The scent of her alone is maddening. So many have tried to defeat her, haven’t they? You can only tell by the numerous piles of clothes left by those before as you wander deeper into the forest. The faint sounds of gasps and groans were what lead you to her at first, then the slowly growing trail of cloth, but once the smell hits you there is no need for guidance.
The sight is enough to stun, instinct being all that guides each step. She sits on what can only be described as a throne of bodies, nude and squirming beneath her. There are sinners of every kind: Viis, Mystel, Drahn, Elves--even Humes scattered the floor before her. Many were spent, dazed smiles on their faces as their skin glistened and shown, paling in their slow transformations into Sin Eaters. The last drop of sanity tells you to run. That you must flee and never look back.
But then….she smiles at you.
Once known as Valdís Fyth by the forest and Lorelei by the city, Salacity had been a Dragoon well worth her salt. Her lance was said to pierce any beast’s armor, yet what most recalled of the Warrior was her eyes--no, her smile.
Name and deeds long forgotten, all that remains is the lance now enveloped in the light of the very Warden she’d slain and the smile. The smile which once fueled the flames of Hope instead lured would-be-heroes to her servitude, her ever-growing desires unsated without the touch of the one she truly hungered for. The one for whom she achieved a form with which she could truly appease any desire imagined.
Perhaps, however, you could help quell that fire...for a time.
Relationship: Reader x Lightwarden OC (Forgiven Salacity)
Rating: Mature
Summary: To be an adventuring Sinner was a dream so many had, and when rumors of a new Lightwarden converting people in droves started to surface many tried to steal the glory by culling its army. You simply wanted a taste of that glory, was that so wrong?
Notes: Contains the following: Suggested orgy, scent-based hypnotism, unspecified Reader
You had wanted to make something of yourself.
War and glory weren't meant for everyone, no, but it paid damn well. There was a nest growing in the forests of Rat'Taki, and all it would take was some quick culling of Sin Eaters for the payday you needed. Wasn't that what any sinner wanted? To make it in this world?
Aye, but you should have turned when you heard the cries. They had been not been of suffering, but of something more primal. They started loud, unhinged screams tapering off into whimpers and murmurs you couldn't hope to make out at such a distance. There had been rumors of this Warden; that it played. Once, someone knew its name, a skilled Sinner who wielded a lance. Those days long passed, and you couldn't bring yourself to care. What matter was the name of a fallen warrior?
Ah, you should have taken more care when entering the nest. You had long passed the first of the discarded clothes and armor before noticing. It had been a gauntlet that you tripped over, landing hard on the ground. How had you not noticed? Had the sounds truly taken so much of your attention?
They were louder now. It was growing ever more clear what the sounds were. You neck flushed, face hot as the voices of the warden's captives came into focus.
Moans. They cried out in utter passion, grunts hidden by the echoing sound of skin colliding. You doubted your own ears: surely the Lightwarden that overtook the area wasn't….
The final grunt and cry confirmed it, and oh how much more deafening it was this time around. There was a final slap of skin, the voice choking.
"M….Muh….My….Lady!" The victim cried, and finally, you realized you had been walking all this while. When had you stood? Brushed the dirt from your knees and hands? No memory surfaced, your head spinning.
What was that smell?
It was primal, dripping with a sweetness that you'd only encountered wafting from behind the curtains of the Beehive in Eulmore. Heat flipped over in your abdomen, lungs full as you breathed in deep. The scent was warm, spinning in your head thickly as your jaw slacked. You could taste it, the sugar of the air tingling on your tongue. Somehow, your mouth didn't feel dry. Instead, you unconsciously felt the small drip of drool that poured over your lower lip.
Oh this was bad.
So much about it screeched danger, and yet forward you walked. The warmth was in your chest now, breath heavy and clothes suffocating.
You were suffocating.
Your gloves and helm were discarded first, fingers fumbling through their escape. They needed to be gone if you were to free your torso, skin burning under the fabric. Buttons and buckles be damned, you tore away at the assaulting armor until the air touched every inch of skin above your waist, knees digging into the dirt as relief danced just out of reach.
Oh, wicked white, you should have run right then.
You should have turned heel, fleeing with what little dignity remained beneath your bare chest. Each clumsy brush of your own fingers against your skin had sent your senses wailing through the heat. Yet still, you felt the skin, as of to assure yourself that yes, yes, that cursed chest plate was gone.
You must have looked mad.
Hips, still imprisoned by small clothes and pants alike, rutted uselessly in the air. The very motion brought relief as your hands-- they were your hands, were they not?-- slid down your throat, following each curve and slip of skin down, down to the waistband of your pants. It helped even to just tug, pulling down the fabric so your sex was met with the sweet air.
Gods, you fool. Rationality whispered. Run! Run! What awaits cannot be worth this burning.
Still, you crawled. You paid no mind to the bodies around you, not even when one--a female mystel--tugged off your right boot. Instead, you whimpered, your newly freed toes curling at the feeling. The left boot had been lost somewhere, mind unable to search for where it had been left. Could it have been as long ago as when you tripped? You only knew it to be one less hindrance discarded.
Others watched you, though you did not watch them. Many were no better than you, though movement seemed long forgotten to them. Those who laid placid wore smiles. Their eyes saw naught, vision glazed as they simply breathed and felt. Some curled into each other, small cries and whimpers as their bodies ground together lazily. Each of them held a hint of that smell you followed, their naked forms slick with sweat and more. Those who watched did so with hunger, knowing well what you did not as your pants finally slipped past your knees and you stumbled. An elf and drahn tugged them the final few inches over your ankles as you dragged yourself to stand once more.
It was then you felt a single moment of clarity, body free at last of the clothing and armor you'd worn, and yet still your skin burned.
In that single moment, you saw Her.
She sat, gaze soft as she watched a Male Mystel fall back from her uselessly, his body still pulsing and rocking with his orgasm. His skin, and the skin of so many others, was pale. Impossibly white. Yet She…. She was not.
She wore gold, glittering in what little sunlight that broke through the thick treetops overhead. Just where was this? How far had that trail you traveled been? The answers didn't matter, yet those questions were all you could think that was not consumed by Her.
Her skin shone in the sea of white, tan and sunkissed and smooth, the golden jewelry around her wrists gliding freely as She lifted a single hand to brush back Her hair. Beside her was a lance, glowing bright and formed out of pure light. She was a Viis, you notice, Her large ears flicking as you took another step.
Oh Gods, She heard you.
And for a moment, once more, your mind screamed through the fog.
Run. Run! Think not of the heat! Of the itch of your skin! Forget the rise of Her breasts as she breathes, the vibrant red that decorates Her lips! Do not meet Her gaze! Do not breathe Her air! Run! Run! RUN!
And for that single moment of clarity, you did stop. Aye, you fought. You resisted despite your complete lust, and for a single pathetic moment, you did look on at Her throne of lovers with disgust.
