The monk arrived at the monastery just before dusk, as the chill mountain winds began to awake. Freed from the setting sun's embrace, their fingers poked and prodded at the layers of wool that covered humanity's frailty. A cold place. A dangerous place for the unprepared. Or the unwilling. For the monk, though, it was home. Frost had accumulated on his beard, tiny crystals clinging to what little warmth escaped his lips as he climbed the mountain paths. It had taken two days to reach the monastery, but at last he was here. He'd been away too long. There would be time enough for warmth within.
The immense doors towered over him, weeks of frost and snow caked into the hand-carved relief that depicted the peaks surrounding the monastery. A golden sun split the top half of the doors, centered where the two barriers joined together, thick rays spreading outward in welcome of all who were penitent and just. The symbol of his order, representing a long and proud history of service and faith.
Once inside, the monk's nose and fingers burned as they thawed, life returning to extremities, warmth filling him like the vessel he was, accepting of the blessings and justice bequeathed by the gods. The howling winds continued to pick up just outside, buffeting the doors which radiated a sharp chill, but this monastery had stood for generations; come what may, it would stand for many more.
The monk stood for a moment, awaiting the slippered feet and hushed tones of the acolyte who would help remove his vestments and give him the stole denoting his position among his brothers and sisters. But there was only silence. Pulling his hood down, the monk lifted his head and looked around. The monastery was lit by many candles and sconces, thin trails of incense and wicksmoke rising languidly in the warm air. But other than those ghostly remnants, the antechamber and hall leading into the monastery was empty.
Brother Thomas thought this odd, and proceeded down the warm hall, leaving his frosted wool cloak on, the thawing ice trailing off of him like a hesitant apparition. The sconces and candles were lit, the incense freshly burning. Surely the acolytes knew he was expected to arrive. He hadn't run into any delays and he'd sent Brother Jakob ahead to announce his arrival.
Despite the long journey through the mountain pass, and his age, his ears picked up a sound, low, like the settling of an old house. It came from further down the hall, where the altar chamber stood at the center of the monastery. This old structure sat firm on its chosen plot among the peaks. No wood to settle still after so many years. But there it was again, only this time clearer. Not the heavy settling of age old wood and stone, but the low tones of human throats. The acolytes were here for sure; why, then, had no one come to assist him?
Brother Thomas picked up his pace, passing the antechambers that sat to the sides of the long hall. Walls covered in tapestries as old as the stone they hid; towers of books and scrolls where they were absent. Not the clearest of systems to organize the vast collection of knowledge within the monastery's walls, but Brother Thomas knew where to find what he needed. It was a disorganized mess to the new eye, but to Brother Thomas it was a collective history of his order and all the written words of those that walked these halls before him.
As he approached the altar chamber, the low tones clarified distinctly. Human voices, and stranger still, moans. Not the fervent sussurations of the faithful, nor the urgent please of the suffering, but the breathless exhalations of pleasure. Brother Thomas stepped past the chamber door.
Sister Leilana lay on her back, sprawled across the altar, stripped bare. Her long legs were spread wide while her hands were above her head clasped tightly to the altar's edge. A strange man Brother Thomas had never seen before stood between her legs thrusting his erect cock into her, hard, and the gasps of pleasure bursting forth from her lips echoed in the chamber with each impact. Brother Jakob, an acolyte in good standing with the order, stood by her head and used his right hand to turn her face towards him. His own cock jutted out from within his vestments as he placed the thick head against her lips. Without pause, she took the bulb of his prick into her mouth, muffling her cries of pleasure, as he pushed his length past her lips.
Leilana's hard nipples glistened in the flickering light of the wall sconces, their thin pink tips pointing towards the ceiling. The Stranger's muscled abdomen tightened with each push into Leilana's welcoming pussy, his cock slick with her juices. And then Brother Thomas saw it - the Thyrian Amulet hanging on this defiler's naked chest. It beat a rhythm of its own against his chest with each thrust. Brother Thomas felt his gaze pulled toward the jeweled adornment, as if that was the focus of this blasphemous tableau. He knew well enough of the danger, what some would call power, this amulet held. The Order of the Sun had kept it hidden from Man's greedy eyes and grasping fingers for generations. Among the icy wastes of the Valion Mountains, this monastery stood alone, forgotten, a solace for the weary, but rarely did any weary find their way this far into the mountain pass anymore. Was that why this Stranger was here? It had to be.
Brother Thomas tried to pull his eyes away from the amulet, but it held fast his gaze. This heresy, this defilement upon the holy altar, none of it seemed to matter. Only the amulet. But in his mind's eye, that place he had trained to isolate in deep meditation for days on end as an acolyte, and now which he used to call upon ancient wisdom and strength as a Brother of the Sun, he knew the horror for what it was. The Thyrian Amulet, the Stranger, the cooperation of his own blessed disciples of the monastery; foul sorcery was at hand and he had to stop it.
Brother Thomas opened his mouth to shout an end to this carnal sin, but he could make no sound. He willed his feet to move forward, to physically stop this blasphemy, but his muscles refused to obey. His own arms hung heavy and useless by his side. He was mute, frozen, and helpless. All he could do was watch in horror.
The Stranger slowly withdrew his long cock out of Sister Leilana, and she moaned with its absence. The large tip trailed a syrupy wetness; Sister Leilana's sex was soaked. He rubbed his cock furiously against her clit, and Leilana bucked her hips in an attempt to get it back inside her, to fill her up completely as it had moments before. The Stranger only teased her instead.
"Fuck fuck fuck please fuck it put it back in fuck it fuck me fuck me fuck my pussy," she intoned endlessly, her mind lost to lust, lost to sin, a litany of obscenity pouring forth intermittently as she alternated between sucking Brother Jakob's cock and gyrating for the Stranger between her legs.
The Stranger stroked his erect cock with his large fist, thrusting with determination, guttural moans escaping his throat and filling the room. The sconces on the wall seemed to come to life, inflaming with newfound fuel and dancing as if a chill wind had entered the room and swept throughout the vaulted space, feeding the hot tongues with oxygen.
Brother Jakob climaxed with a shout, pulling his cock out of Leilana's mouth and shooting thick ropes of semen across her face. She opened her mouth wide to eagerly catch his load, and after one or two spurts landed straight in her mouth Jakob finished with the tip of his cock pressed against her slick lips. The last of his orgasm pulsed out of his cock and cascaded down the side of her face.
