<span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Crianxiiliathellendra was at the very bottom of the Well of Shahazen’s Tears, far from the shores of the Dragon’s Teeth. She’d built an altar in the darkest, deepest, coldest underwater canyon she’d come to think of as Lolae’s Trench, and upon it she lay, engaged in sacred ritual to her darkling queen. Her name had grown long over the ages, and with it her power, such that she was unperturbed by the extreme pressure and the frigid cold. She devoted her power to Lolae, using it to seek out the most fitting demesnes for her communion, and found it she had. Within the volcanic reaches and sulfuric vents of the molten crust of Lyraselle’s rugged face, Crianxiiliathellendra had found a stony, jagged hole, one where the lava and haze of heat could not reach. If it had not been enchanted before it was now, shimmering with the mystery and allure of Mistress Death herself, a place where light could not shine and silence reigned.<br/>
<br/>
Crianxiiliathellendra spread her wings and arched her spine, curling in languid ecstasy and straining her sinuous muscles for every last shred of the rapture that rocked her to her very core. Her efforts had paid off: Lolae had taken notice. Dark tendrils of silken power and shrouds of an obsidian veil caressed her scales, seeped into her flesh, and permeated her body. Stillness shook her heart, but Crianxiiliathellendra was strong, and her heart did not faint. The ebony encroachment saw this and wrapped her tight, investing more fully into her, binding to her scales and toughening her hide. Death’s own caress slipped over Crianxiiliathellendra’s claws, sharpening their wicked points and smoothing their surface to a polished sheen, then over her vicious, barbed spines, hardening them into deadly adamantine weapons that would pierce a diamond shield. Crianxiiliathellendra breathed in the mystical energies of her queen and they flowed inside her, bringing quiet, stillness, and imbuing her poisonous breath with a most potent toxin, the smallest drop of which would bring down even a dragon such as her current lover.<br/>
<br/>
Dorantanton was a serpent of Shahazen’s clutch, a long, flowing, powerful beast with the ability to shift into a purely liquid form. Crianxiiliathellendra had taken many dragon lovers, but of all them he was her favorite. Water serpents, due to that very ability, could flow around her spines and between her scales and deep inside her, and could do so for hours were they so inclined. He did not have the wickedly barbed spines the males of her kind would have, the ones that would key into her cloaca like a lock and key and turn her deepest tumblers, but his torrential thrusts were powerful, filling and ceaseless, giving her sufficient and luxurious time to build up her passion and bind it into an offering to her queen. The first explosion of his hemipenis had already come, filling her with the seed of one of his testes, but there was the other head, and the ritual was not yet completed, so he’d switched heads and fucked on. He’d come into her darkness with a begging plea, and her price was his issue, all of it, and to provide the stimulation needed to reach ascendant communion. He’d been offended but had no choice, for his goddess wept bitter tears of blood yet again and would not answer him, so deep was she in grief, and so he had agreed, despite the fact that his refractory period would be centuries long, and there was no guarantee that Crianxiiliathellendra would not simply store his seed with that of all the rest inside her. Some of it was older still than his sacrifice of time, and still Crianxiiliathellenda had not allowed any to fertilize her eggs, still waiting for suitable genetic material to stand out from the rest. She’d laughed when he’d inquired about her clutch, telling him it was none of his concern.<br/>
<br/>
Crianxiiliathellendra pushed back on him, urging him on, taunting him, teasing him, gripping him and torturing him. Hours he could go, but days had she had him on the brink, working up to her own release. His determination was as hard as his hemipene, which was more than she could say of the gold or the red or the green or the white or the brown. The gold timekeepers were sensual and slow, too slow to for her taste. Fire dragons’ heat burned hot as their passion, but fizzled quickly. Dragons of the green brood, lovers of forests and dryads, had bulbous heads on their shafts that… were an experience. The wind dragons were flighty and easily pierced on her spines, but she’d found she liked the taste of the females. The earthen dragons were hard as stone, and covered in rocky bulges that grated against her body most unpleasantly, but when she rode them they never failed her. Dragons of her own kind were vain and charismatic, which in the case of the males in her presence meant jealous, but her eyes rolled back when she recalled the way those barbs locked into her, the way they poured their black essence into her, their vitriolic curses they spat as they came. Dorantanton was her first water dragon, as they preferred their own kind and their swirling depths, and she smirked at how long she’d held him. True to their word she’d found them, thrusts as endless as the tides of the sea, and enormous bursts of semen that filled the water around them like a cloud.<br/>
<br/>
Orgasm crawled up the center of her mind to seize her by the jewel of her attention, and her jaw dropped open in furious tension, but she kept her vitriol inside: it was for her queen, and Dorantanton would not survive it. Still, her body shook and she roared, piercing the silence not at all, but rocking her form with the force of her release, and then space spread open wide, and her queen was there. She could not move, and the waters around them had frozen, Dorantanton and Crianxiiliathellendra both in the throes of ejaculation, and both completely unable to move. Lolae’s eyes opened inside Crianxiiliathellendra, she felt her queen inside her, around her, within her, upon her, beside her, all around her, before her. She saw, or thought she saw, her queen before her in all her magnificence and shadowy glory, darkness that somehow lit her mind’s sight. Her queen, her mistress, came upon her, stroking her mind and her body, her spines and her scales, her belly and her bifurcated clit, and Crianxiiliathellendra broke, her mind whisked off to a small temple, where holy fountains ran thick with blood and hot with hate. She saw the child, the last of her kind, Shahazen’s last living daughter, and felt her mistress’s will that the child live, for Shahazen’s power was great, and fed into Lolae’s own. She would not have her power abated, and so that child must live, must recreate, must continue, until she came into Lolae’s waiting arms. Lolae laid a kiss on her dragoness acolyte’s face, upon her snout just before her eyes, and Crianxiiliathellendra was full. Her dark heart blackened for her mistress, and her mistress saw. Lolae came upon her, lounged in her jaw, draped herself over Crianxiiliathellendra’s teeth, mounted her forked tongue, then undulated in gifted rapture on Crianxiiliathellendra’s slick, whiplash muscle, and a single drop of her pleasure coated Crianxiiliathellendra’s senses, sending her mind into spinning, whirling abandon.<br/>
<br/>
When Crianxiiliathellendra came back to herself, time was still frozen, and her head was lain over Lolae’s silken lap. Lolae touched one finger to Crianxiiliathellendra’s brow, and a vision filled her mind. House Sur, and a head of the house with a secret that must be kept: a daughter of a goddess surrounded by fanatical wolves, frenzied in blood lust and zealotry against the gods themselves. Lolae was angry, and Crianxiiliathellendra accepted her bitter hate with a grateful heart. This earned her one more kiss, and then Dorantanton was collapsing atop her, gasping. Crianxiiliathellendra spun around, rolled them over, and mounted him upon the altar, pinning him down and keeping his twinned phallus hard with her stroking undulations. “I have found rapture, and your answer, lover. We leave for the surface after I have found satisfaction,” she said, and his head rolled back, surrendering to her multiplicitous demands.<br/>
</span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">***</span>​</div><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><br/>
Darkness burst under the surface of the Hoenn Ocean, a flash of blackness hidden under the cover of night, and in that darkness two great serpents twisted in spasmodic jerks as their powers were compacted into forms less magnificent than their true bodies. A man and a woman emerged from the ocean, not a ripple cast off from them as they went. Crianxiiliathellendra became Cria Lendra, and Dorantanton became simply Dorant, in her service, bought and paid for. Cria's lithe human form was covered in a gown of tiny, ebony scales that was festooned in sweeping rows of spines. Broad Dorant was dressed in a suit of blue plate mail that covered him from head to foot with dark slits in the visor, swooping curves in the shoulders and wickedly clawed gauntlets. A grin spread over Cria’s face, and so too her wings spread into the night. Silence rang in her wake as she carried Dorant to House Sur.<br/>
</span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">***</span>​</div><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><br/>
The scent of fresh death met Cria’s senses before ever she saw the amber eyes, cocoa butter skin, raven hair or the emblazoned robe. A stitcher, and one recently busy at work. The sweet aroma of one willing to pierce and tear, squeeze and bind, in order to heal and bolt death’s door filled Cria’s lungs, and her lips curled into a cunning scythe. She stood waiting for the Head of the House, with Dorant behind her at her right hand, positively preening under the fearful attention she felt surrounding her. The sharp retorts of authority’s footsteps were approaching, and destiny was smiling wide.<br/>
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