Multi Battle Round 3: Church Interior

[Silence Sei]

Matches begin tonight at Midnight CST. Participants are

Roht Mirage
Doge
Quentin Boone

Vs

Max Dirks
Philomel
Core Beast

[Core Beast]

There is only one rule when it comes to all churches... NO DEMONS ALLOWED. So, what is Balrog like Downfall doing in such a sacred place. Believe it or not, he's praying. Praying to whatever god this land worships that he will find a way home soon. He has had little luck in the past five months and he is hoping that appeasing the ones who rule the universe will help him.

"I mean, it's not my fault I was born from two demons. So please, please help me find my way home," he begged on his knees in front of the alter with a little artifact on it. He was in the Sanctuary in the very center of the church. The pews were made of wood covered in a kind of cloth that probably had feathers between the cloth and wood to cushion the pews. The color of the chairs and a few other artifacts was Maroon. A tapestry adorned the side walls of the sanctuary. Downfall had to douse his flames down to the minimum in order to keep them from burning the entire church as he prayed at the altar of the god of Eiskalt.

"I really need your help, whatever you need I'll help you with, just please, help me get home," he continued to beg with his face to the ground. His fear of rejection rose as he didn't receive any reply. "Please, I'm begging you. I promise to follow you and serve you for all eternity if you help me get home, I'll spread the information about you, I'll start worshiping you, heck, I'll spread the religion that follows you wherever I go. Just please, let me find my way home."

Suddenly the flames in the sanctuary dimed and a light shone on him as he received instruction. "I shall do as you ask, great one," Downfall said then stood up and turned around, ready to do as the god had commanded him.

[Doge]

It was a jaunty day as I skipped happily down the road. My little white tipped toes flicked small stones and dirt into the air and my tail swished happily behind me. I was a vision of justice as my two foot high frame made its way towards the a church. My nose knows no wrong, and right now it knew new ne'er-do-wells were not doing very well somewhere near. I turned off the road and moved with characteristic stealth through the withered crops. In hindsight I probably should have wondered at the crops state of affairs, but an affair fouler than the putrid smells drew me forthwith.

Not did I barely enter the field than did I come upon a woman. She seems a local of the icy country, and though I couldn't place her, she seemed to recognise me.

“Dog!”

Doge I corrected with a slight snuffled bark.

“Astarelle entered the church to save the girl! You must... you must save her!” The woman clutched at her chest, something I had seen humans do before when they were upset. That, and the tears that were welling in her eyes, led me to believe that she may have been upset over something. I had no time to delve into the complex tapestry that was the minds of humans, a stranger that claimed she knew me had said that someone else needed me help to save someone I didn't know! It was hero time.

“Woof!” I asserted, passing onto her the complex dialogue that I would indeed save the mysterious Astrid-something and the girl. With a sense of purpose and more than a little bit of style I charged through the rest of the field towards the church. With the dramatic timing gifted to me by my divine intentions, I leaped up the first step. The crafty enemy I was facing had obviously set a trap, and my feet slipped. My chest caught against the other steps and my little yellow head poked over the last into the church. My accidental brilliance gave me the opportunity to see my prey before closing in to deal justice. My heart stopped as I gazed upon a being of fire. It was huge; wreathed in red flames and looked like it ate doges for breakfast.

Holy shitballs, I thought, though I am ashamed to admit my lack of manners. The sight of the beast was so darn shocking, even for someone with my miraculous metal. With just me head poking over the last step I slowly sank back into a hiding spot, praying that I was not seen. With the stealth of a ninja cat I crept along the step and up beside the door. This time my impressive fortitude and strength would have to be tempted by my formidable intellect. I waited for an idea to come to me.

[Doge]

EUREKA! The idea; a flash of brilliance with a moustache of genius collided with my mind like a freight wagon. I turned and dashed off the side of the steps. My small paws hit the ground in puffs of dust, a mere punctuation to the poetry in motion that was about to be. Paws moved quietly, fastly... fasterly... uh, quickly across the ground. The side of the church was plain, the same large walls lifted high above me as I travelled like a wayward hero in the shadow of the dungeon I had to conquer to save the princess. I speed around the back corner of the building, feet pounding on the withered dirt of the fields. In front of me loomed the thing that I had sought. No building, especially not one with access to a workforce eager to please, would pass up the opportunity to make that workforce gather wood for the cold Eiskalt winter. Lucy had taken my as a puppy to church once. I don't remember much from the first time but how the man at the front had controlled everyone with a raise of his hands. I also remembered the feeling of warmth when I was tucked in her arms, the giant cold building outside with nothing for the two of us. Oh Lucy, can you see me still?

I bound up the side of the wood stack, twisted at the top of the pile and burst through the stain glass window in a shower of glass, class and heroic virtue to land on the table, one leg raised and my noise pointed to justice... at least that is what I imagined would happen. As I hung there, the top half of my body protruding from what had been a small baby clasp by a woman in blue, I couldn't help but feel my pride drifting away. I know now that you need to be of a decent size to jump through stained-glass windows. If for some reason you happen to be the size of the glass you jump through the metal soldering might not break, and you might end up... well stuck.

As my two paws hung limply in the air I did what someone in my position could do. I looked down at the man inside the room, twisted my head slightly to the side and whined.

[Core Beast]

Downfall was bored, He had stood there for an hour and still his prey hadn't come, there was that mutt that had ran up the steps and fell only to run away and hide as soon as he saw Downfall, but besides that, no one to oppose him. He was about to just leave and start spreading the name of Balorious the Goddes of Blood when the Goddess said "This church has been desecrated by those who do not believe. Because of this, my presence is no longer strong here. I order you to burn down this church then go searching for your opponent. I will guide you to him."

Downfall smiled, it's been a long time since he has had permission to burn anything down. The Blue Balrog roared as his flames sprung to life, his whip activated as he started to twirl it over his head. He then had it lash out at the tapestries and pues in the church. In minutes, the entire sanctuary was on fire.

"Good," the goddess said in the mind of the balrog, "now head to the study, find the only creature there and attack him on sight."

Downfall nodded and made his way to the back room where the study could be found. He broke through the wall and looked around. The room just barely fit his 20 foot stature, the room was filled with religious books about the Blood Goddess. Downfall dowsed his flames before he grabbed the books and put them in a flameproof sack. He then looked around the room and noticed the priest who was holding a Blood Goddess Pendant up to him. He fried the priest then continued to look around the room. Downfall's eyes landed on what use to be a stained glass window. A dog hung there, helplessly stuck. 'The goddess said creature so." Downfall reached out his hand prepared to grab the dog and yank him out of the window to throw him back into the sanctuary where their fight would officially start.

[Doge]

No help came to this poor stuck hero from my universal call of help. My furry brow furrowed as I considered my options. I was able to completely rule out two methods of escape in an instant thanks to no having opposable thumbs when my thoughts came to a sudden halt. The giant of fire and smoke entered the room. Now when I use the word 'entered' perhaps 'smashed into amid a shower of shards of wood and stone' would be more accurate. I tensed up, my eyes wide as I struggled in vain to free myself from the nearly unbreakable glass and metal cage. I had but one option, one that I doubted would have any effect whatsoever.

The beast immolated a priest, grabbed some books and reached a hand towards me. It was then another option appeared from the heavens. Now, when I say 'appeared' perhaps 'smashed through the ceiling amid a shower of shards of wood and stone' was more accurate. It seemed the way things were going that simply using the door had gone out of fashion. And yes, I am aware of the irony of making such a comment while being stuck in a window.

The bell was huge and heavy, crafted from perhaps iron. It brought with it it more wood and stone as most of the room was caught up in the collapse. I felt myself jerk backwards as the ceiling collapsed. The glass window must have been under some sort of support beam as it was yanked out of the wall and throw outwards and up. My world changed in a flash from the extended hand of the giant, to the collapsing roof, to a rotating view of the church wall and desolate field.

It took all my effort to focus as I, still inside the pane glass window, rotated through the air. As soon as I felt myself slow the rotations eased off and the blur of brown, blue and grey became field, sky and church. As when the rotation had me facing the ground I barked. This was no normal bark, the shock wave of my powerful attack sent me hurtling in the other direction, and much to my delight, out of the glass.

I was a little flying projectile of yellow as I hurtled rump first towards the church roof.

Exits to roof

[Core Beast]

Just as downfall was about to grab the mutt, he heard the sound of the bell's ring as it started to fall, the wood that supported it had collapsed from the fire. The balrog jumped back just in time to avoid the falling piece of musical metal as it crashed through the roof. The room was now filled with dust and the balrog roared in frustration for the lack of battle that the goddess had requested.

After his roar rang out the balrog jumped, and grabbed onto the edge of the roof and pulled to try to bring him up to the rooftop, miraculously the roof was still strong enough to support his weight. Must be the work of Lady Balorious, Downfall thought as he climbed up through the hole.


OOC: Exit's to roof.

[Roht Mirage]

Astarelle and Philomel enter the Interior.

Astarelle felt Philomel gripping her furiously, overpoweringly as they fell. She also felt her sand enveloping them both in her panic. The faun may have shouted something, cursed her for what felt like an approaching fiery death, but it was lost against the song of fire – the hymm to Ifrit, sung as his congregation gathered to give thanks for its next meal.

The sand shielded both of their bodies from the worst of the heat, though the outer edges of the cloud popped and sparked like suicidal lightbugs. It also softened their fall... somewhat. What could have been a crippling if not lethal crash was merely a hard wallop of flesh against the jagged, smoking rubble pile.

Between the falling stone and the billow of their sandy cushion flattening, the flames were forced back just enough for her to see the open wound of blue sky above and savor one breath of clean air. Her hand twitched, still sealed to the stolen blade, as she willed the faun to appear. Don't burn to death, goat-harpy, she thought with venom that seemed to boil in the heat, You're mine.

The blade scrapped wickedly against popping stone as she tried to sit up.

[Philomel]

Delightful! How generous!

Astarelle's sands were wrapped around them like a blanket, keeping them from the intense heat of the demonic fire. It was like hell, or like what Philomel imagined hell to be like. Perhaps not the hell she would end in, but a hell nevertheless. Hers would be full of water, separated from the earth for all eternity, until the end of life itself. So harsh, so cruel, so painful. The faun-whore held as tight as she could to the sand-princess, bringing their bodies as hard together as she could, each blade buckled beneath them, bent and contrewed. Even her shoulder guard, barely used in this battle so far, was pressed into her skin, something of disuse now, separating the faun from her lover.

Rapidly they fell, then harshly they were separated. Philomel had just been ducking in for a kiss, a soft smooth on the human's surprised mouth, knowing that she could not be denied power over this one. As they landed the sand bubble splintered, throwing them apart, like a priest catching two young adulterers. Letting out a fake orgasmic screech the Nightingale flew like her namesake, her bare blade suddenly free, and she landed on her bottom, skidding along in smokey dirt until colliding with a half-burnt pew.

Ash flew up around her, much like the sand had. It flew around, a cloud on acid and with wings, rising as a multitudinous flock of mottled doves. The faun raised her free hand, coughed for a while as she tried to clear the air around her. It was thick and dry, the humidity caused by the fire to be low enough to suffocate. Her eyes darted around, breathing shallowly taking in her surroundings, yet much of it was obscured by the smoke. A large volume of flames took up most of the room, obvious by the powerful light coming from one direction. The smell of burnt and burning touched Philomel's nose and she found herself snorting to try to rid herself of the overwhelming sensation. Where she had skidded and landed was near a stone pillar and against pews that had not as yet succumbed to the fire's hunger. Cobbles were underfoot, and they were largely covered with a coating of ash and dirt.

For a moment Philomel considered summoning a cloud of it and sending it steaming towards the bitch, but that might be overkill, just now. Despite the power that lay dormant in her, the faun-whore was determined to teach this sand-girl how to fight with blades and the body, not with desert magic, that was so futile in a metropolitan city. She still had Philomel's keris dagger, and Philomel would get it off her - if only to plunge it into her and cause such painful pleasure that the authorities would need to be called.

First of all, though, the desire had to be increased.

Determinedly Philomel pushed herself to her hooves, and found her balance with her spare hand on the pew. The Bastard still remained in her posession, as did her throwing dagger. Taking it out of its place on her belt Phi held it in her mouth as she stripped herself bare, quickly and succinctly. Firstly she removed her shoulder guard, then her bodice, and then her loin cloth, to leave her breasts free and hanging. After this she strapped back on her shoulder guard, just a precaution, and then switched the throwing dagger into her parrying hand.

She popped her neck from side to side, rolled her shoulders. Raising her nose into the air she waited until she could focus beyond the smoke and blaze and burn and -

It happened before she need describe it. There it was, the scent of sweat.

Subtly Philomel smiled, then she realised she did not have to be subtle. Eagerly she leaned back, prepared, then leapt - right high into the air in a graceful arc towards the direction of the sweat. She could not see but her nose hardly ever lied, so the reliance was an old one. Upon reaching the climax of the peak she threw the dagger with all the might her body had, hoping that it found its mark in the breast or shoulder of her new adversary. Then ... then she would begin her descent and throw herself upon the body of Astarelle, lavishing her with pain and attention, with her breasts hanging free and all beastiality welcome.

After all, it was a free world.

[Roht Mirage]

Astarelle had forgotten Leila before; when that nameless snowy elf took her fingertips on an Unum rooftop, when her and Jensen danced a duet to the near-destruction of Catherine Remi. Now, again, she forgot. In the stink of pews and tapestries and an entire of mantle of wax candles turned to liquid, she ceased to be an Ixian Knight, a protectors of refugees, or even a player in a war too heavy with momentum for her to do a lick of good.

She was, in her heart, a Fallien savage, her breed ancient and swollen with pent-up aggression. It was with that rage, those seething breaths halfway between pain and madness, that she forced herself to stand. Her feet dug into the pile of sky-lit and sand-frosted rubble. She cast her wild gaze around, looking for the faun, but all she saw was ruin. Beyond her island of relative calm, sand lay amidst a guttering border of flames. The grains popped and danced in their battle against the heat. Beyond that, fire roared as if born from the depths. It slithered up the walls and the melting stained glass windows, the murals of which were stretching into pained, howling expressions. If Eiskalt religion professed an Armageddon, this was the seed of it.

As if prophesied by that thought, she saw her. Vaulting into the light, Philomel appeared as a denizen of this Hell, as naked as the day she had been birthed by some malformed chimera under a rotting bush. Her horns glistened like obsidian, utterly at home in the firelight, and her breasts heaved rapturously. She was the desire and the destruction of lust all rolled into one, an embodiment of pious men's weakness. Astarelle's stomach knotted.

Almost too late, she saw the thrown dagger. She only had time to step back and shrink to the side. It bit through the fabric over her shoulder, drawing a thick line of blood before stealing a chunk of unruly hair and continuing on. Then, the whore was on her. With heavy blade braced against the stolen dagger, Philomel cannonballed Astarelle from her perch, and for a fleeting, fiery moment, they were weightless.

All too soon, Astarelle's back crashed against the shards of stone and slid. Her clothing bore the sharp edges at first, but she felt the toothy bed, some of it stuck in her, when she came to a stop in the dark recess of the church's aisle. All around her, sand smothered the flames, or tried to. So close to her ears, the furious crackling sounded like a losing battle.

Screaming with exertion, she gripped Philomel's wrist below the locked sword and forced it to the side. The faun countered by pulling Astarelle's knife hand in the other direction, spreading both their arms wide, then pressed the full weight of her body down. Astarelle strained against strong thighs that wrapped her own. Hooves clicked against her feet, painful even through the boots. And those breasts... the full force of femininity that Philomel had tried to lord over Astarelle on that night with Jensen pressed the air from her blackening lungs.

The sand around her rolled in sympathy as if it might abandon the fight against the flames to shield her from a fate even more undesirable, but she couldn't concentrate on it. Somewhere in her mind, no doubt from a place of insanity, she realized that this soft, encompassing sensation of the faun's body was just the beginning of what she had kept Jensen Ambrose from... and she might even understand his desire for it.

[Philomel]

Warning: Adult content below. The Battle just ... developed in this way, I guess is the right word.

Far above the flames and smoke piling so high, near the droplets of cyan than made up the sky, Philomel felt the heat and shadow that Veridian felt, and saw flashing images of rolling darkness. There was a yellow mongrel, and the broken roof behind him, and there was a soft silence admidst the chaos. He let out a smile whine as he pondered between helping his precious faun or going to retrieve the child; Philomel was acutely aware of this indecision as she looked down at the body beneath her. Savagely she told the fox that he should just 'be careful' and that she would take care of the bitch down here. Then she severed the connected between them and concentrated solely on Astarelle.

Racist Astarelle.

If one, like the sand-girl, looked at Philomel and saw a demon, then that was their depraved problem. Obviously they had not the experience, the opportunity, the joy of having a mature female faun as company. If they denied themselves of the curling horns, the furred legs, the hidden genetalia that did not need a loin cloth to appear respectable in good society, but rather be au naturale ... that, alone, was a result of their misjudgement. As Philomel liked to say that was "their screw-up" not hers, and so for those inconsiderate people she usually disregarded them, treated with indifference and as if they were piss on her hoof.

Yet, this was not a usual situation. This was the heat of battle, and in those times one loses all sense of normal decorum - unless they are irritatingly honourable - and throws their inhibitations to the wind. Battle was a drug, it was to be injested and allowed to take over the body. It was a state of disharmony, of discord, a party for maniacs and extremists, to forget all sense of professionalism and to throw onesleves truly into the heart of Hadia.

Philomel rejoiced in it, in the beautiful sensation, filling her the top-toe full of direst hunger. Not only hunger for blood but also for the body, for the pleasure she granted to men and women every evening and throughout the night. Blood spilt out from the wound she had caused on Astarelle's shoulder, and immediately the faun's body began awakening to the savage power of lust. It was rare she herself felt the full affects of the narcotic or allowed herself even to be thrown into that world of dreams and visions, but in this moment the time was ripe. The scent of the red life juice caught the hairs within Philomel's nose and tingled them playfully. Softly she growled, her hand still firmly around the Farohtian beauty's wrist, and hers likewise held, so the two of them were locked in a vice of equal strength and will; this gave Philomel one choice only in order to fulfill her aspiration.

Shifting her body so that one furry brown hoof supported her body on either side of Astarelle's belly, the faun-whore bent down, a wide malicious grin on her face. Her breasts hung loose and true, two round and very generous buldges of fat swinging above the sand-girl's eyes, and they swung merrily as Philomel ducked, far and farther ... until she lost eye contact with the human altogether and ran a smooth tongue over the blood to lap it up.

"Mmmmm," she whispered, licking her lips, "Salty like your yellow earth." She paused, then her grey eyes shone with michievous intent, "I wonder if you taste salty also in another place ..."

Astarelle yelled, shouted at her, struggled in an infantile. But Philomel was determined. She was on top, she was the master, she said what goes until their positions were switched. She had never been the best at submissive, it had never been her forte. Men came to her because they wanted a passionate giver that was entirely exotic with no shame and no qualms.

"No," she blurted out in faunish, a sing-song melody of low bleats coming from the back of her throat, "No, I am the Queen of the Earth, daughter of Drys," she switched luciously back into the common-tongue ... "I am the faun who will take your virginity."

And she set her teeth into the tear of the fabric at the shoulder and yanked back, clearing away the black to show the way for the flesh. The true, unaltered golden-dawn skinny flesh.

[Roht Mirage]

Philomel's mouth, for all its fabled lustful skill, was no less the savage jaws of a beast. Astarelle's top ripped loudly and violently all the way across and down her chest. Her golden skin tensed, already glistening with fire-wrought sweat. The simple wrap around her breasts was soaked through and nearly transparent as it hugged tightly to her modest shape.

Astarelle bucked, trying to use all the dancer's strength in her legs, but only succeeded in grinding against the faun's pelvis. Philomel seemed to take this as some encouragement -as if she needed any- and used her teeth to tow down the wrap, then nip at the exposed slopes. Astarelle tried to squirm away, dumbly aware that it drew her closer to the fire. She felt the heat wringing her skin dry, crisping her so that she would burn easily when she was finally alight.

Yet, there was a deeper heat, a fire burning her from within. The faun's taunts stirred it savagely, more so than she even realized. Philomel thought her a virgin. “I'm a priestess,” Astarelle hissed, countering the faun's pronouncement without thinking, and without the same force. “Daughter of Roh. Chaste.” The last word bit her heart as sharply as the flesh above it was worked over. She had been a horrible priestess, especially in matters of chastity. How sadly those trysts had ended. Weakly, she strained for the words of her people. “Kan'Roh. Takla,” she whispered in the rapid patter of Farohtian, though it tasted bitter on her traitor lips. And it rang so false.

Flesh of Roh. Clean and pure.

The faun seemed to feed on her protest, sensing a core that, if not physically pure, strained for it so hard as to be nearly virginal; like a blossom, once open, now seized shut with the strength of will and lies. How clear the lies were.

Tears ran from Astarelle's eyes as she wriggled higher, fighting the nearly inescapable grip of the faun's thighs, closing her eyes against the view of plump breasts pressed to her abdomen. She could not fight the sensation, though, and it made her insides burn hotter to match the force of the flames she squirmed toward.

[Philomel]

Upon being disappointed with the size of Astarelle's breast size Philomel sat back a little and pouted. Even though the sand-girl struggled and the faun-whore was not fully concentrating on pinning her down, she still retained dominance. Her fingernails dug into the wrist she held, and she let out a light ring of merriment efore once more digging her teeth into fabric. This time she aimed, and gained, the inner bindings, and with a savage bleat that rang with the pride of her people, she ripped back so the golden breasts were exposed to the word.

Grinding hard against Astarelle's hips, Philomel took a moment to sit back up, inspecting the arciform bodily ornaments.

"Chaste, indeed," she muttered, with a hint of disappointment in her voice, "Chaste and not very well endowed. Well my dear," her darkening eyes moved up to stare into the equally grey depths of her victim. "We will just have to make sure you enjoy this ..."

Agilely she moved once more, like a viper, decleration said. Her warm, rough, practised tongue snaked around the contour of the human's breasts, smoothly and quickly, taking in their shape and taste all in one. She was highly aware of the raging fire not a few metres behind her that caused sweat beads to form upon her brow, but all the while the two of them were fighting away, constantly shifting to and fro. As Philomel licked she asserted her willpower, and gained enough momentum beneath one hoof so as to buck the hips she straddled to the side. Awkwardly the pair of them jostled further away from the orange dancing flames, still protected by the mass of cobbles that made up the floor.

The sand-princess ... no priestess bucked high and feverishly, fearing the probable event of getting molested. It caused Philomel no more love for the girl, but no more hate either. Instead it simply increased her burning desire to show this fuck-wit, racist Ixian that fauns, whores and assassins were powerful too, and Philomel more so because she was all three. Her tongue finished its path, neat and hard, and she looked up to see pearly clear tears cascading over the cheeks.

"Oh precious baby ..."

Allowing her lips to curl upwards into a malicious smile the faun sighed onto the human's face, eyes dancing. "Oh precious darling, how about we start with the lips?"

And fate crashed around them as goat-girl met sand-girl's mouth, and the two breaths forcibly embraced, lips coming together with fire-teasing vehemence.

[Roht Mirage]

Astarelle couldn't fight the kiss. Her breaths were too short from the smoke, her body was too weak, and her thoughts too jumbled from the warmth around and within her. She pressed her lips against the faun's, thinking that she might force her off in some way, but her flesh did not obey. Though she should have been disgusted, she found herself accepting the crush of Philomel's plush lips and the explorative tickle of her soft tongue. With such severity that she shuddered out a breath, a memory came back to her, and she held the kiss just to ride out the strange, sudden burst of lustful nostalgia.

Astarelle sat teasingly close to Akashere at the campfire. Above, a million of Fallien's stars sparkled, and the sand rolled far and forever into the darkness.

“You've thought of it?” she asked, her voice thick with pubescent longing. Her hand drifted onto his thigh.

Akashere coughed. “No. I mean... the Mar'Roh would kill me.” He tried to shift away, but not too quickly. There was a line between rejection and surrender; one that he tried to find even though, like most men, he was quite blind in that regard.

Astarelle laughed as she flipped up to straddle his lap, shocking a breath from him. His eyes were wide, his mouth agape. He had shaven that morning so that he could masquerade as an Irrakam noble. She loved that look. But, what she loved more was the expression on his face. To see the man who had taught her such a wealth of trickery and lies now speechless, his words so brazenly false, made her heart pound. “You think I care?” she purred as one who had never quite attempted a 'purr' before, “You've said before that there's nothing Roht about me, haven't you? Akee?”

It was the first time she had said it, his manazen. Only lovers spoke in such a way, though she had decided long ago that, to her, he would be 'Akee'.

He couldn't move. He could barely speak, yet Astarelle felt that she could will him to just as she willed her sand to move. Perhaps it truly was her, in that deliriously powerful moment, who drew his next word from him. “Aster,” he breathed, voicing a name that sounded as if he had been holding it close for just as long.

Like a sandstorm, she kissed him, delving with her lips and tongue to search out a lifetime of experience that had been denied to her...

... just as passionately as the faun kissed her.

However, Philomel had not a trace of hasty inexperience. She dominated with every part of her soft, writhing body. Her breasts pressed against Astarelle's own, dwarfing them. Her hips gyrated as if to burrow out that shameful heat. For a moment that seemed to stretch forever, Astarelle knew what it was to be poor, conquered Akashere. She should have found solace in that, if only to be close to her dearly-departed love once more.

She hated it.

Though Philomel had worn down every defense, though she had banished the unwinnable war and the eternally lost girl from Astarelle's mind, she could not break that which made up Astarelle's core. It was the first thing Akashere had said of her, and the last emotion she had sent to him, silently with her eyes, on his deathbed. The heart of Astarelle Set'Roh was eternally and unquenchably stubborn.

With force too primal to be surrender, Astarelle took control of the kiss. She drew in Philomel's bottom lip and bit down, teasing out a trickle of blood. Her shin bumped against the faun's, caressing it as she slipped her leg into the cleft between. How many men had found ecstasy there? Tenderly, her knee lifted to that lewd paradise, skimming the fur of the faun's inner-thigh. Her teeth separated from Philomel's lip. Her breath stabilized. But, the reprieve quickly ended as she put all the force she could muster into the kiss. As if tensing before a leap, her leg muscles locked. Her hands twisted bloodily to seize the faun's in return. And she torque them both over with all of her sinuous strength.

The church breathed hotly on Astarelle's back, piquing every point where embers had embedded through clothing and flesh. Her breasts steamed with saliva, making the rivulets of blood appear molten in the flickering light from Philomel's weapons. Both blades had been thrown wide in the roll, but Astarelle paid them no mind. As she looked down at the faun under her, she knew she was in control. Her thighs seized the ceaselessly-twitching waist, holding with far more force than that of a 'chaste' priestess. Her breasts, dripping with sweat, lorded over the faun's own, which pooled bulbously. Even more intoxicating, she could feel a wicked grin stretch her face and a righteous dominance narrow her eyes. This was more like it.

“I, dear Philomel,” she said with the sweetest of venom as she leaned forward and seized one obsidian horn, “Am the Roht-fucking-Mirage!” Nails raked down her arms, ripping away the last shreds of clothing that clung to her golden torso, baring it. Astarelle's flesh shone like Fallien dusk in the firelight, and she seethed like Roh's wrath embodied. “And I take what I want from you. Always.”

The faun laughed raucously, bucking to force Astarelle's face closer. “What do you want, sand-bitch?”

Astarelle found the answer on the tip of her tongue as if it had been waiting there, eager for release. She didn't want to be a warrior or a knight or a blasted rescuer. She wanted more of the fire that was welling up through her body, setting every nerve ablaze. Her right hand seized the faun's left breast, holding tight as if she might steal the whore's supple flesh for herself, and her left hand jerked the curved horn back, lifting the faun's luscious lips high in the air of their sacred furnace. With her knee pinned in the warmth between the faun's legs and her bosom just barely tickling that womanly mantle, Astarelle spoke in a husky voice she had never used before. “I want to be wild.” She coughed, fighting the smoke. Sand circled around them, forbiding the fire to steal the moment, taunting it for being unable to match the heat generated between the two bodies. “I want you,” Astarelle intoned close to Philomel's mouth, then kissed her so hard that obsidian horns scraped through the embers.

The stretching faces of Eiskalt saints watched in horror as the Farohtian priestess willed her stubborn, immovable self to be one with the untameable passion of the Nightingale.

[Philomel]

Of all the things she was willing to give, Philomel was extremely willing to give herself.

Roht-fucking-Mirage, indeed, she internly mused, This bitch is a viper!

The thought simply excited Philomel more. As she was abused, used and shoved around into submission she found herself cackling with laughter. This was it! This was what it was all about! The flesh, that Astarelle revealed more of, of her own accord; the aggression, of the grabbing of the faun's birthed ram's horns; the passion, the disbanding of all weapons to purely concentrate effort on their bodies and their cohabitation with one another, combining their arms, torsos, legs and lips to create an entirely new being of mysticism, of beastiality, of discord. Eagerly she positioned herself, going with each touch and force to allure the girl more. Despite her actions, Philomel still felt the Matriarch. After all, she had caused this to happen, she had allowed the sexual predator within Astarelle to break free. Taking her from precious holy chaste to this monster of desire the Nightingale had shown her skill, her unchallengeable ability to cause beings to fall madly in lust (or love) for her.

As the second kiss was cast, instigated by the sand-bitch herself, Philomel found herself thrown into a world she was terribly familiar with. Blades were not needed any more, for essentially, she had won this battle already. She had had the advantage of drawing first blood, yet Astarelle had taken similar from her with a savage bite to the lip. Now that blood, still running, was licked back into the mouth of the perpetrator of the second kiss, donated via the actions of the first kiss. Sliding her arms around the back of the priestess the faun opted for an old, but beautifully useful tactic in the game of intercourse, and scratched with her nails at Astarelle's back.

"Then let me take you," Philomel hissed, darkly, removing her tongue, teeth and lips. Her grey eyes shone like polished silver and mythril, "Let me have at this!"

A hand danced down a few inches, then one practised finger deftly found its way down into the bum crack, and pushed. Human, elf, dwarf, faun, they all had at least one hole, no matter the gender. Finding it was easy enough, and Philomel knew definitely where to look. In the heat of this war upon Eiskalt, the burning, slaughtered city, she knew where to look to find starved passion and desire. Skills aside, this was her god-damned art. In fact, she was an artist, painting her own canvas in ... well. Blood and discharge and spit and guts and spilt red wine.

She spat out the words with hunger and thirst. Ravenousness and hankering. Appetency and yen.

"Give me all of you, and I will show you paradise."

[Doge]

I'm afraid the next few minutes are a bit of a blur. I remember falling through the air with Leila screaming. I think I managed to soften our landing in a similar way that I had reached the roof. A powerful blast of my bark pausing us just before impact.

The next thing I remembered was being carried. Through blurred eyes I thought I saw Lucy, but I was not so foolish as the first time. Leila was carrying me, or perhaps dragging. I could see the ground move around me, the dead stalks of plants and the blue sky. I couldn't feel much in that state. I remember being dropped at some point, the shouts of a happy, but scared woman and another embrace. I knew that I had managed to return the girl at least. The rest of that story I'm afraid is all black.

Doge lands outside and is carried to Nety by Leila. Misses all the faun-woman stuff. Last post from me, Doge is out cold.

[Core Beast]

Downfall continued to fall down toward the tiled floor of the sanctuary. I guess this is it, he thought as the floor got closer to him. about half way to the floor he flapped his giant wings that was on his back and slowed his descent. Soon he landed on the tiled floor with a heavy thud that cracked the floor and shook the entire church. The walls continued to weaken and the roof continued to collapse as the demonic fire continued to burn. The heat, a comfort on the fire demon's skin. The smell of carbon dioxide, a reminder of home. The orange flames, a source of light that calmed the balrog, and the crackle of the flames as it burned the wood, a lullaby to the beast. The flames spread throughout the entire church as the balrog began to settle into a sleep, alert for any enemies but still at rest. As the downfall of this great church continued around him, the balrog rested, in peace with the knowledge that he will get home someday.

[Silence Sei]

Category
Doge
Roht Mirage
Philomel
Core Beast


Story
8
5
5
6



Setting
6
8
7
7


Pacing
5
6
6
4


Communication
8
7
7
7


Action
7
5
5
6


Persona
6
5
7
7


Mechanics
4
8
6
4


Clarity
5
8
6
4


Technique
7
6
6
5


Wildcard
5
2
3
4

Total
Total
61/100
60/100
58/100
54/100



Major talking points'
-Phi and Roht; please in the future, try to keep things a little more PG when it comes to site wide events. Keep in mind that if BlueGhost or blackshadow were still participating, they are underage players who should -not- have to read the previous 'battle' in order to know where or what their opponents did.
-Doge and Core Beast' mad props for you two for keeping the thread as an actual battle. As such, I awarding the two of you an additional 200 exp for your efforts. Unfortunately, the two of you weren't very clear in some of your actions and there were many more mechanical errors than those of the other participants. spell checks or having someone 'Karu' the thread (meaning someone who reads over each posts, and then pms the post with edits already inserted in) could help the two of you immensely.

Alyssa, Exp-GP this sonofagun!

[Hysteria]

Late xp and gp (worked out on old levels)

Doge - 825xp & 75gp
Core_Beast - 337xp & 35gp
Philomel - 412xp & 65gp
Roht - 1837xp & 120gp

GP and XP added!