brave_kreyu | OOM All Skate Skellig Dream Magic Weirdness -Part 10

"Yes!" she gasps as his mouth teases her arousal. "So good, please." It won't be long at all before the one leg that is touching the ground is very shaky indeed, before he needs to hold her upright. (Or lay her down on the bed, whichever he would prefer.)

Edited 2024-10-05 01:13 (UTC)

Skellig most definitely is going to cheat at some point in the very near future - it would not be romantic or pleasurable in any way if he were to drop her on the ground - and use his abilities to move them up into the bed in a much more dignified and comfortable position.

Once they are settled, he can work at REALLY showing her how good she makes him feel, how much he desires her.

Skellig does very good work! The pleasure winds tighter and tighter until it snaps and the orgasm washes over her.

She's panting, trembling a little as she comes down. Words aren't cooperating yet, but she would like to cuddle with him.

Words are not truly necessary in this situation, as he can somewhat sense her 'want' by the way her body instinctively seeks contact and touch. And after an orgasm like that, he wouldn't be able to talk either!

He's only slightly smug as he crawls his way back up the bed, pulling the blanket with him to drape over their bodies once he's got her cuddled appropriately to his chest.

"Lovely, as always," he praises her.

She chuckles at his praise. "Likewise." She snuggles into him before drifting off for the night.

Once they have procured their equipment, they fly farther north toward a castle where a sorcerer with an army of monsters is rumored to lair.

It doesn't look much like a castle in the way Skellig probably thinks of them when they see it in the early morning light. There is a high wall of stone around it, but the building itself is as much wood as stone, giving it more of a fortified wilderness lodge vibe.

There are splashes of blood in colors humans don't bleed splattered here and there on the rocks and trees as they approach, echoes of past violence, but the place seems quite calm currently. Skellig is the first to pick up the sound of someone whistling a tune and the sound of an axe swinging, chopping wood.

"I hear someone," Skellig comments. "Using a blade, though it is not for violence in this case."

The oddly-colored splashes of (mostly) dried blood on the rocks and trees gives him a slight reason to be concerned, but since she does not seem worried about it, he keeps his thoughts to himself for the time being. "I do not sense much of an 'army' about, but they could be hidden from my senses somehow."

"Could be. Or the army was a lie," Kreyu murmurs. They approach the 'castle' down the dirt track, still hearing only that one person chopping wood.

As they draw closer, the person chopping wood comes into sight. He's a BIG man, more than six feet tall, a giant by the standards of this era! He's more than half that length across the shoulders, powerfully built. He's shirtless, despite the chill of the morning, as he chops wood. This is not the build of a Hollywood action star, but the build you get when you do hard labor and fighting for a living. He's not as pale in complexion as Skellig is with his current tan, but he's closer in skin tone than anyone they've met thus far. His brown curls are cropped close, slightly damp with sweat.

There is vast power in him, equal to Kreyu's, although he 'feels' of earth, the strength and endurance of mountains.

Kreyu smiles when she recognizes who it is. "Hello, Koshchei!" she calls.

Koshchei stops chopping, grins broadly in welcome. "Hello, Kreyu! You missed good party last night!"

Edited 2024-10-05 15:30 (UTC)

Hanging back (but at the same time, he does not act submissive - if anything, his position as they walk is that of 'defense', keeping guard behind them) as they approach, Skellig is struck a bit at just how...big...Koshchei is.

Clearly, he has been laboring and fighting for quite some time!

However, he does not puff himself up or try to appear bigger himself - while he might be built much leaner than this man, he is still solid, and still quite able to defend himself (and his mate) if needed.

"Is that why you are out here chopping wood?"

He grunts an affirmative. "Everyone else hung over, or too worn out from festivities after I deal with sorcerer," Koshchei explains.

Kreyu reaches for Skellig's hand, takes a hold of it. "Is anyone hurt? My husband Skellig is a very talented healer, even more than I am." She's so very proud of Skellig, so happy that he is her husband.

Without even thinking, his fingers shift and automatically interlock with hers - she will be able to feel the faint surge of pride when she speaks of him so highly.

"I would absolutely be willing to lend my assistance if it is needed," Skellig says, with a firm nod. "It would be the least I could do."

He could chop wood, but he would likely be much less efficient than Koshchei.

Koshchei is a bit surprised to hear Kreyu call him her HUSBAND, but doesn't comment on it, and his smile to Skellig is friendly. "Thank you," he begins, sincere. "No one hurt, not in the body." He scowls. "Sorcerer use MY identity," he growls. There is a rumble like tectonic plates grinding together, the 'dragon' leaking through because he is angry. "Use to gain trust not earned, do much harm, kidnap princesses."

Kreyu frowns too, clearly angry as well. For beings like dragons, one's reputation, one's good name, is VERY important. Most supernatural beings only know one another by reputation, and it is far easier in this age for someone to steal that reputation and use it for themselves. "You will be fixing the damage he has done for decades, at best," she comments. "I'm sorry, Koshchei, that is a dreadful mess."

Koshchei nods. "They hurt in spirit though, he keep them trapped here to look at them, to HAVE, like birds in cages." His voice sinks to that rumbling of stone again with his anger.

"The princesses...are they still here?"

The idea of them being trapped in cages and mentally harmed, traumatized...Skellig does NOT like that, not at all. And while his abilities to heal are typically more limited to the physical aspect of things, he might be able to help soothe some invisible wounds if given the opportunity.

(And if it would not cause more trauma or concern.)

Kreyu does not like that thought either, squeezes his hand.

"They are here," Koshchei replies. "Most worried about Ludmilla," he says, voice softening. "Sorcerer fight Sasha, man she love, when he try to protect her. Close to nine moons since she saw him last, and she is getting very...big," he explains. Koshchei is a bit vague on human reproduction after the sex bits are over.

"I might be able to help with that," she tells Koshchei, smiling. "I have been training to deal with such things. Is Sasha alive?"

Koshchei shrugs. "Could be, was still breathing when she taken, but badly hurt."

"Then we would go to them, if you would allow it."

His focus is already shifting to concentrate his Light where he might need it most, how he can redirect his own reserves to aid others - pieces working in the background of his mind as he follows along with Kreyu and Koshchei.

"Probably not awake quite yet," Koschei rumbles. "Was crying last night until late, but we can go inside."

He easily picks up the heavy stack of firewood in his arms, stowing the axe on a stump for now. The fortified hunting lodge theme continues inside. A few servants are sleeping in makeshift bunks, sleeping the sleep of those have had entirely too much to drink the night before.

On a pile of cushions, furs, and blankets near the central fire in the entrance hall are three lovely woman carefully covered up with blankets to keep them comfortable and warm. One a blonde, one a brunette, and one a redhead, their complexions all as pale as Skellig's. "Katarina, Sofia, and Melia," he says, voice soft and fond as they walk past. Skellig is very familiar with the kind of blissful exhaustion on their faces, and the echoes in the room leave no doubt that Koshchei took all three of them to bed and pleasured them quite THOROUGHLY last night.

"Ludmilla on the second floor, in room with loom. She says is 'homey'," Koshchei adds as they leave the room, enter the kitchen. The cook in their bunk is snoring, quite out of it.

The echoes in the room (also the hallway...and even a bit of lingering 'noise' has filtered into the kitchen) are quite loud, and as they enter and move through the space, briefly it is almost deafening! Add in the peaceful, blissful exhaustion on the features of the women (three of them!) as they rest sleeping sprawled about (thankfully covered enough to be decent) there is absolutely no doubt as to what kind of party occurred here.

He is silently grateful for Kreyu's hand in his, as it helps him to refocus and balance his attention.

Noticing her quiet concern for the shift in his energy, he gives it a gentle squeeze. "Just loud, have to adjust a bit," he offers, voice low.

She smiles reassuringly at Skellig, squeezes his hand. Koshchei tends the fire. "Bread dough not cooperating, but plenty of leftovers," he offers. He pours them some beer, prepares toast with room temperature roast from the night before.

"Do they want to go back home, the princesses?" Koshchei nods. "They do, although we could probably throw another party first while you are here?" he asks, cheerful.

Kreyu flushes very dark. "Ah, no, I think I will have to pass on that, Koshchei." She clears her throat. "I have an acquaintance I'd like you to meet, a prince in Mirai, an artist who is going to be in the middle of a succession crisis."

Skellig can almost SEE Koshchei's train of thought redirect. "Good marble in Mirai," he muses aloud. "Many princes, yes? Much stabbing in the back." He huffs, disgusted at the idea of backstabbing. "Not fair fight for human artist, so squishy..."

At the mention of another party - and the way that Kreyu flushes so dark - it is clear just what kind of festivities that Koshchei is considering...and while obviously they would both be invited...that is still not something he could wrap his mind around.

(He only has ONE mate, thank you very much!)

"He is a very talented artist," Skellig adds, as he accepts the beer and food offered willingly - with his metabolism and their travels, he is hungry, and if he is going to need to work to heal, it would be foolish not to. "Has quite a penchant for delicate things, like birds."

He glances up and down over Koshchei, with a subtle smile. "Though I am certain there are other forms he could appreciate given the opportunity."

Koshchei chuckles heartily at Skellig's last comment. "I have an appreciation for the delicate myself, in art and otherwise."

"Did the sorcerer get away?" Kreyu asks.

Koshchei runs one hand over the stone of the fireplace and the stone shifts as if it were unbaked clay under his touch. He begins to shape a bird as he speaks. "Sorcerer say he can not be harmed by mortal means, so I drag him down into the stone and leave him there."

Kreyu grimaces a bit, as that means the sorcerer was essentially buried alive!

"After a while, no heart, no breath, no motion echoing in the stone. Think he dead, have not pulled him out to check for sure."

While Skellig is eating, the stone-morphing occurs and he is simply fascinated by the entire process. (He is definitely staring a bit, as the stone 'softens' and is easily formed by Koshchei's hands, as if it is the most malleable clay.) So much so that he has much less of a visual reaction to what has become of the sorcerer.

"A man who harms others will reap what he sows," he comments.

Does the idea of Death being nearby bother Skellig? Not particularly. Would he have chosen a swifter method? Probably. But for the fear that he likely instilled in those princesses, trapped and set aside in their cages in the dark...did he deserve the same, suffocating, trapped darkness, no chance of escape? Possibly.

Koshchei is shaping a delicate lark, life size, from the granite. He has pulled the stone loose from the fireplace for easier working with both hands. (And to make it easier for Skellig to see what he is doing, although there's not much to BE seen.)

"Indeed," Koshchei rumbles. "Especially if he is fool enough to do it using MY identity."

By the time they are finished with their meal, Koshchei has finished the lark enough that it is quite recognizable AS a lark. "Needs more work, more detail," he explains as he sets it down to pick up his mug of beer. "But not a bad start."

"It is a wonderful start," Skellig offers. "I am always in awe of those who have such artistic talent with their hands, I have never been one to possess it, myself."

To be fair - until he ended up here in this world, in the desert wandering, he was practically crippled with painful arthritis and hardly able to even move his fingers without sharp daggers shooting up his spine, unless he dulled it with drug or drink.

"Thank you," Koshchei says, smiling softly. "Take time to learn, but earth is in me."

Skellig hears someone's footsteps approaching quickly. The red head he saw sleeping earlier feels worried, her clothes hastily pulled on. "Oh, we have company!" she blurts out, startled as she sees them through the doorway. She shakes her head. "Koshchei, Ludmilla has gone into labor!" Koshchei stares at her in utter incomprehension.

Kreyu stands, gathers her bag. "I have trained with a midwife," she says.

"Oh, thank the gods! I, we, don't know what to do."

"It might help if you can boil some water, put some clean rags in the boiling water for a while. They will be useful, later." Kreyu tells Koshchei. Whatever winds up happening.

Skellig briefly thinks back to the last time they were in a similar situation where Kreyu's midwife skills were required - that was when the entire debacle with Akatan occurred, and his mind faintly shudders at the image of her gasping for breath, her blood spilling onto his hands and filling his lungs. But he quickly shakes his head and clears it from his vision, refocusing.

"Boiling water, clean rags," he says. "There will be some other things that we will need later, but there will be time for that."

Clean, soft blankets for once the child is born (whatever winds up happening) and adequate hydration for all involved, Ludmilla, Kreyu, and whomever may end up assisting. Koshchei still looks completely bewildered at the idea entirely, which makes Skellig quirk a faint smile as he glances to Kreyu. "I assume I would not be welcomed to assist you, but if there is need, you can call for me at once."

Kreyu nods. "She will be more comfortable without a man there," she tells Skellig. She gives him a brief kiss on his cheek. "But I will call you, if you are needed."

They hurry off and Koshchei looks at him, his face crinkled with worry. "Ludmilla is hurt?" he asks, confused. "Not understand point of boiling water. I can take injury, heal it, not need water."

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