Aldruin, Chapter III: Experiment
Aldruin
Chapter III: Experiment
By Kimono-Box-Fox
Dalnassir lead Gil, arms bound in a pair of wood and metal prisoner's stocks and escorted by armed soldiers, down a tight, flagstone hallway, of what looked to be a vacant prison Dalnassir had converted for his own magical studies.
Well, vacant of human prisoners, at least. The walls were lined with cells, full of wild animals, were-creatures--and other, stranger entities; some simply not of this world. Some were asleep, but most were awake, clawing at doors and walls, rattling chains, and filling the air with inhuman screams that mixed together with the shouts of angry human voices. Not prisoners, but the ones keeping them... 'company'.
A man of many personal interests, I can see, Gil thought sarcastically. At this, Dalnassir stopped, as if he had read her thoughts, and began a sublime diatribe, as if he were committing her to an asylum, and this was to be the last they spoke on personal terms.
"Here, Gil, you have no rights. You have no opinions. You are mine. You are a volunteer test subject, Lieutenant, and your cooperation is indisputable... 'if' you wish to survive. You may have been treated like a 'person' of... significance; by your Captain, but you will not receive that form of sentimentality under my watch. Here, there are no fellow soldiers to welcome you with camaraderie, there are no wars to be waged against the enemy, there is no... 'Evil' to crusade against. There is only submission to my will, or death."
Dalnassir scoffed at this last notion, as if it was debatable that there was Evil anywhere in the world, and it wasn't all just his morally grey experiment. Gil cringed, her lip curling to a now all-too-familiar sneer that she reserved for when she had to swallow the Councilor's arrogance.
"You scowl at me now, Lieutenant but you do not appreciate the severity of what has been done to you in the past two days. Even now, your body is revolting, changing, trying to become something else. Something much less pleasant than my demeanor toward your youthful naivety. By all rights, you deserve much less than this; you are rubbish, and the only thing keeping you from... this--"
The elf paused and raised an outstretched arm as the two grim-faced soldiers behind her coerced her forward to the end of the hall, into an expansive dungeon. As she stepped into view of what Dalnassir was directing her toward, Gil witnessed a horrific sight; bodies.
There were dozens of them; corpses piled on wooden tables covered in yellowed mats that had been white before the stains of blood and bile. Bodies that were twisted from their natural shape, that had their skin peeled open to expose rank cavities of entrails; that had their skin flayed from them like the creatures Gil had cut with her blade nights before; that were burnt or scorched, or decapitated. Bodies that barely resembled human beings, that had changed, trying to become animal in shape, even still, fingers and limbs twitching, occasionally a set of claws burst from a fingered hand, or a leg bone twisted and reformed, as the recently dead corpse spasmed.
"You are rubbish, Lieutenant, and this is where you would belong, were it not for my grace, and the fact that you are the only soldier in my battalion with both the incompetence--" the councilor spat, "--and sheer good fortune to be infected and then live to come home as an unaltered, human being. Complete with a functional array, I might add, despite your penchant to get used as a chew toy. Others were not so fortunate, and you would be wise to heed their losses--'before' you pursue me with that glare you keep giving me, is that clear?!" he grabbed her by the chin as he took notice of her expression, and forced her head up to his.
"Implicitly, sir." Gil hissed, her glare remaining nonetheless. The elf released her head and turned again, walking past the tables of corpses, to resume his discourse. She was forced to follow, clenching her nose tight against the smell of decay that welcomed her.
"Your Captain has been soft. He has allowed you to forget, in your sentimentality, the value of survival; made it into a privilege that you need not contemplate. He has not served in the wars I have, seen the sheer 'carnage' I have witnessed, and because of his green manner of conduct, allowed you to become vulnerable to the horrors of this world. When this is done, you will return to him, you will speak of what you have experienced, what you have learned and witnessed, and you will remind him that it is MY wisdom that is allowing us to win this street war so that we do not all lope on four legs as beasts in service to madmen!"
You're the madman, Dalnassir. The madman right under our noses that we've all chosen not to see. Gil thought, repugnantly, wanting little knowledge of the 'experiences' Dalnassir had in store for her.
But alone he was not, in madness; for Dalnassir commanded his own select squadron of mages, taskmasters, and artificers, and had an elite guard who were equipped with arrays much like Gil's. They wielded enormous rods with tongs that shut around the bodies of rogue prisoners, holding them incapacitated, carried whips and flails for punishing the unruly, dragged men and women and creatures around in chains and stocks and more magical restraints, and operated devices of torture and dissection too numerous to describe. It was in this place, that Gil found her new home, unwelcome as it was. She only remembered how hours ago, she had sat at the debriefing with Lera and Gavin as they recounted their discoveries.
The Cult of Thorn and Fang, as it was called by its followers, had arisen under unlikely circumstances in the hinterlands south of Altia, it seemed. They were druids of an unaccounted number; dark druids who believed it to be their sole duty to purify the world of civilization. Why they had targeted Altia first, as opposed to a more urban and corrupt society such as the Pandora Empire, was beyond the Order's understanding still. What Gil and the others had reconnoitered for the Watch, however, before the raid of two days ago, was that the Cult had a figurehead of considerable power; a "Cult Organizer"--as Dalnassir put it--who wanted the King dead or placed under his control. It was on intelligence gathered by Dalnassir himself, that two of the four squads in the battalion; Baldwin's and Baram's, were sent to find this individual, and to take him into Watch custody.
But things had not panned out; when they raided the enclave in the old shipping warehouse. There had been 'cultists', but no figurehead was ever found. What was more, the raid revealed surprisingly little new information in contrast with past scenarios, and it felt planned. Gil had been caught in an ambush that night in Old Alda-Mira--she didn't run about chasing lycanthropes to kill, flayer sword or none, and it was no coincidence that at least one other member of the battalion had disappeared. She felt doubly lucky that the Captain had found her in time, before the cultists.
We thought we were the ones who had the drop on the enemy, when they ended up being the ones with the drop on us, she thought. She had only to wonder whether this was somehow Dalnassir's setup, or that of the Cult itself. But her thoughts were undone--they had reached the surgery theatre where Gil was to be... 'treated'. Ex-torture chamber was a more fitting description, as it was unsterile, paved in stone, and covered in chains, body shackles, and myriad manacles fitted for all sizes of humanoid.
"Take off your clothes," Dalnassir commanded, releasing her restraints with a wave of a hand in air, and pointing at a spot against a wall decorated with shackles. The wooden stocks clattered open to the ground, leaving Gil free to move about.
"All of them, Lieutanent. Now." he pointed to the ground, ordering her as if she was a dog, and he was asking her to sit.
"Like hell I will!" Gil spat.
She regretted it. Faster than she could react, Dalnassir layed a hand hard across her face, clearly anticipating her insubordination. He had a smirk on his face, though. He seemed to be enjoying her response as she recoiled like a bad pet.
Gil knew although she might fancy otherwise, that in this place, Dalnassir was God. She knew only too well how he protected himself with magic wards that even artifact weapons could not easily penetrate. Van had instructed that she comply as best as she could, despite the situation. Gil may have been strong, and with exceptional reflexes, but she was no mage, and Dalnassir was an exceptionally powerful one, even by Elf standards. What was more, Dalnassir was...'right'--as much as Gil loathed thinking that word together with the elf's name in the same sentence. Although he may have been anticipating this, the Councilor's plan was still Gil's only alternative to becoming a true lycanthrope, and Gil had no intention of seeing someone like Van have to kill her to save themselves, the way she had done to Nicholas.
She began stripping off her uniform; first unbuttoning the blouse, pulling the sleeves over her head, and letting it fall to the ground over her short, chin-length brunette hair. She did not even bother to remove her glasses, which Dalnassir presumably had allowed her to keep for her own visual appreciation--of what was to about to happen to her. The bandages she wore were reduced in number from the day before--healing arts having their benefits despite the supernatural nature of her wounds, and it sort of pleased her to know that the filthy elf was getting a rise out of her buxom breasts held tight in her silky white bra--that he wasn't the God Saint he pretended to be on the outside. She undid her slacks, which slid cleanly down her smooth, well-shaven legs, revealing similar white panties, which were slightly moist from sweat, having taken her through this hot dungeon for what felt like over an hour now.
She glared at the elf with an insulting look of self satisfaction as she undid her bra, and slipped her panties off a little at a time, revealing her pert nipples and a soft mound of light brown hair between her legs.
Do your worst, snake, she dared. She stood against the wall of the theatre, where he had pointed as he issued her to undress, and spread her arms.
"Good enough. Stand still," Dalnassir directed.
The elf waved a hand once more, and Gil was bound in chains and iron shackles at her hands, legs, and just above her waist. She winced as the cold metal made contact with her warm skin.
"Not my idea of a first date, Councilor," she said scornfully. She expected another hand-to-the-face reproach this time, and flinched, but when he did not provide, but merely smirked, she felt like a fool. He had cowed her, taken her rebellious attitude and shaped it to his own sick whims. He approached her with that floaty, ethereal gait he took when he wanted to seem superior, and looked her in the face, as if appraising her value.
"How do you feel right now, Miss... Lieutenant... Alastor? Pefectly... human?"
"More than you'll ever be, I would reckon to guess," she muttered.
"Are you so sure, my dear Lieutenant? Well, we will just have to see to be sure, then." he said, in a semi-sweet, matter-of-fact tone that made Gil wish she had her arms free so she could break his nose.
"Malcolm! Oswald!" He shouted to two grey-cloaked young men standing at the doorway to the chamber--apprentices, or servants, apparently. One had array tattoos covering his face, and the other was fooling with some kind of scrying bauble, and appeared to be a mage. As he shouted, the latter quickly stowed his toy and stood at attention. "Bring me my tools... please."
The two nodded, bowed, and silently left the room, understanding that this was not to be debated. They returned minutes later with a table cart of instruments; some Gil would rather not have contemplated the use of, and a familiar looking oak rod, encrusted with green stones. Dalnassir waved for them to depart, and they left, shutting the door behind them.
"Very well then, Lieutenant, I have something interesting to tell you--if you will listen--that your Captain may not have been informed of. The curse you are now so generously infected with is special, and unlike that of normal lycanthropes. That is; lycanthropes that do not plague this city because of this wretched cult, do not possess this special feature. Do you know what it is that I speak of?" the elf asked her, as if he were an academy professor, testing her on a pop quiz.
"I'm not stupid, Councilor. I know they can be controlled, while normal lycanthropes run wild. You told us as much in your first briefing with our battalion," Gil countered.
"She listens as well as speaks! My, I may have underestimated you, Lieutenant," Dalnassir chimed sarcastically. "But that is not the only thing. Not only can they be controlled, and without the limitations of mental domination magics, mind you; which cause terribly obvious autonomous behavior... but their changes can also be manipulated. Do you want to know what this means?" he continued, in that rhetorical tone, as if he already expected her to say no.
"What are you getting at, Dalnassir? What does this have to do with fixing whatever it is you plan on fixing?"
"Stupid girl, it has everything to do with your situation as well as mine! Do you not understand that if a druidic organization is plotting our Kingdom's downfall; creating lycanthropes that are beyond the power of the greatest mortal magic to counteract, and being controlled by enchantments like no elven wizard can match...? No." He stopped himself. "But maybe it's better if I show you. Watch."
Dalnassir took the rod from the table, and Gil suddenly recognized where she had seen it before. It was the same kind of rod she had seen some of the cultists carrying, the same rod that Nicholas was struck with when he transformed into a werewolf. Could it be? No. That was ridiculous. What was Dalnassir thinking he would do? But she was about to have that question answered for her. The elf's expression was no longer cruel, or sarcastic. It was very, deadly serious as he approached Gil with the rod. He raised it toward her, and at first, nothing happened. Then, suddenly, everything went red as Gil's head exploded into jagged, hot, searing agony. She screamed.
"STOP IT!!! GOD DAMNIT! STOP!!!!"
The pain was immense. Her wounds from before seemed trivial by comparison to this new, different pain. And as the pain continued, her body started... acting of its own accord, doing things it shouldn't. She felt her skin tighten; felt she would rip clean of it. Her heartbeat sped, she could not stop herself convulsing, and a firm female voice began whispering in her head, growing steadily louder and more insistent.
Submit! Obey! Serve! Join us join us join us! Serve! Obey! Run with us. Run. Run, Fly, Come to us... Join our pack, join our fight... but bend and break and come on all fours. Come! Submit--
_"_SHUT UP!!! JUST SHUT UP!!" Gil screamed. The voices grew more clear and concise. Her fingers kept closing and opening against her command, writhing like a dying insect's legs, and the voice continued,
You know you want this; it's been in you forever. It's a part of you that's always been there. You want to. You know you want to, and now it's your chance. It won't hurt! Just let it happen. Let it happen. It'll be fun! Fun. fun!. You don't want it to hurt--or do you? Want it? Submit.
"NO! NO! GO AWAY I don't want to be you! I don't!"!
The voice echoed, growing in intensity, seeming to flood every corner of Gil's mind with imperative, nagging, or seductive demands. You do, you do, you want it-want it and you don't know it-don't know it yet. Let me show you... Please? Just once? Then you'll know. You 'will' know it. You 'will'.
Finally, when it seemed like she would reach breaking point, the pain subsided, and it was over in an instant, as if it had never been.
When Gil could see again, she heaved her breakfast in front of her.
Dalnassir set the rod he held down, and clapped his hands together. "Fantastic!" He remarked. "Lieutenant, you may not have known this, but you have been a full-blooded lycanthrope, ready to turn and start slaughtering innocent citizens, for nearly a day now. I just now provided a catalyst to initiate your transformation. While brief, the reaction you had is something no healthy human may experience. Consider yourself a privileged soul that it happened here, and not out in the city streets when you were on duty. Tell me what it was like, having your soul rent asunder, just now."
Gil spit, clearing her mouth of the taste of bile, and breathing on unsteady lungs. So this is what our raids have really been about, Gil thought. Helping Dalnassir figure out how his playthings work on the rest of us. But she thought this with less impudence than before. Dalnassir had made his point--His words were most bitter when she was forced to swallow them.
She caught her breath. "Felt like shit, Dalnassir. What the hell was that voice?"
"God, my dear. Or rather, a god."
"Don't shit with me, goddamnit. A god?"
"Yes, a god. Some lucky mortal has ascended into divinity, and they are building their portfolio using our Kingdom as a stepping stone." His tone seemed almost civil now; it seemed he was content that Gil had been broken.
"Bullshit. How do you figure?"
"It is the only logical option, when all logic has failed. You are not possessed, you are not enchanted by any spell our highly talented Council can replicate--art or artifact, I would have seen its dweomer when you entered this place--and our priesthood cannot counteract your curse with the will of God. That, we know already. You are not the first to experience these voices, although your having them proves what I have already said. You are yet among the limited number to resist them, even for as brief a time as I subjected you to the affects of the Catalyst Rod. Clearly, you are under a divine curse."
"So how the hell do we counter the 'will' of 'God'?!" Gil shouted incredulously.
"We won't, Gil. We'll just be loosely reinterpreting her whims," the Councilor remarked. "As a fledgling goddess, this interloper has yet to master the finer delicacies of her abilities, and with some luck, and a very 'delicate' understanding of her agenda, we may be able to deceive her into releasing her grip on you early. A divine spark, regardless of what you might believe, has limitations; albeit they are so high above the limits of mortals that only a technicality and very potent magic could possibly reach them."
Gil wasn't sure what to think now. If Dalnassir wasn't lying, and this didn't work, Gil was beyond screwed up. Dalnassir reached for another object this time; a box with a metal collar, which had an inset for some kind of object; a gem of some sort. He came to her, and implied that she should lift her head. Begrudgingly, she complied, and he fitted it around her neck. It was not cold, but pulsed with some form of magical energy when Dalnassir inserted one of the stones from the box.
"It suits you remarkably. Now, Lieutenant, we are going to see just how lucky you are. As this may be the last I ever hear from your sane mouth again--considering that no patient thus far has ever survived this procedure--do you have any words of thanks or gratitude you would like to administer, for what I have done?
"Fuck you, Dalnassir, you son of a bitch." Gil spat.
"Spoken like a human, to an elf, Gil," the Councilor said prosaically, before smiling. "Hold onto your sanity, this will be quite a trip."
Dalnassir once again picked up the rod, and this time, he brought it to Gil's neck, making contact with the stone on the collar. Immediately, Gil was sent into another torrent of screaming pain.
The voice quickly resurfaced, eager to take its hold over Gil's mind and soul. So you have returned... yes, as we promised. Are you ready? Ready to come? Ready to run with us? Yeesssss... You will make a clever fox. So, Gil, ready? Ready for us-ready for us-yes? Come, then, manfool... Run with us...run...run now!
"Now Gil, when you hear the voices, what do you feel?!" Dalnassir shouted, over the roar of magical energies and Gil's cries.
"Afraid! How the hell am I--ahh--supposed to feel when a God's playing Ouija board with my head?!" She screamed.
"Do not be afraid, Gil. I am here, this time. Go to her. Submit to her. Only then will we be able to lure her into our trap," Dalnassir replied.
"That's really reassuring, Dalnassir! And become a fucking lycanthrope? Fuck that!" Gil screamed. Her skin was beginning to do that tightening thing again, and she felt like she would pull it off herself if she could only get her hands free.
"Stupid girl, do you not realize that your body was lost days ago? It is your 'mind' that we are trying to save now! If you try to hold onto both, you will lose both. Do as I say, and submit to the voice!"
"ALRIGHT ALRIGHT! What the hell do you suggest I DO?!" Her pain was intensifying. She felt something crawling up and down her spine, and then realized, it was her spine that was crawling. She was growing a fucking tail. She could have been sick, if she hadn't already been there and done that.
"Take pleasure in the pain, Gil; embrace the god's suggestions, and become a new being as she says. I will prepare our trap for her, so go!" Dalnassir concluded. Odd that the elf now seemed like a benefactor, now that Gil was screaming in agony. She couldn't fully appreciate the strangeness of this fact, though; what with a god's voice echoing through her mind.
Do as he says, embrace us. Embrace the pain. Feel the pain.
_ _ "Yes, Gil. Embrace the pain, and be reborn," Dalnassir chanted; eyes closed.
Gil winced, and shut her eyes, still twitching. She could feel the protrusion coming out of her ass getting longer--she could move it as well now. Could feel it touch the wall behind her, feel the weight of it beneath her. It was hers.
Yes, yours. All yours. And there's still more to come. Good girl... Gooood.
I want to become this? She thought.
Yesss, the voice intoned.
The pain was subsiding, even as she grasped these suggestions. It was still there, but different, somehow. Tolerable, now that she had accepted it. She finally realized, for the first time since this crazy experiment began, that she was completely naked. The metal that was once chill against her skin had warmed considerably against her sweating, naked flesh, and while she was in no position to be thinking so, she suddenly wanted to fuck very, very badly.
If only my arms were free. If only I could break these shackles, and reach down between my legs, I would fuck. Gil thought, between gasps of air.
Yes, he was a fine creature, wasn't he? The goddess's voice chortled, feeling her thoughts about Nicholas, pulling them to the surface of her mind.
But there are others. You don't have to settle for one! You could have them all, kill them, feast on their flesh; all the unworthy ones! Bring us back the best of the best, Gil. All to serve. All ours.
All theirs... yes. Scores of men; dozens of them... a harem full. Transformed. Made to her liking. She sort of liked that idea. A battalion of soldiers, all for her to command, for God.
Her thoughts snapped suddenly back to Nicholas. Nicholas had been a soldier too, hadn't he? He died fighting this. He wouldn't want me to lose, when he fought so hard for me. When he fought so I could kill him. No. No, I won't let this happen to me, I won't!
Gil pulled out of her delusion, and screamed at the elf, who was busy chanting a spell. "Why, why would I want this, Dalnassir? Tell me! Why?!" Gil screamed.
Dalnassir held his concentration, and paused his spell for delayed completion, cursing the girl under his breath.
"It is the curse, and it is you, Gil! The goddess cannot toy with what is not already in your mind! Think of this as a chance to embrace the side of you that your years in the Watch have not allowed you to pursue. Release yourself. I demand it!" the elf shouted.
Do as this manfool says, by your will alone, Gil. Do it and kill him. Break free and rend his flesh with the claws I give to you. Devour his filthy carcass; make an example for my glory, the glory of the Dark Gaia! The voice was getting hard to ignore now, focusing, losing its previous dissonance. Gil just listened to Dalnassir's advice, and did the best she could not to break an arm or a leg writhing. She began to 'want' what was happening as best as she knew how to want something that would turn her into a wild, sex-crazed animal.
Yes, that's right. Good. Serve your new master. Here, let us help you. Here are tools for you to take out your frustrations with.
Gil's fingers began to contort, and elongate. The tips of her fingers burst completely open, dark claws emerging from her old nail beds. The wounded flesh quickly sealed over, and grew thick calloused pads, which engulfed her fingers, threatening to transform them completely into animal paws. She could feel her thumbs shrinking, trying to stretch their way down her arms. Gil began to pant deeper, her tongue suddenly feeling too large to keep in her mouth. She let it hang out, over teeth that were fast shifting and elongating into fangs. She was becoming not-human.
Yes... but not-human is not terrible. The voice said, reaching her thoughts before she could even make them. I will show you now, if you will submit to me. It can be a good thing. You'll be stronger, better, more clever than you ever were, if you just become mine.
Gil felt that she was on the brink of an orgasm, at this point. The pain she had felt moments ago had melted into waves of sheer pleasure, and the more Gil simply thought she wanted it, the more it became so. Soon, she could not help shouting, "Yes, yes, I WILL! I will, oh goddamnit I will! TAKE ME!" Gil screamed, finally broken.
So be it then! As I have commanded, you are mine, Gil! The voice concluded tritely. She wailed, feeling her jaw stretch. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before, both painful, as the nerves extended and muscles thickened, transforming her face gradually into a dog's muzzle, and yet, also sublime. She was being reborn! With a new lease on life! She wailed again repeatedly, making all manner of animal noises she could muster, as her nose flattened, rolling up thick, moist, and black at the end of her new snout. She could feel her ears stretching, feel her skin tightening, her muscles swollen, ready to split her open. Soon, she would free herself, stand before the world in the body it owed her--but her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp crack, as the old voice changed now, to be replaced by a new voice. Dalnassir's voice, which was half laughing, half mocking.
Yes, you will yield. Yes, you will change. You who are who you are. This has been written, and this is how it shall be. As the moon turns its face, so will your face at times be light, and at times dark. This is the truth of all things in nature--duplicity, and duality. This is the truth I present to you 'now'. O' 'Dark Gaia'. That man is a thing of inconstancy that will pledge its divine loyalty to any thing, given the right pleasure. I take what is mine, gladly. You are mine, Gil. This business is concluded.
The Councilor directed his next thoughts then to the other, the deity, and extended his soul to her, just close enough to feel his mockery, essence-to-essence, like a slap in the face. Truly, you are a fool; you who call yourself a god, but do not think that gods must follow a path themselves. Follow the path I have laid for you now, and despair, godling. You have been tricked by a mere mortal.
_ No, what are you talking about?_ The goddess shrieked furiously. Break free and kill him! KILL HIM!
But there was no response. Gil had stopped thrashing, and had started struggling in her bonds to pleasure herself, still wailing in ecstasy, her body contorting; a woman, and a beast entangled, both filled with amorous desires that the goddess had sparked. Only they were not for God, or in service to God, at all.
I am God! My reign is supreme! Gil should be mine now! MINE! I don't understand it! Why isn't she MI...
But the voice would have to wonder, for it had suddenly faded, and Dalnassir spoke again, this time, outside of Gil's mind, and only to Gil.
"A magnificent effort," he sighed. "But now... you must... let go. Alastor."
"I told you, I AM! I want this, Oh GOD I want it!" She screamed. She did not realize she was no longer in pain, but screamed anyway, like a harlot.
"That is all fine and well, Lieutenant, but you must Let. Go. Of 'me'." The Councilor hissed.
Gil calmed down for a minute, panting, and took inventory of her surroundings, making a noteworthy first discovery. Her transformations had reverted to be as if they had never occurred. No tail, no claws, no muzzle full of teeth. Her body was completely hers again. Her legs, and the floor beneath her were also soaked in cum.
...Her second discovery came soon after the first, and was slightly less miraculous, and more humbling than anything. Without realizing it, she had wrapped her arms tight with Dalnassir in an embrace, and was gyrating her hips, thrusting her wet snatch directly into the seat of the elf's pants, even as he glared at her to stop. She promptly loosened her grip, and stood there, stunned at what she had done.
The elf said nothing, but merely grabbed her by one arm, drew it down to her side, and slapped her hard over the face. Gil turned red, and there was a brief moment of silence between them where Gil did not know whether to show gratitude, rage, or simply disappear off the face of the earth. Finally, Dalnassir broke the silence.
"Get your clothes, girl. This is not over by a long stretch, but we have won this round. You are mine now... She-fox."
The Geas had worked as the Councilor had planned; Crude a solution as it was, a desire for sex had won out, over a desire to serve God. And God had unknowingly approved. Today, it was Dalnassir who was the true victor.
And he savored it silently; as always.
End of Chapter III