Eadric and the Sisters of Twilight - Sex Stories

Eadric and the Sisters of Twilight

... deformed creature, covered in pustules and warts that seemed ready to burst.

Blareth looked to Eadric, gasping for breath. "K-kill me..." he begged, his muscles contracting from the horrible disease that had overcome him. Nearby cackling, from one of the plague priests no doubt, confirmed the source of that disease.

"Cry-cry to your Emperor! Man things! All-all belong to us!" screamed one of the ratmen from atop a small hillock, his staff pointed at Eadric.

A thump next to Eadric confirmed that Blareth had died, his disease-riddled corpse lifeless on the ground.

The spearman closed his eyes, bracing for the worst. He offered a prayer to the Emperor but felt only the plague-coated blade of an enemy slide into his ribs. The taste of blood soon coated his tongue, and he felt himself grow weak.

The whistling of projectiles.

Shouting. A mighty roar.

Darkness.

. . . . .

It felt to him as though his entire body was aflame. Every nerve at once calling him back to consciousness and throwing him back to the void, to the emptiness of sleep. Or death, perhaps.

He would have almost preferred the latter.

Faces could be seen when he opened his eyes. Voices in a tongue he knew not.

And then he fell back into the abyss as voices, soft as the wind, carried him off.

. . . . .

"Wake up, human," was the first thing he heard when he regained consciousness. A commanding voice with no kindness in the words it spoke. A voice he recognized. Had he been taken ...

... prisoner? These were not Skaven voices.

His eyes shot open, and he sat up, pain blazing through his wound from the sudden movement. He was still alive, at least.

"Lie down," came the voice again, and Eadric's eyes went to its source. There stood a tall, statuesque woman, her face half-covered by a silver mask. "The only reason you yet live is that we have need of you, as you are one of the only humans we have on hand that may provide information on these recent attacks. You would be of little use to us, should you bleed out or die from infection."

The woman's skin was as pale as the moon, with long hair of the brightest silver. She looked down at him coolly, with no emotion save for contempt. But no man's gaze would ever remain on her face for long, for the wood elf had curves the likes of which Eadric had never even imagined possible.

Even covered as they were by an intricately decorated elven breastplate, the woman's chest was absolutely massive, each mountainous orb most likely as large as her own head, not to mention a thin waist that flared out to a pair of hips that held width enough to surpass that of her shoulders. No amount of bulky armor could have ever hidden a sinful body such as hers, Eadric knew.

When at last the man managed to tear his gaze from the glaring elf, he found that he was in no room resembling a prison, but rather a room of elven make, with wooden walls and resting in a large, comfortable bed. From an open window, the soft scents of the ...