The hero was done.
Another battle, and more blood stained his hands. His form sank to his knees amongst the fallow field, now soaked with gore. Angular and broad shoulders beneath the chain armor and tunic he wore as he fell forward and ducked his head in fatigued relief. Soot, mud, and blood streaked his stoic face, void of the courageous zeal that had overcome him during the heat of conflict. Now replaced by the serene countenance of contemplation. He begged quiet forgiveness to the spirits and asked that his spirit be washed away of the blood that had yet to dry upon blade and body.
All of this, for what? They took petty pleasures in cruelty and depravity. These creatures, as much beast as man, who had lost their way and gave themselves to temptation and gratification. They spoke of a great goddess, venerating her in full belief of the despicable lies.
It was a blight. A corruption to be snuffed out.
The knight knew there was no such new goddess, only those that blessed their marks upon his sword and soul were true. However, he fully expected to find the source of such twisted lies, whatever beast it was that tricked these shepherdess fools into worshipping it as a god, and ensure that no such taint walked these lands any longer. Indeed, even the valley itself had become warped, slowly shifting under the sway of such otherworldly corruption.
So, he pushed himself to his feet and adjusted the weight of his shield on his arm. Gloved fingers once again curled around the hilt of his sword, and he grimly walked up the wide steps before him to an upper sanctum, old as the lands and long forgotten.
As he climbed, the battlefield had settled into an eerie silence, accepting the blood that had been spilled over its virgin terrain as sacrifice. Not even a bird found the courage to chirp or a bug dared to take flight lest it disturb the man's conviction.
A conviction he would surely need, for he was being watched by the source of this evil. She would not disturb him, either; instead, take the time to study her quarry while deciding upon which course of punishment to pursue. A punishment for the tax he had brought. Bringing these monsters to heel had been no easy feet of magic and guile. It drained the source of her power, and now she needed to refill it.
Primal power radiated from the hero like a sister sun to the pulsing star in the sky. Holiness and honesty enveloped his spirit like the churning of a waterfall's base, and although it was atrocious to her, it was also painfully tempting. Enough sanctity abided in this single man to reimburse her if done correctly. Every dip she could cause his mind to take into the wealth of vile thoughts would pour forth a cauldron of power for the sorceress. Every single abominable act she could get him to participate in would return tenfold back to her. He alone could be worth an entire worshipping cult if he could be persuaded to abandon his saint-like behavior, his kingdom, his virtue--and she was up for the challenge.
Synna gathered herself in shadowstuff, and conjured it before him at the far side of the sanctum ruins. She approached him, taking her time to step across the broken earth with hips subtly swaying in a seductive allure. Long leg bare, the other draped under dark purple skirts that twitch enticingly along behind her. With an animalistic need in her eyes that pierced out through a domino mask fringed with features. They did not waver from his handsome face.
Her presence tickled the fine hairs along the nape of the hero's neck. Nostrils flared momentarily at the sensation of otherworldly danger.
He adjusted to this new threat before him -- clearly feminine. Almost all of the heavy, heavy bosom was exposed as the molded top plunged to her navel, revealing more than it hid.
The Hero lifted his sword to point the tip toward her in silent warning. His athletic trimness suggested a speed in battle. A sheen of perspiration caused the hero's fair sun-kissed features to glisten, and down to the hollow of his throat. Eyes befell the approaching demoness. Doing his best to shut away the allure of her physical form, he focused on the foulness of her spirit.
Intensely purple eyes met his, while feathers bounced around her masked face in rich iridescent plumes of onyx and red. Her outfit was such a mixed style that gave a carefree touch to her flawless body suggesting a personality of acute, yet careless advances.
Synna watched him shift to a defensive stance. Even as she picked her way around a fallen worshiper who had blood seeping out of his chest and mouth, she could imagine the body his slayer possessed underneath his plated guard. His height was pleasing and the lean build of his muscles were desirable. And though The Hero barred-up his own mind from her magics and focused upon eye-contact, she was indefinitely aware of her own lustful feelings.
A wily smile pulled upon her lips, glistening red as they were. He was so confident in his commitment that it amused her.
"Have you not taken enough blood this day, my Knight?" Her own voice carried him in a hot magnetism, charming his mind back into her weapon. "I could be mistaken but I do recall you knocking on my door, provoking me to come forth by killing my children. Is this how you treat all of your invited guests?"
Synna continued to advance; now just yards away, and each step of a metal-shod heel of luxuriant design bringing her closer to that blade, and making the threat of her that much smaller. She seemed so vulnerable in her exposed perfection. The primal power she possessed was masked behind her carnally-hungered eyes. One would wonder how clean a sword would cut through unclothed flesh.
The Hero's sword threw the light of the fading sun in wild, curving arcs off its polished, blood-stained blade. He knew she would slink ever-closer, until her hot, lissome form pressed to his. Thus, the tip of his sword was leveled at her solar plexus, just south of the deep, provocative cleavage of her unabashedly displayed breasts... a mere moment lingered, but quickly he reaffirmed himself and grit his teeth, eyes lifting back towards her own. What little of her face he could see beneath the mask was achingly beautiful.
But, she was no guest of his. She was unclean, and unholy. Yet, his blade paused. Perhaps to allow for redemption? In truth, he did not know why he provided her anything but the quickest of deaths, it was as though he was compelled to.
The raised sword stopped Synna in her tracks instantly within mere breaths of poking into her defenseless flesh. Her chin dipped downwards and she looked at the weapon's point poised between the drifts of her breasts. The eyes of the noble knight also paused in this spot--and for a second, she almost believed she had caught him in a wayward thought, though the seed was quickly averted.
The palm of her right hand rose to the side of her right breast where she pressed against it, pushing the sinuous mound into a fuller knoll. Slowly she mauled it by rubbing her hand across. The breast smashed against her chest in a provocative way until her thumb reached all the way to the tip of his sword and depressed upon its point.
"This is really unnecessary." Gently, in a suggestive demeanor, her thumb rolled to the indirect flat of the sword's point and compelled the weapon away; slowly pushing it to the side so that it would not hinder her path.
With this, Synna stepped within swinging range of his sword; bypassing its point as if it was nothing but a meager bump in the road. Closer now, The Hero could see how her eyes were more purple than black, but in them were a dazzling array of glittering rubies. They smiled into his own colors watching him closely, acting like a feline cat that wanted to rub up against his leg for self-gratification. He would notice that her right hand had found its way to the hilt of his weapon where she covered his grip like a lover that comforted another. Also her own slight drop of dark blood, wounded by pricking her thumb upon the sword's tip, smeared across the back of his hand. Caressingly she rubbed it in, while leaning forward so that she could smell the mix of his sweaty and salty aroma. Lovingly, she purred: "Despite what you have heard, I can be a delicate creature. I am also a lonely creature...and crave nothing but your company."
The touch brought a flash of inspiration to him; whispered words of warning in remembrance. He willed the blade to thrust forward and pierce the devious sorceress's heart. Yet, the muscles in his toned arm refused to act. Brows furrowed beneath the sheen of perspiration and bloodstains as he focused on it. However, all he could manage was to bring the sword back around, lifting it slightly as she pushed it aside, so that the sharp razor edge of the blade hovered beside her neck, just and above the curve of that ornate feathered epaulette that curled like claws upward. He wanted so desperately to make it slice it through the feathers and drive into the slender column of her pale neck, so sensual and milky smooth. So desperately he wanted to kiss the creamy expanse of skin there to taste it...
The Hero shook himself and growled at the feel of her intimate touch on his hand, leaving its little stain of blood unnoticed by him. Suddenly he was reeling back, turning away from her and taking two quick steps. He could not fight her face-to-face. Her countenance was too awe-inspiring; infernal and corrupting. He knew this, but he could turn his back upon her yet.
As he sprang backwards from her, Synna did not try to stop him. Instead, a frivolous smile curved into the lips of rosy moisture. He was a hard one to ensorcell. By now she would have had many a man on their knees, keening to slurp up whatever she offered.
The Hero, however, was desperate to think of defenses still to be had. In one fluid motion he was sheathing his sword while simultaneously reaching for the bow on his back. An arrow would do it. He could hit her squarely with his eyes closed. He wouldn't even have to look at the bountiful curves that seemed to sing invitingly to him.
Synna gave him the sweetest of all smiles, devoid of all violence. "My dear, can we not set aside our differences for just a moment in time?" She tilted her head and pulled up her shoulder, it brought her bare hip forward, showing off the rich indigo tattoos that covered the length of her flawless leg.
And then all at once, Synna was upon him again; confident and intent upon her goal. She would close the distance between them once again with lovely thoughts hinged upon her masochistic mind. She wanted to take him into the depths of her palace and turn him into her sexual slave. She couldn't wait to chain him and whip him in unreserved passions. Already she could imagine how his voice would sound when she finally broke it, pleading for mercy and worshiping her demonic body. She would cherish every moment breaking him into pieces and helping him find his rightful place on his knees at her feet.
Synna was suddenly there before him -- revealing the truth that the sword had never been a threat-- even as The Hero knocked the arrow. Gently, her hand landed on his tabard and trailed up to his shoulder where fingertips rested just inches from his neck where muscles were tensed most deliciously. She stepped to his side and began to walk a circle around him using her hand upon his shoulder as the point of pivot.
