Vaid Empire: Conquest
Chapter 17
2nd of Onis, 1 AVE.
Kingdom of Wonakaros, Southern Coastline.
The harsh sea winds tore at Varse‘s robe as he emerged onto the deck of their tiny vessel, clutching the rope railing of the stairs tightly as they rolled over the waves. His scowl hardened as he felt the salty breeze caress his skin, doing his best to keep his balance. The sea was no place for a true Dril.
“Captain, are the claims true? Have you spotted land?” he asked, his short cape fluttering around him as he peered back to the wheel of the ship.
An Arkos, the old captain had transported many agents of the Shai Domain to his homeland over the decades. In response to his master’s question, the outsider chuckled and nodded towards the bow. “Have a look for yourself, master Potentate.”
Varse pitched his gaze forwards, following the bowsprit as it pointed into the distance. Squinting, he could just make out a black form on the edge of the horizon, hardly visible to his untrained eyes. The sight caused his internal tension to ease, grateful to finally view his escape from the wooden heap that the captain called a ship.
Ducking back down into the single hold, Varse stood before the ten fellow Dril that would accompany him. Dressed in short robes, they each were topped by capes similar in length and style to his own. They remained quiet, lying in cluttered cots and enduring the rocking of the ship that their bodies were entirely unaccustomed to.
“We are nearing our destination, gentlemen. This watery endeavor will soon cease.”
The nearest man sat up using shaking arms to steady himself. “My Potentate, The Wandering Desert will be far less…forgiving…” he said, seemingly on the edge of spilling his latest meal as the vessel maneuvered through the waves.
“Indeed,” Varse replied grimly, displaying no false confidence nor hope to his men. “The sands are not a place we Dril were created to tread, as some of you already know intimately. Yet our purpose is clear, a necessary service for the good of all our brothers and sisters back home.”
“Our ancestors…shall not let us fail. We-” another Dril began, just before a harsh roll of the ship toppled him from his cot.
Varse’s jaw harden as he quickly moved to assist the fallen man. “I ask that you all closely follow the instructions of the native guides when we arrive, even those of you who have previously been sent to this accursed place in the past. They are outsiders, of course, yet their knowledge may determine the success of our journey.”
Though clearly reluctant, none of the ten men voiced their disapproval.
***
Several hours passed before they reached the shoreline, continuing to sail along the coast until they spotted their hired guides residing inside of a large tent surrounded by a tiny herd of feathered creatures. The captain dropped the anchor, remaining onboard while two of his crew members brought the Dril to land by rowboat. There would be no payment until The Potentate was returned safely to Nelzarshi.
The warm sunlight felt bizarre on Varse’s pale skin, neither too hot nor too cold. He took his first step onto the beach, feeling the black sand under his foot wrappings.
An endless sea of darkness stretched out before him as far as he could see, sprinkled with patches of charom stems. The strange coral-like plants easily surpassed the height of an average humanoid, displaying countless vibrant colors that contrasted magnificently against the black sand, while emitting an otherworldly glow during the night.
Varse hardly felt a wave caress his feet as he studied the landscape, awed at a sight that had only ever been described in writing. The sounds of the rough sea that had tormented his men became little more than a nudge at his awareness, no longer his concern.
He nearly hadn’t noticed when two Arkos males emerged from their tent and began to make their way towards him dressed in dirty rags. They appeared skinny and agile, an adult accompanied by a boy just on the cusp of manhood. The left iron-colored horn of the adult was missing, presumably snapped off during his travels. The fingers of his right hand brandished the gauntlet traditional to his species, capping his fingers with harsh metal claws that hinted of rust.
The adult Arkos kneeled before Varse, shooting a disapproving glare at the boy when he remained standing. The young man took the silent command instantly, hurriedly lowering himself to his knees.
“I take it that you are our guides?” Varse asked, turning to face the pair.
Regaining his feet, the Arkos pulled the boy upwards with a hard yank of his arm. “Of course, master Potentate. Holy Kromak is quite eager to make your acquaintance in person,” the heavily accented man said in the language of the Dril.
“And your name?”
“Horos,” the guide answered, watching as Varse looked expectantly down at his younger companion. “The boy has not yet earned a name, master Potentate. Pay him no mind.”
“Very well, we shall delay no further,” Varse replied, accepting a white shroud from the outstretched hand of one of his men. He wrapped the fabric around his hairless head, protecting his skin from the unfamiliar intensity of the sun. “Tell me, is it true that only a full blooded Arkos may enter Arkos-Tul?”
Horos bowed his head in an exaggerated apology. “Indeed, my lord. Even a being such as yourself shall not even be permitted to merely gaze upon the great holy city. It is forbidden…”
“Even for a Dril?” one of the nearest guards asked, seemingly taken aback.
The young man’s tail quivered in annoyance at the question, and he muttered under his breath in his native language.
The older Arkos quickly backhanded the boy, sending him to the ground. “Apologies, my lords. This runt has yet to learn to hold his tongue. Let us depart, as Holy Kromak fully intends to honor your request to speak in person. He shall meet us halfway between Arkos-Tul and the shore, deep into the true desert.”
“Agreed,” Varse replied, wasting no time in following the guide over to the herd of feathered creatures waiting just outside their tent. Quadrupedal beasts, Varse recognized from his pre-expedition studies that they were referred to by locals as Onaks. Their bulbous bodies stood on four thin legs the color of bone, with an oval shaped head supported by a long neck. Their mouths appeared to consist of four beaks, each sporting an eye and converging together into a single sharp point.
With only seven Onaks milling about, the group broke into pairs, two men per beast.
***
Mile after mile, hour after hour, the group of thirteen trudged deeper into the desert atop their Onaks. Only the quiet sound of shifting sand enveloped their world, interrupted occasionally by the cries and squeaks of unseen creatures.
By the time the sun began to set for the first day of their journey Varse was more than grateful for the white shroud. Though the temperature remained FAR more moderate than that of the Tazik Desert, the sunlight beating down upon his body would have certainly blistered his Dril skin. He kept his hands folded beneath the protection of his cape, his red eyes full of determination as they peered out from a slit in his headwrap.
The sunlight faded, dipping below the horizon and plunging them into a vast sea of darkness. In awe, the Dril men observed as the patches of charom stems slowly began to illuminate, spotting the landscape with splashes of vibrant blues, greens, and purples. They reminded Varse of an obscure painter from his childhood in Ishtai, wildly sprinkling his paint in maddening patterns that seemed to hold no meaning.
Their Arkos guide brought the group to a halt when he had found a suitable place to settle down for the night. The tent was pitched, the Onaks were lashed to the ground, and Horos set about planting a ring of torches into the sand to encircle their camp.
“Would the light not give away our position?” one of the Dril had asked, only to receive an adamant shake of Horos’s head.
“There are far worse fates in this desert than being spotted, my friend.”
The solemn statement coaxed no further questions.
***
Varse would have expected a night spent on the ground to be quite uncomfortable, yet he found the sand to be rather pleasant. Within minutes he was asleep with his robe pulled close to his body, having given up his place inside of the small tent to one of his men.
Under the open night sky of a foreign land he dreamt of home, of ice, of the snow that had always enveloped his world. A twinge of longing poked at his chest, a yearning to return to his people. There was a sense of guilt waving throughout his dreams, as he was met with an understanding that every Dril spy The Council had deployed from their lands must surely have felt a similar longing to return.
A subtle crunching of sand weaved through his unconscious thoughts, hardly noticeable. The sound steadily intensified, becoming harder to ignore until Varse was jarred awake by the sensation of something sharp scraping against his skin.
Every instinct cried out to remain still as he returned to consciousness, momentarily unaware of where he was. The events of the day returned within moments, and he allowed his eyes to creep open a sliver.
The culprit for the slight pain in his leg was immediately revealed, as through the darkness Varse made out the figure of a creature leering over his once sleeping form. With skin as black as the sand, its bipedal body was topped with a nearly egg-shaped head, its smooth-skinned cranium split halfway down its featureless face to reveal a vicious smile of jagged teeth. Its lanky frame granted it an almost skeletal appearance, hunched over to inspect its prey. Its fingers and toes were ripped open from the growth of short claws, the same sharp objects that were now lightly slicing Varse’s thigh as the monstrosity assessed him with its foot.
With incredibly slow and calculated movements, Varse slid the concealed blade from the wrist of his robe under the guise of sleep. He positioned the blade’s tiny handle into his palm, clutching it as he readied himself to strike.
He immediately halted his intentions as another of the creatures walked by within view of his barely open eyes, filling him with the uneasy realization that he had no knowledge of just how many were potentially lurking within the camp.
An agonized scream rang out from the Dril to his left, causing him to push aside his calculations and burst into action. Thrusting his torso into an upright position, Varse rammed his blade entirely through the ankle of the creature inspecting him. A horrifying wail ripped through the wide mouth of the beast, sickening Varse to his core. It pulled away, yanking the small blade from its wielder’s grasp.
Jumping to his feet, Varese was met with the awful reality of the creatures’ numbers, as five had found their way into the tiny camp through a break in the torch ring. One Dril already lay dead, his throat quietly devoured by a crouching monstrosity. The Dril that had loosed the initial scream lay on the ground, his legs kicking as his attacker’s claws remained buried in his chest.
Varse positioned himself into a crude self-defense stance, an instant before Horos burst from the flaps of the tent. The raggedy Arkos ripped the nearest torch from the sand, crying out as he hurled himself in the direction of the creatures.
Their wide mouths hissed as he swung the torch in wide arcs, slowly pushing them back as they retreated from the flame. Taking several steps back towards the edge of camp they finally turned and sprinted away, disappearing into the surrounding darkness.
“By Holy Kromak, the bastards shall not return this night!” Horos yelled before gazing down at the dying Dril. “Ah, your man is injured!”
Kneeling beside him, Horos studied his wounds. Little could be done, as the Dril continued to kick in pain before slowly fading into death.
“What were those…things…?” Varse asked, peering into the blackness of the desert.
Horos closed the eyes of the dead Dril before slowly rising back to his feet. “They are but a few of the dangers that the night holds, master Potentate. The wind must have extinguished a few of the torches.”
Varse rubbed his hairless head, closing his red eyes in disgust.
“We truly find ourselves in a damned realm…“
***
The dead were buried on Varse’s orders, given graves of sand that were a continent away from their rightful place among the Ice Tombs of their ancestors. Yet so long as a portion of their blood remained in their homeland, their resting place would have to do.
Eleven of their group remained, riding through the desert by day and sleeping wearily by night. Precautions were taken with the utmost care after their incident, waking up in rotations to ensure that their torches were still lit.
Up and down the dunes they surfed, their Onaks tirelessly traversing the endless sands on their thin legs. The monotony of their journey was occasionally interrupted when they passed through small forests of charom stems, dense clusters of tall colorful growths. Varse ran his hand over the surface of one of the plants as they passed, feeling its stone-hard skin.
As they left the latest charom cluster all Dril quickly gasped, as far into the distance they were finally met with the sight of a legendary Wonak. Though quite far away, the details of the massive six-legged creature were visible enough to make out the structures built atop its armored back. Its leathery tail dragged behind it, acting as the entrance to the village it carried.
Lumbering over the hot sands, the Wonak appeared to be traveling in the direction of the cluster that the group was departing, undoubtedly intending to feast upon the hard vegetation with its powerful hooked jaw. Varse was almost disappointed that they’d be long gone by the time it arrived.
“Ah, any of you masters ever traveled aboard a Holy Wonak village?” Horos asked, chuckling at the evident amazement of the Dril.
They all answered in the negative.
“Truly, no?” the boy asked in surprise. “You snow dwellers are utterly bizarre.”
***
One could only roam the desert for so long before their mind began to wander. The endless hours of riding seemed to always push Varse to delve into his thoughts, assessing every detail of their perilous mission.
Should they survive their journey and reach Kromak’s camp, their goal would still be unguaranteed. They were deep into the lands of a potential enemy to their people, only considered as potentially harmful due to the fact that The Shai Domain had worked its way into his ranks. Kromak knew of the existence of their spies, knew of the power they held over him, yet there was no certainty that he wouldn’t simply dispose of a small group of pesky Dril who carried demands.
Yet, he did owe them after all. For countless generations The Council’s spies had spread the prophecy among the population of The Wandering Desert, a belief that a leader born of the gods would unite and protect all Arkos. The moment a child born with two sets of arms emerged, as had happened in the past, The Dril Council wrapped their influence around the so-called ‘child marked by the gods’ and made him theirs. This prophesied Holy Kromak, worshiped as both a God and a savior, ruled over the Arkos population just as the Dril saw fit. An experiment, of sorts.
This…human God King, now God Emperor…could not be tolerated. The Council would make rulers, manipulate the rise and downfall of outside realms, and even pull the strings of a Kromak. Emperor Dominax was not one of their creations, was not a man whose actions could be driven in whichever way The Council saw fit.
Kromak’s loyalties had been steady thus far, yet as Varse neared the day he’d actually stand before the false God, he felt himself growing weary of just how deep said loyalties lay.
A squawking cry from up ahead broke Varse from his thoughts. Looking towards the younger Arkos’s Onak, he watched in horror as the jaws of a massive serpent sprang from the sand and sunk its fangs into the leg of the panicking mount. Its black scales rattled as it slithered out of its buried hiding place, easily four times the length of a man and just as thick. Its long body was split into numerous tails extending from just below the head, as if it were a living whip with several ends. It rose up onto its tails as the Onak collapsed to the ground, using its appendages to propel itself forwards as if it was an aquatic tentacled beast.
The group scrambled to get out of its way, yet its savage jaws tore into the nearest Dril. Its tails swung, crashing through the thin legs of several Onaks with sickening cracks of bone.
Varse was tossed to the ground, forcing him to scramble to his feet as the serpent struck at his companions in quick but precise bites. Its fangs met flesh, swiftly withdrawing each time to allow its venom to do its work.
Within moments five Dril were left writhing on the floor, foam leaking from their spasming mouths. The rest dodged and struck at the creature with their small blades, carving gashes that spewed dark blood.
Its slithering body arced towards the younger Arkos, pinned beneath his deceased Onak. Horos roared with panicked furry, rushing to intercept the serpent before it could reach the boy. Its fangs sank into the young man’s frantic arm, just as Horos rammed his rusty gauntlet downwards, sinking his armored claws as deep as possible into the top of the creature’s head.
The serpent hissed in pain, rearing its head in violent death throes that sent Horos stumbling onto his back. Its many tails twitched and shuddered, and within moments it allowed its head to collapse to the sand. A low groan escaped its lip-less mouth, too similar to the sound of a dying humanoid than Varse would have expected.
Varse sprinted to his injured men, assessing the damage as out of the corner of his eye he watched Horos hurry to the boy’s spasming body. The dying members of their group slowly weakened, becoming silently still.
“Ohhh…you foolish boy…” Horos groaned in visible sorrow, placing his hand on his young chest.
“My Potentate…” one of the surviving Dril quietly said as he struggled to his feet. “My arm…it’s broken…”
A tear fell from Horos’s eye as he gazed down at the young man. “My boy…I grant you the name…of Roak, my father. It is earned…”
The Dril stood among their dead, unwilling to make a sound.
“Now…we are six,” Varse thought to himself.
***
The remainder of the day was spent almost entirely in silence as they traveled, shuffling along joylessly.
Of the Onaks that hadn’t been outright killed by the serpent, only two were left mostly unharmed. The rest were all too wounded to continue, with broken legs and shattered ribs. With two riders each, the group rotated every hour while the rest walked.
Varse granted his hourly turn upon one of the Onaks to an injured Dril, choosing instead to shuffle through the dark sand. Step…by step…by step…
Every life they lost was in service to their people, every grueling minute they spent toiling away in this god’s forsaken desert was to ensure the survival of The Shai Domain. He’d-
His eyes fell onto the Dril walking in front of him. The man appeared to be mostly unharmed, aside from a light cut on the back of his forearm that had presumably been created during the fight with the serpent. Many others of the group possessed similar cuts, yet…
Varse’s heart sank, and his jaw tightened when he saw it, a drop of bright orange blood dripping from the cut and running down the man’s white skin.
“HALT. ALL OF YOU.”
All came to a sudden stop at Varse’s command, turning to look at him with concern.
“My Potentate, what is wrong?”
Wordlessly, Varse’s finger pointed to the man. Several saw the blood and gasped, taking a step backwards.
The man looked at them in genuine confusion, turning back towards Varse for answers. “I…don’t understand, what’s the matter my Potentate?”
One of the Dril spit onto the ground in disgust, holding his hands out as he backed away. “He’s…a hybrid! With Lish blood no less”
The others who hadn’t glanced at the wound immediately went wide eyed in surprise, reaching for their knives.
“Wait! Stop this! I can explain!” the man cried out.
Horos dismounted, readying his gauntlet in uncertainty. “What is this? What has this man done to earn this ire?”
“He’s and imposter, a half breed!” the nearest Dril explained with a scowl. “A Dril with a parent from another species always inherits the blood of the outsider. They lose their ability to survive unassisted in the cold of the tundra without our natural blood. I’d wager that’s why you were so eager to volunteer for this mission, yes Zeril? Unable to withstand your own homeland, so you seek the desert?”
“Xilik, please! I’ve served with you for years!” Zeril pleaded. “You know me! All of you do!”
Varse stepped towards the hybrid, causing the man to slowly lower himself to his knees in a begging gesture. “I am truly sorry, though you know our laws, our ways. Your existence threatens our species, and for that you cannot be tolerated.”
“My Potentate…I’ve served our people with my life…I’ve-“
“Enough,” Varse replied, removing his blade from his sleeve. “You could have a dozen children with full blooded Dril females, yet they’d all inherit your blood. This is the unfortunate reality we are in. You’d weaken us,” he explained sternly, standing over Zeril. There was no hatred like many of the other members of the group, for he simply had to uphold his duty to protect his people in all ways. Such was life.
“But I…I’ll leave, I’ll walk into the desert and never return!” Zeril pleaded, his mind working as fast as possible to preserve himself. “No Dril shall ever lay eyes upon me, no lesser child shall spring from my loins!”
Varse held up a hand to quiet him. “Be silent. You are still half Dril, and thus, die with dignity. There is no alternative.”
“I…” Zeril began, though his words came to a stop. He merely gazed up at his executioner, before finally bowing his head and accepting his fate. “If…for the greater good of all Dril…I request that you make it quick.”
Varse nodded grimly. “For your service, be assured that I shall,” he said as he lifted the man’s chin. Holding the hilt of his blade tightly, he pressed the cold metal to the man’s throat.
With a quick slash of his hand, the hybrid met his fate.
***
Day after day they walked, pressing deeper and deeper into the endless dunes.
To tread upon sand was a far different sensation than the frozen ice of Shai, and Varse longed to once more step upon solid ground. His muscles ached, yet he pressed on uncomplaining and unyielding.
Creatures of all shapes and forms crossed their path, forcing Horos to periodically break his oppressive silence to instruct the dwindling group on how they must proceed. Slithering creatures with no eyes, hopping six legged reptiles that eerily mimicked their speech, a caravan of shinny bulbs that used flippers to paddle across the sand, even a tiny hive of buzzing finger sized parasites that sought out the orifices of other creatures.
Every step provided the possibility of an attack from an unseen foe buried beneath their feet. Yet, what was left of their luck remained, and before they had all reached their breaking point the sight of a large gathering of oversized tents came into view on the horizon just as the sun was beginning to creep beneath the dunes.
“You’ll find what you seek in there,” Horos replied, far less subservient and friendly than before.
“Thank the gods…” one of the Dril replied, hardly able to stand.
They carried along with renewed vigor, finally reaching their destination within an hour just as the desert was once again plunged into bioluminescence spotted darkness.
Nearing the edge of the tent city they were met by the presence of numerous guards patrolling the outline of the massive camp. Varse unwrapped his shroud, peering at the Arkos males with his piercing eyes.
“I am Varse of Clan Chalvarrus, Potentate of The Shai Domain. I demand to speak to The Holy Kromak,” he announced with a conviction that gave no hint to his underlying exhaustion.
“We’ve been expecting you, master Potentate,” the guards replied, bowing.
***
Ushered through the entrance of the largest tent, the surviving Dril were met with the spectacular sight of dozens of Arkos females, their toned bodies writhing in exotic dances as several guards stood tall and proud along the circular fabric wall. Smoke twirled calmly through the air, smelling of a bizarre aroma that Varse did not recognize. Candles illuminated most of the interior, aside from a towering throne that remained against the far wall. Draped partially in darkness, the seated figure cradled two nude females in his lap, their seductive faces smirking as the Dril entered.
“Approach, our honored friends,” the deep voice boomed through the tent, emitting from the seated Arkos in the language of the Dril. His heavily muscled legs hung openly in the candlelight, with occasional flickers revealing his powerful exposed chest. The man was built like a giant, and Varse noted that he indeed possessed four arms, two on each side that caressed the smooth dark gray skin of his presumed lovers.
Varse stepped towards the throne, displaying his proudly stern face. He would not fail his people, would not allow their journey to go to waste. “You must be The Holy Kromak.”
The man chuckled lightly, his voice echoing through the tent. “Of course…yet you may call me Krom, master Potentate. Only my closest companions may refer to me as such.”
“Very well, Krom. I presume you know why I am here?” Varse asked, showing no surprise at the man’s fluent knowledge of his language. He was raised by Dril after all.
“I have my theories. Your message came at a rather…interesting interval, so close in proximity to the formation of Magnius’s newest little Empire.”
Varse nodded firmly. “Your perception does not fail you, yet would it not be possible for us to speak without so many functioning ears?”
Krom chuckled once again, gesturing to the many people inside the tent. “Ah, you fear that information may slip from their lips? Come now, Master Potentate, you Dril fail to understand just how powerful devotion can be. My followers would gladly end their own lives before they’d consider betraying their living deity. Furthermore, your troubles in properly dealing with this ‘God Emperor’ may also lay in a similar vein,” he explained, before waving a hand in dismissal. “In any case, nearly none of the beings you see here have any familiarity with your language.”
Varse rubbed his head in contemplation as he scowled. “Very well then, the responsibility shall fall on you if any of what we discuss here leaks from this tent.”
Krom placed his powerful hand to his chest, a flicker of candlelight revealing his sly grin. “I accept the responsibility. Now be upfront with me Varse, what must be my part in this charade you play with the human?”
Glancing around the room at the many nude dancers and guards, Varse straightened up proudly. “In plain terms, The Council requests a use of force strong enough to topple Emperor Dominax from his ever-growing throne.”
“Ah, so war, is it?” Krom questioned, stroking the dark hair of the concubine nestled on his left leg. “A clash of Akros and Humans, so the Dril may feel safer?”
Varse’s red eyes narrowed at the man’s tone. “The fall of The God Emperor would benefit us all. Do you believe, Krom, that he’ll simply halt at the edge of The Wandering Desert when the rest of us have fallen? Then what of his descendants? Will you simply hope they’ll grant you mercy once more?”
“Their new Empire is spreading, yes, though they have yet to expand beyond The Human Basin. The God Emperor conquers humans, subjugates humans, and is worshiped by humans.”
“Humans currently, Krom. We have every reason to believe that he shall turn his gaze outwards in due time,” Varse explained. “None have come close to slowing his advance, yet we predict that a conflict with strong, faith bound Arkos on a full scale would be more than enough to put an end to our mutual problem.”
Krom appeared to glance down at his female mates, his face hardly visible in the candlelight. “A slaughter of Arkos, for Dril,” he said, gesturing to a nearby servant. She handed him a long, thin pipe topped with several tiny vials locked into the shaft. He pressed its end to his lips, inhaling before a deep cloud of smoke oozed from his nostrils.
“For the greater good,” Varse corrected. “Yet do not forget, the Dril have done more than our fair share to benefit you. Need I say more, and test if your claims of our security in this language are true?”
The muscular Arkos remained silent for a long moment, three of his hands idly exploring the two females’ curves in thought. “Potentate Varse, you request a war that shall harm my people, a war that I cannot grant you. However, there are alternatives…”
“Such as?” Varse asked as his patience wore thin. He could hardly remain standing, could hardly retain his composure after their journey.
“I can grant to you the service of my Tolkarik Assassins,” Krom replied with visible amusement, inhaling the pipe once again before handing it off to the servant. He appeared as if a mystical beast, breathing smoke from his nostrils as he leaned back on his throne. “A contract on the human’s life, free of charge in light of our previous dealings.”
Varse stiffened at the name, recalling tales of the legendary female assassins that served The Holy Kromak. However, he retained his guise of pride. “Do you believe I’d cross the desert to request something that my own agents could accomplish themselves?”
Krom chuckled. “Then why haven’t you? Why have I not received news that The God Emperor is dead? No, master Potentate, you ask for the death of a living God. Ordinary assassins shall never be sufficient. However, you know the reputation of my girls.”
Varse stroked his chin as he considered the idea. The subtle approach could be more efficient when compared to a full war that could last years…yet would it be enough? “An interesting proposal…yet I’d like to assess them before we agree to any arrangements.”
“Ah, but master Potentate, they are already here…” Krom said with satisfaction, gesturing behind Varse.
As Varse turned around, he was met with the sight of all four remaining Dril standing frozen, terror in their eyes as they each had a sharp fingered gauntlet pressed against their necks, their mouths covered from an assassin behind each of them. The rest of the crowd continued on as if nothing was happening, swinging their hips seductively.
“Careful friends, their claws are tipped with a particularly powerful venom,” Krom said with amusement. “Your bodies will slowly shut down, paralyzing you until even your lungs refuse to move.”
“Unhand them,” Varse replied, turning back to glare at the seated Arkos. His piercing eyes boiled with rage, unwilling to watch a fellow Dril treated in such a manner.
Krom waved his hand, and the female assassins released their prey and backed away. “A mere demonstration, Potentate Varse, yet now you must see how generous I am to allow you to leave this tent. You need me, just as I needed you.”
“Your death would come swiftly if any of us were to disappear,” Varse replied with a venom of his own in his voice.
“Then we are both fortunate, for that was never my intention,” Krom stated with a sly grin. “Now tell me, do we have an agreement?”
A moment of silence passed before Varse nodded. “They are adequate for the task.”
“Excellent!” the Arkos said with a clap of two of his strong hands. “We shall refine the details of the contract later, yet you must surely be exhausted from your travels. Come, you are at the service of my hospitality!”
With a gesture of the Kromak a nearby dancer approached Varse, caressing his arm gently.
“She shall escort you to your tent and assist you in recuperating. Request food, women, even boys if you’d prefer. A guest of my court shall have all they require!”
Varse eyed the girl sternly, pulling his arm away. “If that is the case, then I request that my companions each receive the same treatment,” he demanded defiantly. “Furthermore, I require that Horos be compensated tenfold for the service of keeping us alive, else we have no deal.”
Though surprised, Krom merely shrugged his powerful shoulders. “If that is what you insist…then so be it.”
***
Finally settling down where no accursed sand may touch him, Varse released a breath of exhaustion as he allowed the servant girl to remove his dirty robe before he laid down onto the lavish cushion of his own tent. He dismissed her with a wave, closing his eyes.
He felt the cushion move slightly and opened his eyes to see that she hadn’t departed. Rather, she had instead moved towards him, crawling like a predator about to leap onto her prey.
Once more he dismissed her, yet she either did not understand or simply didn’t care. Her job was to please him, and she would not fail. She whispered in her native language, foreign to his ears as her hand brushed his leg.
“Damn you woman, do you not listen?” he asked in an annoyed tone, knowing she could not understand him. He watched her approach, felt her soft skin against his.
A raging lust stirred in his loins, and he clenched his teeth. His hands covered his manhood, feeling it slowly grow as she caressed his lower half.
“A damned Arkos…” he muttered, feeling a slight guilt at his attraction to a female other than a Dril. Her long black hair hung over her budding breasts, parted by her curled horns.
The feeling of her flexible tail slithering along his calf forced a slight groan from his stern lips, and he slowly uncovered his erection.
The Arkos girl eyed his Dril shaft, smirking with desire. She leaned down, pressing her beautiful lips to its tip. Her tongue teased his glands, tasting an arousal that had been ignored during his travels.
Varse arched his back somewhat as she slid down, engulfing his erection into her supple mouth. She moved up and down, worshiping his cock. His exhaustion was pushed aside, replaced with a flow of tingling stimulation.
His thoughts slid back to the hybrid they had encountered, knowing the danger of their entanglement. His men knew not to spill their seed where it may take hold, a duty he himself must remain committed to as well. Only the womb of a Dril was worthy of Dril sperm, yet simple oral enjoyment couldn’t be harmful to anyone…
Her soft hands massaged the pure white skin of his thighs, peering up at him as her head continued to move. Her skillful tongue had been trained for this very purpose, activating every pleasure center along his shaft and tip.
He reached down to take hold of her horns, wishing to satiate his biological need as he guided her head downwards. His manhood slid into her throat, yet the young Arkos woman merely moaned. How many lovers had this beauty serviced? How many nights were spent pleasing the guests of The Kromak? Varse cared little.
The bright orange of her feline eyes peered back at him, as if studying his strange Dril features. He realized that he must surely be the first of his species that she had ever seen, a new humanoid for her mouth to please.
Her dark gray hand sneaked down her toned torso, locating her throbbing arousal between her nimble legs. He felt her mouth tense around his shaft, a silent moan as she teased her waiting lips.
With a gentle touch of her free hand, she released his grip on her horns, allowing her to slide his cock from her mouth with a hungry grin. She then maneuvered her exotic body gracefully, mounting her intended mate. The sensitive skin of his erection rubbed against her pelvis, white on gray.
Adamant in his convictions he grabbed her thighs, causing her to stop as she moved to lower herself onto his hard manhood. Their potential children, even if slightly less likely to be conceived due to their opposing species, would undoubtedly have Arkos blood. Such an abomination could not be allowed to occur.
Confused, she looked down at him and questioned him in her unfamiliar language. He merely shook his head, increasing his grip when she tried to descend once again.
There was no convincing her, she wanted his cock. Her eagerness forced an idea to slip into Varse’s mind, a desire he had considered attempting in the past. If she truly wanted to feel him inside of her, she would.
Reaching around to cup her firm rear, he pulled her ever so slightly forwards, using his other hand to guide his manhood. He lowered her further, allowing his tip to press against the girl’s puckered anus.
Her orange eyes went wide with realization, replying once more in a way he couldn’t understand. Instead, he moved his hand to grip the base of her tail, holding it tightly as he pushed his hips up towards her.
Her mouth opened with shock as he entered her ass, struggling to sink into its tight embrace. She squirmed atop his lap, yet provided no resistance as a deep moan escaped his lips.
She allowed her body to lower, moving slowly as she accepted his manhood fully into her inexperienced rump. He hilted her fully, surprised by just how snug she felt.
A short moment passed as she adjusted to the new object inside of her, releasing a slight whine of both pain and pleasure as she began to move up and down.
Varse gritted his teeth, rocking his hips against her as he attempted to be as gentle as his arousal would permit. She leaned back, supporting herself with her arms. He watched as her silky black hair tumbled over her shoulders, flowing down her back.
Placing his hands on her hips for leverage, his beaten and exhausted muscles ached, yet he continued to thrust up into her. His eyes lingered over her exposed body, tracing her abs up to her perky breasts tipped by dark nipples. She appeared capable, flexible, and if she was a mere servant, the pesky human stood no chance against the Tolkariks.
His hands ran over her smooth thighs, feeling her striped skin. Such a beautiful creature, nearly as desirable as a female Dril. The comparison brought him back to the moment he had become a man, a night spent along the frozen beach of Ishtai with a childhood friend. Such a young and naïve Varse, unsuspecting of the responsibilities that would one day weigh him down into dust…
The servant groaned, bringing one hand back to her front to slide between her legs. She found her moist sex, its dark labia begging for penetration. A single finger gently brushed her clitoris, sending light waves of stimulation through her that only increased her tightness as her internal muscles clenched down around him.
He watched as she spread her lower lips with her nimble fingers, displaying the wetness their encounter had caused her. She slipped her middle digit inside, leaning her head back to gaze up at the top of the tent.
Varse’s mind once more traveled backwards, remembering the exquisite details of Tsida’s body as they had mated. He found his breath increasing, remembering the climax that had created their son.
Increasing in speed, his manhood slid in and out of her tight rear, causing her tail to writhe in the air. The servant’s fingers worked quickly, bringing her ever closer to the edge of bliss. Her hips slammed down repeatedly, plunging him deeper and deeper into her ass with each thrust.
Muscles straining, breathing heavily, he felt himself slip into orgasm, bucking his exhausted hips. The Arkos girl let out a satisfied whine, furiously pleasuring herself as she felt his seed squirting into her tight tunnel. Within moments she achieved her own climax, her athletic body seizing atop him.
Utterly spent, Varse allowed himself to fully sink into the cushion, finding the sense of satisfaction he had sought. The satisfaction of protecting his people, of ensuring their future, intermixed with the sensual post copulation bliss.
Yet as he closed his tired red eyes, the memory of Tsida’s lifeless body atop her altar came into full view, and his momentary peace vanished from his grasp.
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