The Forge of Gramarye

"Wait," she cried suddenly, and Aranthir groaned in frustration.

"Wait? I'm about to come!"

"I know. I don't want it to end yet." Ilytha tried to push him off her, but Aranthir was in the throes of lust, and only by a great act of will was he able to stop himself from fucking to completion. He slowed his thrusting even as his cock was on the verge of orgasm, and Ilytha pushed him off her to lay naked beside her on the rock. He grabbed his cock in both hands, thinking he might need to hold it closed.

She stood up, sweat and spray dripping from her naked form, and led him across the submerged boulders until they stood in the spray of the waterfall. White droplets of water sprayed across their naked bodies, the cool, fine mist soothing even in the cold cavern. Ilytha pulled him close again for a kiss and Aranthir wrapped her wet, golden hair about her. His hands grabbed at her ass cheeks, drawing a slight giggle from her as she pressed against him.

Breaking the kiss, she turned away from him and looked over her shoulder, sticking her hips out for him to hold. He did, wrapping an arm around her waist as his other hand guided his cock into her from behind. He began with a powerful slap of his hips against her ass, and she giggled again. He lifted her leg from beneath her to allow him better access to her purse, and she braced herself against a large boulder with one hand as the around fastened around the back of his neck. The touch of her delicate yet powerful fingers was overwhelming, he could think of little else in the moment but how much he wanted--needed-- to fuck her.

Aranthir grabbed her long locks and wound them about his wrist like a horse's reins as he fucked. Each stroke seemed powerful than the last, and he saw Ilytha's toes curling again. Despite the closeness of their bodies, her cries of pleasure were half lost in the roar of the waterfall but Aranthir paid it little mind, his eyes and mind fixed on the sight of his cock driving into her over and over, her round white breasts bouncing on her chest, and her piercing blue eyes staring back into his own. The slap-slap-slap of his hips against hers echoed off the rocks, somehow louder than the waterfall. Ilytha's moan undulated with the impacts of his hips, each one driving his cock deep inside her gushing wet sex.

She moaned louder and louder, her mouth a wide red circle, her brow furrowed in painful expectation of orgasm, and his hands pulling ever harder on her long blonde hair. He gritted his teeth with the exertion, an act that set Ilytha's eyes dancing and her lips spread apart in a knowing smile.

He was about to come again, he knew. She saw it in his eyes, and dismounted from his cock at the last moment to kneel before him as his cock spurted forth his seed. Aranthir cried out in orgasm, the echo of it breaking through the dull roar of the waterfall at last. His spurted thick ropes of cum across her beautiful face. There were so many that he thought he might never come again. When at last he had finished, there was hardly an inch of her face that was not covered in his seed.

She cracked a beautiful blue eye and looked up at him with a smile. A droplet of cum fell to her gorgeous breasts, trickling down her bust to dangle off a juicy pink nipple. Aranthir smiled exhaustedly at her and she giggled.

"Nystra's Tits," she gasped, "I don't think I've been fucked like that in all my life."

"You bring it out of me," he heaved, bracing his hands on his hips as his cock throbbed before him.

"All of it out," she mused. She took his cock in one hand and licked him clean with a deft red tongue.

"But now I'm all filthy again," she moaned with a mocking pout. Then, with a delighted giggle, she dove off the rocks to swim in the pool beneath the waterfall. She surfaced just behind the waterfall, emerging naked through the spray with arms above her head and a triumphant laugh. Breathlessly, Aranthir applauded and seated himself nude on a rock to watch her play.

Ilytha held her face forward, into the rushing water that wiped her face clean of cum. Then, with her arms held high, she leaned back until she toppled into the deeper end of the pool with a great splash. Feeling a smile break across his face, Aranthir settled lower on the rocks with his legs in the water. Ilytha swam in a circle around the pool, still submerged, before turning toward him and appearing between his legs.

"Hello there," she purred, as if meeting him for the first time. She batted playfully at his cock, hanging limp and spent between his bare legs.

"Hello yourself," Aranthir replied. She pushed herself further up out of the pool and swallowed his cock in her mouth. "I'm afraid I'm all out, my dear water nymph," he teased, and she set her lips in a girlish pout.

"Well, the cold has gotten to you at least. Won't you at least come in and play with me?"

She held out a hand, beckoning him into the cold water below the falls. He took her hand and followed her in. When they at last emerged, he could not recall how longer they had spent there, wrapped in each other's embrace and kisses in the cold spray. But he did not regret a moment of it.

As they splashed to shore where their clothes lay, Ilytha looked down toward his waist.

"Why, look at that. You're nearly hard again," she said, and Aranthir saw that she spoke the truth. "It seems a shame to let it go to waste. Here, hold still a moment."

She knelt again before him and took his cock in her soft hands. She sucked him slowly and lovingly, staring up at him with her beautiful blue eyes as the touch of her silky smooth skin sent waves of ecstasy up his spine. Aranthir wound his fingers through her long hair, his toes curling on the cold, hard stone beneath his feet. Ilytha withdrew his cock from her mouth and slapped it against her cheek.

"It's ready," she pronounced, "Lay yourself down, it's my turn."

He obeyed, stopping only to spread his clothes on the rock before he lay atop them. Ilytha waited impatiently, naked and still dripping wet in the cool darkness of the cavern. He lay on his back and the elf wasted little time in mounting his cock. She sank herself down onto him, moaning as he penetrated her purse. Then, when both hands on his chest, she began to ride. Aranthir clutched her about the waist as she bounced her slender hips on his cock, her breasts heaving just out of reached of his lips as he craned his neck up to reach them. Ilytha smiled cruelly at him before relenting and lowering her chest to his mouth.

Aranthir latched onto them with his lips, suckling at her soft, goosefleshed breasts with the fury of a man half-dead of thirst. His hands slid up her back to wrap about her and pull her close. Ilytha moaned with delight, her hips slapped against him and he felt her luxurious sex pulse around his cock. She kissed him again, pulling his head away from her nipples to lock lips with him as her hands clutched and scratched at his bare chest like a hungry animal. She moaned into his mouth, and Aranthir felt himself moaning back unconsciously.

He found himself staring into her eyes as she whispered to him. "Fuck me, fuck me harder!" she hissed and he gritted his teeth and obeyed. His thrust his hips upward into her, feeling the tension build in his cock and he raced closer to orgasm. She was nearing it too, he could tell. Her brow furrowed again and her pleading became more and more insistent. She dug her nails into his chest, begging for his cock, begging for him to spank her, pull on her hair, slap her across the face. He complied with all of it, overwhelmed at the sudden rush of demands until she came undone suddenly. She gushed from her sex, soaking him in a woman's moisture as she squealed and spasmed atop him. She collapsed onto his chest, her legs jerking as she lost control of her faculties.

Seeing her convulsions of ecstasy was all he needed to finish, and he now came deep inside her. His seed mixed with her wetness to come leaking out of her in a hot mess, but he cared little. He groaned with release again as he shot his cum into her and convulsed beneath her. "Oh, Nystra's Tits! Fuck!" he screamed into the gloomy depths, his hands squeezing her soft flesh between his fingers.

He could move no more, and lay there with his chest heaving and his legs wet with Ilytha limp atop him.

"Were this not a dark cavern crawling with goblins," she murmured against his chest, her breath hot on his skin, "I could stay here, right here, forever."

"If only," Aranthir replied, his breathing heavy. "We will soon run out of food, if the darkness does not drive us mad."

"Nystra blesses us with some small pleasures in Tarnilaen's realm."

"You are no small pleasure, my good lady." She laughed a breathless, exhausted laugh against him.

"Nor are you, my good sellsword." They silence a while longer, with only the roar of the waterfall in their ears.

Laying on the stony ground, the chill soon set in. Aranthir reluctantly rose from the embrace and retrieved his pack from where he had left it. Taking from it a light hatchet, he hacked branches from the marooned driftwood and built a fire on the shore. They set their clothes out to dry near the fire and seated themselves naked before it after a quick swim to cleanse their lower regions that were still soaked in the moisture of orgasm. Ilytha pulled a blanket from her pack, somehow mostly dry still, and wrapped it about herself. They sat for a moment, Aranthir with his sword laid across his naked legs and Ilytha staring into the fire. He stoked it again, listening to the crackle of sparks echo about their stony prison.

"How are we to get out of here?" he asked when the fire was roaring. The smoke rose toward the cavern ceiling and in the dim light cast by his orb, he could see it drift slowly toward and up the waterfall.

"These tunnels must led up," Ilytha mused. "It should be a simple matter to find our way."

"We tried," he reminded her, "tried and failed."

Aranthir pried the shot from his pistols and cleaned out the wet powder before reloading them both. When they came face to face with the goblins, he wanted the option of shooting them dead before closing in with his blade.

"We know the tunnels better now," Ilytha countered. "I will mark the way we have come. Would that I had a ball of string, but markings on the wall will have to do."

"Would that you had thought of that earlier. We might be out of here by now."

"But surely then we would not have fucked," she teased. "Wouldn't you miss that?"

Aranthir smiled without reply. The elf chuckled.

"Come," she bid, "warm me with your body while we wait."

Aranthir moved across the fire to sit against her. She lifted her blanket and wrapped it around both of them. Aranthir said nothing, content to sit there for a time as the fire crackled and their clothes dried.

He was not sure how long they sat there before he grew impatient. Rising, he dressed himself and checked his weapons.

"Leaving so soon?" Ilytha said dreamily, still wrapped in her blanket.

"Though the battle is surely long over, our companions may yet live," Aranthir replied, "and I grow tired of this dark cave in any case. That globe will not last forever."

Ilytha sighed. "I suppose you're right."

She shed her blanket and began to dress herself. Already having done so, Aranthir paused and watched her go about naked. He allowed himself a little sigh as she covered her beautiful form with her robes once again. Noticing, Ilytha laughed.

"Once we're out of here, we'll find some place quiet and secluded," she promised. "You won't have to wait long to see me naked once again."

"From your lips to the ears of the gods," Aranthir replied. "But we must steel ourselves for the task ahead. Think no more of Nystra's pleasures until we have completed our work."

Into the maze of tunnels they plunged. The passages narrowed and widened seemingly at random, carved not by the predictable flowing of a river but instead by some unknown power. They crisscrossed over and through each other, sometimes too narrow to pass through at all. Aranthir twice thought they were nearing the underground city again, only to reemerge into the waterfall chamber. He and Ilytha resorted to carving markings on the wall to denote their passage and in time, the whole labyrinth became covered in them.

After what seemed like an eternity of marking their paths through the tunnels, they at last found their way back up into the city. They emerged onto the empty streets of the city, the dark bulk of the tower rising up towards the cavern roof in the distance. With their eyes peeled for any signs of goblin activity, they hurried toward the tower.

Aranthir was not sure what to expect at the tower. Goblins took prisoners, so the survivors of the battle were likely alive, but to find them in the endless tunnels below was a task as dangerous as it was difficult. Having just escaped them, he did not relish the thought of going back in.

Silence gripped the streets. Aranthir held his sword and pistol at the ready, cautious to the point of paranoia as they approached the tower, but nothing stirred. The door stood open, its black maw threatening another ambush as the light globe cast long shadows across the face of the tower. Aranthir examined the dusty floor for footprints, but found only those of his party and the bandits. The goblins had entered and exited a different way.

Inside, the tower was as dark as before. Spent torches lay near the entrance, not of Aranthir's make but clearly cut from branches in the forest. Aranthir proceeded slowly. His eyes studied every loose stone for signs of a goblin lying in ambush. Yet they made it to the forge chamber unmolested.

The chamber was a scene of carnage. A half dozen goblins lay scattered about the room, shot dead, cloven in half, or otherwise slain in grisly fashion. Four bandits also lay dead amid the corpses and finally, to Aranthir's dismay, Malgran lay cold before the forge. The room was abuzz with a low hum of magical power, but Aranthir ignored it in favor of his fallen companion.

Stepping over the corpses of bandits and goblins, Aranthir went to his fallen companion. Turning him over, he saw that the man's throat had been cut.

"He couldn't walk," coughed a voice from behind, and Aranthir turned toward the source. Against the wall sat a young man in green, a broken longbow across his lap. He held his side, where his clothes had turned dark with blood. "The goblins wanted a prisoner," the man continued weakly, "but your man couldn't walk, so they cut his throat and left him."

"But the rest live?" Aranthir demanded. The bandit coughed again, blood flying from his lips. His lip curled in a sneer.

"Live? Aye, they live. If you can call existence as a goblin's slave living. They won't live long, I'll reckon."

"But they were alive when they went below," Aranthir said, "And likely still live."

"We might find them," Ilytha suggested softly. Her blue eyes burned in the soft light.

"In the warrens?!" the man sputtered. "You're mad."

"No, angry," Aranthir replied.

"They'll catch you. And eat you alive," the man said with a grimace, "And the lady... Best to just kill her now."

"They caught us unawares once, they will not do so again," Ilytha promised. The bandit stared up at them, horror and wonder on his face.

"Do as you will then, but don't leave me here."

"We cannot carry you," Aranthir replied, looking over the man's wounds.

"Nay, not that. I'm done for, but I wish for a proper burial. You'll give me that at least, won't you?"

"Aye," Aranthir said softly. "That I can do."

"Thank you. My name's Feltham, and... I am sorry. For trying to rob you."

"Feltham," Aranthir repeated. "I'll make sure Kanaron knows you're coming. This forge ought to make a fine pyre."

Feltham closed his eyes and turned away. "I know a blademaster like you will make this quick and---" he cut off as Aranthir thrust a dagger into the back of the man's neck, just at the base of his skull. He slumped over, mouth hanging open.

"Goodbye, Feltham," Aranthir whispered. "Ilytha, help me pile the bodies together atop the forge."

Together they piled the dead into the open pit of the forge. "I'll have to find out how to activate it another time," Ilytha complained. "I just hope this doesn't interfere with its operation."

Ignoring her, Aranthir piled fuel from the ancient stores about the bodies. It was good quality coal, somehow preserved in usable form despite its long slumber in the ruin. The forge seemed to hum louder as they prepared the pyre, and Aranthri felt his hairs stand on end as energy surged about them.

"Are we disturbing something?" he asked, and Ilytha took a step back.

"No. Light it."

"Are you sure?" she turned to him, understanding in her eyes.

"Yes. We'll say the prayers together, and then light it. I know what to do now."

Aranthir skeptically furrowed his brow. Her expression was as sure as he had seen her. She no longer consulted her book, but instead stared at the forge with eager anticipation. He decided to trust her. Turning back to the forge, he intoned the prayer for the dead that had been engraved in his mind by both priests and countless ceremonies for fallen companions.

"Kanaron, we ask that you grant the restless spirits who perished here in this ancient city, Malgran, Feltham, and the nameless others, a final rest."

He set one of the discarded torches alight and cast it into the forge pit. There came a great rush of wind and the forge burst into flames. Aranthir felt the heat sear his skin and warm the armor beneath his coat. Instinctively, he reached to close up the flashpans on his pistols lest a stray spark set them off. He squeezed his eyes shut as the piercing rays of light blazed in his vision, but as he did, he thought he saw a figure emerge.

Never before have I seen a soul ascend to the heavens, he thought. The figure blazed brighter and Aranthir realized that it was not a soul, nor was it a figment of his imagination. Its shape solidified and it stepped forward from the pyre. He reached for his sword, but Ilytha put a hand to his shoulder.

"No," She whispered in awe, "this is it."

"So I am," answered a voice. It was deep and strong, reverberating about the chamber and rattling Aranthir's bones in his chest. Standing before him, just at the edge of the pyre, was a white hot figure of a nude man, powerfully built and fair of face. It folded its arms across its chest and stared down at the two of them. "You stand before Alakimohr, spirit of the forge. I have received a sacrifice, and I answer in accordance with my ancient pact. But you are not my masters, for them have not called me in many long ages. Who are you?"

"I am Ilytha ar Kantalias, loremaster of Ildranon," answered Ilytha, "and this is my companion Aranthir of Ildranon. We have come to learn of your ancient city, and unlock the legendary power of this forge."

"Your land of Ildranon is unknown to me," the spirit replied in a slightly milder voice. "I am not bound to answer questions, only to perform tasks of artifice. Speak your task, and it will be done."

Ilytha looked crestfallen. She has come all this way and stands face to face with an inhabitant of this ancient city, but still cannot get the answers she seeks. He felt for her in that moment, but his mind went to Janguld as well, trapped somewhere below them in the warrens.

"I would have a weapon," he said as Ilytha mulled over this disappointment. "My companion is captured by the goblins who have taken up residence here. We must go below and rescue them."

"Goblins," the spirit mused in a voice of booming brass. "These creatures are known to me. In days of old, my masters forged blades that shone light in the dark, even when all other lights went out. I will make for you a sword that will warn you of their approach. And for you, loremaster?"