Larunalia

Author's Notes:

This had been written for the Autumn Harvest Competition on Hentai Foundry. It's inspired by the myths of Isis and Lemminkäinen. I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading it.

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Chapter 1: The Eluuar of Laru

Vitalia reached out to tug at the thick woven cloth which covered the window, pulling it to one side. The closely packed buildings of Greater Nalel rushed by in blur of grey stone. People strolled and danced along the streets, dressed in elaborate clothing: massive headdresses, long trains dragging behind them on the wide sidewalks. All the fabric was in some shade of red or orange, shades beloved by the death-goddess Laru. It was the time of Larunalia, occurring as usual in this time of reaping.

The spectre-driven carriage shuddered as it slowed down at an intersection, and sped up once more after it turned the corner. Vitalia watched the reactions of the revelers as the carriage passed them by: some shrank back against the sturdy walls of the buildings, bowing their heads. A few of them stared fixedly as it rattled along the narrow street. Vitalia let the curtain fall back into place and leaned back against her seat, sighing.

"Are you tired?" Malon, her assigned companion for this trip, stared at her with wide eyes. Vitalia blinked at her, and nodded slowly. A lock of her long grey hair separated from the elaborate pile atop her head, and she brushed it away with an annoyed twitch of her hand.

"We've been travelling for a long time," Vitalia murmured, smoothing down the red lace of her gown. Malon reached forward to help, but Vitalia quelled her with a slight frown. "Do I

have

to be at this Luranalia?"

"Of course!" Malon's tone was extremely scandalized. She was some years older than Vitalia, but with her dyed hair styled in tight curls around her round face, she seemed younger. "All of these celebrations are for you!"

"For the goddess Laru, you mean." Vitalia slumped down in the seat, letting her head rest against the padded back.

"For

you

," Malon said, her voice very firm. She drew herself up as high as her narrow frame could manage, shoulders held squarely. She had very small eyes set close together over a sharp nose, and they sparkled with indignation. "You are the Eluuar, the physical embodiment of Laru in this plane. All Larunalia celebrated in Jharna is in your honour!"

Vitalia sighed and closed her eyes for a few beats. Not for the last time, she wished she had never performed that miracle back in her small village of Shevalir; but the little feathered lizard had been so small and so still, and Vitalia had just wanted to see it move again.

Malon was still fussing: "Do you

know

how long we in Jharna have waited for another reincarnation of our patron goddess? All the other countries have been through four, five, even six manifestations! Jashkar has had

nine

!"

Vitalia snorted. "I'm sure that's just propaganda," she stated, opening one eye and peering at Malon, who huffed.

"Well, you may see your Gelnadyar at this Larunalia," Malon said in a wistful way and Vitalia sighed again. In the many stories, Gelnadyar had been a close friend and then the consort of Laru. The giantess Gelnadyar was a minor deity of battles and weaponry; an offspring of one of the Nayir and a mortal, Gelnadyar played a relatively important role in the mythology of their people. In Jharna, the entire festival of Larunalia was to celebrate the goddess's legendary quest to restore Gelnadyar, the orgies Laru participated in while in the Deadworld, and her rise to her acknowledged role as the Queen of the Deadworld. Even the activities of harvesting were dedicated to Laru, farmers contributing a portion of their crop to the temples.

As the manifestation of the death-deity, there were high expectations for Vitalia to find a mortal version of Gelnadyar. Vitalia was exhausted of having a line of acolytes parading in front of her at each turn; it seemed that every priestess and priest harboured the wish that Laru's consort be found at

their

temple. Vitalia wondered if she should start reminding them that the last two personifications of the goddess did not find their consort, and therefore it was very likely that she would not.

The carriage creaked to a halt, and the spectre which powered it spoke up in its whispery, hesitant voice: "Eluuar and Malon, we have arrived at Temple Laru-lel. This is the Great Hall."

"Wima, I told you that you don't have to call me Eluuar," Vitalia said as she leaned forward to let Malon affix the circlet of orange feathers right above her forehead, and attach the long veil of beads so that it obscured the upper half of her face. "My own name is fine."

Wima's voice echoed through the cabin, "Eluuar, I could not. It is not proper."

Vitalia frowned. "Oh, Wima--"

"That's right, Wima," Malon said very primly, taking a hairpin out of a little jewelled box and taming that wayward strand of Vitalia's hair. "Don't let the Eluuar make you overlook your protocol imprinting."

"Yes, Malon," Wima answered. The door to the carriage swung open with hardly a creak and Malon exited with a grand flourish of her arms. She held out a hand back into the carriage and Vitalia took it, allowing Malon to help her down the few metal rungs. The crowd gathered in front of the Great Hall drew back as her booted feet touched the ground, whispering to each other from behind their festival masks. Vitalia strode quickly through the cleared path towards the massive door, following Malon's skittering gait. As she climbed the wide steps, she could feel their stares boring into her back.

Before she had been sent to the Necrohal, Vitalia had been treated with a mix of respectful affection by her neighbours and friends in Shevalir. In the Necrohal, worshipped as the goddess, she had been removed from daily contact with 'mortals', restricted by the priestesses. Vitalia had managed to convince the ghouls to let her out at night, and she had freely roamed the villages established nearby. The ghouls had dogged her steps, of course, not willing to let the Eluuar out of their sight. At least they had kept to the shadows when Vitalia slipped into the taverns.

The priestesses had found out and had been about to re-imprint the poor ghouls with their spells. In anger and frustration, Vitalia had reacted rather badly; at the end of her...

outburst

, parts of the ancient inner structures of the Necrohal had simply wasted to dust: massive stone walls and timber beams rotted as if they'd undergone years of decay in a few moments. The priestesses, faced with this display from the Eluuar, had quickly acquiesced to Vitalia's wishes for more freedom. However, from there on there seemed to be an underlying streak of uneasiness permeating subsequent interactions. The priestesses were awful, but Vitalia hadn't wanted to be the source of anyone's anxiety.

Here, in front of the Great Hall of Laru-Lel, that same weight of trepidation from the crowd weighed Vitalia's shoulders. She pressed her lips tightly together as she climbed the last step of the Great Hall. The waiting priestesses knelt on the ground, murmuring their welcome. Their robes were gathered closely at the waist, and belled out into highly wrought skirts, with necessary layers of red lace. Malon knelt with them as well, tucking her arms into her sleeves.

From behind one of them, a teenaged girl stepped forward. She was dressed in the voluminous robes of an acolyte, her head covered with a roughly woven scarf.

"Eluuar!" The girl exclaimed in a high-pitched squeak, going on one knee in a shaky manner. She held out a bouquet of long-stemmed flowers with translucent red petals. "We are honoured to have you in Nalel, and at Laru-lel. Please, accept these as a token of our esteem!"

Vitalia couldn't help but smile. The girl peeped up at her, and seeing Vitalia's lips tilted upwards, offered a hesitant grin. Vitalia bent at the waist and reached out to take the bouquet. These flowers had the same name as this temple,

larulels

, and were said to grow near the portals to Deadworld. They had healing properties, especially when brewed in a tea for fever.

One of the priestesses reached out and pinched the ankle of the acolyte, no doubt to warn her for smiling at the Eluuar. The acolyte flinched, and winced.

Vitalia said, very mildly, "Leave her be," and the priestesses bowed even more. The one who had been pinching the girl drew back her hand as if it had been set on fire. "Did you collect these yourself?"

"Yes, Eluuar!" the girl chirped. Charmed, Vitalia reached out her hand, the wide sleeve of her dress slipping down to her elbow. The acolyte snatched the scarf from atop her head, revealing a strip of red hair in the middle of a shorn scalp. Vitalia rest her hand atop the girl's head, her dark skin stark against the copper strands.

"What is your name?" Vitalia asked.

"Arla, my Eluuar," the girl whispered, her voice shaking.

Vitalia said, "Arla, you are specially dedicated under the protection of the Eluuar," she pronounced in the requisite weighty timbre and a small fraction of her power flowed out of her arm and into the top of Arla's head. The girl trembled and Vitalia moved her hand. "Rise, child."

Arla stood up unsteadily. To be placed under the protection of the Eluuar was an honour, but Vitalia found that the very small potential she passed on was exhibited in a different manner for everyone. A small boy in one of the Necrohal villages had gained the ability to

perceive

the ghouls, wraiths and other Deadworld denizens which served the Eluuar, instead of just hearing them or seeing the way they affected objects in the mortal world. An old woman was able to revive her dead plants after Vitalia had blessed her; however, there were many who didn't present abilities at all.

As Arla reeled in apparent shock, one of the priestesses got to her feet, followed by Malon and the rest.

"Arla," the head priestesses said sharply, and the acolyte ducked her head. Arla stepped away, heading towards a small side-door. In mid-step, she paused and then darted back to grasp Vitalia's hand in both her small ones. She kissed the back of Vitalia's hand fervently and then scampered away, her scarf tucked under her arm as she wrenched open the side-door and disappeared into a service passage. Vitalia hid a grin; she had high hopes for

that

one.

"Eluuar," the high priestess intoned, and Vitalia glanced at her. "The Luranalia is ongoing inside the Great Hall."

Malon took her place by the Eluuar's side again, and the priestesses commanded the door-wraiths to open the massive wings of the main doors. They creaked open; the pounding beats of drums and applause drifted out.

The Great Hall was really a covered amphitheatre, a half-oval in shape. At the bottom of the sloped seating area, the sunken stage was divided into different sections, each part designed to depict a well-known scene of the Luranalia. The priestesses led Vitalia and Malon to a decorated booth near the middle of the sloped seating area. All the available seats in the Hall were occupied, and people sat on the wide steps; yet, there was a clear space around the Eluuar's compartment.

"Look!" Malon said, pointing down at the stage. "They've just started!"

Vitalia perched on the gilded stool, peering at the actresses and actors lit by the bright spotlights. In the nearest section, festooned with paint and leaves to resemble an ancient mountain, two individuals wrestled mightily. One of them was a tall muscular female, clad in flimsy yellow material which did nothing to hide her large tits. Her blond hair swung freely as she fought, her teeth bared in effort. This actress represented the sun-goddess Bithror, Laru's sister and ruler of the three suns. Her adversary was just as tall, but even more muscular, a large cock swinging between legs that were built like tree-trunks. Underneath a cloak of thick fur, two stiff and obviously fake breasts were affixed to a firm chest. The actor played Gelnadyar, who had merrily engaged in a sparring session with Bithror after being challenged by the sun-goddess during an argument. Their fight had created the great mountains of Buir and the valleys of Helna in the north of Jharna. One could still see the great lakes formed by their feet pressing into the earth.

Bithror was powerful, but Gelnadyar was the offspring of a Nayir, an elder deity. Over time, the Nayir had been gradually overthrown and absorbed by the Jaur, the younger pantheon to which Bithror and Lura belonged. Still, Gelnadyar's sire had been the earth-Nayir, and as long as Gelnadyar's feet touched the ground, she was nigh unstoppable.

Vitalia accepted a tall cool drink from a serving-ghoul's tray, giving them a grateful smile. The ghoul bowed deeply, clearly pleased to be seen and acknowledged by the Eluuar. It returned to its spot at an upper level, where numerous tables of food were placed near an arched exit. Vitalia sipped the sweet nectar, watching closely as Gelnadyar pinned the sun-deity to the ground, gripping her by the throat with one great hand. Bithror screamed and struggled, but Gelnadyar simply released a booming laugh. The sun-deity clawed at the corded arms and legs pinning her against the rich soil, and after a few moments, she parted her legs in defeat.

The Gelnadyar actor shoved his cock up in her without hesitation, rutting crudely. Bithror screamed in rage and arousal, her breasts bouncing as Gelnadyar fucked into her with rough recklessness. The legends said that Gelnadyar impregnated Bithror with the entities that would be born as the seven moons. On the stage, the actress wailed and jerked as the actor came inside her, and the spotlights dimmed at that section.

The next part of the Luranalia rendition focused on another actress, now playing a heavily pregnant Bithror seated in her bright boudoir. Her clothing stretched over a round belly, and the ominous music swelling from the nearby ensemble indicated Bithor's dark thoughts: revenge on Gelnadyar. A scowl marred the pale brow of the enraged sun-deity. An old man dressed like a beggar wandered onto the stage in an absent manner, carrying a shining sword. The man was a Nayir as well, a primeval blacksmith who had forged that blade from the void. He handed it to Birthror, who accepted it with a nasty smile. She set it aside, and pulled up the hem of her dress, bending forward to present her shaved pussy to the old man. He wasted no time in gripping her hips and grinding his crotch against her, dragging down his tattered breeches to enter her. As the Nayir fucked the sun-goddess, she smiled with slow anticipation of her triumph.

The crowd hollered and whistled in response the next scene, when Bithror snuck up on the unsuspecting giantess during a hunt, stabbing her in the back with the Nayir-forged sword; the blow weakened Gelnadyar, and the actor fell to the ground with a pained cry. Even though it was a play, Vitalia averted her gaze as Bithror cleaved Gelnadyar's feet at the ankles, finally separating the half-Nayir from her source of strength and life. The actress chopped the 'body' into pieces, and a group of small adults dressed shifts made of red feathers flitted on the stage, snatching portions of the corpse and fleeing in all directions. These actors represented the thirty red ravens, whom Bithror had sent to all corners of Overworld, Middleworld and Deadworld with the pieces of Gelnadyar's body.

All the lights dimmed, the ensemble quietened, and in the stillness a single spotlight picked out a woman standing in the middle of stage. A massive white cowl covered her face, and the thick robes obscured her figure. Laru, currently just the deity of sleep and night, sang a song of mourning for the murdered Gelnadyar. The two had been close friends, and Gelnadyar's death was a focal point in all the changes wrought in Laru.

Out of the corner of her eye, Vitalia noted the other viewers trying to glance at her surreptitiously. In the stories, Laru was as tall and powerfully-built as any Juar, but with silvery hair instead of blond like her sister Bithror. Vitalia looked nothing like the goddess depicted in the temple images. Instead of an athletic frame, Vitalia was actually shorter than average, with a heart-shaped face and eyes that tilted up at the outer corners; the priestesses at the Necrohal had wanted her to wear stilt-like boots to appear taller, but Vitalia had refused. The long, shining grey curls and pale-grey eyes were only features which marked Vitalia as the personification of Laru.

The Laru onstage pulled the cowl from over her head, and at the sight of the grey hair atop the singer's head, Malon whispered loyally, "It's but a dye, Eluuar!" Vitalia tried not to laugh aloud. The actress, still singing the song of mourning, searched the stage, grabbing the red ravens as they tried to escape, reclaiming the pieces of Gelnadyar. The cowl taken from her head became a large sack and she travelled from one side of the stage to the other, struggling with the ravens. The ravens fought back, but Laru subdued them with increasing ruthlessness, her white robe ripped during the skirmishes to reveal the blood-red gown beneath.

With most of the unfortunate Gelnadyar's body collected in the sack, Laru paused to count them. There was still one piece missing, a symbol of Gelnadyar's rampant sexuality: her massive phallus. At one end of the sunken platform, a prop was cleverly rolled into place: an archway representing the mouth of a cave, with pots of larulels around it: an entrance to the Deadworld, the last place Laru needed to search for the missing portion.

At this section of the festivities, the entire assembly seemed to rise as one, and rushed down to the stage. Vitalia did not move, but simply watched as frantic fucking broke out amongst the throng, fingers and dicks finding convenient slick orifices; even the red ravens jumped in, their smaller bodies grasped with lusty craving. Vitalia could almost feel Malon vibrating in excitement beside her.

Vitalia glanced at her and Malon returned a wide-eyed, pleading look. "You may go," Vitalia said and Malon took to her feet with enviable rapidity, almost skipping down the sloping passages. As she plunged into the orgy, a large throne appeared from behind the stage's curtains, carried by cavorting actresses and actors meant to portray wraiths, ghouls and spectres. This was the Nayir god of the Deadworld, a great cock gripped in his claws. Massive, blood-stained tusks curled out of the sides of his mouth as he waved around the phallus of Gelnadyar. He descended from his throne, grabbing onto the closest reveller by a handful of hair. The young man willingly knelt before the Nayir, parting his lips so that the prick could be shoved into his mouth. He slobbered over it, sucking and licking with abandon, reaching out greedily with as the Nayir pulled it out and pounced on another merrymaker, parting the puffy lips of her pussy with his claws and twisting it up into her.

The actress playing Lura, now nude except for a long red cape, went from group to group, joining in the hurried sex at every stop. In the legend, Lura spent years in the Deadworld, tricking and seducing her way to the side of the King. On the stage, with juices dripping between her thighs, she approached the King without caution, allowing him to rub the used cock along her flat belly.

Vitalia idly turned her head, letting her gaze trail along the walls of the Hall, so tall that the tops of them were in shadow; the sex on the stage was interesting to watch, but not particularly arousing for her. Apart from the massive entrance at the top and back of the amphitheatre, there were other doors, presumably leading to the living quarters of the priestesses and the acolytes. Each doorway was guarded by both a wraith and a mortal sentinel. The streets outside had on-going Luranalia festivities, but only the most influential residents in Greater Nalel had been allowed access to the celebration hosted in Laru-lel. The sentinels stood at attention, although a few of them were serviced orally by a merrymaker who had wandered in their direction.