sivia's arms curled around him from behind, her lips brushing lightly against the back of his neck. Her left hand gently caressed his chest through his thick leathers, tracing the lines of his muscles from memory. The fingers of her right gently tugged and caressed his flaccid member as if arousing it from slumber. Her fingers lightly traced his length, and Katiael could easily picture the smile on her face as her deft fingers brought him to full arousal in moments.

"Sivia," he whispered softy, his tone questioning her action.

"Hush, kitten," she replied, her lips brushing lightly over his sensitive ears. Her tongue darted out briefly, gently tracing the pointed tips. "There is not enough left of the night for sleep, but that does not mean I am willing to waste it."

She deftly unbuttoned the single major clasp holding his leather armor in place, and he allowed her to strip him of it, leaving the elf in just his thin brown tunic and his bracers. Sivia's other hand continued to glide gently over his shaft, practiced fingers brushing over his length.

Her lips brushed lovingly over the back of his neck as he turned to face her, tossing away his bracers as he moved. She sighed in contentment as he embraced her, his arms caressing the skin her clothing left bare. He cupped her head with his hands, pressing her lips into a tender kiss, her arms stretched outward by the position, she lightly traced her fingers over his shoulders.

Katiael's hands traced lightly over Sivia's neck, finally finding the collar-clasp that held her garment in place. With a light snap, he released it, her outfit slipping lightly over her skin. Her left breast was exposed first, and her right close to being uncovered when the position in which he held her prevented the garment from slipping further.

Regretfully, he released her, but not before placing another soft kiss on her lips. With a few gentle nudges and caresses to help, her ensemble fell away completely to pool about her ankles, leaving her exposed in the cool night air. Sivia smiled at the longing in his eyes as his gaze traversed her form. She didn't believe she'd ever tire of that look, one of hunger and lust, pleasure, and promises he meant to fulfill. He'd seen her thus countless times, but his eyes never changed; he was still awed by a body he knew so well it might very well be his own.

She'd do anything for that look, she realized as their lips met again. Katiael's hands flowed over her skin, tracing the muscles in her shoulders and arms. His lips brushed lightly down her neck, and Katiael ran the fingers of his right hand down the valley between Sivia's breasts and over the flat planes of her stomach until it finally came to rest on the gentle swell of her hip.

Sivia hooked her foot behind Katiael's leg, and, delivering a sharp push to his chest, knocked him flat on his ass. "What's wrong, kitten?" she giggled, "I thought rangers were supposed to be as light on their feet as a cat."

"Damned martial artists," he mumbled, a trace of admiration in his voice. He grinned up at her as she idly forced his chest to the ground with her foot. "We may be light on our feet, my dear, but we fly like stones."

"It's because of all the rocks in your head, and the thickness of your skull, my dear," Sivia responded with mock seriousness. She crouched over him, her feet astride his hips. Her thin lips curled into a faint smile. Her right hand curled, almost possessively, around the side of his face as she positioned herself, her other hand brushing tenderly over his shaft. "At least your head isn't the only thing that's as hard as a stone."

Katiael's response was cut short as she lowered herself onto him, soft folds enveloping his member. She gasped softly as his hands glided up the silky skin of her legs, finally coming to rest at the base of her hips she bore her weight onto him. "Love, I'm..." he started, but she silenced him with a finger to his lips.

"I know..." she said softly, around gasps and moans, "but this... is for your benefit... not mine... You've been questioning your worth all day... but exile isn't the end of the world..."

"Hush," he replied quietly, his hips rising, grinding against hers as she descended.

Sivia was working up a frenzied pace, her noble intentions pushed aside by her physical desires. Katiael's left hand snaked up her body to cup one of her breasts, his other moved downward. He brushed his fingers over the sensitive nub of her clitoris, eliciting a moan from Sivia's gasping lips.

Katiael groaned again, the sensations soon overpowering his will to please. He exploded within her, filling her with his hot seed. The new warmth within her pushed Sivia over the edge. Exhausted, she collapsed on top of him, the sweat on their bodies soaking into his tunic.

---

Deep within the festering bowels of an ancient, rotting fortress, a man in dark robes strode through fog so thick you could barely see your hand in front of your face. Occasionally, through the impenetrable curls of white fog, a vague form made itself seen around him. Even more rarely, the fog parted completely to reveal the moldering, shambling carcass of a zombie or skeleton shuffling through its programmed orders.

The man seemed unshaken by their presence... in fact, a discerning observer, were there one present, would undoubtedly be shocked to hear him greet each of the wandering dead by name and a slight nod of the head. About his feet, swathed in the thick fog, another proof of the man's nature humped along. Resembling nothing so much as a two foot long, bald ferret with the horns of a ram protruding from its gaunt death-mask of a face. It had human-like hands on both front and rear legs. The little monster's skin, the color of mucous, was so thin that thick, purple veins could be clearly seen... as could the creature's muscle tissue if you really took a close look.

It was a quasit, a creature of chaos and flame. While only a minor demon, it was still a highly dangerous creature from an entirely different frame of reference. That it, one of the physical embodiments of chaos and evil (albeit a small one), served this man as a familiar, spoke much about his mental state.

A loud, feminine voice called through the darkness and mist. "Zaath! Where in the name of Lorash are you? Damned mist, I can't see a damned thing..."

A second, more sultry voice said. "Patience, Katrin. I've a feeling, he will find us... eventually."

"'Eventually' is what worries me, Miranda. After all..." Katrin's tirade was interrupted by a brief, sharp scream. "Gods damned skeletons, always popping out of nowhere! One of these days, I'm going to snap and smash one of them to dust..."

"I would prefer you didn't," the robed man said, stepping close enough for both speakers to make him out. His pale gray robes blended to near perfection with the mist, giving the impression that he was little more than a pale, white head and a pair of hands.

Katrin screamed again before she managed to catch herself, and filled the space between them with a string of curses. "You creepy bastard! How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?"

At Zaath's feet, the quasit snickered. It was saved from Katrin's wrath only because the thick fog hid it completely from view. It didn't stop her from glaring daggers in the little monster's general direction.

"You were looking for me?" Zaath asked softly, his quiet voice barely traveling the distance between them. His eyes traveled over his visitors, as they so often did, admiring the beauty of the two female worshipers of the God Lorash. At his request, both wore nothing but a silver amulet around their necks, which protected them from the confusing array of wards, spell guards, and the roving undead guardians that protected his home.

The first, Katrin, was the larger of the two. At five feet and five inches tall, her muscular body was devoid of fat. She exercised regularly, he knew. A bandit for most of her twenty-three years, Katrin's body was covered in a myriad patchwork of scars, but beyond that, her blonde hair and blue eyes relegated her to merely average appearance in Zaath's eyes... coupled with her love of pain, the thin elven necromancer preferred to simply avoid her.

Four inches shorter, the Cleric of Lorash was more to his tastes. She was thin, and her body was covered in tattoos of black, violet, and red from head to toe, constricting lines of color against her creamy white skin provided a pleasing contrast that suited the evil god of war and destruction. Her short, black hair and vibrant green eyes were two other features he found especially attractive.

"Zaath, we wanted to know whether you've made any progress with..." Katrin started, glaring at him for some perceived slight.

He held up his hand to forestall her question. "I have not, my dear. Other duties call daily. New heroes to watch, new undead to give a second birth, towns to raid, encroaching orc-bands to annihilate. I cannot devote myself to this project of yours entirely, or the holdings I have fought so hard to take and maintain will rot away beneath me. Now, I did offer my services when your order came to me, indeed. It is one I am more than happy to champion..."

Zaath's eyes narrowed as he stared at Katrin. His unnerving blue-white eyes glowed in the shaded darkness, staring past skin and bone and physical tissue. She shuddered involuntarily, taking a half-step back for just long enough to hide herself from those fearful, penetrating eyes.

"... but the constant disruption of my research is something that I just cannot tolerate. I have many projects, I assure you, and yours is only one of them. I will get to it when I get to it, but no sooner."

"I beg your forgiveness, my lord," Miranda said quietly, offering the elf a bow. The fury in Zaath's eyes abated slightly as his gaze fell upon his most recent lover. "She means no disrespect, I assure you. That was not all we came to ask, my lord. We were wondering if we might be useful to you in some way... perhaps my order could help keep your lands maintained, and allow you to devote more time to our project?"

Zaath thought about that for a second, his quasit circling his ankles. He ignored the pestilent green creature, his eyes carefully searching Miranda's own for any hint of duplicity. Satisfied, he nodded slowly. "That would be acceptable, on four small conditions. The first, no member of your order beyond you and Katrin shall enter my keep without my expressed permission."

"Acceptable," Miranda said softly as Katrin stepped back into Zaath's line of sight. "The others?"

"Second," Zaath started, his gaze shifting to Katrin. "You will supply yourselves with food. It should not be difficult, for my lands are fruitful, if a bit under-managed, for I have no major populations to sustain. Third, Katrin will be in charge of the encampment and any major movement of forces. I will not have some commander I do not know and who's fighting abilities I do not respect running rampant over my property."

"Finally," he continued after Miranda had nodded in agreement and the downright shocked expression on Katrin's face had faded, "When this is over, Miranda, you will remain with me... as well as any members of your order willing to stay on and help me manage my lands."

Miranda bit her lip, her arms crossing nervously beneath her exposed breasts. Zaath waited until he was reasonably sure she was about to either reject or accept the offer before speaking again. "In return, I'm willing to make some promises. Any of your order who are slain will be raised as intelligent undead... wights, vampires, ghouls, mummies. Your order does not revile undead, so I see no conflict of interest. You may also keep any gold or equipment taken from passing heroes who seem intent to enter my keep."

Katrin nodded slowly at that, his entreaties so far had been directed to her. At this point, were she in charge, she would have given him her soul had he listed it as one of the conditions. It was a pity, Zaath mused, that it was Miranda he had to win over. "Also, I offer my future assistance to your order in the area of necromancy and, providing I find the conditions fair, my assistance is assured."

The necromancer reached out to the cleric, his hand cupping her chin lightly, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You don't have to decide right away, Miranda. I give you a week to commune with your order and make your decision. Binky," he said, his gaze shifting down to his familiar. "Please guide Lady Miranda and Lady Katrin back to their chambers. I'm afraid I must bid you ladies good day. I have research that must be accomplished today or it will come to naught."

With that, the necromancer vanished into the protective mists of his keep.

Continued in Chapter 2

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