“Your vision is lacking, after—”
“Not even materials of kin provoke wonder!?”
The careful, lamenting condemnation of a conman is trampled by a snake that hurls herself with absolute grace to land in a seamstress’ private “arena” first.
“Regrettably so.” After a slow, sad startup…
“All the swirling possibilities,” Mython’s lanky self then effuses energy with the hidden image her moving hands capture. “Entice me…!”
The following pregnant pause confuses Adris, for she ends with “Yet, without the songs, nothing, just blown sand.”
“Come now, Mython! Hybernean weave by itself is such a friendly, easygoing song to move it. Even the wild birds sing it around us!”
At the boast, Mython’s dwindling energy saps even faster, breaking eye contact before frowning.
(Get a hint, Ave!)
A racial hatred about “elvish frivolity” he heard once has stayed with Adris, coming as a recollection about their craft as spoken by another craftsman when these two elves are stuck in silence after.
(Crackbrass hated nothing more than anything “twigfuckers screech into being with one ugly step, then throw away without caring about anymore afterward”.)
Screeching must be “song”, but because Dwarves create by “traumatic iteration”, how do elves…?
“How can lacking a ‘song’ stop progress?”
He gestures to the mannequins, which even now bear the weight of an unseen “form” settling upon them without the pegs having changed position even once except for a certain mannequin’s that has Adris’ bodily metrics.
(She made progress with my swimsuit? There’s even materials gathered on her low table.)
“If you search for what the rest of the swimsuits should be, why not ‘play’ with the shapes and dyes you could use as individual test pieces? Inspiration can arise from…?”
The seamstress’ eyes go wide, then she laboriously blinks at Adris’ trailing question. Avenalliah sighs with exasperation, which then leads to Mython smiling freshly. They share a nod, then step toward him with levity.
“Remember your home which wasn’t the unchanging dark! ‘What should be’ in elvish forests is ever-ready as the light, discovered not made! One’s emotions, longing only for…!” Ave brightly says this, then Mython joins the snake elf’s hand to press on Adris’ chest.
Once he feels their weight that forgives his ignorance, Mython completes the thought with more specificity. “… those magical songs which move the ‘wind’ (SUBMERGED ANIMUS) of the materials, and the most joyful resonance with one’s envisioned image which fixates that ‘wind of what will be’ (IDEALIZED FORM OF THE DESIRED CREATION).”
(Too much wind!)
Adris’ logical mind springs forward with this thought process that focuses on “emotions”. He pushes past the elves to feel the air currents that invisibly move over the mannequins, waiting for something.
(Wait… you’re summoning the end goal, not making it!?)
Suddenly, the emptiness of Mython’s shop, the complete lack of any visible tools of the clothier’s trade, needs only focal points for concentration of the unseen into existence instead.
(Mython uses dry incenses to alter her mental state as an aura user would, treating “creation” as “enlightenment”?)
This is powerful Xinian culture: the act of crystallizing Techniques being applied to an entire civilization’s material output!
“Without needles or scissors, as the whole piece from the start, what was always supposed to be gains immaculate creation, right, Mython? The intrinsic, uniting parts reveal the whole, piece by piece, once one is comprehended.”
His sheer brilliance earns the moan from Mython of astonishment, then the seamstress looks to Ave with a questioning face.
“Not a human! A prince of the dark fey, returned to his TRUE home, as I said!”
Ave’s joyful cry tweaks Adris’ and Mython’s ears, startling them both even more when Ave rushes around like a child on her long tail continuing to shout!
“Mastering the dangers of the Devouring Dark!” She streaks back and scoops Adris’ hands skyward with hers clutching!
“Ah, but always being careful with it, too.”
After her wild rush, Ave returns to being more reserved, though she sighs his name with pleasure. “If there’s anyone that can imagine the perfect forms of the beauty you could make, Mython, then it’s Adris fehl Dain!”
Adris feels seven feet tall once named.
“The mighty wind he gifted to us within the dreaded Castillo, no matter how dim and troubled it may howl at times, has proved that every word my Beloved One has spoken comes true!”
His back is ramrod-straight, while his strong chin lifts with a gaze glaring down upon anyone who should doubt her words.
“Even if Fate decreed you could not make the swimsuits, IT SHALL BE SO IF ADRIS HELPS!”
So long as it’s this pretty cheerleader selling him, the tiny voice that screams “SHUT UP, LIZARD, BEFORE YOU OVER-COMMIT ME!” with Neesiette’s candor is snuffed out.
(Yes, thank you, Ave, for convincing Mython of my unshared plan!)
Such an introduction makes Adris feel… rare guilt.
(Please be more suspicious of people.)
“… One’s heart can fill with wonder like…?” Mython’s lingering lethargy is completely gone when the girl timidly approaches Adris, replaced by a shadow of what seems like hope on her face when wanting to reach out to touch him again, then stopping. “… You can reshape the world with your very feelings, as kin can?”
It’d been Adris’ own plan to hint and suggest such inclinations and abilities with subtlety, but Ave proves that a direct attack also works.
(If by that you mean “are you capable of the idealization of aura Techniques”, then yes, I’m second only to Serras!)
“Truly, it’s been my surprise that how I protect my people has been replicated by foreigners. In far away lands beyond the black skies that hold danger, no less.” Adris’ goading doesn’t produce any strong response, except for Mython to narrow her eyes as if concentrating on him, so he uses more “truthful lies” to prod her.
“Just how similar are our cultures, we who comprehend the absolute truths that terrify lesser beings?”
Adris wants to smile at the attention he’s getting, but then he feels a twinge of random anticipation. His blood rushes with flashing impulses of emotions, all a jumbled current of temptation, fear, exhilaration of possibility biting upon his joints and fingertips!
A deep gulf of conflict is what he falls into, his balance unsteady!
(Who…!?)
A familiar outpouring of presence surrounds the elf before him, sweeping out and visibly clouding Adris’ aura sight with the intensity of it just as the Owl Kainan did when angered. When Mython’s wild, feral yellow irises relax from shaking, the attack abates suddenly.
“… He…?” Mython smiles at the same moment, then turns toward Ave. “He ‘heard’ me without sharing ‘essence’!?”
(When did I become empathic to more than just one permanently bitchy witch!?)
For Still’s emotions to transmit is a function of whatever poison he swallowed and their aura link through the core that lies within Still.
For Mython, though…?
(This elf just tested my bragging!)
“Does your voice also travel as the Priestess’ does?”
“Many have heard the strength of his oration, Mython, and sworn themselves to him afterward!”
“How unimaginable…?”
Ave answers for him, leaving Adris’ frustration growing more that he’s gaining another “legend”.
It should not be possible for Adris’ “voice” to transmit emotions, for aura is a state of ascended being freed of them; but, within his Inner Expanse and testing how it vibrates after tasting Mython’s emotions, he has an inkling of a way to match the same aura output and emanate back to Mython.
(Is this how those who master “pressing” Techniques accomplish their effects? It feels a bit like I do when putting on my intimidation shows using the black cross?)
“He’s… ‘windborne’ (AURA SENSITIVE), not simply blessed?”
“Windborne? Why have a separate word for what all kin are…?” Ave’s question regarding her own translation of the word makes Mython’s smile drop, then the seamstress coughs and deflects further inquiry by pulling Ave to join Adris.
“Could you… share a perfect moment, in all its wonder, with kin?”
Adris intentionally doesn’t answer because he comprehends that Mython is asking if he can crystallize the “Technique” in this creative process. He only stares hard, thinking with a burning mind that is confused of the terms and particulars between cultures.
(They do have aura, but I’ve never felt this kind before now?)
Merciless and murderous, the cold auras of Xin’reh knew only these flavors. The “aura” that gathers around both elves is completely uncontrolled, the wail of riotous intent without direction when Adris senses the environment. It may even be the source of the illusory “images” that elves can compel to attack him.
(Is this “haze” all around us a gathering of pure aura of Zennia?)
If any other aura could compare to an elvish one, only a black-haired butcher’s single-mindedness does. She, too, could project pure imagery upon another without even needing to use a Technique.
(Serras’ “demons” always grew more frightening when I was in her view of the rest of the world…)
“My desires will form the image you seek to… manifest, Mython.”
Confident now, as if pieces long out of place are lining up, Adris curls his hand as an invitation. “I shall ‘press’ my brilliance upon you. Let your hands incarnate the majesty of my image.”
(If elves have empathic abilities, then this should be simple?)
“Yes!” Mython nods enthusiastically, returning to the mannequins and plopping down upon the tree like a child would to sway around! “Joining another’s invitation with my own sounds slightly… naughty~?”
“Naughty? Ah, but why not use what kin have made for the materials, too, since you’re performing a joint calling!?” Ave springs to join her, laying there and soaking up the sudden joyful change!
“… Without the right songs, I…” At this, Mython’s normal reticence creeps back in along with a very tight squeezing of her arms.
Adris comes to stand beside Mython’s table that has more mundane, but still amazing, fabrics atop it. He pulls off his cloak to drop it on the table to gauge the richness of them in comparison.
(I can patch clothing, but not actually make clothing. It’s going to be difficult, even with Clear Mind, to form in my Inner Expanse an “image”…?)
But, Adris fehl Dain will never fail to accomplish in three tasks.
(Lying, loving, and tool-making!)
“Would Ave not already know the songs?” The most logical resolution comes from Adris’ total faith that anything “elvish” can be accomplished by Ave. “How long would it take to learn them from her?”
(If you just want to make something, then let Ave tea—
Why are you both staring at me like I just ate a giant turd in front of you?)
Even Ave’s grimace makes her look constipated, damaging both Adris’ confidence and causing him to grind his teeth with frustration when Mython turns green of cheeks at an apparent insult.
(Why does it matter HOW you learn the method!?)
“Ah, since he’s already one with the world from the start…?” Ave’s disappointment vanishes after she concocts some excuse for him that Mython instantly comprehends.
“For we kin, Adris, each ‘song’ is discovered joy that unites material and singer in friendship!”
“Such joy would be ruined if rushed. Ten seasons are promised for this, playing with them by the waters that give life to all things great and small.”
(“Water births the wind”, is that it?)
“But, they’re such common fabrics, really, even I learned how they played in only a season a piece…?” Ave’s shock becomes a diatribe again, ending when Mython’s cheeks puff up and she shakes with what might be frustration behind that stony mask of non-emotion.
“No, but, everyone’s time is different, and our understanding, it’s based on individual …!?” Ave tries to recover, leaving Adris pondering.
(Perhaps, like aura, the “songs” are tools that only have true meaning when experienced oneself? Aura resonance… with music? That’s like…?)
A retarded dollmaker named Kestner; thus, proving that music is the most common method of directing aura on Zennia.
Avenalliah is prone to offering veiled, but likely, solutions, though. Being too cowardly to commit with open suggestions, even now the snake elf glances sidelong at the materials which are stuffed into a cabinet. She must long to retrieve them, her anticipation greater than even Mython’s.
(So, let me be the man you think I am, for once! But, don’t treat me like a messiah anymore. I’m not able to manage that, right now, with Still going nuts at simple things…)
“Seamstress, summoner, and… songstress?”
Lifting up and offering his hands to the sky above, Adris slyly smiles at Ave when her mirth dries up at this.
“Isn’t a trio like this the stuff of myths?”
“To offer true existence to beautiful ideas with the Priestess and…!?”
Mython’s transformation from a steely-faced forest guardian to a bright-eyed kid that takes Ave’s hand, then slightly yanks on it like an impatient brat when Ave won’t allow herself to be moved. It’s so endearing that Adris finds her foreign beauty pulling him more and more when Mython pressures Adris’ elf. Almost like friends from youth, the two elves launch through a series of progressively more comical expressions when staring at each other silently.
Then, Ave breaks.
“…
… naive…?”
Whatever Mython heard that Adris didn’t earns a curiously exaggerated shake of her head negatively.
“… please, don’t be too disappointed, then.”
“There’s no disappointment in sharing ‘you’!” Even though Mython screams this, she then lets her eyes wander with that enthusiasm vanishing. “… Well, whatever is birthed by our efforts, if it’s… we three, then…” With a more mild encouragement after again burying her emotions, Mython gets up to go retrieve the bolts of rare cloth.
Between the simply-clad Mython and her leaf tunic that disregards her lithe appeal, and the almost ethereal Avenalliah dressed in dancing sashes, glimmering silver jewelry, and shining emerald scales clad on a powerful tail, the singer who would better command the most presence is easy to choose. Elves, being similar to human youths in size, rely more on the shockingly powerful emotional projections Adris is constantly exposed to in order to carry their quiet natures outward.
(Ave is the winner of this.)
But she won’t speak as Mython arrays the materials at four corners to create a spiritual area that follows the expanding circle of Ave’s tail. The dry incense bowls staggered around add an invisible scent storm that highlights each fabric’s intrinsic qualities.
In contrast to the precision of Falke Kestner and Lycia, Mython just kicks things around with her bare feet until making a bobbing nod of her head at the end result, then stepping away. There’s no heaviness of anticipation, no magical thickness to the air that Adris has experienced so often when invoking the metaphysical.
If anything, it feels like there’s less.
Mython claps her hands, then lifts them to face outward. Limbering up with swooping motions, Adris is brought into the circle to stand before Ave by following Mython’s suddenly forceful hand sign to obey.
(A song… that YOU lead?)
Adris’ fascination is banished with a snap of her fingers.
“Drink deeply of the Priestess’ song, [Beloved One]!”
There’s no youthful mirth or forgiveness of dereliction now. Mython’s voice is sharp like a wizened teacher’s!
“Think only about how more beautiful our world will be when the joy overtakes you, and you meet what should’ve always been for [the first time].”
Without so much as a gust out of place around them as the glade is deathly silent, Mython closes her eyes and cues Avenalliah with a swirl of her left hand.
(Fatso-Fimbo drooled about Ave’s “divine” singing.)
Why Adris had never baited her into sharing her purported talent before now muddies his enthusiasm. A side of Ave that he’s never known has always been available at his most meager of efforts, but…?
(Did I just never care?)
The emissary of the ancient past that smiles timidly at Adris might wonder the same thing, for while Adris is calm outwardly as Ave draws in a breath, she isn’t with how she keeps touching her clothing to make sure everything is “right” as nervous females will do.
(She’s been wanting to sing for me…)
His absolute hatred for the Elder wanes when Ave pouts about what she’s about to do; yet, their cares cease to matter when she firms her cheeks with a pat, boldness runs through her, and she offers her feelings toward the sky!
If it’s a song that this first clear note begins, then it’s one that needs no words.
Adris’ very bones are pierced by the intense purity of what resonates elsewhere, too.
Ave’s hand lifts upward as her notes go higher, commanding Adris to take flight, though he doesn’t know how to!
(Beau… ti… ful!)
The colors filling in the world beyond the circle of her snake tail add the otherworldly elvish gleam that bathes Adris. She’s not even looking at him, but Adris feels a gut-wrenching plea that begs for her to be cradled by him!
Mython’s tree lumbers into motion its many limbs as if to honor the needy request. Leaves barely colorful in Ysanne’s perpetual twilight far above grow more vibrant, prouder than before.
There’s no distinction between fear and joy with how Ave imitates a songbird. Even the octaves defined by how her voice jumps around have depth that cherishes the shadows cast by light.
As if this will be her first and last song, for Ave will perish after!
“Envision what now comes, Beloved One.”
Adris swivels to stare at the powerful voice that commands him. He’d completely forgotten about this elf, her name coming back slowly.
(She sings better than… But, the real show begins. Watch me touch eternity, then seduce it to slum with me instead of remaining beyond reach.)
His mind clears of all else but Ave.
“Shortly, they’ll all liberate,” The first bolt of cloth touched by Ave’s song rips upright to unwind at a tearing speed when gestured to by Mython’s left hand! The gossamer fabric’s end unravels into a spray of threads; as they pull around Ave’s circle, the threads liquefy into only the color of the original fabric!
“Then she’ll move to the main song’s promise. Call to them.” Mython’s stern order belies how her body dances in place to follow her swooping, frenetic hand gestures.
(Living materials!?)
Like the streams of colored waters that fill the world tree’s sky and pool around its branches, the fabric boils with its own desire that plucks at Adris’ skin. This pearly stream merges with silvers and greens that come in from metallic discs on Mython’s table. The happily unified mass then swirls faster, more aggressively when Adris’ emotions strengthen and he seeks their depths with his aura sight.
(Empathic materials!?)
When the first fabric is totally liquefied, Ave’s song abruptly shifts to a totally new direction and tone matching Mython’s conducting orders. The next bolt throws itself up to stretch in a taffy-like procession, then the next merrily tears to shreds, and the last trails as a streak of fire to become a long flag!
(How will Mython know to use such different materials together when I haven’t decided what of them to use yet!?)
These streams gallop around what interests them like wild horses. Adris has no idea of the actual creation steps, but calms immensely when realizing that no matter how bizarre the proceedings are, or how strange the forest “spirits” joining in the festivities to blare their own music in accompaniment seem, Adris needs only to fortify his mind and witness the final form to succeed.
If it’s something that Ave will wear, then it should be simple; after all…!
(Anything elvish becomes her own erotic style!)
Adris squats before the singing snake, lifting his clenched fists before his face. With his aura circulating at fullest and a liturgy mumbling beneath his breath to bolster acceptance of external stimuli, the aura warrior bursts open his hands to form a steeple with them.
Gazing through this [divining gate] that separates worldly externalities from essential enlightened truth, Adris prepares to receive a Technique unto himself.
(Show me eroticism!)
If Fatso were still alive, Adris would be skinned alive for perverting the Manyfold Path for pure carnality!
That tickling thought amps the flashes of imagery that Ave’s many greens filter into Adris. Unlike a Technique, the image of another that he desires plays familiarly…
(… Didn’t I just do this?)
A dark-colored cape breaks through the greens for a moment, his mind’s eye resounding with a strange laughter. Adris’ resolve reignites when pushing it out to enjoy the thousands of permutations of Ave that then dance for him instead!
Her song gains energy when the thousands become fewer enticing possibilities. Colors circling her do so faster!
(It’s a shame, though, with how little Ave wears normally, a swimsuit isn’t much different~?)
But he’ll still enjoy the chance to strip it off, to lick the droplets of water off her honey skin, and hear her praises for strapping a thin status symbol over her that perfectly embodies what she loves—!
“Whatever the form of the novelty worn, none of your own desires will reflect in what tempts you.”
A pitying howl of terror overwhelms the song entirely.
(Huugh!?)
Adris almost wretches, deciding instead to fall on his ass out of his squat. His entire mental design bleeds the greens of elves like gore just reaved by blade.
Hands to his temples, he can hear only the torment of another’s condemnation.
Every time a wild vision of Ave wearing the leafy green that she loves more than anything plays before him, the echoes of pain rip her apart screaming!
(… No… she… likes wearing these things, and so do…!?)
Playful fabrics circling them suddenly cease moving to hang in the now heavy air.
Ave’s song continues, but all but her are suddenly staring through Adris’ flesh. Mython’s left hand extended toward him keeps flicking. The seamstress’ expression is of concern, then astonishment as Adris’ confidence continues to collapse with each design he chose being mentally shredded by the elder’s condemnation.
(… I… can’t think of anything that isn’t to make her happy.)
There’s no laughter at this like in his nightmare, though. The elder elf doesn’t pop out of the tree’s bark to sneer at him.
Alone before his singing pet who is giving it her all, Adris cannot find a personal preference that he’d risk to violate hers.
To even act out is forbidden by the song. An elvish ritual calls for what Adris can’t give when trapped by expectation that he won’t claim her right now lest it fail!
(… No. He’s not right! If only because… there is no other male alive that wants Ave more than I do!)
He’s had her.
He will have her again.
Until the very last day that the torchlike sun burns, from his very loins the truth he seeks wants to drive right into the place where she keeps hers…!
(If you’re gonna prove that you want someone, then moan it to her with passion!)
Instead of entrusting himself to his training, Adris decides to ad lib right at the moment of peak danger. The black cross rips from Cethran’s sash to his left hand without even being consciously called.
“RANTIL!” An elvish ritual that calls light and sweetness and good feelings to gather is about to get far darker.
Just for an instant before vanishing, a tattered cloak billows out behind himself and flaps wildly with the wind that picks up!
Which is impossible, for Adris took his off.
(HOOOOOOOOH!?)
Depravity awakens with an obnoxious sigh!
“What darkness now descends!?” Mython cries out in alarm when Adris grabs his head harder and begins to pant.
If a thousand images of Ave wearing scandalous elvish swimsuits once lodged in his thoughts tempted him, then the untold millions of ways she can dance her snaking body across his own, before sinking his diamond-hard dick into her honey hole, have him drooling when his brain is slapped by each.
(Fuck what AVE wants! Swimsuits are made for ME!)
It’s so blindingly obvious now that slayers are truly brilliant!
For all the effort a female puts into choosing what is just right for a situation, swimsuits are different in that they exist solely for a man to long to be the sunlight that warms them!
If a woman chooses to wear one, it’s already a man that will eventually strip it off!
(WHAT DO I WANT!?)
“What of Ave can he simply not do without anymore”!?
The question is asked within, and the dark thoughts that accompany chittering laughter in the background of his mind provide a hint.
(If Ave’s tea tasted SO GOOD after entering the world tree…?)
Shaking as he keeps screaming that to drown out the elder’s pity, Adris finally lunges forward!
(… WHAT ELSE WOULD TASTE BETTER THAT YOU’RE HIDING?)
Oblivious the whole time, Avenalliah Aurmaris, the singing sensation, abruptly stops her duty. She stares past the long, brown skirt panel hanging from her front waist, her defense against prying eyes because of a snake form that defies normal clothes, when it goes skyward with all of Adris’ might. The force pulls up the shorter green skirt under it just long enough for Adris to glimpse the forbidden dessert he longs for after finally listening to his heart.
A nestled cleft sitting just above where scales meet skin, Adris’ need to tease his elf almost gushes out to match how her lips are mildly flushed. Almost a pudgy line before he broke her on that fateful night at the baths, each time he goes back to them, the lips are more pliable and the pink flower more blushing!
And this flower needs no watering, for it already glistens with the juices he wants.
After her skirt falls back down, Ave keeps staring at Adris with her mouth open, song forgotten. She just keeps silently mumbling unspoken words while pressing her hands to keep her skirt from mysteriously flying back up again.
“Avenalliah… your friend is thirsty.”
“…
… t-t-thirsty…?”
Stumbling through outrageous looks, the once overly dignified elf priestess’ eyes swim with embarrassment; though, not afraid of the request, merely unable to commit until Ave seeks direction from their conductor.
While he can’t see Mython, the girl’s order is so… painfully liquid with her response that Adris’ earlobes feel licked.
“No drink sates thirst between… friends like the [Nectar] (LOVE ESSENCE) of kin. Isn’t this simple, Priestess?”
“… Augh!?” After choking on her reply, Ave, now rigidly smiling after achieving true comprehension, looks back to Adris.
(There will be no more words.)
What he wants will be sated, or it won’t be.
No “playful escape” is permitted.
When her hands timidly move to her waist and begin unfixing her dress, a young maid overwhelmed by the spot she’s put in does the best thing Adris could’ve asked for.
“… Don’t perish…”
The halted instruments of the forest blare back into swing, a riotous energy turning the song bawdier. A ripening green snake makes her fruit available for a bite by instinctively lowering her mighty tail and arching outward her torso. Her unique physiology and bones let her push a more deeply set treasure outward for his tongue to reach!
But her tongue, so monstrously long that Adris wants to massage its full length by working his own over it, slides out temptingly to hang from her small mouth as his invitation.
“… drink… me, and live…!”
Like a line from a drama or fairy tale, the once-stoic future elf savior melts into a confused, anticipatory grin. Red-cheeked and resisting her own impulses, her slender, lickable fingers come to those lower lips that tempt Adris more than her red upper ones.
They ever-so-cautiously spread wide the entrance to the pot that drools its delectable honey. A narrowed tunnel of pleasure winks as her muscles contract.
(I need you… AVE!)
It’s not with grace that his head strikes her stomach, and then his chin mashes against the very edge of her encroaching scales.
“HYAAAAH!?” A scream of pleasure restarts Ave’s summoning song, the notes she belts out brought on by the hands that wrap around the softest skin and the shiniest scales of her behind, burying the true conductor’s tongue into the sweetest of flavors.
(Oh, Ascended, she’s…!? MORE!)
No female could possibly be sweet, for that should be a sign of sickness going by the medical texts he recalls. Every word from them burns away when an elf’s pussy is better than any sweetcake or cream!
To prove her divinity, twilight from beyond Mython’s tree pulls toward them.
An umbral gathering of radiance clings around them and grows energized!
(This is working! FASTER!)
“AAADRIS! SL-SLOW…!?”
“SING!” He yells a violent order into her sloshing depths.
“YESH!” She obeys aggressively when his tongue lifts to wrestle with the clit that has hardened to jab at him!
(Not enough to taste! She has to show me what I want for her…! Drench my face!)
Falling onto a tail that scoops under him, Adris descends to follow the siren who breathlessly fights to overcome the pleasure impeding her singing!
His mind, already broken from the all-encompassing dark impulses flooding from deep within, searches for the true image that will make Avenalliah more desirable than any other.
Once made, he’ll fit the gathered potential… or just cram it in, if he has to!
(… Not enough!)
It’s the song that’s in the way now, not the lack of elements! Too uplifting, Adris’ thoughts see a snake elf endlessly screaming his name as the sun sets forever, but the music longs for a distant sun to take her away from their mating bed filled with pillows.
(RANTIL!)
A second cry in his mind brings no stirring. Only a coldness settles in deeper.
He has the drive to be depraved that brings images to his mind from within; but, who can lead him to cracking through to where the dark impulses come from…!?
(I am a master aura warrior! This tasty elf was made for me…! If there’s an obstruction to perverting her, then…)
Willing with all his might for a change, driving his aura to break free of its boundaries, to even sexually assault metaphysical concepts if need be…!
It’s surprisingly easy to fall into a previously unused channel for expressing these desires.
As if merely overflowing into a greater basin than the first, Adris’ piercing sense of taste exponentially improves with this.
(Where is my aura going to!?)
His tongue that seeks the very glands that the forest dessert secretes from dances with joy that his aura has found a new outlet, driving out all worries as he continues to drain.
The cross’ obsidian steals the elvish glows around it, growing ever darker before exploding outward!
“Shaded!?” Another voice screams over Ave’s, a difficult task when the pleasure of the cross stealing Adris’ might sends the boy worshiping harder the nub protected by a thin hood!
(There’s… another!?)
Darkness as a flaming shadow burns from behind the bucking snake elf. From the depthless abyss rent into thin air above them both, great hands clad in tight white gloves with pin tips for plucking like a harpist’s stay at Avenalliah’s side.
The darkness that manifests them, the black lines that are written everywhere upon them, scream its misbegotten designation.
[Soundless Conductor].
(“It moves every last sentient with music, without conducting a single instrument?”)
Large enough to pick her up, these physical hands attach only to writhing darkness. They gently limber each finger like Mython once did, despite their horrific origin.
They then lift upward, making an arch between them!
(“Everybody?”)
The lighter-than-normal ambiance of the elvish glade crashes down with absolute gravity at this signal. Where discovery was spoken of with hope, the gloves behind Ave move slowly to then slam against each other.
Like lightning from the heavens, a coruscating pronged fork stretches out as they open back up! The right hand takes it up and bathes the twilight with the purple-black, popping grandeur of a captured heavenly weapon.
(Enemy!?)
The left hand that frees itself gestures toward Ave with an uplifting movement!
(MMMPH!? H-Honey…!)
“Hyuaaaaah!” Adris’ horniness that almost cleared roars back when Ave’s hands wrap around his head to grind him against her honeyed slit! Her screaming for want of more pleasure then warps who is slave and master in sating thirst!
As if obeying the monster’s cue, her wailing distorts into a cacophony of half singing, half moaning. Being drowned by the experience completely distracts Adris.
“… Shall not STEAL my dream, again!” Another screams in outrage, then Adris hears the forest rave fight back. Over the slurping of his tongue and the plucking of Ave’s engorged labia, another cue comes not from without, but from within!
(CETHRAN!?)
A manic organ clatters to insanity all around and as a part of Adris!
Ave’s singing is its duet. The organ’s varied chords play mockery of the peaceful elf’s earlier music, demanding with absolute clarity that all that could be revealed, all that is hidden, be heard!
(I… feel no vibrations!)
The music infesting Adris’ thoughts are vivid beats and a tempo that obeys the conductor’s fork swung by the gloves. As his eyes roll back at the flood of sticky juices that only he’s allowed to experience the wonders of, Adris finds the conflict outside playing out within.
Once a man experiences a new pleasure, he has to compare!
(Neesiette… tastes NOTHING like this…!)
Madness calls disparate thoughts to considerations that will get him killed if admitted to the other party. Perhaps BECAUSE he’ll die for it, he wants to scream that a salty lady isn’t bad, either! It all depends on what a man wants at the moment, which flower’s nectar he’ll slurp tonight.
(But… since Ave’s is so easy to get to…!)
That he can have the taste easier makes it less satisfying, somehow.
The straight-laced moon succubus that takes ages to strip has her own appeal!
But, the organ killing his heart dances across chords to ask if he only wants either of them just the same way he’s had them; or, if he could earn the opposite with a clever tongue, would he sample that heretical flavor with more gusto?
(If Ave’s honey were wrapped up…!)
An image comes as suddenly as the lightning flicking behind Ave.
One of the berserk circles of colors is yanked from the rest. A perfect temptation that Avenalliah Aurmaris would definitely not think was perfect makes itself concrete within Adris’ mind’s eye.
(Always wanting pleasure from me!? How can she be my love slave if she doesn’t learn to act…!?)
Bondage.
A pleasure that’s solely earned.
Opposition to elves as the very spirit of the swimsuit.
What should be impossible to decide upon in the absence of experience, because he has never even seen a true “swimsuit”, is instead resolved in a moment.
“Adris…! ADRIS!” Avenalliah’s swimsuit finalizes with her screams of his name announcing how swiftly his tongue has overwhelmed her. “Adris!” becomes the whole spoken song, while the maddening organ wars with the forest jamboree trying to tempt him back!
(OPPOSITION! WHAT IF THEY WERE ALL JUST… NOT THEMSELVES FOR ONCE?)
What if Kol, Neesiette, and Still were completely beyond his normal expectations the moment they put them on…!?
Deciding that they should be different, their memories in Adris’ thoughts exchange their clothing.
(… Oh. That’s just… exotic?)
Kol against Still.
Neesiette shunning Ave.
Each has a unique style…!
(But, unique doesn’t mean you can’t play with it.)
“Liberate the song back to me, shadow!” An irate girl howls behind Adris, earning only a dismissive gesture from the unseen monster’s left glove. It sweeps its hands wider, drops and stabs the lightning that aids its conducting to compel faster beats, building up the finale of the song at the same rate that Adris’ fevered brain finishes enslaving four women to his own crude desires!
(I CAN SEE IT!)
Bathing in the clearest elvish waters, Adris is nurtured into near insensation by the calmness of it!
But then they all swim toward him, breaking the surface at once to astound him with feminine appeal none of them have ever personally possessed, only seen displayed by the other.
Instead of them wearing what they would like…!
(They wear what I would like, so I can see something new from all of them!)
“Ave…!” Adris slurps into her cunt, letting her insides squeeze against his tongue as he slurs.
“ADRIS!” A snake tail curls, spasms with the building release!
The very end thunders around and within.
Every emotion that was unleashed by the song from deep within scratches at the limits of Adris’ inner world, begging to burst free!
Swirling, pristine giant gloves pull at the limits of every listener, what converts of the incomprehensible knowledge they impart tearing about within to match the lightning tempo of the conductor!
At the center of the forthcoming release that gathers crackling, chaotic darkness to nip at Avenalliah, Adris knows that once this finale ends, when the conductor finishes drawing his fork of lightning close to slash it out, there shall be nothing left that can contain the ecstasy that liberates his deepest fetishes…!
(But, even what I’ve glimpsed isn’t enough.)
One last trick must be played for Adris to truly smile, not merely fake it, when his love slaves swim to wrap themselves around him!
“I permit no one to enjoy their true beauty when just worn…!”
Just before the conducting gloves finish their wild flailing, and the darkness of the heavens comes crashing down, Adris plants a caveat to these bikinis’ incarnations…!
“… only the sacred waters and my ‘attentions’ shall reveal their secrets.” Adris whispers this while licking his lips, making absolutely sure that he savors the last of the honey he’s permitting himself to indulge in.
(That way, they have to wear them around me to get the whole experience…)
“Ah!? AHDRISH!?” Ave squeals in frustration, rolling around to claw at the tree. At the cusp of a mind-shattering orgasm, she only stops reaching for her abused pussy with both hands when Adris barks a command.
“Withstand the temptation until then.”
“… AAAHnnnng!?” How the half-naked, wild-haired sex skink can resist flicking her bean and dipping two fingers into her tight hole is another elvish mystery, for Avenalliah curls up while panting to resist having easy access.
“Good girl. Our friendship, we’ll prove it this way.”
“… Yesh…! My… prince…ly friend, ahah… oh~!” In the absence of all sound after stopping their tryst, Ave begs for his hand to squeeze hers as she works on calming. Totally drenched with sweat and sweetness running down her scales, Ave earns a kiss upon her cheek despite clear snot and happy tears staining it.
Thunder crashes!
Adris flicks his head up in alarm, recalling that there is a monster pretending to lead them in a performance!
Electricity lingering after smashing its own conducting fork merely arcs to ground harmlessly on the tree. The once-frenzied gloves, perhaps now angry at Adris’ sudden halt to the performance, waggle an index finger at him as if chastising.
(I… well, to… wait seemed the most desirable thing to me, actually?)
Ave isn’t allowed to feel pleasure until it’s Adris giving her the very best.
This isn’t something born of seducing her, or a method to keep her placated: it’s a great relationship game of Adris’ own creation, always teasing this favored god child to win against her astounding base abilities, especially that devilish luck, that far exceed his.
Despite not speaking anything to them, the gloves lift up their palms and shake with resignation once Adris thinks this. They withdraw ponderously slowly into the black rent hanging in the air that they came from, dissolving into only whispering screams of the many watchers that constantly judge Adris’ behavior.
(It… forgave me? Was that one of the ones who stayed for my ascension step!?)
It doesn’t answer.
Only the twilight and a circle of obsidian blackness joining the other four processed, airborne fabrics remains when Adris’ influence collapses completely.
“… What should be…” A timid voice reasserts, beckoning toward the sky.
(Oh, the images!)
“… what I have longed for!” Sharpness cuts past timidity! From the low table of materials, a fifth stream of fabrics unravels and then rejoins!
Adris completely loses track of what the swimsuits he came up with should be when the frantic colors above lift like hawks! The obsidian ring which encircles overhead is what they plunge through, being dyed forever by it!
“Be clothed in glory!”
The colored streams stretch as needed, then strike down upon…
(WHY ME!?)
The last-minute addition born from the table wraps around Adris! All that he wears now is plucked off him like a boiled chicken’s feathers.
Naked for a moment, the overwhelming animus of another’s imagined design settles onto him with perfect weightlessness. Woven without any seams, truly immaculate as he briefly sparkles like an elf would.
(O-Oh, this is pretty mobile?)
… A-Adris…? Is… this what… you like?” Ave’s deadpan question, the way she arches her eyebrows with total confusion about her outfit when pinching it in places, is hard to respond to when she leers down at his crotch afterward. A long tongue flicks out to taste the air, her aborted orgasm corrupting this predatory snake who made a promise…!
But Adris’ hand stops her with serious concern, because he’s not sure he wants her to touch what he wears till he comprehends it, lest she be taken by the strange ideas of its creator.
(Who the fuck designed this?)
Adris looks to the only other artist and craftsman present that could’ve.
And nearly recoils from the most innocent of smiles.
“Knew they were…”
Mython’s hands take up the one he used to protect Ave. Adris’ skin crawls, though his dick stiffens even harder, when the elf rubs his exposed palms and traces them to his mysteriously clothed fingertips.
“… sluts, just waiting to strip naked…”
Adris backs up against Avenalliah when his usually covered palms are so sensitively stroked, earning a cute hug from the snake elf. She, too, blanches at the overpowering waves of emotion emanating from a once stoic forest ranger. Mython kneels through this rejection, her shaking self experiencing too much felt at once.
“Finally… you’re ‘unleashed’…!”
Crossing over each other, replicating the black icon that is still gripped by Adris, Mython’s arms praise a new divinity. There feels like no mental impediments lingering between Adris and the seamstress, now.
“My one, and only, fey lord.”
An impossibly huge number of moods war behind bright yellow eyes without softening the devotion of him that lies in every one.
“… Adris… please! As you have with Mython, please, maybe you can wake…” Ave whispers this into Adris’ ear, but he already felt that trailing request building within.
A bitterly warped smile grows on Adris’ face when considering his insane performance and the… possibilities it unlocked.
(The messiah HAS come, perhaps~?)