The Pillaging of an Empire

by Amanda Clover

  “Mnnn,” Safira moaned. “C-Camilla. Oh Arsenus, that’s good.”

  Camilla giggled, a sound so strangely pure coming from the normally bitter soldier Safira was startled. “I’ve barely started, Safira. Don’t tell me you’re a virgin.”

  Safira flushed. “A-Arsenus does not forbid his daughters from… from parting in pleasures of flesh. But it has been a while…”

  “Well,” Camilla breathed. “Then I should feel lucky.”

  Safira gasped as the pressure of that teasing finger on her cunt increased, rubbing the increasingly damp spot more eagerly. She moaned as Camilla’s hand mauled her heaving breast. “C-Camilla. I… I…”

  “Let’s go to the bed,” Camilla whispered into her ear. “Then I can really show you something…”

  Safira nodded shakily. She rose and turned about to face the elf, who flushed under the taller woman’s eyes. She took Safira’s hand and drew her to the lone bed. The old mattress puffed as Safira sat down, then lay down beneath the elf as Camilla crawled atop her, straddling the war priestess. Her short dark hair framed Camilla’s face as she looked down at Safira for a moment, soaking in the sight of the other woman beneath her. Then her face was descending. Drawing nearer.

  And they were kissing, and things were suddenly different.

  Safira moaned, tasting the other woman’s lips. Her mouth. Her tongue. The kiss deepened. The pair clasped each other in a tight embrace, as if afraid of letting the other go. Their breasts mashed together. Camilla moaned, grinding against Safira, losing herself in the taste. In the experience. In the unfamiliar sensation of affection and shared desire.

  Safira accommodated. Shyness was slowly burning away. Her pussy ached against her damp panties. She stroked and fondled the other woman with growing confidence. With growing hunger. In their kiss she swallowed every gasp and mewl from Camilla. Delighting in the tender sounds of the other woman.

  Camilla broke the kiss, hovering above Safira, panting, flushed, but her eyes were alive and shining. “Let me… let me show you something.”

  Safira nodded. The elf smiled happily and rose, suddenly turning about atop Safira. The priestess suddenly found herself looking up at Camilla’s pink slit, slightly parted to reveal the flush inner walls. She was captivated by the sight, so much so she barely felt the elf’s hands tugging down her panties until they were half off.

  “Ah!” Safira gasped as the fabric peeled off her damp slit, revealing the flushing lower lips to the warm air. “C-Camilla. What are you…”

  “Let me show you,” the elf said, her breath brushing Safira’s quim, making those tender lower lips quiver with need. Then she dipped down, and licked.

  “Mmmm!” Safira moaned as that dexterous tongue coaxed her honeypot. Tasted the sweetness of her desire. Camilla purred with answering delight, relishing the sharp, almost musky taste of the other woman’s quim. Something so primal and fierce that she knew in an instant it could only have belonged to the fierce warrior woman who had saved her. She buried her face into Safira’s cunt, her hair fanning over the other woman’s thighs.

  Safira groaned, bucking, hot pleasure surging through her veins. “A-Arsenus. That’s… oh… oh g-gods!” Safira groaned, her hips bucking, rubbing herself against the lapping tongue of the other woman. She needed something. Something to do. Her hands shook, her eyes went up, and locked on that damp slit hovering above her, dewy with desire.

  Without thinking, instinct compelling her, Safira reached up, her hands grasping the firm cheeks of Camilla’s ass and tugging the other woman’s pelvis down. Her lips locked with those hot lower lips, her tongue dove inside.

  “Ahn!” Camilla gasped at the unexpected surge of pleasure. “S-Safira! You… oooooh,” she moaned.

  Safira paid no heed. Lost in the sensation of licking out the other woman. Of tasting her. Her tongue sliding up, inside, gathering up the dewy arousal. It was wonderful! Delicious. A delight. Her tongue probed the other woman’s flexing quim, wandering higher, higher, and finding a familiar bead.

  “Ah!” Camilla gasped as Safira tongued her clit. “Ohhh f-fuck!” Refusing to be outdone, Camilla dove into Safira’s cunt, gripping the other woman’s hips for leverage, even as she undulated.

  Gasps and panting filled the room as the two women rode against each other, joined in their eager pleasure, their peaks approaching with every moan. Every grasp. Every sharp buck of hips. Safira came first, her peak signalled by a great cry of pleasure, her orgasm sweeping through her in a sudden surge, her thighs and grip tightening, trapping Camilla against her. The sensation of the war priestess’s peak drove the elf to her own. She cried out, thighs twitching as her juices soaked Safira’s face. Eagerly the priestess lapped at those sweet juices, devouring the evidence of Camilla’s pleasure.

  Camilla squeaked as she was suddenly rolled over. Safira rose onto her knees, pressing the elf’s head into the bed beneath her large derrière. Camilla merely giggled, and before Safira could rise the elf had grasped Safira’s ass and tugged it back down onto her face.

  “Ah!” Safira gasped, a jolt of the unexpected sensation coursing up her spine. “C-Camilla! You… ohhh… wh-what are… nnn…”

  Safira moaned as the strange yet, undeniably, arousing sensation of the other woman’s tongue on her tender asshole speared through her. Never had she considered… it was so… “Mnnn,” Safira moaned, biting her lower lip, clutching her legs as she pressed her ass down on Camilla’s face, feeling that skillful tongue dive into her clenching asshole. “Oh f-fuck,” the war priestess panted, her hand slipping between her thighs and to her slickened cunt, shyly stroking herself as that alien sensation radiated through her ass. “Fuuuuck! What… ah… how does that f-feel so g… nnn… gooooood?”

  Her finger strummed her hot box, her hips bucking as she drew closer. Closer. Closer to that peak. She was nearly there. She was almost… almost…

  “C-cummiiiiing!” Safira cried out, her curvy body shaking with the ecstasy of her orgasm.

  Her legs went limp, dropping her on top of Camilla beneath her. She couldn’t suppress a breathless laugh as she heard the muffled protest from the elf. Climbing off her, Safira rolled onto her back on the bed. A moment later Camilla crawled up beside her, snuggling against the powerful frame of the war priestess. Safira smiled at the smaller woman, her arm encircling her and drawing her closer. The warmth of their bodies banished the chill of the night, the scent of sex and pleasure intermingling in the air with a potent perfume of satisfaction.

  “So this is what happiness feels like,” Camilla murmured.

  Safira nodded, kissing the other woman’s brow. Camilla smiled up at her and nuzzled closer, tugging up Safira’s shirt and freeing the priestess’s large, firm breasts.

  “Oh, what are- ah!” Safira gasped as the other woman kissed her breasts tenderly. “Mmm. You are… ah… good at this…”

  “Thanks,” Camilla said, her tongue swirling around a peaking nipple. “It’s nice to want to, for a change.”

  Safira sighed, feeling the soberness of the elf’s situation settle on her again. Her arms tightened protectively around the elf, drawing her against Safira’s generous curves. She felt the elf stiffen, but only for a moment. Then she relaxed, melting into the priestess’s warm embrace.

  “So long as I live, no one shall take advantage of you like that again,” the priestess murmured into her ear. “You did not deserve what happened to you, Camilla. And it is not your fault it did.”

  Camilla was silent, absorbing those words. “Thank you,” the elf finally said. Her grip tightened on Safira. “Thank you...”

  The war priestess looked down on the young elf fondly, stroking her short dark hair. Resting in the gentle ease of each other’s arms.

  Until she heard the clip clop of hooves on stone.

  Safira rose. Camilla joined her, looking with surprise at the war priestess. “What is it?”

  “Sh,” Safira whispered. She pushed herself out of the bed and slipped towards the window
, glancing out the misty glass. What she saw chilled her to the very soul.

  Riders moved out of the night. Huge, hulking shapes astride horses bearing the colours of the empire, now sullied, the imperial crest daubed with the crude shape of a staring eye. Orcs were in the saddles, their hulking frames unmistakeable as they gathered near the inn.

  One shadow, however, was far different from the rest. A massive hairy creature like a mossy ape followed, led by a curvy pale woman that Safira immediately recognized. The war priestess grit her teeth furiously at the sight of Marianne, naked, muddied like some savage’s slut, fawning over the yegrilla.

  “Get dressed. Hurry,” she hissed.

  Camilla rose. All the calm and comfort of their pleasures was banished. Frantically she dressed, Safira doing likewise. The wrath of her god burned through her, glowing in the hammer. But she tamped it down, cultivated that flame of wrath in her soul, knowing now was not the time. That she was outnumbered by many, and that should she try and fight, she would surely die. And Camilla would be lucky if she shared that fate.

  Safira shook her head furiously. No. Not that. The elf would not suffer another form of servitude like that. She grabbed her panties and tugged them on. Delicately, careful to not make a sound, she eased open the window.

  “Come here,” she urged Camilla. The elf nodded, joining Safira as the priestess carefully squeezed out of the window. The orcs were dismounting, only one remaining on his stolen mount. Their low mutterings could just be heard as they gathered at the door. Safira helped Camilla out, edging down the slope of the roof.

  With a sudden roar the orcs broke down the door, the splintering of wood and howl of guttural battle cries overpowering the ring of the seals Safira had placed on the door. Her hammer flashed as the orcs surged inside, up towards the stairs, certain of where their prey lay.

  And the moment she heard them rush inside, Safira rushed to the edge of the roof and jumped off.

  She landed with an oof in the saddle of one of the startled horses. The beast whinnied in surprise, dancing about. The orc left on guard whirled in surprise, and a swing of her blazing hammer caved in the monster’s skull. “Come!” Safira called to Camilla. The elf jumped down, landing behind the priestess. Safira kneed her horse, driving the beast forward, scattering the other startled horses as she surged out of the mass.

  Shouts and howls of rage erupted from the tavern behind them. Spears and throwing axes clanged about them as Safira drove forward their mount. Their horse whinnied in pain, but Safira dared not dwell on it. It would not take long for the orcs to retrieve their mounts. To be back on the trail. To be after them.

  Safira snapped the reins, kneed her horse. Hooves clattered over the old road as they raced away into the night.

  Final Stand

  Their mount’s flanks worked like bellows. The horse wheezed, clattering on down the road in their desperate flight. Trees flashed by, the forest flickering, a smear of green at their sides as Safira pushed the horse on. On! She could hear pursuit. Saw when she glanced back on long straights the dark shapes of the orcish riders. Gaining. Gaining. Coming closer with every stride.

  And more she saw. The gleam of blood spattering in their wake from their mount, wounded during the escape from the inn.

  As they rounded a bend a shape rose down the distant path. Rising between the sharp cliffs of a mountain pass, a gatehouse barred the way further, its towered bulwark carved out by moonlight against the darkness. Hope throbbed painfully in Safira’s chest, knowing that gate. The first wall of Tatarod.

  At the foot of the gate their horse stumbled. It went to its knees, foam flecking its mouth, flanks heaving as it lay down, a last shuddering breath escaping it before it lay still.

  Camilla jumped off the horse. She rushed to the gate and shook the bars of a portcullis like they were those of a prison cell. “Open up!” she screamed.

  Safira left their horse, advancing more slowly. She eyed the dark parapets, silent to their pleas, the windows empty despite Camilla’s cries. The war priestess shook her head. “They are gone.”

  “Gone? No. No! They can’t be gone! They can’t!” Camilla screamed in helpless fury. She threw her shoulder against the metal bars as if to force the doors through sheer strength, only to rebound uselessly. Sobbing.

  A horse’s whinny had them both turn sharply, the flash of steel and mounted shapes of their pursuers forming in the distance. Safira looked back at the gate, frowned. “Move,” she commanded.

  Camilla stepped aside as Safira walked up to the bars. She put aside her hammer and flexed her hands. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. “Arsenus,” she murmured. “Arsenus. My god. My master. Grant me this strength in my time of need. Grant me the power to do your will.”

  The gold of her hammer glowed. Strength filled her like a light. She took a deep breath and advanced on the gate. She bent down, grasping the lower bars, and lifted.

  Her arms ached, felt like they would be pulled from their sockets. The strength of her god surged through her. She groaned, struggling, heaving. Blood pounded behind her eyes as she grit her teeth, and lifted!

  Old metal groaned. Slowly, inch by inch, the teeth of the portcullis began to rise. The jagged points lifted slowly from the earth. Slowly. Safira quivered, the portcullis barely a few inches over the ground, but she couldn’t do more.

  “Quickly,” she bit out between clenched teeth.

  Camilla obeyed, dropping to the dust and rolling under the barred gate. She bounded back to her feet, turning. “I’m through!”

  Safira gasped. She released her hold and fell back. With a clang the portcullis fell back into place. The war priestess panted, looking at the heavy metal bars which divided them, and in her heart bloomed a sense of peace. Safira smiled sadly at the young elf. “Run, Camilla,” she said softly.

  “Safira?”

  The war priestess rose slowly and grasped her hammer, turning and facing the road. The riders barreled towards her, the pounding of their hooves like thunder. The gleam of their weapons curving through the dark.

  “Safira!”

  The war priestess lifted her hammer. Strength poured through her like molten gold. Her eyes narrowed towards the dark road, her lips lifting in a snarl. Light poured off of her like golden wings as she spun her hammer in her free hand. Her soul sang with the song of her god’s battle cry. With a shout she rushed towards the closing orcs.

  “Safira!”

  Safira smiled, satisfied. One survived their horrid trek. One would live.

  And so she brought her hammer round, and fought her final stand.

  Epilogue

  Tatarod was dead.

  Every window of the once bustling town was dark. Every doorway shuttered tight and barred, though their residents were long gone.

  Camilla trudged slowly through the silent streets. Rage and fury warred inside of her, leaving her feeling hollow. Empty. Recalling how desperately she’d searched for guards within the tower. How she’d found the gate house, but its machinery was smashed, broken beyond her skills to repair.

  And by the time she’d gained the window, the battle was done, but far from won. Not an orc had survived. And neither had Safira.

  She’d pushed on, then. Past the gate. Determined that the sacrifice of the war priestess would not be in vain. And for that, it had succeeded. She had reached Tatarod.

  But though the town was dead, it was not quite empty. Sound reached her from a distance, and as she crested one of the hills the city had been built upon she saw one corner of the town was alive yet. The port was crowded with people, hastily loading a few waiting ships with what goods they could.

  Numbly, Camilla descended the street, walking slowly into the crowd. Her presence was barely noted, the people around her too frantic to pay attention to anything beyond the ships. She scanned the crowd, at last sighting a man in the sweeping helmet of the town watch.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, approaching him.

  The man gave he
r a look of surprise. His eyes flicked down to her uniform and he drew himself up a little more. “Evacuating, miss. Tatarod is no longer safe for men.”

  “Evacuation?”

  “Aye. You must be a straggler. We’ve been getting a number of survivors from the emperor’s armies. Fool that he is. He’s fled back to Moskov, miss. And his sister has declared herself empress. She marches to the plains to confront the Duke of Ashes. Looks to head him off before he can strike Brazno and Kirinovo.”

  “And Tatarod?”

  The guard winced. He bowed his head, his helmet shadowing his face. “Tatarod… cannot be guaranteed its safety. She’s pulled the forces from the walls to bolster her troops. We leave the city lest the monsters take us undefended.”

  Camilla looked about the milling people as they hastened on to waiting ships. “I see,” she said softly.

  The guard coughed. “There’s still space aboard, miss. I’d suggest you come with us. We sail east, to safer lands. There’s nothing left for us here.”

  “No,” Camilla said, glancing back at the distant forests and silent homes. Her face grew grim and she brushed past the guard, walking towards the waiting ship. “Nothing left at all…”

  < TABLE OF CONTENTS | NEXT UNCENSORED COVER >

  Book Nine

  Hunger of the Eldritch Fiend

  By Amanda Clover and Jay Aury

  @amandasmut

  Cover artwork by Deilan12

  Map of the Empire of Istanov

  Hooded Meetings

  Campfires glowed like stars across the dark valley below. Damera Istanova looked out across them from the hill upon which her tent had been erected. More and more survivors of her brother’s ill-fated army trickled in to her camp to tell tales of plains and forests infested with monsters. Wild eyed and exhausted men spoke of the race through the dark woods while wulfen howled and orcs bellowed. They told of the battle in the dark when the monstrous legions rose from the night and slaughtered the troops of the Imperial army as they bedded down to rest, taking them utterly by surprise.