Crimson Clockwork Pt 01 03

Author's Note: As a change of pace for myself, I wanted to break away from the more standard fantasy settings I used for my other submissions. I wanted to try my hand at something a bit different, along the lines of a steampunk/magitech setting, rather than the usual medieval fantasy fare. Touchstones for this setting include things like Eberron, Netflix's Arcane series, and the Dishonored games.

This story is complete, but I've split it into three parts for ease of reading. All three entries will be submitted within a month of this first submission, so you won't have to wait long for the complete story. This first chapter is relatively heavy on the sex, but sets the stage for further intrigue. Future installments will feature plenty of sex, but will have a larger focus on the mystery and the adventure.

I hope you enjoy!

**

My automaton guardians clattered and whirred as they followed me up the narrow dirt path. Before us loomed the abandoned manor: a sprawling, half-crumbled echo of its former grandeur. I took a deep breath and glanced over my shoulder, past the skeletal chrome frames of my bodyguards.

Rising against the horizon was the gleaming, teeming city of Raveth.

Great towers stretched high into the night sky, their silvery walls gleaming with runes. Tendrils of gondola cables dangled between the spires. Sprawling slums stretched out within the shadows of the great towers, the hovels illuminated by the glow of overhead skyship engines and rune-tech lampposts.

The echoes of the city roared out across the countryside. The whirring of skyship drives, the hum of rune-tech generators, the clattering of automated gondolas, and the shrieks of the justicars' sirens.

A horrible, wondrous cacophony.

I glanced away from my home city and regarded the ruined manor once again.

Three cowled figures in red robes stood at the gates, flanked by a half dozen automatons of an older and less advanced model than my escorts.

It seemed the Circle of the Crimson Night had spent all of its funds on incense and creepy robes, leaving little money to purchase top-of-the-line guardians. Even those older models could easily shred the strongest of warriors, of course. Between those automatons and my own escort, I was certain I'd be safe if anything amiss occurred that evening.

I approached with slow and careful steps. Ethereal red light wafted from a lantern dangling above the rusted gate, barely illuminating the cultists' dark red masks. Crimson mist leaked from a censer held by one of the cultists, filling my nose with a wondrously sweet scent.

"Who dares to bask in the echoes of the dead gods?" the cultists rasped as one.

Though the night was quite warm, I shivered and wrapped my cloak a bit more tightly around myself.

I took a deep breath, having recited the appropriate lines a dozen times ever since making the arrangements for this rite.

"Lyneth Vaspar," she said. "A daughter of the city of Raveth. A woman of twenty-three winters. I seek to embrace the Rite of the Last Dusk, as my ancestors once did."

Despite the formal words, deep down I believed none of it. It was all just a game, an illicit little thrill to pursue while I was still young and free. It was easy to pretend, though, for the sake of pageantry and lust.

"Twenty-three winters," a cultist said. "Before the hubris of men brought down the heavens, there were twenty-three gods. You honor their memory by undertaking the Rite at this age."

"In accordance with custom, we have selected twenty-three other supplicants," said a second robed priest. "Nameless and shadowy, one and all. All of them follow the Crimson Night or have partaken in other Rites. Our Circle has already sworn them to discretion. They await you within."

I took a deep breath.

Twenty-three.

Given what I'd heard of this Rite, not every attendee would participate in it. Some had come just to bear witness to the ritualized debauchery while others were there to pursue their own affairs and dalliances.

One cultist handed me a vial of glowing purple liquid.

"To ward off complications," he said.

I was already on an alchemical regimen of my own to ward off such 'complications,' but I downed the vial nonetheless, shuddering at the bitter taste.

Another cultist handed me a small silken pouch, filled with red feathers.

"No one within may touch you until you grant them the gift of a red feather. They may bear witness, they may beg, they may leer...but they may not touch you until you grant them that honor."

I wriggled underneath my cloak at the thought of having such power. By the dead gods, what a thrill it would be to tempt and tease for the entire evening, driving them all mad, never granting the gift of a red feather...

"If you are ready, we will escort you inside."

I reached under my cloak and withdrew a sleek, feathery mask adorned with purple feathers. I shivered as I settled it upon my face and adjusted the straps.

From what I had heard from my older friends who had participated, some supplicants donned a more complete disguise, but I wanted to leave my mouth unencumbered and uncovered so I could enjoy the proceedings to the fullest extent. I licked my lips as my trembling fingers toyed with the clasps of my cloak.

"Do you swear to give your body and lusts in honor of the dead gods? Do you swear to embrace an eruption of lust and liberation?"

After a quick glance back at the city, I took a deep breath. This was it. My last chance.

My parents had set aside partial ownership of the family business for me to take control of when I turned twenty-five. Thus in two short years, I'd have to abandon all chance at frivolity, and would have to forego all opportunity for wicked games such as that Rite. The family fortune would be my sole concern, with no space left for this sort of debauchery.

It was time for 'one last eruption of lust and liberation,' as the priests had put it.

"I so swear."

They parted before me.

After one last deep breath, I stepped past the priests and into the courtyard, which was empty save for a few more masked priests bearing alchemical torches.

I pushed through the battered wooden doors and into the main foyer of the manor. Upon a balcony, a few bards played their lutes and drums, singing about a princess frolicking with a forest spirit.

One of my favorites, in fact. That bard, whoever he was, clearly knew my tastes.

Perhaps I'd have a chance to reward him later in the evening.

Scattered about the half-decayed manor were twenty-three men and women. All were masked, some with feathered disguises akin to my own, others in elaborate cowls that obscured their entire faces. Some still wore their cloaks and robes, while others had stripped down to comfortable loungewear. A handful were already naked, sprawled out upon couches or relaxing upon cushions on the ground.

A few had even undertaken a premature start to the festivities. In the corner, a young woman knelt before a man wearing a fox-like mask, her head bobbing up and down. Upon one of the couches, two young men passed a woman back and forth between them, hungrily licking at her sex.

Masked priests stood on other balconies or in the corners of the room, waving censers and casting red mist through the room.

The room fell silent save for the soft groans and moans.

The young woman lifted her head up from her lover's stiff cock, her eyes flashing with surprise through the slits of her feathered mask.

"No need to halt on my account, darling!" I called out with a cheery wave, earning a bout of laughter from the guests.

As I sauntered towards the middle of the room, I took stock of the would-be offerings. The growing mist of red incense made it a bit hard to assess every single supplicant, but I licked my lips nonetheless. All of them looked to be relatively young, with none older than forty if I had to wager. All of them were attractive in one way or another, though the offerings were quite diverse. A hungry-eyed plump young woman, a wiry man with a prominent scar on his neck, a broad-shouldered fellow in a wolf-like mask, a thick-set fellow with an impressive bulge in his silken trousers...

And so many more. Twenty-three supplicants, all devoted to my desires on that night.

Thanks to the influence of the Crimson Night within the upper crust of Raveth society, there were quite possibly people I knew in attendance. The children of nobles and other city councilors, entrepreneurs, inventors, skyship captains...

My eager, nervous eyes flitted across the crowd. Given the masks and the haze of red mist, I failed to see anyone I recognized.

That was probably for the best.

As the eyes of my supplicants settled upon me, I sauntered across the room, occasionally brushing a red feather over the cheeks and necks of my would-be lovers. Not once, however, did I hand over one of those scarlet gifts.

One daring man in an owl-shaped mask even reached out, his fingers coming to within an inch of my robe. I chided him with a little tap of a feather upon his nose and swept on past.

After making my way up the rickety staircase to the balcony, I tapped the bard on the shoulder and he ceased his song. Beaming, I braced my shaking hands against the railing and swept my hungry gaze over the other supplicants.

I undid the first clasp of my robe, earning a few whistles from the crowd.

"Before I accept your offerings...I should like to bear witness for a time. Enjoy yourselves, my friends. Frolic and fuck in my name! Fill this wretched old manor with your screams and moans! Let your lust rise and entwine with the holy incense! Prove yourselves worthy of my touch!"

With that, I tore off the last few clasps of my robe, exposing the skimpy, silken outfit I'd kept hidden during the long journey to the manor. Had I donned that particular garment in public, it would have unleashed a damned riot.

The fine, sheer silk blended in with my pale skin, and contrasted nicely with my raven-black hair. An amethyst-studded choker clung to my neck, and matching anklets adorned my feet. At the suggestion of a friend who had attended such Rites before, the gem had been chosen to align with my dark blue eyes.

The manor trembled beneath the explosive cheers from the revelers. They immediately fell upon one another, tearing off their clothes. Those who had been frolicking prior to my command went back to work, tasting and teasing.

For a few moments I simply reveled in the display, elated at the power I had over them, at the sight of writhing bodies and the sounds of rising moans.

The bards immediately set into a wild and raunchy tune, and I continued to gaze like a conquering queen over my subjects.

As the red mist spread from the censers, a sharp cry tore through the haze of moans and whimpers. Splayed out upon a couch in the center of the room was a plump young woman wearing a frilly, feathery dress and a mask shaped like a swan.

A man in a black doublet and leggings knelt between her legs, tonguing fiercely at her sex. A black-feathered leather mask covered the upper half of his face, and a raised cowl obscured his hair.

Whoever he was, the man had a damned talented tongue. His chosen lover wailed and sobbed, thrashing her wild curls from side to side. As her head thudded back against the couch, her chest heaving with the agony inflicted by that climax, two more women stepped forward, clearly aiming to take advantage of the masked man's skill.

A squabble looked about to break about before the masked man murmured something to the two eager women. Immediately they both splayed out beside each other on the couch, and the man alternated between them. Within minutes the pair were whimpering and giggling, clutching at each other's hands while the masked man worked.

Oh, I would most certainly have to pass a red feather to that one.

Even as those two young women writhed and moaned, other women stepped forward, forming a queue. I laughed and swept my gaze across the room, squinting due to the growing clouds of red mist, which further complicated my attempts to see if I could recognize anyone.

That was precisely the point, though. This wasn't about names or individuals. This was about

me

. My triumph. My celebration.

My hungry smile vanished at a curious sight in the far corner. Two men sat at a table, wearing black outfits and masks just like the man whose tongue was proving to be quite popular. They were the only people in the entire room not engaged in lovemaking or ogling the others.

Instead, they looked to be playing some sort of

game

. They moved little pieces back and forth across a circular gameboard, sipping on wine and not paying one bit of attention to the debauchery around them.

That was downright unacceptable as far as I was concerned. Affixing them with a glare, I swept down the staircase. Gentle hands reached out, coming within inches, though no one dared take hold of me fully.

I delayed at the couch in the middle of the room, just as the man in black leather ignited a screaming, sobbing orgasm from a buxom redhead. Licking my lips, I watched as his tongue lapped firmly at her clit, and I nearly groaned at the sight of sweat rolling down the woman's luscious breasts.

For the moment I forgot about those two impudent men in the corner and slowly approached the redhead. Smiling, I brushed my fingers through her hair, cradling her as she sobbed and whimpered through the aftershocks.

"You can have my place in the queue, my lady," whispered a delicate blonde woman standing next to the couch.

"Nonsense," I purred.

As the redhead rose on shaky legs and the blonde took her place, I gazed down at the man with that skilled tongue. He had a slender, athletic build, with a strong jawline and a faint hint of stubble. Bright green eyes regarded me through the small slits in his mask. The dew of his lovers dripped down his chin, which he made no effort to clean up.

"When you find a break in your busy schedule, sir, I would like the honor of experiencing that tongue of yours," I purred, placing a red feather upon his shoulder.

Without a word, he collected the red feather, gave it a little kiss, then nodded and tucked it into his collar. With a laugh, I brushed past him and strutted over to those two men in the corner.

Neither of them looked up from their game, which seemed to be a contest of wits and strategy, with little figurines of varying colors.

Given that their black leather outfits and masks matched that of the man with the skilled tongue, I suspected they were all comrades or close friends.

One of the game-players had a lean and wiry build, which reminded me of the sailors in the city's navy. His skin was tanned and a bit weathered, though he was clean-shaven. Dark grey eyes stared down at the game-board, not paying me even a passing glance. Short, dark red hair was just barely visible around the thick straps of his mask.

His comrade was a veritable brute: I wagered he'd had to stoop to get through the door of the manor. The tight fit of his outfit left little of his brawny frame to the imagination. His mask covered only the upper half of his face, exposing long, silvery-blonde locks. A few pieces of teeth and bone had been interwoven into those braids.

I blinked with surprise.

What was a mainlander doing at my Rite? While there were a few exiles and refugees from Sorthayl in service as mercenaries in the city, I was unaware of any prominent enough to secure an invitation from the priests to such an event.

My irritation entwined with my curiosity. With my hands on my hips, I cleared my throat.

Neither man glanced my way.

After another attempt failed to draw their interest, I scowled and reached down, snatching up one of the pieces.

Both men glanced up at me: the shorter man with apparent amusement in his gray eyes, and the mainlander brute with cold fire in his blue gaze.

"Those outfits and masks were surely quite expensive," I said, twirling the game piece between my delicate fingers. "Did you really pay all that coin to get all dressed up just to play a silly game?"

"There's nothing silly about it," the shorter man said, tapping the board. "This is called

lorkaa

. A game the emperors of old used to hone their wits and strategic skills."

"This is not a night for wits and strategic skills," I said.

"Oh, I think it is."

"Is this your strategy, then? Play coy, pretend to be aloof and above it all, hoping to garner my interest?"

If so, it had certainly worked.

"The patient hunter waits and does not exhaust his strength," said the bigger man. He waved his hand at the other supplicants. "Let them have their fun. We will reserve our energy for...what really matters."

The sound of his low, gruff voice made my thighs ache. Oh, how I wondered what he would sound like if he was trembling and weak...

"Show me how to play, then," I said, sliding into the mainlander's lap, squirming my rear against him.

The shorter man chuckled, and I beamed at the feel of the big man's hardening cock pressing against the fine leather of his trousers.

"You are at an orgy to honor the old ways. A ritual to embolden you for the path to come," said the shorter man. "And you want to play

lorkaa

."

"It is

my

evening. My celebration. My choice."

To further tease and taunt him, I withdrew a red feather and brushed it across his chin before yanking it away.

Even as the cries and moans continued to rage around us, the shorter man collected the pieces and summarized the basic rules. Each piece had a different rune inscribed upon it, indicating different rules and abilities for the game.

"Simply explaining the rules could go on all night," he said, grinning.

"Oh, take all the time you need. I am quite comfortable here," I said. Leaning my head over my shoulder, I gave the burly mainlander a pat on his cheek. "Aren't you?"

The only reply I received was a soft growl.

I looked forward to hearing more of those growls in a different context before too long.

My 'mentor' laughed and went back to the lesson, explaining the importance of each of the different colored squares. This was not how I had imagined my evening going, but there was a certain thrill to be found in casually disregarding the debauchery around me and allowing the anticipation to build.

Our lesson was soon interrupted by two amorous lovers who bumped into the table, jostling some of the pieces. The mainlander growled and shoved them away; they replied with a laugh and spun over towards a nearby pile of cushions.

As the lesson resumed, I removed a sandal and rested my foot within the other man's lap. He tensed in his chair, his words trailing off.

"A quick match, then," I said with a nod, confident that I'd learned enough to give it a go.

Not only was I keen to try out the rules, I was growing increasingly distracted by the rising cries of the woman pleased by that skilled stranger.

"Yes, yes, yes!" she wailed. "Gods' graves, right there, you beautiful bastard!"

Laughter and cheers drowned out her cries. Smirking, my opponent laid out the pieces and our game began.

I lost within four moves, overlooking a crucial rule regarding the movement of one of his pieces. In retaliation, I wriggled my toes within his lap, then rubbed the heel of my foot gently over his crotch. A triumphant smile splashed across my face as I felt his cock harden. His trembling hand dropped one of the pieces.

"Allow me," I purred, reaching out to take the pieces and array them for the next match.

As we dove into our next bout, I squirmed and wriggled my toes in his lap. My eyes fluttered each time I felt him squirm. The brute chuckled at my antics, though I silenced his amusement by wriggling in his lap again, rocking a little against his erection.