For those following my other stories, I would very much love to return to continue them. This story is merely me exploring other ideas I've had in my head, and is loosely set far in the future from the events of Night's Storm. If you're into epic fantasy intersecting with sci-fi (and with sex forming the basis of magic), I hope you enjoy this one.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The Body Mage Chronicles
Chapter 1 - A call into the void
Thunder echoes in the cloudless night as the screams of men reverberate across the walls of Brea. In the scarred plains outside the gates of the crippled city, an amorphous, intangible mass of darkness emerges. Occluding, choking mists spew forth from scars ripped within the air itself and from it the enemy arrives.
Their soldiers, wearing armor smelted from metal and bones, enchanted with runes and augmented with forium, glow a sickly green. And following them, steamstructs - their pilots welded into the insect-like machines - bellow and whine, creak and groan, as they crawl out to begin their siege. The bells ring. Conscripts are called to arms.
And Freycia realizes that she is out of time.
"Crasta!" she whispers harshly into the ears of the sleeping woman who clutches tightly her quiver of crossbolts. She stirs a little, though Freycia has to repeat herself several times. "They are here!" she says, prodding the slumbering ranger to the point that even the bed she sleeps on shudders.
"What?" she answers, her eyes still closed as she turns around.
"The Agrestal are here!" hisses Freycia.
The village that they are in is somewhat of a distance away from Brea proper, with the city and its walls providing a brief breakwater from the incursion. Yet it is only a matter of time before the armies sweep past the walls like a raging torrent against a lone rock, and overwhelm all the surrounding farming towns that have been built alongside the great river that flows next to Brea. Even now, as the bells ring, the gates of the city prepare to close - and shut out the defenseless tenants working the land.
"Goddess' cunt!" Crasta swears with full realization as the peals slowly worm their way into her ears. Then, three thumps. The door of their hut is knocked, and Freycia asks them to come in. It is Syre and Mosaca, the two warriors who round off the party of four.
"My lady mage," Syre says, "are you heading to the garrison?"
"No. Not yet," Freycia says. She stands up and puts on her fale-skin cloak. It covers the entire length of her back, though it leaves her front exposed to the mercenaries who are escorting her. Mosaca's eyes leer at her small though pert breasts, though Freycia wraps a thin band around her waist and unfurls a cloth that barely covers the lips of her slit before his hungry eyes are able to take in anymore of her body.
She did not mind stares, having long been used to both the looks that came from her constant need to expose her body. Covering up only hinders her connection to the Flow, the source of her powers as a bodymage.
"What are your orders?" Syre says in an assured manner that speaks to his professionalism as a former Cerathi commando. He is the only one with military experience among the three, and the one who is taking his duties the most seriously. Crasta, while in it only for the money, still seems to be nonchalant despite the danger they are now facing. Mosaca, constantly ranting about his assignment, wears a look of perpetual disgust.
"You can take orders from a Rethraci whore, but I'm going to sit this one out. As far as I care, the only thing I'm paid for is to bring her to Brea," he says.
"Which you haven't, not yet," Syre says.
"The fuck I care, we're practically here!" he yells as he points to the city behind him.
"Freycia told me she has a plan," Crasta says, strapping on her bracers.
"I intend to perform a summoning," Freycia explains, "I have been studying the tome of Reari, and I believe I can replicate her spell to summon a Star Warrior."
Mosaca snorted. "Star Warrior? You have got to be fucking kidding me."
Crasta shrugs as she checks her crossbow. "We could use whatever help we can get."
"And-and you're a mage whore, not a Selantran summoner. What makes you think you can even pull it off?" Mosaca protests.
"We have to try. I have Sighted the army, and the city stands no chance. We stand no chance," Freycia says as she walks past them and out the door.
"You heard her," Syre says and Crasta follows along with Mosaca who swears in disagreement but inevitably continues with them. Coin is still the greatest motivator for even the hardened skeptics.
"The anchor stones on that hill over there will amplify my link to the Flow," Freycia explains to them as her pace quickens. She taps into the tiniest sum of her flow reservoirs to strengthen her legs. To herself she merely is walking briskly, to the others behind her she is at a running speed, and they fall behind as their stamina runs out.
"Lady Freycia!" Syre pants.
"I will go ahead and begin the calling, do not worry," Freycia assures. She glides up the hill, up the staircase that has been worn smooth with centuries of pilgrims' feet, and arrives at the summit that is around the height of a Brean turret. From here she has a commanding sight of the flat plains below. Loud pops and deep booms reach her eyes, indicating the defenses have begun using their artillery. It will only buy them a little time.
In a circle around her are the anchor stones, pinnacles the height of two or three men hewn ages past, enchanted with runes that allow mages to communicate across vast distances to other circles across the lands and up, far up into the sky - even to the stars themselves.
She throws off her cloak, exposing her nude body to the nip of spring's night. Goosebumps raise along her body, winding down her arms and legs, flowing across her tattooed back. Her nipples harden. Positioning herself in the center of the anchor stones, she lies down. The grass are icy blades that lacerate her back, though she ignores the discomfort and spreads her legs. Then she begins to pleasure herself.
"Cor-Rethra," she prays as her fingers make her way between her legs and split open her pierced lips, "guide me through the Flow."
The three reach the top of the hill, and Mosaca laughs at the sight.
"Look...look at that," he says between pants, "she went all the way up here to play with herself like some drunk harlot!"
"Hush!" Syre says as Crasta leans against one of the stones to observe the rather uncommon sight of a body mage performing a summoning. She has seen them perform elemental manipulation beyond just that of the physical body, of which their specialism is known for. Yet here she is performing a calling only capable of being performed by high-summoners. This, Crasta knows, she has to see.
With one hand, Freycia traces gentle circles around her clit. As soon as her cunt begins to moisten, her fingers enter her cunt.
"Ungh!" she moans as she unlocks her reservoir and enters the flowstate, with her pleasure being the trigger that will launch her mind into the Flow itself. Her vision begins to blur, and her body begins to lose control, though with practice her muscle memory allows her to continue pleasuring herself and keeping her link to the Flow intact and strong.
Entering the Flow is not something done with a snap of the finger, but rather a gentle and eventual merging of one's consciousness to that of the source of power from which all mages drew. As Freycia transitions to the Flow, she can see herself leaving her own body - writhing in pleasure as her hands continue to strum her pussy - and entering into the void above, amplified by the anchor stones surrounding her.
Darkness. Then pinpricks of light begin to appear, distant echoes from across the universe. The spell, she remembers. An ancient language no longer used, but which still retains its power to focus a mage's cast towards its intended destination. She speaks it, though the words do not appear on her lips but rather are echoed from her mind. They reverberate through the void, then disappear into the nothingness. She waits, as her mind floats in the endless dark sea. She turns around, and sees the blue orb from which she has left, and she realizes how small and insignificant she is and yet she realizes such a precious and fragile thing should not be allowed to destroy itself. That is her calling and her responsibility as a mage.
Then she is pulled back. Her arms reach out to the stars, attempting to grasp them but it is in vain. She falls through the clouds, and back to the ground before awaking in a jolt.
"Freycia!" Crasta says as she grips Freycia's sweaty arm, her fingers slick with the juices from her sex. Still in the flowstate, Freycia looks at her wide eyed, in both anger and shock at being torn from the Flow proper, though she quickly realizes why Crasta has done so. In the distance, the green radiance of the Agrestal rings the city and distributaries of scouts and forward troops snake away towards the surrounding villages. Towards them.
