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.
