The Aveenian (Lindrea & Odan)
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Exotic Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Odanrav on 26-07-2016, 01:55:04</h2>
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				Title: <strong>The Aveenian (Lindrea &amp; Odan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Odanrav</strong> on <strong>26-07-2016, 01:55:04</strong>
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				It began in whispers. Hushed words of invitation, seduction, derision for the Primarch of the city and all the laws of the <em>great</em> Calemiran Empire. Secret establishments meant for the releasing of all worldly inhibitions and embracing the primal beings within all men, and mostly women, for the first time in the lives of these downtrodden people. For Ringport, the largest city on the western coast of the Empire's reach situated like a great ring around the Bay of Birds as one of the most pivotal of trading ports of the Empire, was quickly becoming the nexus points for a changing of the guard. And that revolution's ire was aimed at The Belltower, a lofty castle situated on top of a cliff face overlooking the Unending Ocean of the West. It was an intimidating visage, looming above the city below as if a god itself, staring down and casting judgement on all the insignificant beings that lived beneath. And atop the fort was an enormous steel bell, a structure built to signal the city of encroaching enemies from the sea, the give the people time to prepare the city for siege, as well as send news out to the rest of the empire to seek aid. <br><br>Primarch Vronus and his family ruled the port-city from the Belltower; a corrupt, sickly, fat man of no small amount of perversion himself despite his best attempt to appear as an ideal Calemiran (even though his bloodline came from a long line of independent kings that ruled Ringport before it's name was even The Ringport, how hypocritical). He wore their clothes, recited the vows from their holy books of the Father-God, the Patra Tomes, and reaped the rewards of his fortune with debauchery whilst strictly forbidding all forms of revelry within the city. Alcohol was forbidden or else one would have their tongue ripped out. Fornication outside of legally authorized marriage was forbidden on pain of death. And even the mear appearance of wealth and success was seen as taboo and unbecoming of the citizens and slaves of the Empire. But even such power could not stop the storm from surging. <br><br>Like a mighty wave, the fever pitch of pent up frustration and rage boiled over till the point that the people rose up and fought the Imperial men in the streets, stole their arms and armor and stormed the gates of the Belltower, charging up the narrow black bridge that led upwards and upwards, fighting step by step through soldiers, arrow volleys, and other mechanations of destruction. Their fervent rage was palpable though, because the city had been given a taste of that which they had been deprived of for so long. The Order (or cult to some) of Aveen had returned, with a new figurehead at their front who they called Fyara Seedbearer and claimed her to be the product of the hermaphroditic Goddess herself with a mortal woman. And with them came festivals to the goddess, nights of rampant lust and passion that gripped the city in a wave of euphoria that neither blade nor blood could hold back. <br><br>Three days and three nights the mob hounded the gates of the Belltower, while the people who remained in the port drug the patrician families from their cozy villas and either executed them (to varying degrees of severity) or placed the chains of slavery upon them that they had once been bound by. Masters had become slaves, and slaves had become masters. <br><br>Vronus, knowing that the Imperial army would never be able to organize and arrive in time to save them before the doors came crashing down and he, along with all his family were slaughtered in their home, chose instead to offer surrender of the city to who he saw to be the leaders of the revolt, the Cult. And much to his relief his surrender was accepted, but not without the cost of his own daughter, given to this Fyara as a mistress and sign of his subjugation. A humiliation to be sure to have his prized eldest daughter in the bed of such a demoness, yet he had a large family and many more daughters so the sense of loss was short lived. The following day the gates of the Belltower were opened, peacefully, as Fyara and her Order were allowed inside to make the transfer of power official. <br><br><hr><br><div class="floatright">(http://img05.deviantart.net/1b6c/i/2012/322/4/8/fighter_by_aerenwyn-d5lds28.jpg)</div>"Remember Fyara, you must be strong. They will never respect you if you do not make them fear you and what you represent. You are the daughter of Aveen and you take what it yours." Vessa said to her daughter as the serious, wiry and tall, yet proud and stern older woman led her daughter into the antechamber which connected to a large open-style reception hall. Both mother and daughter were quite tense as they entered the hall and were met by the eyes of dozens of high class looking aristocrats, some of them quite frazzled or famished looking likely from the lack of sleep or nourishment the last few days. A hardship they'd likely never experienced before. The thought brought a slight grin to Vessa's thin lips for a moment as she turned to the side to share another glance with her daughter. <br><br>Vessa was an imposing woman. She wore a simple leather jerkin and trousers, dressed as a man would, with a longsword at her hip and a look in her eye that said she was willing to use it at any time. She was a warrior through and through. That was something Fyara never was, and likely never would be. Her body was soft in comparison, shorter but with far larger hills and deeper valleys all along her seductive frame. She was shorter than her mother and had bright pale golden hair with plump lips and ocean blue eyes. She wore the garb of a queen wreathed in a black dress and simple crown that sought to exude a certain dominance, but somehow didn't fully match the woman who wore it. The crown was pure silver, but had two ivory horns attached to the front, meant to symbolize that of Aveen herself, who was often depicted as a horned creature in one form or another, some demonic and some angellic depending on the perspective. <br><br>Across the hall sat fat Vronus upon a lush blue and gold throne, though he was no king. He was a Patriarch, little more than a caretaker of the city on behalf of the Emperor who resided in the capital of the Empire, Calemir City itself. Though he certainly sat like he was a king, even with a crown himself for show. And at his side, both left and right, were a cavalcade of wives, sons, and daughters. Men of the patrician social scale were allowed to marry multiple wives, if they had the means, though such a pleasure was often reserved for only the most opulent. And that opulence Vronus flaunted to all in the hall, his worth on display in the form of the many wombs he had filled and many offspring he had sired from them. Fyara looked to his many wives, some as young as some of the Patriarch's daughters, and scowled. <em>How lucky of them...</em> she thought to herself. <br><br>And there, beside the Patriach, stood his eldest daughter with a ravishing slave at her side, her status given away by the revealing and simple sashes of clothing she wore and the thick collar about her neck. Immediately Fyara was taken with the slave, her eyes locking onto her intently even as her mother began to speak. <br><br><div class="floatleft">(http://40.media.tumblr.com/91ae9f8ed4e45f8dd8c116802c5d9280/tumblr_mto8ksRWrw1qdkeiao1_500.jpg)</div>"I present Fyara Seedbearer, daughter of Aveen who was carried in my very womb and that now carries the legacy of the one true Goddess. We have come to accept the surrender and oaths of fealty from Patriarch Vronus along with all his of his sons, wives, and daughters and they may be allowed to leave the city as exiles, so long as you surrender your eldest daughter so that she may receive the honor of becoming bed-mistress to the one true Queen of these lands, Queen Fyara." Vessa exclaimed as murmurs rose up in the hall, the tension rising steeply as every noble born became more and more uneasy, especially as they saw civilians begin to pour into the hall and stand behind Fyara and her mother, armed to the teeth with weaponry. <br><br>"I---" the Patriach was about to speak, before Fyara spoke up to interrupt suddenly. <br><br>"N-no." Fyara said as her voice trembled slightly, the nerves getting the best of her before she steeled herself once more. "No, the Patriarch will leave with all his sons, but every wife who he has claimed as a prize and every daughter he holds like a slave will remain here. Your new Queen demands it." Fyara spoke up as she eyed the Patriarch, momentarily finding her courage and somewhat surprised at herself for it. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Aveenian (Lindrea &amp; Odan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lindrea</strong> on <strong>02-08-2016, 18:01:14</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://66.media.tumblr.com/784d855b0690340dd65ea27fbac466d3/tumblr_o0lvburUhu1rwqqmzo1_1280.jpg)</div>Sitting on the floor, her legs curled beneath her, head held down slightly, the slave listened as she had been ordered to do.&nbsp; She listened and cast glances about the audience chamber as this newcomer and potential conqueror came striding through.&nbsp; She hadn't been apprised of the situation, it was far above her station so she didn't know of the unrest and uprisings occuring across the city and the nation.&nbsp; But, she had heard rumors, though she had been told to dismiss them as peasant gossip and useless.<br><br>But now, the would-be-conqueror stood there, in the grand hall, making demands.&nbsp; The Princess beside her spluttered and raged, her face growing red with anger.&nbsp; <em>She's going to make a scene.. and it won't be good.</em><br><br>True to her thoughts, the Princess Jilia stepped forward, in all of her rich, arrogant splendor, "How dare you march into our home!&nbsp; How dare you make such idiotic demands!&nbsp; I will not see my father and brothers exiled!&nbsp; The citizens are happy!" she gazed over the growing crowd, eyeing the peasantry.&nbsp; Her nose curled up, "Return to your homes or my father will have you all hanged!"<br><br>The slave girl shook her head, a very slight motion that had her red hair bouncing about her face like flickers of flame dancing in the moonlight.&nbsp; <em>And there it is..</em> she thought, letting out a soft sigh.&nbsp; A sigh that would hopefully be missed by those near her.&nbsp; She had been sold into slavery for debts her parents owed the the Primarch years ago.&nbsp; That debt had been paid, but he wouldn't let her free.&nbsp; Years of torment had left her jaded, cynical, and feeling trapped in a place she did not call home, though as of late, it really was her home.<br><br>The sickening Primarch had kept her as a toy, but he had so many others that she had a great deal of free time and used that time to learn.&nbsp; She read books, just about every book she could get her hands on.&nbsp; The Belltower library likely did not have a book she had not at least skimmed through.&nbsp; She never showed her intelligence, but a careful observer would be able to note the fire behind her eyes.&nbsp; Even still, she held out the slightest bit of hope that this day would be the last and she would finally be free.. be it released.. or through death.&nbsp; Anything was better than spending more time with the Primarch and his family..<br><br>The Princess was still prattling, going on and on about the virtues of her family and how they had "rescued" the people of this land from their vices!&nbsp; The slave girl let out another soft, nearly imperceptible sigh as the Primarch himself stood.<br><br>The fat, sickly man, rubbing his hands together greasily, smiled that sickening smile of his.&nbsp; A lecherous look on his face as he eyed Fyara and her mother, a nervous tick started up in the corner of his cheek near his right eye, twitching.&nbsp; He knew he was defeated, the people were against him and as vain and corrupt as he was, he did care most about his own skin than anything else, "Ahh.. of course.." he muttered, "Just.. let me and.. my ahhh.. sons pack for our journey?"<br><br>The slave girl stared at the floor, her hopes of being free dashed as the regency of this state.&nbsp; Her shoulders slumped and she sank back onto her legs.&nbsp; She didn't catch the glances that Fyara had cast her way, too forlorn in her loss.&nbsp; <em>Another corrupt ruler.. probably worse than the fat, slimy bastard being deposed..</em>
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Aveenian (Lindrea &amp; Odan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Odanrav</strong> on <strong>02-08-2016, 22:15:58</strong>
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				Fyara found herself agasp at the response of the princess, standing in shock with her mouth hanging open slightly, her eyes blinking in disbelief. Meanwhile, her mother only became more stern in expression, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the hilt of the sword at her hip increasingly harder and a rage boiling up within her pit. She wasn't a kind woman, not anymore at least, but a ferosity filled her soul unlike anything in the world when her daughter, the blood of Aveen herself, was being threatened. And this blatant act of rebellion in the face of already assured conquest nearly made Vessa draw her blade and cut down the young princess then and there. <br><br>Yet then a wrinkled old hand laid itself atop Vessa's knuckles, one that Vessa was familiar with enough that her grip almost instantly loosened. A wizened, hunched over old woman came slowly crept into the hall, appearing behind Fyara and Vessa seemingly out of nowhere, and stepped before them both. With a languished sigh of weariness she turned to the side and looked at both women. <br><br>"Easy child, blood spilled by blade will not win us the future we seek," the woman spoke. <br><br>"Yes, Elder Metra." Both Vessa and Fyara spoke, though Vessa was far more firm in her voice. Metra was the oldest among the Order of Aveen, the most wise, the most learned in the higher magics of lust and passion, and the woman who nearly eighteen years earlier branded Vessa a liar and exiled her and the newborn Fyara from their fold. Vessa had never forgiven her for that, but she could not muster enough support to have her thrown out of the Order upon her return either. So while Fyara may have been the one they called Queen, a demi-goddess, many saw Metra as the true leader of their Order. <br><br>"Only the spilling of virgin's blood will do so," Metra said as her old crackling voice croaked, her old greying eyes staring directly at Fyara. A flush of red entered the young Queen's cheek as she realized quickly what the old woman meant. <em>So happy to be your breeding tool, old bat.</em> Fyara diverted her eyes away, but found them lingering upon the slave by Jilia's side again, and that damned flush in her cheeks wouldn't go away. And worse yet, the familiar tingle in her loins was also beginning to stir. <br><br>"It is good to see a woman of the Empire with some fire. They are a rare breed. But such disrespect for Aveen's worldly heir cannot go unpunished," Metra said, her crackling voice lowering. A group of figures stepped forward, rough looking men armed with clubs or stolen weapons who had joined the cause as a part of the growing mob. They quickly approached the rude princess. <br><br>"The clothes upon your back and jewels upon your fingers should be adequate for your journey Primarch, your invitation to leave stands for now, and not a moment longer." Metra threatened as she shifted in her hunched-over stance, using a blackened wooden staff to prop herself up. In that moment one of the mobs-men drew a dagger from under his coat and roughly grabbed the princess's arm. Fyara was looking on from across the hall in shock, the sinking fear of seeing someone killed for the first time gripping at her heart. She'd always been sheltered from the bloody realities of life, always secured away at some docile location. But now she was being thrust into the midst of the storm... and it terrified her. <br><br>Just when Fyara thought Jilia would be killed, the man cut her dress instead and began to tear away. Two others joined in, and together they ripped apart the beautiful royal gown she wore until she was fully naked before them all. A loud gasp rose up in the hall as everyone stared in unison. Fyara may have been the most stunned one in the room... and possibly becoming the most aroused by the entirety of the situation. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Aveenian (Lindrea &amp; Odan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Lindrea</strong> on <strong>04-08-2016, 18:46:07</strong>
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				<div class="floatright">(http://orig01.deviantart.net/cab2/f/2013/300/f/4/fat_king_by_grobelski-d6s0b8u.jpg)</div>The ex-Primarch sputtered and frothed at the mouth, foamy spittle flying as he spoke, finally letting out his rage as his eldest daughter was stripped of her clothing, "I will see you hanged, butchered like the cattle that you are!&nbsp; You will <em>not</em> have this kingdom!&nbsp; It is mine!"&nbsp; His face burned a fiery red as his voice rose in volume with every word in an attempt to intimidate the women before him.&nbsp; He was a pitiful man really, his huge belly rumbling with the signs of his corpulence.&nbsp; As much as he wanted to save his own skin, there was a special place in his heart, and bed, for Jilia.<br><br>Scrambling towards a guard, the Primarch grabbed the hilt of the mans sword, drawing the blade with a resounding ring of metal.&nbsp; The sword looked awkward in his hands and it was obvious to any trained person that he had never had to handle such a thing on his own, nor did he have the body to manage much of an effort into an actual battle.&nbsp; Raising the blade, he charged forward, the fat rolling across his body, straight towards Fyara, a look of absolute fury distorting his features into an almost demonic personage.<br><br>The slave girl sat upon the floor, her head rising as the Primarch howled and the distinct ring of metal drawn made her actually pay attention.&nbsp; Shaking her head slightly, an almost imperceptible motion, <em>He's going to die here..</em> she thought.&nbsp; Her eyes were transfixed, a glimmer of hope, perhaps this would be the day that this beast would finally be put down like the sick cow it was.<br><br><div class="floatleft">(https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/c9/07/9e/c9079e7603bfad205a5770278ca39d89.jpg)</div>For her part, Princess Jilia stared in horror as her father charged towards the obviously superior women, crying out, "Father, no!"&nbsp; Was all she could get out before the Primarch's sword began to descend towards Fyara, intent on chopping her in half.&nbsp; But to the trained warriors, his movements would seem like he was moving through molasses, so slow.. so easy to counter..<br><br>Shivering, the slave watched with a mixture of horror and trepidation as the Primarch leveled the swing and time seemed to slow, her thoughts whirling with possibilities.&nbsp; Would this Fyara be a kind conqueror?&nbsp; Would she finally be free?&nbsp; She had seen many come and go, most were worse than the last, just as prideful, arrogant, and disgusting as the Primarch.&nbsp; Perhaps now.. the people could live again..
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Aveenian (Lindrea &amp; Odan)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Odanrav</strong> on <strong>04-08-2016, 20:05:38</strong>
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				Everything happened so fast to Fyara. She was so unaccustomed to being around so many people, to being apart of such conflict. Her heart was pounding rapidly. When the Patriarch belted his disapproval of the treatment of his eldest daughter, the new Queen's breath caught in her throat, dumbstruck and staring as the glob of human stood up and grabbed and sword to come rushing at her, as much as he could <em>rush</em> at anyone. Everything in the room seemed to stand still as he came at her, the guards didn't stop him, his own sons didn't stop him, and neither Metra or Vessa moved. Fyara looked to her side for guidance, but Metra was looking away with a small grin on her wrinkled lips and Vessa was staring intently at the man. <br><br>At last when he reached to within striking distance, Fyara stepped back and released a small yelp of fear, raising her trembling hands up before she heard the clang of steel on steel. Her blue eyes opened to see her mother in front of her, her blade held aloft and blocking the Patriarch's swing. The definition in her arms and the strength she displayed to block the blow was astonishing. And then, before Fyara could be react, Vessa pushed the man back with a swift kick to the sternum and wheeled around on her heels as her steel sang through the air. The sound of a fleshy slit broke the silence of the room, and then red, red was everywhere. Something warm and strange feeling struck Fyara in the face, a similar feeling to what she felt when she masturbated for the first time, underestimating the potency she possessed. However this substance wasn't as thick, as it ran down her being. Her eyes opened as the realization that it was the Primarch blood set in. Vessa too was covered in the stuff while only the initial gush hit the Aveenian Queen. The Primarch clutched at his throat as his life water spilled out, forming pools on the ground and he slumped over, too fat to even fall all the way down onto his face, and died in front of the entire hall. <br><br>Fyara stood there and didn't speak a word, while her mother nonchalantly wiped the blood away from her sword and re-sheathed it. She cast a glance back at her daughter and didn't appear overly pleased by her brief show of cowardice. <br><br>"Well, that was so very unpleasant, a shame." Metra suddenly spoke, breaking the air of silence. She smiled, seemingly unphased and looked to the Primarch's sons. <br><br>"Do you young lads share your father's opinion on the matter?" She asked and within seconds they began to shuffle from the chamber. Outside the mob could be heard heckling and threatening the lot of them. <br><br>Metra began to plod forward, walking towards the still naked princess. The Elder glanced at Jilia a moment, but then her gaze shifted to the slave sitting at her side. <br><br>"You girl, you are a slave are you not?" Metra asked as she brought her hand down to clasp the slave's chin, forcing her to look up. She was a fine looking thing to be sure, a good jewel to hover around her betters and show off. Before she could even respond, Metra gave her orders. <br><br>"It matters not I suppose, because you will serve the new Queen henceforth. Now be a good dear and take the Seedbearer to have a bath, it would not do to have her claim her first bed-mistress while covered in such filth!" Metra spoke and released the slave's chin. Her eyes shifted to Jilia with a malevolent gaze. <br><br>"As for you... have the new bed-mistress escorted to the Primarch's chambers. And keep her as she is, a lack of dignity suits her." 
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