The Sunblade Chronicles Ch. 00-01

*

The battle was done. Darius was on his knees, head bowed and more exhausted than he'd ever been. He was bruised and bloodied, but alive, Firesong still flickering in his fist. Sadly, Strider had not survived, the noble white stallion had fallen shortly after the first charge. All around him, Men, Elves, Dwarves and the other forces of the light rejoiced, cheering one word again and again; "Sunblade! Sunblade! Sunblade!"

Darius wished he could be as cheerful. Raising his head, he surveyed the battlefield. Creatures of the dark littered the bloody ground, contrasting sharply with the intermingled corpses of his own soldiers bearing their pure white tabards. The next part was always hard, perhaps harder even than the fighting itself.

He waited patiently for the cheer to die down before raising his hoarse voice. "Sweep the battlefield! Gather the wounded! Kill any surviving enemy! No prisoners!"

His army, standing as they were, saluted as one, then began carrying out his orders. Darius walked with them, carefully stepping over the dead, keen eyes scanning for survivors. He could have used his vala to sense life in the area, but he was simply too exhausted. Instead, he trusted Firesong, which would flare into life when in proximity to darkspawn.

Morgeth would have to be here, somewhere. Darius would search the battlefield for her, and if he did not find her, he would scour the land until she was recovered, dead or alive.

A weak cough sounded nearby. He rushed toward the sound as fast as his weary legs could carry him, almost stumbling over the corpse of a troll, its leathery belly impaled by a spear. The cough had come from a jumble of bodies made up of a direwolf, a dog-faced Gnoll, and several of his own comrades.

Grimacing, Darius knelt and began dragging corpses away, searching for the survivor. After a moment, a woman's face appeared, bloody and battered. She was barely breathing, pinned down by the direwolf, coughing up blood. He called over a nearby soldier -- Remen, Darius thought his name was -- to help, and they dragged the body of the heavy wolf aside, uncovering the woman. She bore the Sun & Blade tabard, the white fabric almost entirely stained with blood.

"Gods, Commander, she's lucky you heard her," Remen said with wonder, looking down at the poor soldier.

As Darius knelt to check her injuries, Firesong flared, flames roaring along the blade. A split second later, a spearhead thrust through Remen's gut, skewering him from behind. Remen dropped to the ground, eyes wide with shock, mouth bubbling blood. Behind him, a Troll rose to its feet, a visible hole in its belly where the spear had been embedded.

Darius cursed himself for a fool for not checking the Troll's body. He had been rushing toward this woman blindly, and now Remen was dead.

With a roar, he leapt forward over the corpse of the direwolf, ignoring his exhaustion, Firesong spinning in his hands. First, he took the monster's leg, toppling it over before he took the sickly green arm that reached for him as the creature fell. Finally, he took the Troll's head as he should have done when he first saw it. Before it had killed Remen.

Wasting no time, he sheathed Firesong and gently picked up the fallen soldier. She awoke, staring up at him with the clearest emerald eyes he had ever beheld. She uttered one word, "Sunblade," before going limp in his arms.

*

Miraculously, the soldier survived. Her wounds were closing quickly, and she looked to make a full recovery. Darius had spent much time at her bedside, back in the forward camp while she healed, finding himself drawn to her, unable to forget those eyes that had stared at him so adoringly on the battlefield.

The healers had been keeping her asleep, for the most part, as they said it helped the body to heal faster. She had opened her eyes once or twice, briefly, before falling back to sleep. Darius still had not learned her name, and oddly, none of his captains could place her, either. Not for the first time, he wished his vala extended to being able to heal others.

He placed a hand on her forehead to feel for fever despite the fact he had seen the healers do this several times over the past days. He carefully kept his vala suppressed, so as not to accidentally bond with her. It was frowned upon for a Paladin to bond a person without permission, and Darius had never bonded a woman who had not specifically asked for it.

The moment his callused palm touched her smooth forehead, his vala lurched inside him, unbidden, spasming wildly. He felt it reach out of its own accord, towards the sleeping woman. Shockingly, he felt an answering resonance from inside her; a darkness, an abyssal maw that eagerly drank up his light, sucking it from him.

Unable to move, Darius could only sit and watch in shock as his vala gradually began filling up the dark void this strange soldier possessed. The two forces struggled, each vying for domination, until finally, they merged, intertwining, veins of darkness and light entangling in an intricate, complex web.

She opened her eyes, clearest green gazing into his sky blue. And then Darius saw the truth.

Her name was Morgeth, and she was a demon. A very powerful demon he had somehow just bonded with, a demon he now knew down to her very core, as she surely knew him. Looking into her eyes, he saw surprise, as well as felt it through the melda.

So, she had not expected this was possible, either.

The melda also carried another sensation; deep, primal, undeniable desire.

For long moments, they stared at each other, reading, feeling, learning, knowing every intimate detail of each other's lives. One truth stood clear; whatever happened from here, they were in it together.

*

Under cover of night, Darius and Morgeth fled the camp, stealing horses in the process. Somehow, the melda had accelerated Morgeth's healing far beyond the normal pace, quickly rendering her fit to ride. Similarly, Darius' wounds had also completely vanished.

Morgeth laughed as they raced through the night, her dark hair streaming behind her as they sped across the moonlit plains, a rapturous smile on her fair face. Gods, she was beautiful.

Darius made himself concentrate on what was important; getting Morgeth to safety. If the Paladins had the slightest inkling of what had been recuperating in their camp... Well, he chose not to dwell on that, nor what would become of him if the Order ever discovered what he had done.

A flash of rage echoed from Morgeth, whom had sensed his thoughts. Rage not directed toward Darius, but at anyone who tried to harm him. Knowing what she was capable of, Darius pitied anyone who tried.

Morgeth was an ancient demon, centuries old and possessing -- among other abilities -- the power to overcome any male of any race with pure, unbridled lust. Her power grew whenever a man gave her his seed, and she had had countless men over the centuries. Thousands, if not more. She was presently assuming a human form, for obvious reasons.

Before Darius could wonder how she avoided detection from the other Paladins, the answer came to him from Morgeth; on the battlefield, her presence had been masked by the sheer number of darkspawn around, and back in the camp, no Paladins had had any reason to be on alert, what with the war won.

Why Firesong had remained quiet in Morgeth's presence, however, remained a mystery. A Paladin's weapon was a part of its maker, something indescribable, an essence infused upon its creation. Firesong had always burst into flame when darkspawn approached, a reflection of Darius's undying commitment to their destruction. And yet, somehow, here they were.

This dark train of thought ate at his mind until an unspoken message entered his awareness from Morgeth. "You are the Sunblade. The Lord Commander of the Hammer of the Light. What you decide, happens." He looked over to see Morgeth watching him, a sultry smile on her face. With fresh resolve, they raced on through the night.

An hour or so later, they reigned in their horses in unison, unable to deny themselves any longer. Without a word, they dismounted and began to strip, leaving their clothes heaped in piles on the grass. It was a beautiful night, and the moon was full, providing ample light for Darius to admire Morgeth in all her nude glory. Pale of skin and dark of hair, she was a vision, five feet tall, with an hourglass figure, full, round breasts with hips and thighs to match.

Darius knew, however, that this was not her true form.

With a seductive sigh, Morgeth raised her arms above her head, stretching as if flexing muscles she hadn't used for a long time. Her body began to change, growing taller, until she was six feet or more, equal to Darius. She began to fill out, her breasts growing larger, fuller, until they were proud orbs he could never hope to get a hand around. The rest of her followed suit, her hips and thighs thickening, while at the same time not growing fat, simply more... womanly. Her skin darkened, taking on a red hue, her face becoming even more alluring, her eyelashes longer, her lips thicker, her eye teeth pointed. A tail erupted from the base of her spine, curling around in front of her, snaking between her legs briefly before wrapping snugly around her slim waist. Black wings also appeared from behind her, stretching languidly in the moonlight before folding, the tips visible over her shoulders.

Darius took her in, his cock standing straight out before him. Never in his life had he felt desire this powerful. He felt an equal desire from Morgeth as they rushed to each other, their bodies slamming together, their lips mashing in wanton lust. Her huge tits billowed against his strong chest as their tongues dueled, each trying to devour the other. Veins of darkness and light pulsed against each other in the intricate spider web of their Bond, driving them to heights unimagined by human or demon.

A surprising revelation cut through the haze of Darius's lust; for the first time in her long life, Morgeth wanted a man to take control. He bore her to the ground, laying her on her back, her generous thighs open, inviting him. Her slick, hairless sex glistened in the moonlight, drawing his turgid member toward it. Unable to prevent it even had he wanted to, his hips thrust forward, burying him to the hilt inside the most delicious pussy he had ever experienced.

Morgeth's scream of pleasure echoed across the plain as his balls came to rest on her ample bottom. He took a moment to savour the feeling of her warm, slick tunnel enveloping his cock, squeezing him tantalisingly, tempting him to empty himself inside her.

Not yet, though, not until he was done fucking her. He began to piston his hips savagely, driving into her with all the force his warrior's body could muster. She met his every thrust with her own bucking pelvis, her long legs wrapped around his waist, her fangs buried in his shoulder.

He roared at the pleasure more than the pain, pumping harder, trying to drive her into the ground. Before long, his balls boiled, churning with unforetold urgency. With a mighty bellow, he thrust one last time, the deepest yet, his cock erupting inside her, the seed of the Sunblade entering the waiting womb of the demoness Morgeth.

***

"And so, the Sunblade fell, tempted to darkness and drawn from the light,

And the Order would crumble in the wake of his betrayal."

Excerpt from "Light and Shadow," by Maigan Ezra.

***

***PALAVUS IRONROD -- Grand Temple of Aros, shortly after Sunblade's union with Morgeth***

Frantic shouts and clashing steel echoed down the gleaming halls of polished stone as Palavus cut down yet another brother taken by the Darkening. The fighting had been going on for hours, the whole Temple a scene from a nightmare; brothers and sisters of the Order of Aros murdering and raping, sullying their once-sacred home.

Palavus had tried reasoning when the fighting had first erupted. When that hadn't worked, he'd attempted to safely restrain some of his brothers and sisters until the madness wore off, but he'd nearly lost his head for it. He'd learned the hard way, tonight; whatever was happening, there was nothing for it but to end the lives of those afflicted, may he burn for it.

Why, Aros? Palavus wondered sadly as he watched the robed Paladin fall to the ground, eyes already glazing over. His name was Emry, and they had fought side by side countless times over the past five hundred years. Have we done wrong? Are you culling us like sick sheep?

Word had come from the forward camp of the Hammer of the Light, the coalition of what was left of the Seven Kingdoms led by Darius Sunblade, Palavus' former apprentice. Darius, Lord Commander of the Hammer, had fled camp last night, abandoning his post and his men. The only other person missing was reportedly a wounded soldier, a Human woman.

Why now? Sunblade would sooner die than abandon honour, and the bloody war is won! Why would he flee now? The thought continued to churn in his mind. Palavus refused to believe Darius was a coward; he knew the man too well. Was it the woman? Darius had his pick of any woman he wanted, and none of them had ever tempted him to forsake his duty.

But he had fled, if the reports were true, and now this Temple -- and all of the others, if the worst news was to be believed -- were a boiling cauldron of madness and death. The chaos had come so quickly. Following news of Sunblade's flight, all of Sunblade's numerous meldin -- Paladin, Arohim, Servant, or otherwise -- had begun to change, their hearts becoming dark, angry, and violent.

In turn, that darkness spread to the meldin of Sunblade's meldin, like an infectious plague racing through a city without clean water. With so many Arohim in the temple sharing meldin, a great number of them were now under the shadow of darkness.

By a miracle, Palavus and Darius did not share any meldin, which was remarkable considering the sheer number of women Palavus had Bonded over the years. He could feel all four-hundred and seventy of them, even now, scattered across the world, going about their lives. Some of them would be close enough to feel his pain strongly, but for most, it would only be a dull sense that something wasn't right. He hoped they stayed far away.

Some members of the Order had considered it ridiculous to have so many meldin, but Palavus had never cared to place limits on himself. If the woman was willing and true of heart, why should he not share his vala with her?

Sharp spikes of intense sadness and despair stabbed his heart as he took in the bodies littering the once-pristine marble floor, now sullied with smears of blood. His grief heightened as yet another Paladin engaged him, this one a woman, carelessly stepping over Emry's corpse with her sword raised threateningly, her bare foot not slipping in the wet blood on the floor.

She had been truly beautiful, Delya, before the madness of the Darkening corrupted her. Now, her pretty, slender face was twisted with a hateful rage, and she screamed wordlessly as she struck at him again, and again. Delya was garbed as Emry was, in the traditional transparent robe all members of the Order wore, and so too was Palavus; the fighting had begun in the night, and he'd only had time to snatch up his robe and Eternal before joining the fray.

Palavus had been wielding a blade more than thrice as long as Delya had been alive, and she was no match for his skill. His chest was gripped with sorrow for the hundredth time that day as Eternal's point found her heart. He made it quick, as he had with Emry; there was no need for them to suffer. Delya's corpse crumpled onto her fallen brother's, a pool of blood quickly spreading around them in a grim halo.

Leaving the two corpses behind him, Palavus trotted down the hall, following the sounds of the fighting, his bare feet slapping the smooth stone floor. He could sense Amina nearby; she'd left his quarters just after he did. She was unharmed, thank Aros, but through the melda, Palavus could feel huge volumes of sadness, and tightly-reined despair from the young Priestess. Palavus knew she was not affected by this malicious shadow that had befallen the Order, else Palavus would have fallen, too.

Rounding a corner, his eyes fell on Amina, stark naked and facing three attackers, all men, but none were Arohim. They were unarmed and unclothed, and they reached for her greedily, their eyes drinking in her nudity and their members rigidly erect.

Amina stood with her back to Palavus, calmly allowing the men to close on her. A blade was gripped in her right hand, long and thin and slightly curved. It was already stained red from tip to hilt. Before Palavus could move to aid her, she twisted with shocking speed, whipping smoothly around their grasping hands. Her blade found its mark with each elegant swing. She killed as Palavus had, swiftly and with as little pain as possible.

Not five heartbeats later, the men were dead, and Amina turned to regard him, not a scratch on her flawless pale skin. She was possibly the most gorgeous woman Aros had ever created, her beauty shining despite the sorrowful expression on her perfect face.

She ran to him immediately, throwing her arms around his neck and weeping into his shoulder. He caressed her silky golden hair as he held her, knowing exactly the measure of her grief, for it mirrored his own through the melda.

"We cannot save the Temple, can we?" Amina sobbed, stepping back to wipe her eyes with one hand, her blade still clutched in the other.

Palavus had already accepted this truth. "I do not believe we can, my love," he said gently. There were already too many fallen, too many corrupted. He had no idea what state the other Temples were in, but this one was lost.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded, some of her composure returning. "I will go into hiding, Palavus. I would suggest you do the same. If the sickness has spread this fast, we need to be as far away from it as we can. Especially you. How none of your meldin have been affected is beyond me, but if even one of them falls, then you and I will follow."

The last thing Palavus wanted to do was abandon what was left of his beloved Order, but the High Priestess spoke true. She always did.

***

Long centuries passed after the Darkening. Without the Order of Aros to bind them together in peace, the Seven Kingdoms divided. The Heralds of Dawn -- a devout group of Humans that believed the Arohim were inherently evil, depraved and corrupt -- arose from the ashes of the fallen Temples of Aros, proclaiming their beliefs and their desire to construct a new order that would provide peace and safety to the peoples of Ekistair.

The teachings and promises of the Heralds fell on willing ears, for many innocent people were killed by Darkened Arohim -- the poor souls bearing the Gift of Aros that had been poisoned by Morgeth's union with the Sunblade -- and so the Heralds quickly rose to power, and the memory of the once-grand Order of Aros was tarnished.

Made up only of Humans, the Heralds of Dawn slowly exerted and extended their control over the West, their laws changing over time to favour Humans above other peoples, and so the Dwarves, Wood Elves and others retreated from the cities of Men to their own lands outside of Herald influence.

One by one, the Orcs, Giants, Dark Elves and High Elves fled across the sea to Palistair in the North, and it is widely believed they did not survive the journey. Left largely unchecked, the Heralds tightened their control over the West, and the High Council of Dawn rules the cities and towns of Men with an iron fist.

***

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CHAPTER 1 -- Rabbit Stew

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