Red Tsonia & the Jungles of Madness

"No, no, no, no, no..." Tsonia murmured in faint protest as a tentacle gently snaked around her throat and up to caress her cheek. Another probed into the gap between her feet and calves. She felt it moving through the cleft of her ass, against her wet and tumescent lips and curling up towards her belly.

"Oh, gods... It's going to eat me!" she gasped, as she rocked her hips back and forth over the meaty shaft between her knees, grinding her engorged clit against its heat. "And I'm going to let it..."

Her body rebelled against reason and she leaned forward, exposing her ravenous nethers to the creature's curling, slithering affection. With her own hand she guided a tendril to her waiting cunt and gasped with delight as it penetrated her.

"Yes, yes! Fuck that cunt," she moaned. "Fill me and make me cum before I die, please!"

A trilling call answered her. The alien horror coiled a trio of tentacles around her thighs and ankles, spreading her wide, as a fourth pressed through her anus and probed her ass.

Tsonia cried out in bliss at the way her body was stretched and filled. More and more tentacles found purchase, seizing her arms and spreading her wide, exposing all of her to the beast's gentle exploration. The dexterous appendages fondled her hips and ribs, groped at her tits, caressed her face and shoulders.

She was raised off the floor, suspended in the warm, fragrant air and despite being held so firmly in the weird thing's clutches, Tsonia had never felt so free. No bed of feathers nor sheets of silk had ever left her so exposed to sensation from every angle. Every inch of her body tingled with the touch of this miraculous thing that would be her death.

Tsonia wailed in orgasm again and her body shook and trembled as her brain tried to reconcile the terrifying euphoria that gripped her.

"Again!" she cried out when her voice returned. She bucked her hips in desperation to push the remarkable tentacles deeper. "Don't stop! Please, don't stop! Kill me if you must. Consume me if you must. But by the gods, do not stop fucking me! I would die this death a thousand times!"

She felt the weight of a soft appendage writhing its way up between her tits and Tsonia opened her mouth wide in invitation. The tendril accepted, filling her mouth, delving down her throat.

Whether this creature was demon or angel or something else entirely, Tsonia could not guess, but it filled her and touched her in ways no lover ever had. Not even Q'alan, the great ram-headed demon, had known her so intimately.

The phallic flesh that filled her expanded and contracted, it swelled and waned in delicious counterpoint to her own gasping breath and strangled cries of delirium. Deeper than any man, with a supple manipulation within her that was alien to anything mortal woman had ever known, the whorls of flesh aroused her desire to heights yet unreached. And still Tsonia craved more.

The gentle purring intensified, lowering in pitch until it became an undulating thrum of a growl. It set her nerves aflame. Tsonia could feel the vibration of the humming flesh against her skin and deep within her body. The titillating and trembling sensation wracked her with mad convulsions the likes of which she'd never known. The orgasm ravished her to her soul as sanity fled and she tumbled into an impossible dream of infinite frenzied copulation.

The horrid appearance of the tentacled thing, the fear of agonizing death, the shame of failure and loss, all of these were forgotten.

In the void of her fervent mind, nothing at all existed beyond her body and the tumultuous chaos of carnal sensation that consumed her. There was no inch of her, no nerve of her body that did not spasm with ecstasy.

Tsonia could not wish for the impossible euphoria to continue because she could not believe it would end, nor could she remember a time before. All of creation began with an eruption from the deepest, most intimate core of her being and expanded out in never ending waves to the tips of her fingers, the tips of her toes, the end of every glorious lock of hair.

She became aware of her breathing first, deep, heaving gasps of air to fill her lungs. The gaping emptiness inside of her was next, and instinctively she rocked her hips to flex muscle and flesh back into a more comfortable shape. Then she realized she was laying on cold stone tiles, and pushed herself up to look around.

The candles still burned. They were shorter than they had been, but she could not say by how much and she had no other way to judge how much time had passed. She was dripping with sweat, her hair hanging lank in wet tresses. Perhaps that was why she felt a growing chill in the room. The alien fragrance was fading as well, and the cold scent of volcanic stone filled each breath.

Her strange and horrifying yet somehow exquisite lover was there, just at the edge of the candle light. The long tendrils that had given her such unknown pleasure were still now, wrapped tightly around each other in a great ball, thrice as tall as she.

The whole, pale-skinned mass expanded and contracted in the slow and steady rhythm of slumber.

"Well isn't that just typical," Tsonia groused, as she went in search of her clothes.

***

The unfamiliar chamber was awash with chaos and confusion. Hunters demanded answers from the elders. The womenfolk worried about their whelps. None understood how they had come to this place, or even where this place was. T'pek shared in their confusion, but he knew that his fire-haired mate and the one she called Kelgore, were the keys to the mystery.

Death Inevitable, grasping a ceremonial staff, rapped the wooden shaft on the tiles, once, twice, three times, the sharp cracks shocking all into silence.

"All will be made clear," the elder called out to the stilled crowd. "For now, know that you were sick, but the sickness has passed. Your friends and families outside are just as confused as you are. They too were sick, but their sickness has passed as well. I ask you all to go to them and spread that message to every ear. 'You were sick, but your sickness has passed.' Calm their fears, restore order, and trust that all will be made clear very soon."

"Please," he said, gesturing towards the great stone doors that stood open at the back of the room. "There is much work to be done. I beg of you, leave this place and have patience while we divine the whole story and all of the answers you seek."

The chamber was filled again with chatter, but a semblance of order fell over the throng and at last they began to filter out towards the temple above and the village beyond until only T'pek remained. He surveyed the strange chamber as if it were a hunting trail and the elders some particularly troublesome prey. (1)

"There is nothing here for you, hunter," Death Inevitable hissed. "Go back to the others. There is work to be done."

"I know of the outsider called Kelgore," T'pek stated without preamble. "I know of the woman with hair the color of fire. She is my mate, and I will know what has happened to her."

"She shares the same fate the accursed, black-eyed outsider suffered," Serpent whispered. "I'm sorry. You will not see her again. Now, go back to the others."

"What fate?" T'pek asked, his claws hissing from their sheaths. He found Serpent's answer deliberately vague and dismissive. "There is more you are not telling me, but I will not be dismissed so easily."

Death Inevitable placed his paw on Serpent's shoulder. "Brother. This might be an opportunity," the elder clad in the golden skull mask whispered. "We have lost Condor after all."

"Ah," Serpent hissed. "Your wisdom, as always, eclipses mine." To T'pek, he said "There are secrets the elders must keep, hunter. To know those secrets is to know why they must be so. The fate of the outsiders is one such secret."

"Our brother Condor died while under the outsider's spell," Death Inevitable continued, laying a hand upon T'pek's shoulder. "We find ourselves in need of another elder, and soon."

"You are eldest among the Hunters, are you not, T'pek?" Serpent asked. "Wisest and most skilled of your peers? You are certainly worthy of elevation."

"We offer you a great honor," Death Inevitable said. "But know that it also is a great burden. Consider it carefully."

"You will never again leave the village to roam the hunting trail or the beaches," Serpent added. "Your life, what remains of it, will be spent serving the tribe in ways they can never understand."

"Perhaps it is better to go back to the hunt in blissful ignorance," Death Inevitable concluded. "You can rest assured that your mate's sacrifice was for the good of the tribe."

The back and forth between the two elders seemed intentional to T'pek, as if they meant to muddle his thoughts and confuse his reason. But to what end, he did not know. Were they trying to convince him to accept their invitation or to reject it? Or perhaps neither, but only to test his resolve.

"I will know Red Tsonia's fate, regardless of consequence," he growled. "If I must give up the hunt and take up the gilded mask of Condor to be satisfied, so be it... I accept, now tell me your secrets!"

"Calm yourself, hunter," Death Inevitable said, touching his neck. "The understanding you seek will be conveyed through the rituals of ascension."

"Begin the ritual and be quick about it then!" T'pek spat. His patience was wearing thin and he was beginning to suspect treachery.

"Calm and patience will serve you well, T'pek," Serpent soothed. "Prepare your mind for inconceivable knowledge beyond the world you know. The ritual begins."

Serpent locked gazes with Death Inevitable, and at his nod, a pale, writhing tendril appeared from behind each elder, as if they had squirmed out from under the feathered headdresses. T'pek recoiled at the serpentine things that slithered about the elder's shoulders, his noble visage distorted in terror and disgust.

"What vile abomination is this?" he roared. His hand flew to his hips, only to find no dagger there. Like all the others who had been under Kelgore's spell, he had only his fur.

"We are caretakers of the Sleeper, and guardians of the tribe," Serpent said, his arm intertwined with the pale-skinned, wormy appendage. "We protect our people from the wrath of the Sleeper. In turn the Sleeper protects us from the magics of outsiders. To know the Sleeper is to know the truth."

"This... This 'Sleeper' you call it—It has changed you?" T'pek's voice was hoarse with revulsion.

"It must be so," Death Inevitable intoned. "A bargain was struck, centuries ago, when the Sleeper allowed our ancestors to harbor him in the temple. Through his touch he speaks to us, and we to him. Thus has it been for generations beyond count."

"And through his touch, the Sleeper threw off the outsider's evil magics," Serpent whispered. "Praise be to him, the ancient pact remains strong."

A grim realization dawned on T'pek's face. "It's too late to change my mind now, isn't it?"

"We cannot have these secrets known." Death Inevitable said. "You would be sorely missed, T'pek."

"What choice do I have then? I will know Red Tsonia's fate." T'pek's shoulders slumped in resignation and he bowed his head to the elders. "Perform your ritual. I am ready."

***

Tsonia had paced the whole of the Sleeper's lair twice over. Most of her candles had burned away and yet she had not found a means to escape the chamber. The only obvious way out was the slope, but it offered almost no purchase to climb. She had tried. She dared not call for help. While she did not know what to call the sleeping abomination that had so aroused her desire, she knew better than to wake it. Who knew how it would react to being roused from its slumber by the kind of racket it would take to be heard in the temple high above?

Once more Tsonia paced carefully along the walls. The candle's tiny flame sputtered suddenly, buffeted by a barely perceptible wisp of air. Perhaps there was a hollow nearby, maybe even a way out.

Careful, as not to douse her last flame, Tsonia scratched at the seams in the ancient stonework with her knife. It was a testament to the antediluvian workmanship that the Vizingian blade was too thick to even wedge into the fine crack.

A low rumble, felt through the air and stone more than heard, caught her attention. If it was the volcano, the sleeping thing, or something else, she could not tell. Fetching the candle, Tsonia cast an anxious gaze about the chamber, only to find the sleeping thing still curled up and at peace. Another rumble came, this time much closer, with the sound of stone on stone.

The wall before her suddenly ground ajar on a hidden mechanism, a narrow gap illuminated by flickering firelight. When the rumbling stopped, there was just space enough to squeeze through sideways and Tsonia did so without hesitation.

She emerged in another stone chamber lit by two torches mounted in gilded sconces. Mountains of treasure had been carelessly piled up—gold and silver, gemstones and sculptures—enough to satisfy any mortal desire. The torchlight danced and gamboled across the glittering hoard like Tsonia's own heart at the sight of such riches.

Almost lost against the incomprehensible wealth stood a robed beastkin. He wore an elaborate golden mask in the shape of a great bird and his tall, broad-shouldered body was draped in richly embroidered fabrics. He took a step forward and Tsonia stifled a startled gasp when she realized he wasn't merely another bauble in the vault.

"Who are you?" she asked warily. The stranger appeared unarmed, nor did he seem be hostile. On the contrary, there was something oddly familiar about its posture.

"I am Condor, an elder of the tribe," the stranger said, the golden beak granting the words of the Trade Tongue a hollow, distant quality. He manipulated a heavy lever.

Behind her, the opening she had passed through ground closed again. Tsonia eyed Condor curiously. "Do I know you?"

Condor hesitated, then shook his head. "Our god sleeps because of you. You are honored by us. You are free." Bowing stiffly, the elder indicated another narrow gateway. Fresh night air, along with the rhythm of distant drums, seeped into the chamber.

"I had a friend." Tsonia reminded Condor. "A hunter took him away. Where is he?"

"I know where." The elder removed a heavy torch from its sconce and headed for the exit. "Follow."

Tsonia cast a longing gaze at the mountains of treasure. One armful, maybe even one choice pick, would be equal to the riches the God-King had offered as bounty for Kelgore. Without any proof of the Despoiler's demise, there was every chance Xhastria's divine ruler would weasel out of the bargain and then all the effort—and Ambrose's death—would have been for naught.

Sighing, Tsonia hurried after Condor. Stealing from the tribe would likely cause more grief, and she'd had her fill for one day.

Outside, Condor waited patiently. When she cleared the narrow passage, he gestured. Above her, she heard the grinding of heavy stone. Perched upon a ledge, she saw two more elders manipulating ancient engravings. The stones behind her rumbled shut, barring any way back to the unfathomable riches hidden beyond.

The village was bustling with life and light as Condor led her through ancient streets. Hunters eyed her curiously, some leaned in to sniff her scent. The females openly stared at her curves or whispered, pointing at her hips and ass. Other beastkin offered bows of respect as Condor approached. He led her to the outskirts, where few fires burned and the hodgepodge of ancient stone and recent woodwork became more ramshackle and dilapidated.

Condor stopped in front of a heavy, barred door. "Here," he said.

Tsonia tossed the heavy bar aside and pulled the door open. The stench from inside was horrible, speaking of death and sickness. From the blackness within, she heard a relieved gasp.

"Tsonia!" The voice was thick with emotion, but unmistakably Joras. "Tsonia! You've come at last!" The artist erupted in brittle laughter. "I told you she would come! I never doubted."

Tsonia took the torch from Condor and entered the cell.

Joras struggled to his feet, weighed down by what appeared to be the corpse of an emaciated Debonite hanging off his shoulder, hair and beard and clothing all yellowed with grime.

"Aelric needs help," the artist gasped. "Medicine and food and, gods willing, a bath!"

Only then did Tsonia notice the Debonite's shallow, ragged breathing. She hurried to Joras' side and gently took Aelric from him. It seemed to her that the man weighed less than a child.

"Who is your friend, Joras?" she asked as she carried him from the cell.

"He's called Aelric, and he's a Debon princeling, although I haven't worked out from which family," Joras said. "But he has a ship returning for him at the next solstice!" A melancholy smile settled on his face. "We may yet escape from this thrice-cursed land, after all."

***

The God-King's palace sat in the middle of Xhastria, a many-spired monument built of green brick and gilded columns, adorned with gem-studded roofs. The iron pikes on its battlements were adorned with the rotting, sun-bleached heads of the God-King's many enemies lending a sinister air to the otherwise ethereal architecture.

Tsonia, carrying a wooden case under one arm, ascended the steep stairs leading to the heavily guarded front gate. Joras glanced nervously at the towering gate guards. The polished, featureless visors of their helmets hid their eyes and made for a complex perspective. He hoped they wouldn't object to his hastily capturing their form in his new sketchbook.

"I am Red Tsonia, bringing the head of Kelgore the Despoiler," Tsonia said, when the guards moved to challenge her approach.

"You are expected," one of the guards rumbled. The gate ground ajar, opening the way into the God-King's palace.

They entered a massive hall, four times as tall as a man and held up by columns shaped to look like men and women, all richly ornamented, each doing their part to hold aloft the viridian firmament above their heads.

A white-robed scribe came to meet them, his bald head glistening with sweat. "What in the Pits took you so long?" he hissed. "It was a simple enough bounty!"

Tsonia glared at him with the weight of Ambrose's loss on her soul.

"Nothing is simple when demon-kissers are involved," she spat. "We were nearly drowned in a witch-storm, marooned on a savage island, and left defenseless to face an egomaniac whose magics and cruelty may have someday rivaled your own king's."

"Yes, yes," the functionary placated her, "only please don't say such things out loud. The walls have ears you know."

"Fetching the God-King's new bauble has cost me dearly. I ought to ask for more coin."

"So... this is it?" the scribe asked, looking at the box. Tsonia opened the lid and a faint whiff of death escaped. The scribe hurriedly covered his nose with his sleeve. He coughed, then muttered. "Well done indeed. The God King shall be pleased."

"He better be," Tsonia growled. "Lead on already."

As the scribe hurried away, Joras laid a hand on her arm. "It is not too late to turn back, Kaela," he whispered.

Tsonia stared at him, jaw set in defiance. "Joras, what difference is one skull to another?" she hissed. "I saw Kelgore die. I saw his remains consumed. There was nothing left of him to bring back!"

"Still... do you think this the wise course of action?" He glanced from side to side nervously. "The God-King does not easily suffer trickery."

"There is no trickery," Tsonia insisted. "Kelgore is dead. That is truth. The skull is merely a symbol of that truth. The God-King will understand."

Joras sighed and shook his head. "You are not taking this seriously enough." He hurried after the scribe.