《The Cursewright's Vow》Chapter 23: The Cursewright's Confession, Part 9
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Those eyes, that scent, his own hungers, rekindled after so many years. Ammas did exactly what she demanded of him, clutching her waist first hesitantly then fiercely, draping himself over her back, joining with her again, harder and more savagely, and for both of them the pleasure was even greater than it had been the first time, and again Ammas found himself wondering if Othma Sulivar's dark invitation had not been turned on its head; if he were not the tame one. And in that moment, he did not care a whit if he was.
They both dozed after that, and there were no tears from either of them, only a blissful slumber. Neither of them woke until moonrise, when Ammas felt Carala's body quivering all over, her breath coming in short, pleasured gasps not at all unlike those she had made with him, and he held her to him as the wolf consumed her, unafraid.
The sleek she-wolf curled against him, resting her muzzle on his throat, her breath hot, her tongue soft as it lapped at him. He wondered if she would make another demand of him, one made only with snarls and gestures. If she did, he would give her what she wanted, perversion be damned. But she only lay beside him, content to lounge with him, showing no desire to roam, pleased to lay with her pet cursewright. And in spite of a lifetime of training, decades spent having it drummed into his head how perilous such creatures were, he drifted off to sleep, cradling the wolf in his arms, knowing in his deepest heart she would never hurt him, nor would he hurt her.
He woke once in the small hours of the night to find himself alone. Carala-the-wolf was not on the bedroll with him. For a moment he was alarmed, then he saw her, standing tall and fierce, pacing slowly from one end of the cell to the other, her tail whickering behind her. At first he thought she must be growing weary of confinement; that soon she must clutch the bars and howl, gnawing at them, snarling to him until he let her roam once again. The smell of the Swiftfoot wolves was everywhere in this city, after all, and he did not see how she might resist it.
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Then her amber eyes turned on him, and she sank to all fours, loping to the bedroll, once more resting her body against his. And he knew at once that what she had really been doing was keeping watch. Ammas tumbled into sleep again, the softness of the creature pressed to him comforting rather than terrifying.
When he woke again it was to a sleeping Carala beside him, though the smell of the wolf lingered. The torches out in the cellar proper had guttered nearly to nothing. Ammas cursed under his breath. Barthim and Casimir would be arriving around eight o'clock, and he had no idea of the time. With a gentle kiss on Carala's temple he stretched up from the bedroll, tugging on his breeches and pulling his shirt over his head, leaving the cell unlocked as he headed upstairs to check the daylight.
As he stepped into the entry hall he heard the city clocks tolling six. Plenty of time to compose themselves appropriately before the others arrived. Ammas breathed a sigh of relief, uncomfortably aware that he positively reeked of what he and Carala had been up to before moonrise. At least they would not be seeing Denisius until later in the day.
A stab of guilt twisted his belly at that, but he knew that Carala could not have lain with Lord Marhollow without possibly infecting him. That did little to alleviate his guilt, for he was fully aware that had nothing to do with why they had come together. Perhaps it didn't matter. If Carala were cured, this became a one-time dalliance, and when she returned to Talinara and perhaps Marhollow, that would be the last Ammas ever saw of her. And if she were not cured, regardless of whether she meant what she had said, she certainly would not be marrying Denisius, or any other noble of the Anointed Realms. To his surprise he felt a dull pain in his heart and belly when he considered the former . . . but was totally unsure how to feel about the latter.
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Ruminating on such long thoughts, Ammas wandered upstairs, his feet unconsciously carrying him to the modestly sized bedroom where he had slept from the time he was just out of his clouts until he had left for Sailor's Crown, and intermittently after that all the way up until the dissolution. The room seemed enormous with no furniture, no toy soldiers, none of the board games he and his mother had liked to play and which had utterly confounded Senrich. (Chess had not been one of them.)
A smile touched his lips as he leaned against the tall window where his bed had once stood, running his fingers over a crude carving of a mountain rising from the sea, a pirate ship broken on its roots. That was the emblem of the House of Mourthia, and he had carved it with a pocketknife himself when he was no older than seven.
Slowly the smile faded. Ammas had become aware of a figure down in the courtyard, a robed and hooded figure staring up at his bedroom window. These windows were too dark to be seen through from the outside, and there was no light within anyway, but the figure gazed up steadfastly at him. No face was visible beneath the hood, nor was the color of the robes easily determined in the dim light of the early morning. Before Ammas's very eyes, the figure dissolved into a thin smoke and then nothingness, far more silently than the misty form of Othma Sulivar had vanished at Autumnsgrove.
A shudder ran up Ammas's spine, slowly becoming a shake that rattled his whole body. Lightly he slapped his own face, sure he must have drifted off and suffered a brief nightmare. He knew too much about the Veil of Ravens and the worlds beyond to dismiss the idea of a ghost, but he had known since he was a boy that the Hangman of the Harbor was a myth, and unless he was very much mistaken that was exactly what he had seen roaming the old house's courtyard.
Shaking his head, he turned and headed back toward the cellar, preparing to wake Carala, and hoping she did not regret what had passed between them.
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8 143Grave Digger Gary
Where is the last place you want to be when the zombie apocalypse begins?In a cemetary, digging a grave, of course - which is exactly where Gary finds himself when his world is abruptly initiated into the multiverse. And that's just the start of his problems. Due to a technical error, Gary doesn't get the same character sheet and upgrades as everyone else. Nope. Instead, Gary gets classified as one of the undead. He's a zombie now - except, Gary didn't die. And he doesn't want to, either!A LitRPG/Gamelit story of what happens when one man armed with a shovel takes on the undead hordes threatening to overrun his reality. Combines zombie apocalypse horror with pen and paper style RPG game mechanics. Updates are Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at just after 6PM UK time / 11AM PT / 1PM EST . I've set up a Patreon account here: https://www.patreon.com/gravediggergary if you'd like to support the story and read up to 15 chapters ahead. All support is very much appreciated! The underlying system on which the story runs is a work in progress (like the story itself!) so there may be adjustments to character sheets etc as the novel rolls out. Spelling and grammar are British English unless I mess up in which case it's just gobbledygook (please feel free to point out any typographical mistakes or obvious errors, I appreciate it!)Finally, this story is cross-posted on Scribblehub. And I think that's everything! Thanks for reading!All content copyright Robert Thorne 2021
8 80A Tale of the Golden Crown
Life is unpredictable. If you turn left, you could meet the love of your life. Turn right, and be a millionaire. And if you think you are clever, go straight, only to be killed by brick-kun and reincarnate as an Heir to a Duchy. Which is fine as long you ignore plots, rivalries and struggles for power, but even if the tales of the Golden Crown are so many as stars in the sky, they all weigh the same in the end. Follow with me the story of Leonidas, as he tries to find his way in a Kingdom at the verge of a civil war and to find out, what the rules of his rule should be, so that his own crown would not crush him to death. And of course, conquest and plots! And action! I hope… Hi! The story is a little bit inspired by CK2 and Stronghold and serves two purposes: to better my writing skills and to have fun! So, I welcome grammatical criticism and pointing out plot holes, as I would want the story to make sense for my readers too! Have fun! 31.05.2022. Currently in Hiatus, as I hit a wall in writing conversations. So I will try something else and come back later to this story. Cover by: "File:Schatzkammer Residenz Muenchen Krone des Koenigreichs Bayern2.jpg" by Schatzkammer_Residenz_Muenchen_Krone_des_Koenigreichs_Bayern.jpg: MatthiasKabel derivative work: CSvBibra (talk) is licensed under CC BY 2.5. To view a copy of this license, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.5/?ref=openverse&atype=rich Found on https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10819020
8 190IRREGULAR
"what is your name?" "..." "don't you have one?" "..." "then i shall call you [ Eis , Silbernes Eis ]. From now on you shall be call [ Silbernes Eis ]" "..." "you don't like it?" "..." "haha. [vayu ] is my name" this is the start of everything, or it may not be the very start of everything but everything start to get struggle from here on. you can say that this is the start of everything and this hellish mountain of this f**king mess.
8 70A Thief's Sacrifice
Keyla is a streetrat with a penchant for picking pockets and locks. She intuitively knows where to stand in a room or crowd to go unnoticed. The techniques came naturally to her and are enough for her to get by, if not make a true life for herself. When the church gives her an opportunity to commit such sins for money, it's too much to refuse. What she discovers in the course of the heist will challenge her perception of right and wrong, and the very beliefs her society holds dear.
8 184Effigy Of Madness
Alioth Is your average F ranked adventurer. He comes from a family of D ranking adventurers who mainly survive by being luggage carriers for the rich and powerful. Luckily for him He was able to snag a deal with a SSS+ ranking adventuring party due to a chance deal ,he made with the leaders of a S rank party To take 1% of all the loot gathered. Upon enter The SSS tier dungeon He is brought into a perilous situation only to be saved by one of the party members a strange but quirky arachnid girl .When the dungeon is completed he is deceived and instead of 1% he really is only allowed to choose 1 item. Thinking its better not to be associated with these types of people and wanting to make his leave he choose something deemed useless by the party to avoid being hunted down later. This was a some sort of statue that displayed a women being killed by her own tentacles . After choosing the worthless reminder of his deceit not only did the Dungeon lord awake from his slumber but he trapped the party in the dungeon to toy with them for his entertainment .Forcing them to fight through 9999 levels!
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