Acolyte of the Pleasure Goddess

Delyssa half-ran, half-stumbled through the overgrowth of the Emerald Bridge. Her skirt had torn some hours ago, and she held its remaining scraps wrapped around each hand to shield them from the thorns and thistles of the underbrush as she pushed her way through. The trail here was no real trail, a slick mud path less than an arm in width, that ever threatened to harry her in the unceasing rain, either by catching her foot in a hidden puddle or by slipping her feet out from under her as she ran. Thrice now she had fallen, and she was matted in a thick layer of shiny ochre mud that accumulated faster than the rain sloughed it away.

All around her, vines writhing like endless snakes taunted her. They had taken Bryn first. A prick along his arm, a stubborn thorn lodged in the fighter. Before Delyssa could heal the wound, Bryn grew sluggish and stripped himself of his clothes and armor. Whatever fever took hold of him was furious. He fell to the ground and the vines came, emerging from the jungle on either side and wrapped around his ankles, thighs and wrists, and he was pulled off along the trail, soon out of sight.

Delyssa now knew that the trail she was on was not the forgotten path of some local hunter that the scouts believed it to be, but was the path along which these strange vines pulled their victims to their source. She raced along it now, barefoot and soaking.

Cenhera had tried to avoid the vines as best as she could. The little tunling ducked beneath low-hanging tendrils that twitched and flexed towards her as she passed, cutting with her daggers what she could not avoid. In the end, it was a flower that snared her. She had strayed off the trail but a single pace, and trampled over a wide, low flower whose petals snapped up as her foot came down, grabbing her up to the thigh. Cenhera had slashed at the flower to free herself, but even this small obstacle gave a winding vine the chance to seize her small waist and lift her off her feet. Delyssa found Cenhera's clothes strewn about the path a hundred paces after she lost sight of her friend.

Now, she was alone in this terrible wilderness. Her wards appeared to be enough to fend off the vines, which snaked close to her but made no attempt to touch her skin -- Delyssa could think of no other explanation as to why they had not simply grabbed her like they did her companions.

She skidded to a halt along the muddy path. The trail dropped on a small precipice, no higher than she was tall. She glanced to either side, but between the sheets of rain and the untamed brush, the jungle that surrounded her seemed to be an impenetrable barrier. She glanced down the side of the drop. The path continued uninterrupted, but she dared not leap off, lest she injure herself on some hidden rock buried in the mud. She had to climb down. She tightened the scraps of cloth around her hands and lowered herself over the lip of the short cliff, searching it for footholds, and found it to be slimy but firm enough for her to put her weight upon. There were lichens and mosses that coated the undersides of the shelf-like rocks that lined the scarp, and these she tried to avoid as she began her descent. It was not a long climb down, though her fingers already began to hurt with the strain of gripping the rock through the downpour. As soon as her feet once more dipped into the warm mud and found solid purchase there, she let go of the cliff and spun around to continue her pursuit along the trail. She froze.

There was a flower before her, suspended at the tip of a long vine that slithered down from the high canopy. Its white petals curled outward and unfolded, and before Delyssa could react it coughed out a hazy puff of pollen, and the vine and its flower receded back into the treetops. Delyssa stumbled forward, her arms crooked around her face to shield herself, but it was too late. Her eyes stung, and for a moment she had an overwhelming urge to sneeze that quickly subsided, but left a heady pressure in its absence.

She ran on. Whatever creature that lay ahead, this thing that directed this unending mass of vines of plants, it had taken her friends from right before her. It must have taken Vael as well.

It was getting hotter, even though the rain had increased its drumbeat upon the Bridge, even though the air from the Riversea blew sharply up from the south. In fact, she could feel the battering of the rain precisely upon her skin. Each impact of the raindrops felt accentuated, an overwhelming sensation that she only gradually began to be aware of but could soon consider nothing else. Then too she realized how clear she felt the mud over her skin, splashing and shifting between her toes, coating her thighs and breasts and yes, between her legs where its cool texture met with her hot lips, her own moisture sticking to it. Yet still she ran, even though each step was an agony of sensation. The flower's perfume hung in her nostrils, and she could not escape breathing it in, and the more she did so the greater this acuteness of sensation enveloped her.

Her nipples grew hard, dark piercings through the ochre mud that caked her breasts. The golden sheen of the Wings of Amity was unaffected by the mud, which could not find purchase on the metal bands. Her hair, matted and drenched, swept across her shoulders and back with each step, and each brush of it against her skin was as demanding of her focus as the lash of a whip, though that lance of agony was of aching pleasure rather than stinging pain.

She was panting now, as much from the exhaustion of her pursuit as the distraction of her own body. The air felt thick in her throat and lungs, and her sweat fell in streams along with the rivers of rainwater that fell down her length.

The trail sloped down suddenly and she fell backwards, landing hard on the soft cushion of her buttocks. She yelled and scrambled for a handhold but found no purchase as she slid down along the trail. A long trough in the middle of the path funneled water, which quickly became a rushing slide that carried her downwards on her back. She could barely see out from beneath her hair as it was swept across her eyes, and the shifting foliage as it rushed by gave her no sense of anything but her mounting speed as the waterlogged trail carried her downhill. Sputtering out rainwater, she raised her head and saw that the trail turned sharply, and only a narrow width of small shrubs and ferns separated it from a high cliff. In the growing gaps between the oncoming trees Delyssa could see a vast and misty void -- could see, and do nothing as she crashed through the brush and out into the open air.

She shut her eyes as the ground fell away beneath her, and for the longest heartbeat of her life she plummeted through the rain. Then something gripped her ankle like a vice and she jolted to a stop that left her swinging. She opened her eyes and looked up. She was suspended by a long vine that hung in the air, emerging from the trees. The vine's tip swung slowly around towards her head, stopping just short of her face as if to regard her. It was thorned, but she could feel no pricks against her skin, and as she glanced up she saw that each thorn folded itself in against the vine as it wound around her, like scales flattening against a hide. Snakelike, the vine continued to wrap up her leg while the tip of it held still in the air before her -- more of its length was descending from the edge of the forest, since she was not being pulled up.

Removed from all the ground and the shield of the canopy above her, the rain made no sound other than the whisk of its passing and the patter of it against herself, and Delyssa became aware of a low, steady rumble from far below her. She looked down, away from the cliff face, and saw that it continued to stretch below to some unseen, misty depth. She knew that the Emerald Bridge was entirely composed of islands, but somehow the significance of this was never impressed upon her until now, suspended naked and completely vulnerable to its magnitude. A great waterfall, cascading over the cliff face, stretched out, seemingly forever until it was obscured by the heavy rains. The Riversea, the vast, north-flowing sea that cut through this continent met its only true obstacle here on the Emerald Bridge, and even still it overcame it, penetrating through caves and aqueducts where it could not overwhelm, erupting out of the cliff face where it could not sweep over the Bridge itself. What made the Emerald Bridge an archipelago was not land jutting up from the sea, but a sea that crashed over the lowest parts of an enormous isthmus that stood above a cliff that was at least half a league in height. At this distance, a dark speck could flow over the side of the waterfall and disappear into the shrouded gray depths and it would be impossible to discern if it was a fallen tree or a tall masted ship swept to an unfortunate end.

All of this, Delyssa grasped in an instant as she hung upside down, suspended by the vine. Somehow, though no emotion was expressed by the plant, she felt that it was curious, not predatory. For the moment, at least.

"Help me," she sobbed to the vine. The vine continued to regard her for a moment, and her own heart lurched in her chest, with a strange and sudden fear that it could simply release her and she would fall to a roaring end.

Instead, the vine rose again and wound itself around her other ankle. She felt it shift across her skin as it wrapped itself. It held her legs up and apart, and -- still with the acute sensation of the flower's perfume -- she writhed at the pounding of the rain against the soles of her feet and her upturned, open sex.

It was here that the vine next began to snake towards, descended down her thigh. It came upon her from the rear, pushing up between her buttocks, the rough scales of where its thorns lay flat against it heightened where they brushed up against her anus. The head of the vine met her sex but did not enter her, instead running down her length, laying across her opening, snaking over her hard clitoris as it descended towards her torso. It was an unbearable pleasure, and she swung wildly until the vine reached her chest and wrapped tightly below her breasts, securing her. It looped above her arms and brought them up against her, binding them to her sides. It did not touch her neck, but instead folded itself against the back of her head, to left it and cushion her. Once more, the tip of the vine swung before her as if it was a serpent's head.

"Take me to my friends," she pleaded. The vine swung her upright, and the sudden shift left her dizzy. The tip opened up, revealing a complex flower of dark purples and greens that matched its exterior. At the center of this flower was a single, large, fleshy stem, its tip dripping with golden honey. It grew close to her, and she opened her mouth. Delicately, the stem parted her lips and entered her. The honey filled her throat and she could not help but swallow as the petals gently folded themselves softly against her face. Drowsier than after the strongest of the Temple of Shevlana's herbal teas, Delyssa soon found it hard to keep her eyes open. As she began to fade to sleep, she felt herself be borne upwards as the vine lifted her, and many more emerged from the tree line to carry her back into the jungle.

#

She awoke upon a dry bed of white petals, warm and feather soft. Above her, huge leaves the size of sails hung overhead, and she could hear the beat of the rain coming down in great sheets atop them. She glanced around. She was in a wide clearing, bordered by the thick stalks of the giant leaves that sheltered her. The floor of the clearing was comprised of flowers, white and purple and gold -- rich colors that put her in mind of the lush garden that dwelt in the center of the Temple of Shevlana, though the scale of her current setting made those memories seem small and humble in comparison.

She was still naked, and found herself still bearing all the mud and muck she accumulated during her pursuit. The scrapes and cuts she had gathered were dressed, each of the small wounds coated in a thin seal of some sweet-smelling nectar. The Wings of Amity were still there, and she breathed a sigh of relief before sitting up to take in her surroundings more carefully.

There was no sign of Bryn or Cenhera, or any other inhabitant. Nor could she see any of the vines that had snared her companions or -- presumably -- brought her here. Wherever here was. She had no way of knowing where in the Emerald Bridge this strange arboreal structure could be, or how to return to her previous path. At no point had she seen these giant leaves over the treetops, but the archipelago was enormous, and she could be anywhere, having no sense of how long she was asleep.

Petals drifted through the air, and here and there small showers of rainwater filtered through the incongruous leaves that formed the ceiling. She stood beneath one of these now, trying to focus as the cool water slowly rinsed away the stubborn mud.

Her friends were missing, and she thought she knew what it was that had stolen them. A forest spirit. A dryad.

All she knew of such a being were the scant details that Kruit told her those months ago in his chamber after they met, but something in her gut told Delyssa that it was true. The blindness that beset the soldier Mothwing, the wild and forbidding place of the Emerald Bridge itself, all reminded her of that short conversation with Kruit. The way he spoke of it then was the way she felt now.

Beyond this, however, Delyssa felt lost in all senses. She had no idea how to repel the power of this creature, nor what form it would take if she were to find it -- nor did she know what its designs were for her companions, if it was too late to save them, or even why she had been spared and left here, apparently alone, though she still felt watched.

When she was clean, she circled the perimeter of the clearing, peering between the thick stalks of the giant leaves for some perception of what lay beyond them, though it was difficult to discern the details beyond dense foliage. She held her arms wrapped around herself, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable in her nudity. She had no sense of how long she had been asleep for, or if the daily wards she cast about herself had vanished overnight, if indeed she slept that long. The sun was indistinct between the layers of thundercloud and canopy that separated it from her, though the clearing itself was lit with glowing amber pods that protruded from tall plants of some unknown kind, and beneath their eaves phosphorescent mushrooms and lichens grew, providing one another with their own shadows.

From the lights of these plants, Delyssa could see that the air was full of small particles that swirled and danced, pollen that rose up like mist from the bed of flowers. She tried to cover her mouth and nose as best as she could, but it was of little use. Every lungful of the humid air warmed her skin. She tried to ignore how hard her nipples were becoming, the beads at the end of heavy breasts. Each brush of her long hair against her hips sent a tingle up her spine.

"Bryn?" She hissed into the jungle at the edge of the clearing. "Cen?" Then, more tentatively, little more than a whisper: "Vael?"

The response was from the jungle itself, as the wind picked up and the leaves and trees shook in a great exhale.

"Mesembre, how young again! And how have you come to lose your pretty things?" It seemed to Delyssa that the voice rumbled out from each flower, each branch, each leaf.

"I'm... looking for my friends," she said. She sounded small in the clearing beneath the enormous leaves, like a squeaking mouse. She straightened and looked around for the source of the voice, and, finding none, called out more boldly, "At the ire of the Goddess of Pleasure, bring me my friends, or else you shall find pleasure denied to you each day for all days to come."

The jungle shook, leaves swirled, and it seemed to Delyssa that the clearing began to shrink around her.

"You would curse me?" said the voice. "Me, who is that which you seek? Every other friend of yours surely must have died in these intervening seasons, Mesembre. Cadalor, Arin Bright, Vester, their deaths were once whispered to me by wings alighting upon my brow. Even Ganeril Maerivian has passed on, sunk back into the roots from which they came, and this I felt through the deepened earth long ago, long ago now. Have you forgotten their names?"

"I cannot forget that which I never knew," said Delyssa, "for I am not Mesembre. My name is Delyssa, I am an Acolyte of the goddess Shevlana, come here to find my friend Vael, a man, along with my companions, another man and a tunling."

The forest was silent but for the beating rain upon verdant drumhead above.

Then the stalks on the other end of the clearing parted, and a figure emerged from the foliage -- no, Delyssa realized, emerging of the foliage, for the figure was itself an assembly of vines, leaves, branches, and sprouts. It did not walk, but flowed across the flowers, growing and decaying in a wave towards her. Delyssa felt bound to the ground as the creature approached. It was humanoid-shaped, and as it neared it continued to assemble itself. Vines wrapped around branches as a kind of sinew, and leaves pressed themselves together, their seams knitting into a single, uninterrupted skin.

Its feet were shrouded in wreathes of white flowers from the ground. Its limbs were long and lithe, crisscrossed with darker veins from the leaves that composed its green flesh. As it neared, Delyssa was struck by the sight of its head and face, which was featureless, made of the same undecorated leafy skin as the rest of its body. But where its hair would be on a human, long rose colored petals swept back and down over its shoulders.

It stopped close enough to Delyssa such that she could see the fog of her breath condense across its face as it leaned down towards her. As it cocked its head as if inspecting her, she saw subtle indents where its eye sockets would be, a slight convex ridge that suggested a mouth. As it turned this way and that, she almost thought she could see an eye or a mouth in the gloss of its viridian skin, but if this was just a reflection of her own face or some kind of illusion or hallucination, she could not be sure.

"No," the creature said after circling her, "you are indeed not Mesembre as I thought you were. But you are also not quite a stranger to me... I recall her scent upon you." The voice reverberated down from the head of the creature, slightly muffled as if whatever was producing the sound had to push past the layers of flesh.

"And indeed," it continued, "you wear a small portion of her vestments, such as I remember them. These adornments wear you well." It reached out a hand and caressed the Wing of Amity around Delyssa's right breast, and she shuddered at the contact, though found that the touch of the creature was warm, like summer sunlight upon the grass.

She willed herself to speak. There was something aromatic in the air, and it left her dizzy. "Are you a dryad?" She said, her voice almost a whisper.

The leafy flesh that constituted the creature had not ceased to grow, and now small stems began to emerge from its corners. Stems grew from its shoulders, elbows, fingertips, blossomed into flowers, then fell to the ground in a flutter all within the span of a few heartbeats.

It shook softly, causing more of the small bulbs to litter from its skin, and Delyssa realized that this was a smaller scale of the laugh that surrounded her earlier.

"You surmise my kind," the dryad said. "I am that which you name, and that which you see. I am here, before you now, both in place and time. I am the forest that surrounds you. I am Alundunliliar." As it spoke, it continued to circle Delyssa.