The Temptress

Welcome back to my tale! I truly appreciate all the positive feed back I received about ChapterOne. My only wish is that more people would have left a comment about it, no matter how short or long it would have been. This chapter is more romantic than the first but still just as sexy and laden with sex. After reading this part, please take a moment and let me know what you thought of this chapter.

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Shrraack! said the razor-edged axe as it split the upright piece of wood in twain. The force of the blow flung the rent pieces to either side of the stump where they landed on top of two ever-growing piles of similar fragments. A strong, sun-bronzed hand deftly pulled the elongated, oval-headed tool from the stump with ease while a second hand placed another section of cut tree on the stump. Once more the heavy blade descended in an arc and made two from one.

The brawny wood cutter paused in his work, leaning the implement against his big, muscular leg as he wiped his sweaty brow. Feeling thirst scratching at his throat, the burly man retrieved a water skin lying atop a neatly stacked cord of wood. As the jiggling bag was up-ended, a long stream of cool, clear water jetted from the bag's wooden spout and into the man's open mouth, providing him with some refreshment in the light of the waning day. To describe Strom Caebl as a "big man" was a lot like saying Tiaceor's twin suns, Sero and Ryhon, were a bit hot. At just over seven feet tall, Strom always stood, literally, head and shoulders above most everyone. His build was equally impressive and massive; in fact, Flontu's resident tailor had to use a tailor's dummy cobbled together from an empty beer barrel and four discarded wine casks just to get the fit right when he made clothes for his biggest patron.

However, at the moment, Strom was clad only in a pair of patched and well-worn brown breeches and soft deerskin boots. His richly tanned body bore very little hair except for the profuse sandy blonde patch in the middle of his chest. Strom also sported a neatly trimmed moustache and beard both of which were cut almost as short as that on his head. Despite the dozen or so scars he had received over the course of his adventuring lifetime, he was still quite comely and charming as far as women were concerned. Strom's sparkling hazel eyes held a trace of sadness as he gazed intently across the waters of the Eternal Sea with his thoughts trailing not too far behind.

The view from his home, situated on top of the highest hill above the port city of Flontu, provided a breathtaking view for miles around and was the very reason Strom had selected it. No obstructions impaired his vigil over the relatively peaceful city and, if any trouble was heading toward Flontu, he would have plenty of time to ride down and warn the city's defenders.

Of course, the sunsets were nice too.

The western sky was ablaze with the bright fiery hues of orange, pink and red as Tiaceor's two suns slowly dipped behind the horizon. To the south, Strom noticed an Okashan skyrunner and its gilded sails come into view. The waning sunlight reflected off the sails like giant mirrors and intensified their golden hue. As he watched, the vessel began to slow until its speed was no longer sufficient to keep it aloft over the waves of the sea and settle into the cool embrace of the outer reaches of Flontu's harbor.

Probably returning from Aynstaf

, mused Strom with a melancholy smile.

Aynstaf.

The thought of his distant homeland so far across the sea struck a chord of angst, if not guilt, in the large warrior. Had it

really

been more than half his lifetime since he had stowed away on another such Okashan merchant ship, in his quest to find adventure? As he exhaled, a longing sigh escaped him. After so long a time, and given that life in Aynstaf was not easy and wars happened on an almost monthly basis, Strom held out little hope of either of his parents still being alive. It had been just too long.

And even if they were

, he thought,

What then? A tearful reunion?

While his departure from home twenty years before may have come as a bit of a shock, he doubted it had been unexpected. Strom knew his father at least would understand since he too had been an adventurer (as well as a soldier before that) until retiring to raise a family. But so would his mother---after a fashion. Even though his mother had been initially attracted by his father's size and good looks, there had been many times she herself would be listening too as Xalgo regaled their seven children with the oft-told stories of his adventures. But El'tin would usually use the preparation of the eveningfast meal to hide her eavesdropping.

Being the oldest, Strom had been the first to leave home. He sometimes wondered how his siblings had fared since his departure. What paths had their lives taken them on? Did they have any children? Were they happy? Were they even alive? The Anystaf warrior knew how he could learn the answers either of two ways: he could return to his homeland.

Or he could ask his wife, Dyanara, to use her magic to divine the answers.

Dyanara of the Blue Robe. Rune Mistress. Spellcaster. No matter what she was called, it all meant one thing: her talent was shaping the mystical forces of magic according to a set of unfathomable rules in ways that always amazed him. Strom Caebl loved his wife more than anyone or anything else in the world but he could never understand how she did what she did. Nor did he care to know.

On that thought, Strom turned and focused his eyes and his attention on the three joined domes that made up the couple's modest home and the huge oak tree around which it had been built. It was to the the tree's uppermost reaches where his gaze went as a look of concern added a few more wrinkles to the corners of his eyes.

She's been up there for a long time

, Strom brooded silently.

I hope nothing's gone wrong

. He considered going up to check on his wife but did not want to interfere at what could be a critical time in whatever she was doing. During the two moons since they had been home, Dyanara often seemed preoccupied or overly concerned about something but never said what was on her mind whenever he asked. But Strom's warrior's instincts were rarely wrong and they were telling him that there was indeed. . .

something

. . .going on.

"Blasted magic!" he grumbled as his axe sped downward and split another log.

Strom Caebl was a warrior born and raised. He understood weapons and armor, combat and tactics, the differences between laying siege to a city and a keep, where and when to fight an enemy as well as not. Strom trusted those things he could either see, feel or touch, like the axe in his hands.

But magic was not any of those things.

Of course, this was not to say he never relied, or called upon, any of the abilities or powers of one or more of its practitioners, but it was just not one of Strom's favorite things to do. Oddly enough, it was of Strom's feelings about magic that caused people to wonder---even among his closest friends---as to what kind of spell Dyanara had cast on the mighty warrior for him to want to take her as his wife. "If you only knew," Strom would always say then pull Dyanara close. "If you only knew."

With there being little else he could do, Strom continued chopping wood.

Dyanara dipped her slim brown hand into one of the shallow bowls sitting beside her as she sat on the floor outside of the inscribed casting circle and removed seven dried takalla leaves. As she softly chanted part of the spell's complex incantation, she crumbled the petioles in her hand then carefully sprinkled the tiny pieces in an arc connecting two piles of other herbs within the periphery. As she did so, a tiny tingle of power ran through Dyanara's fingers.

Hmmmm

, she smiled inwardly, though being careful not to break her concentration lest the spell need to be cast again.

A very promising sign

.

Dyanara untied the top string holding her mage robe closed.

Then the next one.

And the next.

With great care, the Mistress of the Blue Runes slipped out of her cerulean robe and ritualistically folded it before setting it aside. It had only been two cycles of the moon since the Runemasters of the Council Supreme Sorcere' had bestowed on Dyanara her new rank and robe. The lengthy, pageant-like presentation ceremony immediately followed the equally long, ritualistic return of her emerald colored robe. The smooth, silky fabric of the new garment felt cool to her touch and still smelled of buttercups. Her advancement had been some time in coming but the runemistress knew it was an honor she had had to earn and not one that would just be given her.

Five years

, Dyanara thought as she gazed appreciatively, almost lovingly, at her highly sought after mark of status and power.

Five long years. I just hope to one day achieve the rank of white robe just as did my mentor, Master Setag.

The leaves all around Dyanara's treetop hideaway rustled and the luxuriant curls of her rich, dark brown hair were lightly lifted as a gentle breeze wafted through. Like the many others who preceded her, as well numerous contemporaries, Dyanara's magecraft workshop was hidden in plain sight. While the specifics of each atelier varied as much as the spellcasters who owned them, their very existence depended on the ingenuity and imagination of their makers. Dyanara possessed a love for big, tall, powerful trees so, when she saw the mighty oak standing by itself atop the highest hill overlooking Flontu, she immediately laid claim to it. Fortunately for her, Dyanara did not have to work too hard to convince her husband to give in to her wishes and leave the tree alone.

Through some magical coaxing and manipulating of the great oak's branches, a large spherical chamber opened up, just above the crux of the tree's trunk. Using her magic to twist the tree's branches this way and that, she made them into natural supports for smaller areas of flooring. As a crowning acheivement, she had created a spell specifically designed to protect her new workspace from the harshest conditions of weather while still allowing the more pleasant ones complete access. But an unexpected side-effect of Dyanara's transformation magic appeared at the beginning of the first Whitime after their arrival in Flontu: the leaves on the runemistress's tree were just as verdant and alive as they had been when she had cast her spell at mid-Highsun.

"So much for being

inconspicuous

," Dyanara said as the snow fell that first year.

As she knelt naked on the floor in front of her ritual casting circle, Dyanara picked up another of the small bowls and dipped her middle finger into the thin, blue, paste-like pigment it contained. She made sure she had a generous enough daub on her digit before she touched it to her forehead. Slowly, she drew a straight and steady line down across her brow, followed the curve of her nose, over the twin humps of her full lips, past her chin and down her neck. Dyanara gathered more of the colored ungent before she continued. Almost from instinct, her finger went back to the same spot where the narrow blue line had temporarily ended. On she drew. Down between her apple-sized breasts and across the upper half of her firm, flat stomach. Upon reaching her navel, Dyanara drew a circle around the indentation. Gathering twice as much of the pigment, she then traced a line down to her vagina, taking great care as to mark the skin underneath her thick patch of pubic hair. A tiny tingle raced through her body as her finger lightly touched her nigh ruby red clit. For a moment, Dyanara held her breath, forcing herself to breath through the very pleasant, though inadvertant sensation she had elicited.

Not just yet

, she told herself.

The runemistress followed a similar method as she drew circles around her large aureoles before connecting them to the ring around her navel. Two more lines followed, symbolically linking Dyanara's palms to the rest. Lastly, she painted her eyes.

Finished with the preparations, the runemistress set the bowl of pigment back in its place. She closed her eyes and began intoning the rest of the spell's words of power. Upon the utterance of the final arcane syllable, the turquoise stripes adorning Dyanara's body suddenly pulsed with energy, making her rich, brown skin appear even darker. Again she spoke the final part of the spell. Once more the lines flared, but brighter. Over and over, faster and faster Dyanara chanted the spell's finale'. Brighter and brighter the lines glowed. Just as Dyanara touched her fingertips together just ahead of her navel, forming a small point, she felt a familiar warm tingling sensation stir in her crotch, growing more and more intense each time she repeated the spell's words.

Not quite there

, read her thoughts as she silently gauged the feeling.

Using only her feet, Dyanara positioned a foot-long dowl just behind and below her ass. The wooden faux penis had been rounded-off, sanded smooth, heavily laquered and polished to a shiny finish and mounted on a wide flat base. While Dyanara had several of these "magic wands", as she jokingly called them, this one happened to be her favorite since its dimensions were only a little bit smaller than Strom. Its coolness surprised her a little when it brushed lightly against her outer labia.

The Runemistress's eyelids were fluttering now as the words just poured from her mouth. What had begun as a persistant itch had blossomed into a longing ache begging for relief. Dyanara pressed her fingertips together even harder to combat the urge to plunge them into her womanhood and bring herself to climax. But, just as she thought she could deny herself no longer, she felt the spell's full power rush through her being.

NOW!

her thoughts screamed as she thrust her hips down and back, fully impaling herself on the wooden phallus. The slick inner lips of Dyanara's vagina allowed the dildo easy passage deep into her until she was almost sitting flat against the base. As usual, the depth of the penetration made her gasp in surprise and her eyes flew open wide. But her brown irises saw nothing but a myriad of colors as her first orgasm blotted out the world around her. In a brief flash of light, and accompanied by a soft

whooof

, the carefully laid out pattern of herbs and alchemical materials literally went up in a puff of smoke. The thin cloud of bluish-gray smoke swirled slowly around within but never crossed the circle's protective border. The lines Dyanara had painted on herself vanished as well.

Dyanara brought her hips up slowly until the carved, wooden cock was being held only by her pussy's outer lips. Then, with the same deliberate slowness, she lowered her hips until her "wand" was in her to its depth. As she continued this gentle rhythm, images began forming in the smoke, images only Dyanara's eyes could see. To anyone else, the smoke would have appeared to be nothing but a confusing dance of implied and imagined ghostly shapes. Even those trained in the Art as Dyanara was would have had difficulty studying any of the images within for more than the blink of an eye. As one shape would appear and almost make sense, it would become obscure and shift into something else. Not a second passed without the smoke revealing---then concealing---one after another image. However, Dyanara's eyes were almost expert at interpreting such things.

All in all the Mistress of the Blue Runes concidered herself fortunate. While many who wished to study the art of magery for the accompanying power, only a few were prepared for the physical rigors they would have to endure to learn even the simplest of spells. Warriors trained hard to make their bodies strong and tough and turn them into leathal weapons but the practitioners of magic trained equally hard to learn the secrets of their physical form, enabling them to harness the nearly immeasurable power contained within.

It had been discovered long ago that sexual arousal and magic were connected though how and why were still unknown. What researchers did learn down through the years was that the seemingly timeless state of mind, experienced at the time of climax, was what increased a mage's ability to interact with the metaphysical plane, thereby increasing the potentcy and effectiveness of their spells. Of course, this did not mean sex, in one form or another, had to be a part of the casting of

every

spell, just the powerful ones.

To some, this sounded like wonderful news.

But, to those with less than open minds, it showed just how corrupt magic was.

Attitudes soon changed when some of the higher-ranking and greatly respected clergy members of the more well-known and popular faiths started reporting similar and equally remarkable results as well as receiving their gods' blessings to continue what they had begun.

To be taught the Art of magery quickly became more than just learning about how to create a desired magical effect or spending countless hours studying spells from dusty old tomes; it evolved into a journey of self-discovery and awareness. A century following the astounding revelation connecting magic and sex, it was common practice for masters to have their apprentice hopefuls "endure" as much as two years studying the numerous aspects of sex and sexual technique---even before being allowed to open and study their first spellbook. Oddly, it was typically toward the middle or end of this period when most withdrawls would take place. The most oft cited reason for departure by the initiates was their inability to maintain such a sexually active pace for so long.

But it was in that area that Dyanara truly excelled, even going so far as being able to make herself climax merely by concentrating hard enough. Dyanara's penchant for these intimate lessons made her a very popular study partner with the male and female initiates during the years she spent at the Ars Arcana Colligium on the island of Steeshata.

Or, as almost all non-spellcasters called it: the Magic User's Island.

At the moment, though, Dyanara's mind was as far from her memories of that time and place as she was from it physically. Her mind was on focused on making sense of the constantly shifting shapes being formed by the smoke within the circle. And what she saw brought a frown to her attractive face.

A fortified keep, high atop a mountain billowed into. . .

a winged woman with glowing yellow eyes. . .

then a great circle of power that opened up into. . .

a dark, spinning shaft leading down and down and down. . .

then countless armored bodies, swaying back and forth. . .

followed by. . .followed by. . .

As Dyanara moved forward and back, the wooden cock slid easily and freely in and out of her. But when her glassy eyes beheld a final image revealed by the smoke, she suddenly jumped to her feet. The sex-coated, handcrafted penis slipped from her vagina and clattered noisily on the floor. In moments, the smoke was gone.

And the spell was broken.

Dyanara's breathing came hard and fast, as much a result from her sexual activities as it was from what she had seen. But her trembling hands were clearly the result of the latter. The runemistress retreived a clean towel from the small table behind her and rubbed the rough cloth between her legs and across her inner thighs, mopping up the juices that had dribbled down them during the spell. All the while, her mind kept on replaying the last few moments of the enchantment, over and over.

When she closed her eyes, Dyanara could see what had scared her with such great clarity it frightened her all the more: a face. A terrifying, monsterous, horrible face rising up from behind the swaying(?) bodies, like the coming dawn of a day of such unspeakable evil that words failed. Beyond the horrific visual, it was what Dyanara had "heard" in her mind that truly sent a chill through her soul: