<i>Altair had willingly come to him, the sash that he used to shield his dignity sliding down his thighs in an airy whirl. With the sash abandoned to the floor, the fullness of the slave’s tumescence could be observed; the hairs around his shaft were as translucent as the ones to be found on top of his head. He laid down on his cot waiting as the slave straddled him like one would a hearty stallion. It was no surprise that he was already erect — the swaying of Altair’s hips were entrancing enough to elicit a rise in lust. It had been a long time since he’d been able to fuck. The most comfort he could hope to find for a long while was his grimy, calloused hand.<br/>
<br/>
A guiding hand was placed on his stiff shaft to lead it to a resting spot; inside Altair’s welcoming depths. This time the Dusanian did not grumble or perform with disdain. The beginning to his pleasure came as the tip of his cock met the opening to a warmth abyss. Altair’s hole was oiled, prepared and loosened for taking the entirety of his manhood. Altair began lowering himself down on his cock, and with that he placed his hands on the slave’s hips to provide him with support. He heard a moan. It was a soft, delicate one that was stifled.<br/>
<br/>
The moaner was not him but Altair, and as he peered upon the Dusanian’s face he could see his cheeks begin to pinken. He was enjoying it, the feeling of satiation that could only be achieved by large cock. There was ardor in Altair’s eyes. The slave wanted to reach ultimate climax and beyond. He wanted to be drowned in euphoria and engulfed in endless pleasure. All of Altair’s message was delivered to him by lusty gaze alone, and he was more than willing to fulfill those desires. <br/>
<br/>
A slick noise echoed against the walls of the room as the slave began to raise and lower himself from the thickness that he was saddled upon. Altair leaned forward and pressed his hands against his ribs for support. What once were quiet, subdued moans morphed into open ones and with each rising they became louder. The slave had eschewed his pompous nature that barred him from such lechery, valuing his sexual need over his need of pride. Fingernails sunk themselves into his chest and drew blood. <br/>
<br/>
“I want…” Altair declared, his voice thick with breathy pant. “... it…”<br/>
<br/>
“How much do you want,” he asked. “If you need it, beg. Beg for your master to bring you to your knees… Call me your master.”<br/>
<br/>
“Master… let… me… cum!”<br/>
<br/>
He grabbed hold of Altair’s wrists. In one fluid motion he had the slave lying down against the cot, his arms pinned above his head. He pushed those arms into the cot below as he began to fuck the slave with a smooth rhythm. Utterances of ecstasy were shared between them, and soon he had the slave’s extremities wrapped around him. Smooth thighs wrapped around his hips and willowy arms with branchy fingers dug into the skin of his back. Altair raked his back flesh, forming scarlet troughs that filled with blood.<br/>
<br/>
The world paused for a single moment as they both reached climax at the same time. He filled Altair’s sacred sanctuary with his seed, and on his own gut he felt Altair’s sticky seed. He did not remove himself straight away, preferring to linger inside the slave and allow him the pleasure of being warmed internally. “How amusing… you released yourself upon me,” he muttered, feeling pleased that there was evidence that he brought the slave to climax. He wiped the discharge from his gut using his hand, moving it to Altair’s face to make him lick it from his fingers.<br/>
<br/>
When Cygnus raised his hand, he found it covered in blood. Fresh sanguine that stained his fingers in a shine of ruby. Altair’s face that had once been full of fatigue and satiation morphed into a wolfish expression, the face a man made when he had reached certain doom. His lips contorted in scorn and he spat on Cygnus’ face. When the wetness of his spit hit Cygnus’ cheek, Altair’s lips curved into a scornful smile.<br/>
<br/>
“I warned you that if you bled me one more drop on your god forsaken ship, I would see you to ruin in the afterlife,” Altair fumed. The fingers that had sensually raked Cygnus’ back during their sex transformed into sharp knives, and the slave did not waste time in using them to slash the skin of his back. Blood upon blood poured from Cygnus’ wounds, and the captain howled in pain.<br/>
<br/>
A dagger came to be in his hands, and with it Cygnus thrust it into Altair’s left eye socket, bursting the eye that rested there into a splatter of viscera. But even as the knife was driven through the Dusanian’s head, the clawing did not stop. In fact, the slave’s mouth opened up in raucous, mad laughter. Almost as if he were amused that he wasn’t dead. Haunting words were dispersed throughout the hysterical noises that came from Altair’s living corpse, uttered with the intensity of a god. <br/>
<br/>
“Yelis, tukua ahau kia noho ki tenei kaipuke kia taea ai e ahau te rere.” </i><br/><br/><div class="bbCodeSpoiler">
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<div class="bbCodeBlock-content">Translation: Yelis, allow me to haunt this ship so that I can be its guide to ruin.</div>
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</div><br/><i>Cygnus attempted to pull out from Altair, but his cock was stuck fast inside the Dusanian, clamped upon with the force of an entire brothel. He began to stab over and over again, driving the dagger into new places with each and every thrust. The longer he worked at it the more blood there was, his own and Altair’s. The smell of death filled his nose, as his blood and Altair’s mingled together and soaked the room with iron. <br/>
<br/>
““May Lain turn your beliefs against you, so much so that you cannot bear to sleep at night!”<br/>
<br/>
Cold laughter came from Cygnus’ mouth, as he fell into an endless cycle of agony, stabbing, and despair. Altair had trapped him in a torturous hell by his cock, and something about that notion was both macabre and amusing to the captain. No matter how much he stabbed Altair, the slave would simply not die. He had rendered the Dusanian’s head nothing more than gored meat and dishevelled hair, and even as pink slime trickled out of the holes in his skull Altair still laughed and laughed.<br/>
<br/>
“You believe that your goddess has sent you to smite me down,” Cygnus commented. “But, in truth, she has sent you to a bitter hell with yours truly.” <br/>
<br/>
The room began to quickly flood with red, a cascade with no end in sight that came from Cygnus’s own body as well as Altair’s. It smelt of carrion and ash. He could no longer hear Altair’s laughter when it became a gurgle as the red drowned out the sound. “I’ve won, whore,” Cygnus declared. Though he knew that it was a pyrrhic victory; whatever foul secretion that was flowing from his wounds would continue to fill up the room, and in turn drown him. Trapped in intimacy with Altair, he was destined for death. The liquid seeped into his skin and eventually into his lungs. At first there was more pain as he pawed at the ceiling for freedom to breathe, but when he began to fade away the pain was replaced with a moment of euphoria. </i><br/><br/>----<br/><br/>Cygnus awoke with a twitch, though he did not open his eyes right away. Rather, he let out a satisfied exhale, before his sight was greeted by the ceiling of his cabin. The events of his dream remained with him to the waking world, and he could vividly recall all of the details. The captain could still taste his dream; it tasted like the rusty chainlinks of the ship’s anchor, salty and rusty with a hint of decay.<br/><br/>Some might’ve called such a dream a nightmare, and perhaps even a prophecy of doom. A holy punishment for what he had done to that slave. But not Cygnus. He laughed at the dream, like he did while he was having it. Even in death, Altair sought to haunt him, as he had promised. Cygnus welcomed the slave to try and cow him again; he would utterly fail. The gore did not scare him, but tantalize him. It inebriated Cygnus on bloodlust.<br/><br/>There was a bottle of mead beside his cot, open from the night before. Sitting up, Cygnus took a hearty swig from it, quenching his dry tongue with the honeyed flavor of the drink. This mead was good, with a delectable balance between the honey and the bitterness. It was different from the fare that he had drank upon the seas, for it came from humble brewers of Igna’s Port.<br/><br/>For the past day or so he and his crew had lingered at the port, friendly flags embroidered with the sigil of King Sageburn raised upon their masts. The sigil was their symbol of passage, that they were free to voyage within the port sans persecution. Not that any of them were recognized to be pirates; the most one could presume was that they were the type to bathe rarely, not that it wasn’t true.<br/><br/>With their convoy of three ships docked, they disembarked to enjoy the spoils of the land. They did not pillage or rape; instead, they wandered about as if they were honest men. They indulged in lust and gluttony with whatever coin they had in their pockets, becoming sighing customers of brothels and rowdy patrons of taverns. To outsiders, they were the same as any other boat crew that drifted through the port.<br/><br/>Cygnus liked the idyllic setting of Weiss. Although, he couldn’t deny that he was more than fond of the screams he forced out of the mouths of the pillaged. Those screams were beautiful, and nothing would vilify that pleasure for him. Yet serenity could be congenial in small doses. In a way, the mundaneness of being civilized made his crimes all the more delectable. In time he would float away to another land, and lay hands upon the helpless once more. But for now, he was Cygnus the Sailor, not Cygnus the Pirate.<br/><br/>Once the last drop of the mead hit the back of his throat, Cygnus rose to his feet and stepped to the cabin’s door. As the door open, he felt stronger chill rush up and caress his cheeks. It was supernatural how easily the temperature changed around Weiss; a day away it might be warm enough to dress thinly, but as soon as they reached a vague distance from Weiss things would suddenly become chilly. Around his body he had a thick cloak draped, that kept him protected from the biting nature of the frosty air.<br/><br/>Exhaling caused his breath to form into cold steam. A sight that he hadn’t seen regular in months, not since he had departed from Weiss. The decks of The Siren and the other two ships underneath his command had a scant few upon them. A quarter of the men in their convoy remained with the ships, to make certain that no thief or bandit would make off with any of their goods, but remained below decks where they were better protected from the cold. Cygnus was a part of the dawn guard, the men mandated to remain with the ships until dusk, which was when they were replaced by the dusk guard.<br/><br/>There was little of consequence on the ship. Cygnus would much rather find himself in Igna’s Port’s streets, prowling the streets with a curiosity. But he was fair to his men; he would stay on the ship, with the others, as he had decided when they landed. The captain ambled over to the ship’s bannister, to the exact point where Altair had gone over into the sea’s embrace. In an eerie sense, it was the same place where Mors toppled over to his demise.<br/><br/>Cygnus stroked his fingers against the ship’s railing, seeing in his mind’s eye where Altair’s feet had perched. There were no physical remnants that the Dusanian had been there, but there were fresh memories. Peering over the railing into the sea, he could hear the splash that the slave had made as his body was dunked beneath the waves, and the sound of the barrel that followed him too.<br/><br/>He remembered then why he had even thrown the slave overboard. In the chaos of Nemerev’s blindness, the reason had fallen to oblivion. That act of rebellion had lost Altair whatever mercy and piety he had been given, and still remained in his book. Drivel that tarnished his book. In a way Cygnus regret tossing the slave overboard; if he had kept Altair, he would’ve faced a more gruesome death at the hands of sadists. Or perhaps he could’ve even present the slave to Sapi, and he would become pages of Cygnus’ book. It was a decision he had made in haste.<br/><br/>But it was a decision that he had made, and there was no reversing death. Retrieving even the slave’s corpse was beyond his means. What was in his means, however, was erasing the rest of the traces of Altair that remained on the vessel. Something in the corner of his vision caught his eye. It was a swathe of fabric piled at the mast. It was the sash that Altair had adorned himself him in life. It was still there, from when his men had stripped the slave naked.<br/><br/>Cygnus whisked it up, clutching it between tight fingers. This he had forgotten too. The last piece of clothing to have been worn by the slave, however soiled it was. It was the last thing on the ship that was visibly covered in the slave’s blood; he had ordered the decks scrubbed, as well as the floors of the brig, days ago. As well as the book, it was the last vestige of Altair’s existence. Without further thought, Cygnus returned to the ship’s edge and discarded the sash overboard. He remained there, watching the sea gulp it down as it gradually sank deeper into the unknown. Though they were at port, in time the waves would push the cloth out, and it would come to settle in the sea’s abysses. Where its former bearer rested himself.<br/><br/>“Return whence you came, cloth,” Cygnus muttered, as he turned towards his cabin. The sash was gone. Now it was time for him to erase from history Altair’s final dirge.<br/><br/>----<br/><br/>Snow had thought that the slave would awaken some handful of hours after the application of the snowy remedy. But even as the remedy mended Altair’s wounds, he remained blissfully unaware and comatose. All he could do was hope that Altair would not suffer the worst. Snow had heard of tales where men and children falling ill, lost to an endless slumber, only clinging to life by the hand of a devoted wife, mother, or servant spooning honey into their mouth. Even then, honey only helped for a little while; after enough time, they withered away into emaciated skeletons and died.<br/><br/>Enough time had passed that Snow could see land at the horizon, from where he stood on the ship’s deck. For the past few hours he wandered between his cabin and the deck. Snow didn’t have a desire to remain in either place for too long; he was tired, having not truly slept since Altair had been placed into his bed. Diens had offered him his bed instead, but Snow had refused it. Thus he resigned himself to moving around, lest he close his eyes and unintentionally lean against a wall and fall asleep.<br/><br/>If the truth were to be told, he didn’t want to sleep. The closer that they voyaged to Igna’s End, the more nightmarish his dreams would become. So close to Igna’s End, his dreams became dominated by flames. Flames that burned with a insatiable wrath. He did not dream about the flames always. But when he did, it came upon him like a plague, and like a plague he would always have to watch those he knew die. Though, as long as he remained awake, he did not have to suffer those dreams.<br/><br/>Diens stood beside him, looking out to sea. A herd of wooly clouds hung in the sky, floating lazily to wherever it wished to go. They were full and round, only wispy on the edges. An opening in the herd let the sun bear down on the sea. The waves caught the light and began to dance, shifting constantly with the grace of a princess. Slowly but surely the gap between them and the land narrowed, the change in distance nigh imperceptible.<br/><br/>“He still hasn’t awoken,” Snow noted. “I suppose it was a dream to hope that he would recover.”<br/><br/>“Rest assured that you have done all you could, my lord,” Diens consoled. “The wounds that cover him are extensive and scarring. Many men would not survive the ordeal intact, but Altair has. If his body must rest, then it must. A prolonged sleep will only do good, and rejuvenate him.”<br/><br/>“You know more than I. I trust your word, Diens.”<br/><br/>At a languid rate did the ship grow closer to the coastal port. Today the winds were in their favor, and a passionate gale pushed them steadily to their destination. As they edged closer, Snow could see the ships that had settled in the port. Most of the designs of them were domestic; only two ships were of foreign origin. Weiss ships were beautiful, crafted out of dark, resilient lumber. Wedged between the two ships was an eerily familiar one, masts piercing the sky like ebony pillars of a demonic castle.<br/><br/>His hairs raised when he recognized the ship. It was a ship that he loathed to see in the capital, and one that he never wanted so close to his homeland. Snow dug his fingers into the bannister and scowled. The idea that someone with such a black soul was here in Igna’s Port made his skin crawl unpleasantly. It was like knowing there was a rat hovel beneath his feet; it made him uneasy.<br/><br/>“I know that ship over there, Diens,” Snow muttered, pointing at it. “It belongs to that foul beast.”<br/><br/>----<br/><br/>When Altair had been executed, he thought it prudent to cleanse history of the slave’s existence. The evening following Altair’s execution, he had sentenced the rest of the slaves to the same fate. One after another they had been hurled off of the ship, though with mercy; unlike Altair, they were given a last mouthful of rum and tossed overboard without much else. Minutes would pass and they would drown quickly. They would not have to linger in life as Altair did.<br/><br/>The last to go was the older man of Ellanian origin. In a way that man reminded him of Altair; the moment that he realized that there was no saving himself, his composure shattered like brittle ice. But from there he deviated from the Dusanian slave; whereas Altair had gone over with a scornful grace, this slave made it his wish to become a rabid bull. From the point where his crew grabbed him to the point where he was forced over the bannister, the Ellanian had cursed them, howling like a hellish hound. He had fought the hardest to remain above the waves, thrashing his arms with the force of a whale. Ultimately, like the rest, the waves took him. The bubbles made by the man breathing his last became part of the sea’s foam.<br/><br/>This act would be the final act to erasing Altair. Cygnus took powdered pumice, spreading it across the soiled page evenly. With a steady pressure he gently scoured the page, watching as the ink of Altair’s writing began fading away. As simple as that, the existence of the slave fell to oblivion. On and on he rubbed, until the vellum was bleached white, his desire to see not even a remnant streak achieved.<br/><br/>A loud creak emanated from his door as it was opened. Strange, considering his crew had been taught to knock before entering. Behind the person the door closed. Cygnus looked up from the parchment to see who had entered. At first he did not recognize the figure before him; he was certainly from Weiss, based upon his skin and hair. The man was not of his crew. But when they met eyes and he was engulfed in frigid azure, he realized who his unmerry visitor was.<br/><br/>Cygnus hopped to his feet, standing tall as Snow cleared the distance between them in a few steps, before stopping in front of the desk. They had their eyes locked together the moment they had acknowledged each other’s existence. It was amusing, the fire in Snow’s eyes. He had the little lord incensed by simply existing.<br/><br/>“Greetings, Cygnus. I never thought that I would meet you so far away from the capital. What brings you here?” Snow asked. Snow’s voice was as soft as he remembered, and just as cold too. Though the words themselves were polite, the lord might as well have drenched him in ice water.<br/><br/>“I could say the same, Snow. ” Cygnus responded. He dusted the pumice from the book, before snapping it shut. Then he tucked the book back into one of the desk’s drawers for safekeeping. There was no reason for Snow to see it.<br/><br/>“I am a lord, Cygnus. Do not forget your position. I am here because this is my ancestral home. This is Siennought land. Where my grandfather and his grandfather were born. To this land, I have a duty of blood,” Snow declared. Normally the boy wasn’t haughty, but perhaps his haughtiness was borne out of a dislike for him. “And you? What brings you to Igna’s Port? I would presume there is nothing here for the likes of you. No friend nor family. Only a port, where there are larger ones.”<br/><br/>“Is it unusual for a ship to stop at a port to resupply? To fill its storage with food and drink for its men? To let its men eat their fill of fresh meat and fresh tit?” Cygnus questioned. “We came here to do as sailors do. Be sailors.”<br/><br/>“Not at all. Eventually, all ships must halt for one reason or another,” Snow said. “I only wonder what sort of trouble you will stir by staying here.”<br/><br/>“Nothing, unless you wish for chaos.”<br/><br/>“I would never wish for chaos. But it comes to my land anyways, in the form of you.”<br/><br/>“You wound me. What have I done to harm you or the people of this city? Nothing.”<br/><br/>“Perhaps that is true… but I found something quite peculiar in the sea.”<br/><br/>Cygnus raised an eyebrow curiously. “And pray tell, what did you find in the sea?”<br/><br/>“A man. Perhaps you know him. Tall, pale, with long fair hair. Hailing from Dusan.<i> Altair.”</i><br/><br/>The captain did not let his shock show upon his face. He thought that he would never hear the name from his lips again, not unless the name belonged to another man. But Snow described the one and the same Altair he had condemned to a cold execution.<i>What a surprise,</i>Cygnus thought.<i>He managed to survive. </i><br/><br/>“I’ve never heard of the man before,” Cygnus lied. His voice was steady and sure; years of practice had made him capable of fibbing smoothly. “In the sea so close to Weiss, though? I’m surprised that you could find a man alive.”<br/><br/>“The man was close to death, clutching onto a barrel. Perhaps a few minutes more, and he might’ve become an icicle. Though what I find far more peculiar than him being in the sea was the story he told when he awoke… he claimed to have been taken by pirates, and then thrown off the ship due to disagreement and blasphemy.”<br/><br/>“A tragic tale.” Cygnus could tell by the look in Snow’s eyes that the boy didn’t believe his words; there was doubt and distrust. Even though there was no proof to be found of his misdeeds, the lord thought badly of him. “I pray that whoever the man is, he might survive.”<br/><br/>Snow narrowed his eyes. “I never took you to be a man of kind prayer, but I suppose all men hide surprises.” The lord finally broke his stare and with a sigh, he made his way towards the door. “That is all I desired from you. An inquiry as to why you are here.”<br/><br/>Just before he opened the door, Snow spoke yet again. “You may stay here for another day if you wish. But by the dawn in two day’s time, I want you sailing for the capital. I would rather you not stay here for too long.”<br/><br/>“And if I am found here still?” Cygnus asked. He couldn’t help but smile. He wanted to see what Snow had to say if he didn’t abide.<br/><br/>“I will put an arrow through your eye.”<br/><br/>Cygnus had seen Snow shoot before. He had chanced to see the last tournament that the King had hosted. Snow had been a participant, and he had won, among dozens of other competitors. He could shoot an arrow through a thin switch from 100 paces. Cygnus could almost feel his eyeball pulse at the thought.<br/><br/>“Consider me warned. As you wish, my crew and I shall be gone by then,” Cygnus promised. “My lord.” He emphasized the final syllable as a subtle taunt.<i>Not as if my plans are ruined. That is when I planned to leave for the capital. Cygnet and Cynalis await me there.</i><br/><br/>----<br/>Was it a flicker of recognition that Snow saw in Cygnus' eyes? Or was it something else? Snow didn't know. Cygnus was a born liar and it would always be difficult to tell whether or not he was telling a lie or a truth.<br/><br/>For then, his business with Cygnus was finished. He was suspicious of the man, but there was nothing that would prove his suspicions true. Nothing save for Altair. He would have to wait for Altair to awaken before he could hear more of pirates. Snow returned to the ship. On the deck the crew was shuffling about, as they began to unload things. His personal chest was being hoisted from below deck by one hefty man. Following that man were two more, between them a stretcher made of two rods of wood and knotted rope, on which Altair lay.<br/><br/>Diens stood by, eyeing him with disapproval. “And how was your lonesome journey to Cygnus’ ship, my lord?”<br/><br/>“I delivered to him the message I desired to.”<br/><br/>“I see. The next time you have a message to deliver, allow me to accompany you with guards. This time you were not harmed, but the next time may be different.”<br/><br/>“Cygnus wouldn’t dare harm me. That I knew. Do not worry more than you need, Diens. Worry about more prudent things at hand. Our escort will be here soon.”<br/><br/>----<br/><br/>Hillard had been surprised when his lord Snow and his companion had arrived with another. The letter that they had sent implied that only they were to be expected. Yet there was a third, gravely injured man as part of their band. Right when they arrived, Snow had commanded them to bring the man to the infirmary so that he could be tended to.<br/><br/>As he was commanded, he had tended to the man. The brunt of his wounds had been dealt with; based upon the light brown staining in the linen that encased the man, he had snow remedy used on him. That left the corvus only the minor wounds to tend to, the bruises and scrapes.<br/><br/>Although the man was unconscious, he managed to make a fuss as Hillard tended to him anyways. Each time Hillard touched him he reacted, moaning and groaning nightmarishly. At first he continued to tend to him unrestrained, but when the man struck him in the face he had him bound to the infirmary bed lying on his gut.<br/><br/>Hillard had finished preparing the medicine for the man’s ass. It was a solid mass, made out of soft laylay fruit butter and medicinal herbs, shaped so that it could be inserted inside the man’s orifice. Sudden hysterical crying broke the silence within the room. The man tugged at his bonds, screaming like a dying bitch in heat. His eyes were wild and feral, and even though he was injured he still put up a strong fight.<br/><br/>“Quiet, I do not intend to hurt you,” Hillard said. The words meant nothing to the man; he continued as he was.<i> If my words will not snap you out of your frenzy, then this will.</i>Without warning, he shoved the medicine inside Altair’s ass, sinking it all inside.