tagNon-EroticSune's Chosen: Commencement

Sune's Chosen: Commencement


Hammer planted the head of his hammer in the soft ground and ran his hands through his hair, spreading sweat over the dark brown mane. He breathed deeply, letting the cool, crisp air fill his lungs and cleanse him from the inside. The barbarian was beginning to remember much about this land. His former tribe had roamed near here, hunting and scavenging from the animals that dwelled here. A stream was nearby, he recalled, filled with fresh water, crisp and clear. It was not noteworthy enough to be on any major map, but appeared on several small local maps.

He hefted his hammer over his shoulder and started off on a casual walk. Dawn was still an hour or so away, and he relished in the early morning hours. As he approached, he noticed how the trees became more and more familiar to him, though they had aged several years since his last jaunt through these woods. The stream appeared to him suddenly, for the brush had grown up to enshroud its banks. Smiling, he removed his pants and set his hammer on the ground. Barefoot and naked, the muscular barbarian, lathered in sweat, made his way slowly down the steep bank and into the cold rushing water.

The Uthgardt barbarians were a hardy folk, and that fact was no more evident than when Hammer immersed himself in the cold waters of the unnamed stream. Without even a grimace, he plunged in to his chest, smiling as his skin tightened and gooseflesh took over his skin. The current was not strong enough to surprise him by taking him under, but it was quick and only his sheer mass kept him from losing his ground on the wet stones underneath. He submerged, felt the cold, mineral-rich waters rush around him, purging his skin from the dirt and grime of the road and refreshing his barbarian spirit.

When he came out of the water, hair flying back as he tossed his head, Lura could not help but gasp. He was glorious, pristine water flowing in rivulets down his massive torso, his mane of dark hair flying through the air to rest against his back. And his face, a mask of supreme peace and serenity...it was unlike anything the drow had ever seen before. He was a beautiful man, that fact was certain. Even Mikhail seemed to be in awe.

"The human body perfected?" she asked, glancing sidelong at him.

"I am not so arrogant to take offense to that, for indeed it is true," he whispered. They had shadowed the barbarian, using a simple spell to remain quiet as they followed discreetly. Now, watching, they were glad they had, for even Mikhail could not deny the awe that the muscular body demanded. In every day life, he had worn comfortable clothing, generally without a shirt, but in an atmosphere so saturated with sex and beauty that one could not appreciate his form. Now, here in the open, wearing nothing but the light-distorting water, his physicality could be appreciated for what it was.

Hammer decided to move upstream. He could see an incline in the rocky ground below the water, and decided it would be all the more purifying to feel the cool morning air dry his skin. His strides were powerful as he marched through the rushing water. Slowly, the slope carried him more and more out of the water, as it rushed more violently around his knees. Thick rivulets of mineral-rich water flowed down his torso, down his hips and his member, which was unaffected by the cold, rushing water, and down his thick, tree-like thighs. Standing in knee-high water, he threw his arms out wide, then up in the air, stretching the mighty muscles and inhaling deeply. Then he saw the drow.

Lura couldn't resist it, and with Mikhail's assurance that he was content, for the moment, to simply watch, she decided she would have Hammer then and there, in the cold rushing waters. The drow removed her robe, the gift from Sune, and took ginger steps down the steep bank of the stream, until her toes were in the cold water. A simple spell protected her from what she perceived to be intense cold. Unlike the surface elves, the drow had lost much of their affinity to nature, and the rigors of excessive heat and cold affected her as they would a human. Still, the cold would not be defeated so easily, and she felt her nipples stiffen almost painfully from the cold. The anticipation of what the impressive tool swinging between the barbarian's legs would do to her was more powerful, though, and she caressed those stiff peaks, turning the cold into pleasure even as she began to grow damp between her legs.

She bent down, slipping her hands into the water and splashing the cold liquid onto her chest, letting the water flow over her body so as to acclimate herself to the cold conditions. Lura made eye contact with Hammer as she stood, and she could see the reaction in his member as it almost leapt at the site of her naked body bending and being splashed with crystalline water.

"What are you doing here, Lady Lura?" Hammer asked. His voice was always powerful, thick and strong, but over the rushing stream, it was almost muted.

"I came to enjoy the view," she purred. Another bardic spell carried her voice over the streams music.

"I have been to this stream many times in my life," he said as she came closer. "It has been many years since last I bathed in its cleansing waters. Too long for a barbarian to be away from his homeland."

"I, too, know what it is like to be away from one's home for a long time," she said.

"Aye, but you do not miss yours," he said. She did not argue the point.

"And you miss yours?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied immediately. "There is something comforting about the wild, Lura. It is always changing, always moving with the seasons and the winds, but never truly different. The deer come and go, as do the bears and wolves. The rains come, feeding the thirsty ground, and the storms come to purify the air. Out here, there is only the survivor and the prey, the hunter and the food. You always know where you stand in the wild."

"But in the city, in the Fest Halls, there is comfort and food aplenty. There is no need to hunt, to scavenge. You do not need to struggle, and you need not sleep in the rain or thunder," Lura reasoned, coming closer. She reached out and put her obsidian hands on his lightly tanned chest. It flinched as her fingertips ran through the fine hairs.

"True that may be, but have you ever slept in the rains? Have you ever enjoyed the feeling of the cold waters of the heavens cascading over your body, with the rumble of thunder soothing your mind? To do so...it is to live, Lura. The hunt, the survival, the adrenaline of going into combat against nature herself and, at the end of the day, standing tall and saying, 'I am here! I am here! You tried to take me but I am here! I have survived this day! It belongs to me!' Lura...that is living. I mean no offense, never that, but I cannot return to a life of sensuality and gluttony. It is no longer in me."

"My dear Hammer," she said, her voice filled with true respect, "few are the times I have heard such passion and dedication in anybody. For me, a Chosen of Sune, such a thing is powerful, almost like an aphrodisiac." She stood up on her toes, her lips grazing his strong jaw line. His hands wrapped around her delicate face, pushing her away.

"This place is pure, Lura," he said, his voice quiet. "It cannot be tainted by mortal delights. I cherish the relationship we have, and I will always consider you a dear friend, but I cannot lessen the purity of this place by being with you here, now."

Lura smiled sweetly at him. "Of course, Hammer," she said, looking down for a moment. His large, strong hand came to rest on her shoulder, and she looked back up into his crystalline eyes. "I would not trespass onto your sacred grounds."

She stood up on her toes, coming forward to kiss his cheek. A sudden, swift shift in the current took her feet from the hard rocks. Thankfully, the big, strong barbarian had her in his thick arms in a heartbeat, rescuing her from the fall that would have smashed her delicate head against the unforgiving rocks beneath the water. A rush of sensation washed over Lura as she looked up into the barbarian's calm face. She felt his strong arms lift her legs up, draping them over his bicep, and she rested her head on his thick chest, arm around his neck as he began the slow, cautious march out of the strong current.

Hammer saw Mikhail appear from behind the enshrouded bank of the waterway, and he looked to Lura for an explanation.

"He wanted to watch," was all she said, an impish grin growing on her face as he rolled his eyes.

"I must thank you, Hammer," Mikhail said. He took Lura's hand as he offered the Red Robe of Sune to the drow. "I doubt I would have been able to rescue her had she fallen under."

"There would have been no saving," Hammer replied, briefly locking his gaze with the drow. "The rocks that bed the floor of that stream would have cleft her skull."

"Then double thanks," Lura said, reaching to kiss his cheek, "for saving my life."

"No thanks are necessary," Hammer said. "Anything for a friend." The grin on his face was borne of friendship, not lust or the prospect of payment for a good deed. "Come, it is nigh time we approach the walls of Everlund. Surely our comrades stir now."

A brief pout graced the dark lips of the drow bard, but she quickly covered it with a smile. She began to realize that once they entered the city, the group that had held one singular mission since leaving Silverymoon would diverge into separate paths. Sadness crept into her thoughts, but she dismissed them. Her musings were apparent to her lover, though, as Hammer led them back toward their camp.

"What's wrong, my love?" he asked her, putting his hand on the back of her neck. His dexterous fingers twirled through the short, white hairs at the back of her neck.

"Nothing, Mikhail," she said quietly, bowing her head slightly as his fingers played in her hair. "Everything is fine." A smile crossed her face then as she realized her statement to be fact.


"I fear this is where we must part ways," Miria said suddenly, causing the group to stop and gawk at her with mouths agape. The elven paladin, so unlike herself lately, was no longer wearing her armor, but a thin white blouse, unbuttoned halfway down, revealing what cleavage her petite breasts offered, and wore tight leather breeches, tucked into her shin-height boots. After a brief encounter with the guards, who still held to the concept of "every drow is evil," despite heroic efforts by a handful of the black-skinned elves in the Silver Marches, Miria had finally gained the courage to depart.

Lura felt sadness creeping upon her again, but she also had a feeling this was coming. Anliva, however, was much more emotional.

"Ye leave us now? What's in your head, girl?" she asked, hands on hips.

"I have my reasons," she said, a little more harshly than she would have liked. "Sune is not...has decided another course for me. I am sorry, but I cannot continue with you."

"Wherever Sune takes you, I'll be going too," the dwarf said sternly. Miria started to protest, but decided against it.

"My apologies, my friends...I never wanted..." she choked back her sorrow and steeled her visage. "I must go." With that, she and the dwarf were off, Anliva often glancing over her shoulder at the stunned group behind her.

"What in the Hells was that all about," Cyra asked quietly, stunned. Shanara just shook her head in silence. Lura looked on, knowing full well that Miria had started down a dangerous path, and that Anliva would be the only person able to keep her from spiraling out of control. And even then, only if Miria will open herself emotionally to the cleric. She looked to Hammer, who's face was serene, as if understanding Miria's departure.

Realization hit Lura like a lead weight. He caught her gaze, and she saw the truth. Her breath left her.

"I, too, must leave, for a time at least." Shanara gasped, looking at the barbarian with wide eyes and agape mouth. "My heart is no longer with Sune, this you all surely know by now. I must return to the ways of my people. I must return to the tribe I left years ago. Perhaps, one day, our paths will cross again, but until then, know that you are all my friends, dear friends, and I will again seek you out."

"I will accompany you," Shanara said, desperation in her voice. Hammer was half-turned to leave, and her words stopped him. He turned his head slowly to her, a mist in his crystal eyes, and smiled solemnly.

"My people would not accept you." His voice was soft, but the words hit the woman as solidly as a slap across her face.

"Because I am soft, because I am weak," she reasoned, venom lacing her voice.

"Because you are not a barbarian," he replied, shrugging helplessly.

"You cannot know that they would not accept me," she said, anger pushing her voice past the lump rising in her throat. "I will go with you, and if they shun me..." She let the rest of the thought hang in the air, as much because she didn't know what she would do as for effect.

"Do you think you could live the way we do? Nomadic, hunters and gatherers, warriors all?"

"Yes," she replied without hesitation. Hammer looked to Lura, who lowered her eyes to the ground, then looked to the woman, and back to Hammer. She nodded her head slowly.

"Very well," he said. "We must gather supplies, the road will be long and hard." With that, he turned and left, Shanara delaying only to share deep kisses with the tiefling, drow, and Mikhail in farewell.

They were gone, leaving only Lura, Cyra, and Mikhail.

"We three, then?" the drow asked, looking from Cyra to Mikhail.

"We three," the tiefling said. Lura knew Mikhail would ever be at her side, but wondered whether Cyra would be overcome by wanderlust. That doubt satisfied, Lura smiled. "I couldn't leave that beautiful drow ass of yours anyway," Cyra said, winking at Mikhail.

"As long as I don't get pushed out of the way," Mikhail said, feeling a bit left out as Cyra reached over to caress the taut curve of Lura's bottom.

Lura reached over, grabbing him by his collar and pulling him in to a passionate kiss, inviting gawks and gasps from the passers-by. She released him and slithered her serpentine tongue into Cyra's mouth. When finally the kiss broke, the drow, fire in her eyes, looked at her human lover. "Don't worry, dear Mikhail. You'll have more fun than you can handle."

With that, Lura, clad in her Red Robe of Sune, led the trio toward the Smoking Dragon, their original destination. She wondered if they would cross paths with Miria and Anliva during their stay in Everlund, or when they would ever see mighty Hammer and Shanara again. Then, contentedness overtook her as Sune, her beloved goddess, put her mind at ease, focusing her on the enjoyment to be had with her present companions. Thoughts of their troubles were washed away and love, passion, and desire filled her heart. She took the hands of Cyra and Mikhail into hers and led them away, Sune's guidance guiding her to the Smoking Dragon.


This story continues as three separate stories, detailing the trials, encounters, and passions of our heroes, written by same author.

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