Toybox #6 (Deus Prologue & 1) (Patreon)

Note: We had another tie, so I went with what I haven't posted again.  I will run this poll until Sunday rather than Friday.

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Toybox: Deus

Prologue:

Four riders come across the ruins of an old civilization in the night. They each wear cloaks to protect them from the cold, and their breath appears in front of them in billowing clouds of steam. They stop together, with one rider ahead of them. He is a big man with a frosty brown beard and cold, clear eyes. He gestures toward the other three riders before dismounting his horse.

Two of the other riders dismount their horses. At a glance, they look like the man, though they are younger. They are both men, and they move to the last rider and help her from her horse. She is the only woman among them, and she moves with difficulty. Her skin is tar black and her hair silver as moonlight. Her features are soft and almost feline, and she carries a quiet, shifting bundle in her arms.

The woman nods to the two men, and they release her. She leaves them to bind the horses. Ahead of her, the first man looks back at her with a cold, critical stare. He offers her one of his big hands, and she regards it in silence before walking past him without even meeting his gaze. He gives a rueful smile at her back while waiting on the other two to join him.

“Father,” says one of the rider. He is the tallest of the two young men and has his mother’s dark hair and his father’s clear eyes and aquiline nose. The man does not look at him and does not move. He merely watches the woman’s careful movements as she walks the circular perimeter of the ruins. Large pillars of stone rise from the gathered snow like ancient stone fingers grasping at the sky.

“Look how lightly she moves,” said the bearded man. He had admiration in his voice, and he grinned back at the young man as the last of the three men joined him. “Such beauty and grace beyond what human women can manage.” He smacked the oldest of his sons across the chest and gave a deep laugh. “And just after giving birth.”

The two men are pale and give hollow, empty laughs.

Their father’s face tightens. “Spread out. We have to remain committed if we want to see this through, and she is spirited. She will run if she can.”

The two bothers exchanged glances, and the younger of the two gulped. They nodded. “Y-Yes, father.”

The three men spread out as they left their horses, and they flanked the woman and caged her in the center of the ruins. The bearded man approached her from behind. The sound of the snow crunching under his heavy footfalls reminded her of the grinding of bones as she crouched with the bundle in her arms. “Are you ready,” he asked. His tone and bearing were solemn.

She glared at him over her shoulder. It was clear from the glistening of her eyes that she had been crying, and a harsh, cold wind whipped and tossed her hood back to reveal dancing moonlight hair and dark skin with runes burned across her face. Her long, pointed ears were pierced and decorated with rings, studs and bars of gold, silver and bronze.

“You are a monster,” she said. Her throat was tight and her voice barely above a whisper.

“I am a king,” said the man seriously, and he waited with his big hands hooked in his belt while he watched her.

“No monster would force a sacrifice like this on a new mother.” She stared sadly at the bundle in his grasp. “No father would do this to their newborn son.”

“The boy was a mistake,” he said, and he glanced at his two sons watching with their hands on their sword hilts. They were pale from cold and from horror. He would have to move quick before they lost their resolve. “At least this way, he can do us both some good.”

“Mark me, this will be your undoing,” she snapped, and she glared at him as she hugged her bundle tighter.

“And this will be your death if you don’t act quick.”

She stared sadly down at the bundle and, opening it just barely, caressed the chocolate brown hair she found inside. The boy took after his father, but his skin was darker and looked almost vaguely like new tree bark in spring. He had eyes unlike either of theirs, though. They were dark and nut brown. Like his hair and like his skin. She liked to think of him as a child of the forest.

She kissed the boy’s forehead. “I love you, my dear, and I am sorry.” She wrapped the bundle carefully and then left it at the center of the ruins. Then, she stood, but she would not leave until the king dragged her away, and even that was allowed with defiance. Once off the stone, she yanked her arm free from him and gave him one more glare. Then, she smacked him once across the face before stomping her way back to her horse.

His sons joined him, and they stared at the bundle as the oldest son began to speak. At the center of the ancient altar, the baby began to cry. “Should we followed her to make sure she does not run?”

All at once, a gleaming red light filled the ruins. The snow melted away under a sudden and swarthy heat and the smell of roses wafted over them. The baby’s cries were quiet beneath the thunderous hum of energy that shook the ground beneath their feet. Then, with a loud, near deafening boom, the crying stopped. “It doesn’t matter,” said the king as he stared at the empty altar. “Our work is done.” He turned, and his cloak flourished, and then he made his way back to the horses to find that the woman had gone. “We must ride back before our presence is missed within the castle walls.”

“Yes, father,” said the eldest son, and he shoved his younger brother back into awareness. They both cast a quick glance at the empty altar before following their father away.

Chapter One:

“Samantha! Samantha!”

Samantha Hartzin looked up from the book she was reading and went to the front of her office to meet two men there. They had a body stretched between them, and the slow, careful steps she took to meet them faded as she sprinted over and squatted down to help them lift the body. It was a light form and male at a glance, and she led them into the back of her establishment and showed them to a bed for the boy.

She took to examining the body while the two men watched. She checked the pulse and felt for fever, and she checked the eyes but got no response from them. The left eye had strange coloration to it, and she noted the heterochromia of red and pink within the brown absently and assumed it to be ruptured blood vessels caused by potential trauma. “What happened here,” she asked as she continued to check the bodies for wounds.

“We’re not entirely sure,” said one of them. “Merchant was on the way through town said they saw a body some ways back. That’s when the captain sent me and Kristoff here to investigate for fears of a highway robbery, and we found him there a breathing but not responding.”

Samantha frowned. She checked the eyes again and felt a strange stirring in her when she looked in the left eye. “Peculiar,” she said, and she looked at the two men. She felt some revulsion looking at them, though she did not know why. The boy’s skin was so warm that it almost burned her fingers as she touched him. She glanced at his trousers and made note of how full they looked, and she blushed. “Has Morgan been informed?”

“Nay, miss,” said Kristoff. “We ain’t been back to the captain, either.”

“Were there any other bodies?”

“We did a search,” said the first man, Hanklin. “We didn’t found no one else out there, though.”

Samantha nodded. “Then you should go back to Charlie and tell him what you found. I’m sure he’ll send you or someone to tell Morgan afterward if not go himself.”

“Right, ma’am,” they said, and then began stumbling toward the exit. Kristoff stopped in the doorway and asked, “Will the lad be alright?”

Samantha gave the poor, grubby man a smile. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, though this malady hardly seems physical.” She caressed the young man’s cheek softly and felt the electric tingle of arousal in her loins again. She checked his crotch again and moistened. “Perhaps a visit from Priestess Gehhilfe might be in order.”

The city of Weststadt is a small border city built along the western border of the Republic of Weiss. It serves as a small hunting village along the wildlands, where few people dare to tread for fear of elven retribution. The people who live there are hearty survivalists prepared for the worst of news at all times.

They are led by an elected mayor of the city: a short, stout woman named Morgan Taylor. Morgan was married and two children, but she thought of the entire town as her children. She was a pretty woman with brown hair, dark eyes and a big heart, but she allowed no nonsense or trouble in her city and everyone knew that a visit from her always meant business.

Though Weststadt was small, it did have a chapel to the Seven built within city limits. A small chapel such as that would not have an official miracle working cleric of the Seven who could heal this poor individual, but it would have a priestess who could invoke the Seven’s name and, alongside it, hopefully their protection.

That saw three people visiting the Samantha and the young man before night even came. First to arrive was Morgan, who brought with her Misha Bucher, the town librarian and her personal assistant. They arrived shortly after Samantha sent the two town guards away and just before she had convinced herself to examine the bewitching shape beneath his pants.

“Samantha,” called Morgan as she entered, and Samantha met her in the front of the building pink cheeks and a bright smile. Morgan could tell something was off about the woman, but she did not know what. “We were told that you need to see us?”

“Yes. Come with me,” said Samantha, and she led Morgan and Misha back into the room to see the boy.

“Who is he,” asked Morgan. Her boots clicked as she paced around the bed and examined him. The boy smelled strongly of cinnamon and sweat, and she found herself flushed in his presence. Misha had the wherewithal to wait by the door.

“A stranger,” said Samantha. “A merchant told the town guard about him as he passed through, and when Thompson sent them to investigate, they found him alone and unconscious.”

Morgan looked at Samantha. “Will he make it? Are there any notable injuries?”

“Aside from potential burst blood vessels in his left eye, no. No fever and a strong pulse. I do not think whatever plagues him is a physical affliction,” she said, though he seemed to be afflicted with a considerable penis that needed attendance to, but she didn’t say that. “The malady may be more…sinister.”

Morgan and Misha traded glances. “We had been told that Kia was sent for, too.”

“Yes,” said Samantha lightly. “Hopefully, she can help the young lord in ways that I cannot.”

Morgan regarded the sleeping man critically. He appeared to be barely into adulthood. His features were soft, almost feminine, and his body was slight. Something about him felt wrong, though. She could feel a sinister aura about him. “Misha, perhaps we should reach out to the church in the capital after Ms. Kia has examined him.”

Misha made note of that on the parchment she carried. Like Morgan, she could feel something wrong in the room, though she hardly understood what it was. Misha was a chaste woman and had little thoughts to feelings of sex. She had never so much as masturbated in her entire life.

“Samantha, we’ll leave him to your care.”

Samantha almost asked them to stay for protection from the lust that was gripping her, but looking upon his sleeping form calmed her. She was still horny, but she could not imagine this young man to be any sort of threat to her. She smiled at the two. “I understand.”

It was not long before the priestess, Kia, arrived. Kia was a dark-skinned woman with a wild bush of curly black hair that bounced as she walked. She was tall and womanly, with wide-hips and thick, shapely thighs. Her priestess gown of cream and gold hung from her body and hugged her slender waist and pert breasts. She examined the young man critically and, if she felt the same stabbing arousal that Samantha did, she did not show it. She did agree with Samantha that his malady was internal and cursed, and she said as much as she stood away from the bed.

“We will need the hands of a cleric, and we will need it fast,” said Kia as she looked at Samantha. “Whatever it is that has afflicted this poor lad may yet still be beside the road and may come to the city. It is in our best interest to reach out as soon as possible and see that he and the source of this curse are taken care of immediately.”

“I agree completely,” said Samantha quietly, and she did, but she didn’t feel qualified to make the decision.

Kia gave one more withering look at the sleeping boy and scowled. “Be careful as you attend to him. There is something…terrifying inside of him. I swear it.”

“I will keep the Star close to my heart,” said Samantha, and she held up the octagram star up to show the priestess. Though there were seven angels of the church, they served the church and their god, who was at the head of the eight-point star.

Kia grew gentle as she regarded the star. “It is good that he has someone of such conviction and faith watching him,” she said. “I must be away and visit Morgan soon if we are to send word by tonight, and we should.” She looked at the boy again. “Haste is required.”

“May the Seven watch over you.”

“And you,” said Kia, and she left the clinic.

Alone with the boy, Samantha grew timid and horny again. She wrung her dress. Her husband and children would be waiting at home, but she would need to check on the boy in the night. She felt him for fever again and gave a single glance at his bulging pants. “He must be in pain,” she whispered to herself, and she thought to feel him through his pants but decided against it. Even if it was just to check on his condition, it was a betrayal of her oaths to her husband.

Samantha left him after that and would return to check him before rest that night. She returned home to her husband and children and prepared them a meal. They ate, and she spoke with her husband about the boy and his condition. She told him that she would return in the night to check on him, and he asked if it was necessary.

“I just want to make sure,” she said.  “I am unused to attending to such sickness. I may not be able to expunge whatever is ailing him, but I can attend to his body’s needs while he waits for a Cleric.”

Her husband stood and embraced her. “You are a good woman, Samantha.” She smiled and kissed him deeply and with urgency. He kissed her back and then stopped her. “Dear, what has gotten into you? You seem almost…lascivious.”

“I…apologize.” She gave him a timid smile. “You’re just so kind…”

Her husband smiled at the lie she told, and inside she was torn apart by it. The truth was that she was still thinking of her patient at rest with his bulging pants calling to her. She kissed her husband with arousal that was kindled by another. Her husband was kind, and he was deserving of a better wife than her. Even still, she burned for the boy in her clinic.

That night when she left, she was still moist for him, and when she returned, she found that he had broken out into what appeared to be a cold sweat. His skin was sticky and clammy, and the smell of his was strangely and uniquely pungent. The fire in her loins swelled as she breathed him in. “You will need bathed before I rest, I think.”

Samantha brought him cool water and wetted a rag. She moved to wipe him but stopped. His smell was powerful and burning. It made her feel light-headed and needy, and the kiss she had stolen from her husband earlier had done nothing to abate her desires. She eyed his bulge and swore that it had grown even larger.

“I shouldn’t,” she whispered, and she bit her lip. Samantha dropped the rag back into the basin of water and pulled her chair closer to the bed. She smelled him again and felt her nostrils burn with his scent. Slowly, she ran her hand down his slender body with a growing urgency in her body. She was shaking, but she did not understand why. “Perhaps you need me,” she said, and she reached into his trousers and felt his rigid flesh for the first time.

“By the seven,” she gasped, and she held him by his root. He was longer and thicker than she had expected, but the most impressive part of him was how hard and hot he was. His dick was hotter than an open flame, and when she pulled his trousers down to see him, she gaped at his size and the shiny red of his flesh. “What devilry is this,” she gasped, but she stroked him from crown to root with an animal urgency.

Samantha looked at his young face and sighed. The fear and guilt she felt in holding him melted away as she stroked him, and she leaned over him and breathed him in again. In fact, she lifted his shirt to smell his smooth flesh and even put her nose to his armpit, too. Each breathe she took made her hornier for him, and soon she was kissing his slender chest and belly as she stroked him. “You poor thing. You’re so hard. You must need this so badly!”

His dick was blazing in her hand and it was so thick her fingers could not meet around him. Logically, she knew that the effort should make her arm tired, but she felt no fatigue with his boy. She sat up and stared him in his closed eyes, and she smiled. “I cannot take away the curse that makes you sleep, but I can ease this suffering for you. This…” She eyed his enormous dick and smiled. “This thing, I can heal.”

“Kiss me,” she heard, but the voice was soundless. She looked at him, but he was still asleep. When she looked at his lips, however, she found their color fetching. She bit her bottom lip and whispered, “I shouldn’t.” Then, she kissed him anyway, and she felt the fire in her loins spread throughout her in climax.

Samantha moaned against him and soon dug her tongue into his mouth. She tasted him and found that he tasted like spice and fire. The orgasm she had did not abate and swelled and stretched for as long as she held him and stroked him, and it wasn’t until she had brought him to climax that she found release from it. She was still coming as she came, and she drank greedily of his sleeping, open mouth as he erupted in her hand.

His orgasm was as great as his tool, and she felt grateful afterward that she had brought a basin in. Though the water had gone tepid, she used it to wipe his body clean and carefully avoided the thick, sticky semen he has expelled. It smelled strongly like he did, and she did sniff the rag afterward and was aware of the almost otherworldly residual heat that permeated his essence.

When finished, she tucked him back away and on her way out checked on him from the doorway. She swore that his left eye was open and watching her, but when she had blinked both eyes were closed. She lingered and then whispered, “My name is Samantha Hartzin, my lord. I am the healer of Weststadt, and though I cannot take away your sickness, I can do this for you again if it please you.” She blushed and blew him a kiss from the door, and then she left.