Disclaimer:
The following work is fiction, and all similarities to existing works are purely coincidental. The author (myself) hereby attests that the author is over 21 years of age, and that this material is intended for those over the age of 18 (or the legal age in accordance with local, national, provincial, or state laws). The author will not take responsibility should the reader decide to take the risk to access this material, and does not take responsibility for any offense towards violence, sexual intercourse between consenting adults, and depictions of fantasy.
Copyright:
This material belongs to the author (me), and the author does not consent for anyone to copy, distribute, or sell the work as their own in any shape or form. Permission to post on other forums will be permitted provided that the poster seeks written consent from me, and that the forum is for non-profit and benefits the LGBTQ community.
A note on the story:
I have always been a fan of fantasy role playing games as well as DnD, and take inspiration from those sources. However, I have researched extensively, and would never intentionally copy works of other people.
If you are looking for a story that immediately jumps to sex and erotica, then perhaps this story is not for you.
Feedback and Comments: soulwinn735@gmail.com _________________________________________
Prologue
Nestled atop a high hill that overlooked a vast grassy plain, the city of Uria stood as the final bastion of defense against would-be invaders, and its moniker of "The Magic Sentinel" certainly befitted its notorious reputation. Defended by towering ivory stone walls that wrapped around the city in a protective embrace, numerous turrets had been strategically carved into the ramparts, and allowed the Lazavese mages to fire all manner of spells from within. However, one of the greatest challenges for an invading force was the single road that led up the hill, and with a breadth of a single horse drawn cart, it made so that a hasty retreat was virtually impossible. Though the city itself was certainly a prize, its true value had to be what it was protecting. Being the sole interruption in the great mountain arc that bisected the kingdom of Lazevasca, the Arad pass was paramount in the subjugation of the Lazavese, and worth the immeasurable resources that had been devoted to it.
Leering at the numerous cracks and scorch marks that now littered the once pristine walls, Kerkenes, a general within the Gichari empire, could not help but fixate on each and every imperfection, and felt his blood boil as he failed to see even the slightest breach. After all, he was the one who had made each and every mark, and they were a constant reminder of his failure to take the city. Uria had withstood nearly half a century of siege, and Kerkenes himself had been bombarding the city for a year. Though the empire had initial success by quickly invading and annexing the fragile defenses of Lazevasca's southern region, Uria had proved itself to be a force to be reckoned with, and dealt a successive wave of devastating and humiliating defeats. With his predecessors having been maimed, killed, or abandoning their posts, Kerkenes was the tenth general to take up the daunting task, and he too felt the mounting pressure from both his commanding officers and battle weary men.
Unyielding in their ability to keep his troops at bay, Kerkenes knew that the mages atop the wall were becoming rather indifferent to him, and he loathed their complacency and arrogance. As of late, they had made their rotations into a mockery of his failure, and Kerkenes had seen the mages playing cards or even napping with each changing of the guard. Nodding at a contingent of imperial mages, they quickly scurried into positions near a row of catapults, and Kerkenes felt a wave of heat as the boulders were set alight with magical flame. Lifting his hand and dropping it, he watched as the projectiles hurled towards the wall, and as he expected, they were quickly extinguished with sudden bursts of water while being disintegrated by bolts of lighting and gusts of air. Cursing under his breath, Kerkenes watched as his mages collapsed onto the ground, and saw many gasping for air in exhaustion. After such a small rudimentary spell, their mana pools had already been depleted, but he took pity on them, and knew that they could barely concentrate their magic let alone use it in battle.
As the apothecary and medical corps rushed forward to tend to the mages, Kerkenes knelt near the mage immediately to his right, and offered a handkerchief. Taking it gingerly, the young man wiped his forehead, and thanked Kerkenes in a heavy accent. Without saying another word, Kerkenes stood, and made his way along the dirt path that led to his quarters. Passing his men along the way, he was met with bows and looks of admiration, but as he passed the native Gichari, he could only feel cold looks of disdain and resentment. Kerkenes had long grown accustomed to their glares, and he knew that their hatred of him came from their unfortunate position. They had been placed under the command of a man of subjugated stock, and instead of enjoying the luxuries and comfort of the homeland, they were forced to give their lives to the empire's cause. Though most of them were serfs who were in debt to their liege lords, there were a handful of Gichari men of noble lineage who had earned the ire of more powerful foes, and the remainder were criminals deemed expendable by the empire. Kerkenes took solace in the fact that he could kill them at any time, but also in the fact that the majority of his men were like him, people from subjugated nations and peoples who were conscripted with little to no battle experience. Kerkenes was once in that position too, and perhaps that was why he had such strong feelings of kinship with most of his men.
When he was a young child, Kerkenes had been told that his people were close cousins of the Gichari, but rather than unifying under a single banner, his people were nothing more than a collection of loosely associated tribes and clans that wandered the steppes. With each clan or tribe being ruled by a chosen individual known as a sheik, the sheiks would vie for power over all others, and occupied themselves with waging war for even the most insignificant resource or territory while their Gichari cousins expanded their influence. Initially passive if not apathetic to their savage cousins, the Gichari only intervened when the conflict spilled into their newly controlled lands, and it was then that they decided to show Kerkenes' people the ideal nation. It took only a measly year and a half to conquer all the tribes, and like all subjugated peoples, they were forced to adapt the Gichari tongue and customs. Being related, Kerkenes' people quickly adapted, and soon spread throughout the empire as hired mercenaries and artisans. Though having similar roots and origins, Kerkenes knew that his people were still inferior nonetheless, and he too could see the differences between them.
Entering his tent, Kerkenes let out a sigh of frustration, and collapsed onto a nearby chair. Crumpling yet another battle plan that lay strewn across his oak desk, he let his hands run through his thick white hair, and his fingers combed through his beard as he pondered his next steps. Tracing his fingers along the underside of his desk, Kerkenes listened closely for a familiar click, and withdrew a letter that he had sealed away. As he skimmed the contents once again, he felt the long forgotten feeling of hope, and wondered if his saving grace would arrive in the coming days. He could not fail like the others, but dreaded that putting such faith in a single prospect could be his downfall. He could only imagine the laughter and humiliation if he were to fail, and that was something he could not allow.
Two months prior, Kerkenes had dispatched a small contingent of his men to explore and survey the often neglected southwest of the conquered territory, and placed his second in command, Elnur, as the leader. Kerkenes did not expect much to come out from this venture, but what options did he have? He had exhausted all other means, and felt that desperation called for desperate measures. The southwest region was never known to produce anything of value besides medicines and herbs, and the rugged hills did not allow anything to grow. With a small population spread across numerous villages and homesteads, the Lazavese were often left to their own devices, and the empire focused its efforts on maintaining a firm hold on the southern Lazavese breadbasket and maritime ports. However, much to his shock, Kerkenes received news from Elnur that a curious discovery had been made in a remote village, and that it came in the form of a rather peculiar flower.
In his letter, Elnur described how the village and its inhabitants seemed to exist on a separate plane of existence, and how the buildings and the villager's clothing reflected a long forgotten time. Speaking with archaic vocabulary and unaware of foreigners in their nation, the Lazavese interpreter had moderate difficulty communicating, and Elnur noted an aura of tension and hostility. Though the village did not have much in terms of resources, there was a rather sickeningly sweet smell that lingered in the air, and Elnur said that it reminded him of death. The scent seemed to come on the breeze from uphill, and Elnur wrote of a collection of tombs surrounding the ruins of a temple. Though initially calm but following his troops with dagger-like stares, Elnur was caught off guard as the villagers formed a human wall at the foot of the hill, and as he and the troops tried to climb the hill towards the temple, the villagers attacked. Much to his shock, Elnur witnessed his mages attempting to conjure spells, but saw only sputters and fading wisps of mana as the villagers cut them down. It was only after the villagers suffered heavy casualties that they relented, and the reasoning behind their attack.
Bartering for mercy in exchange for information, the village elder led Elnur and an accompanying chemist into the temple, and revealed a field of purple flowers that had taken over the entirety of the complex. Elnur equated the smell to that of rotting flesh, and how the flowers emitted an eerie purple glow in the faint light. The smell was overwhelming, and Elnur and the chemist were forced to retreat towards the entrance to breathe the fresh air. Unaffected by the scent, the elder took a single flower, and brought it to them. The flower had been created by a priestess whose name was lost to time, and was created to treat magical ailments and wounds. Cultivated and infused with mana, the flower had great potency, and even trace amounts of pollen in the air could render a mage unable to produce magic. Though once used in ancient times when the Lazavese city states warred against one another, the flower fell into disuse, but the villagers knew about its potential exploitation, and kept it a closely guarded secret. Generation after generation were tasked with isolating themselves from the outside, and to defend the flowers with their lives. Upon hearing this, Kerkenes ordered Elnur and a small team of chemists to research immediately, and to return within the month with their findings.
Kerkenes was snapped back to attention as he heard familiar footsteps, and quickly stashed the letter in its hiding place. Feeling a pair of hands rub his shoulders, he was met with a soft kiss from his male Lazavese attendant. Known for their duty to family and obedience to authority, the Lazavese had become famous throughout the empire as valuable stewards and slaves, and were a hot commodity among nobles. Kerkenes too found the Lazavese to be a rather hospitable people, but he could never make out much from the sing-song quality of their language. He simply cared about whether the man could serve, but also cared for the young man's looks. As the young man gently removed Kerkenes' armor, Kerkenes could not help but notice the contrast between the young man's creamy white skin against his cinnamon one, and how the young man looked up at him with green eyes, much more special than his brown ones. As the attendant gently nibbled at his neck, Kerkenes let out a soft sigh, and gripped the young man against him. He did not feel love for the attendant of course, but the Lazavese made great company in bed.
The attendant looked up then: "Agha, we have a guest." The attendant still had great difficulty speaking Gichari.
Kerkenes heard it then, the soft flapping of wings, and finally a thud as the giant imperial eagle landed: "Go greet them, and prepare coffee in the cezve."
The attendant quickly tied the sash around his robe that Kerkenes had loosened earlier, and stumbled slightly as he ran towards the front of the tent.
Kerkenes adjusted himself as he stood, and donned a robe just in time before a young man entered his tent. Dressed in traditional Gichari fashion with a loose harem pant and embroidered vest over a simple tunic, the young man's true origin was given away by his features, and the turban that he wore over his curly dark brown hair. Typical of a Yerazi, Elnur had deep set eyes and thick brows, but it was his boyish grin beneath his well trimmed beard that gave him his charm. Kerkenes had always admired him from afar, how his pale skin glistened in the sun as he trained, how his hazel eyes sparkled as he read poetry and stories from his homeland, and though the Yerazi were known for their good looks, he was one who stuck out among a sea of precious jewels. Elnur was chosen from among a thousand candidates, and despite having selected him based on battle prowess, Kerkenes had been told that he was quite skilled with tongues, but the officer who recommended him said this with a large grin. Kerkenes discovered that Elnur was a linguist, and that he could easily pick up a language with little effort. He was quite popular among the slaves who assisted within the camp, and how he became their source of comfort by being able to speak in their native tongues rather than Gichari.
Much to his chagrin, Elnur was followed by the head of the chemist corps, and Kerkenes instantly smelled a strong sweet odor that clung to the man's every step, and he held his hand to his nose. It smelled foul, an unnatural sweetness, and Kerkenes gagged slightly as he pressed a cloth to smother the smell that overwhelmed his senses.
"Forgive me agha, I know the smell is rather pungent". The chemist bowed his head.
Elnur bowed as well: "It took me several days to get used to it myself agha."
"So it is done then?" Kerkenes lifted a brow.
The chemist nodded: "All the preparations are ready."
Reaching into his bag, Elnur extracted a vial along with a pouch, and Kerkenes noted that the pouch was stained purple. "After experimenting with the flower for some time, we finally figured out the potency, and this is enough to incapacitate a group of mages." Elnur tossed the vial then, and Kerkenes caught it with his free hand.
The strange purple ichor glistened within the vial, and Kerkenes swirled the syrup like concoction: "And this? How potent?"
"The vial is of a much higher concentration, and should be used only on the strongest of mages. Ingestion or being absorbed through the skin could cause a mana blockade of several weeks. Most of the subjects are still unable to produce magic.... Even now." The chemist replied.
Kerkenes felt a wave of joy wash over him: "So, shall we begin?"