Epona's Children
::This is a first, inspired by Dracasis posting up some of hir RPs and the fact this RP has long since made me think it should be publicly shared.. I tried to place a break between Myridon's writing and my own. Said Myridon is an amazing writer and all around fantastical person, with ears that deserve tons and tons of benibblings for getting me the log since mine was only a partial save.
Now onto some basic facts. Myridon and Kalan are half siblings sprung from their divine mother Epona and are quite the opposite both in personality and in actions. So it comes of no surprise that they're often on opposite sides of battle. This starts out with Kalan having just left an attempt to seduce some of her brother's men from his army. Her brother being more noble and a bit of a dandy and she herself more down to earth and war-like.
Apologies if it's hard to follow, I did my best to edit it, but well. We all know that I'm not always the best there. I'll be correcting some more later, right now too tired. ;)
Wincest ahoy!
As it is sadly enough typical of the Horse Isles; there is a raging battle going on be tween clans. McKann in the north seeks to drive an offensive against the dark unicorn Kalan. Her army can defend but to attack you will need to bring soldiers to the tyrant's flank. As fate would have it, it's her brothers territory that is the one who is closest but dealing with Myridondirectly is always a tricky business. Her status status allows her to recruit directly from his own soldiers though it is something that must be done in back rooms and secret meetings in person.
Though it has become evident that the fallen mare and her small group of guards have been found out. She is being chased now with the rank and file of Myridon's city guards perusing. For a brief moment the city's edge shows and then her group encounter ten of the brown armored stallions all at once. Her four guards set to work defending their general but one immediately falls to the point of a spear. There is a frenzy in the air of clashing bodies and swinging weapons. She does not seem to be recognized and all at once there is a hulking stallion in front of her bringing his mace up as if to strike.
Kalan positions herself with an ease that is almost negligible, the mare a fighter trained from birth like most of her clan. Holding herself in a slight crouch while one hand grips a sword that is light and short, better for swift movements that she can manage with her slender frame, her teeth bared in a flash of an almost smile, but more a snarl towards the hulking stallion. Her ears swivel to the sounds of battle, her soldiers are not green recruits they fight well, though the numbers are against them.
The flash of blades and armor in the corners of her eyes and she launches herself forward. Not to rush and knock over but to try and duck under the maces reach when it comes down to strike, her head tilted down to aim broken inch of her horn towards her enemies. To keep hands from gripping her as she tries to slide her blade upwards against the mace to try and disarm him.
======
The large male, perhaps only realizing who he is against when he sees the leonine tailed mare draw her sword and leap at him. Even if her horn is broken, its still recognizable for what it is. He reels back as the vicious head comes up within his reach, hooves skidding and trying to backpedal. The strike on his arm sends a red spray as she cuts through the wrist. The large male already unbalanced teeters back and falls on his seat grasping his struck arm. The pain reeling through him, his orders are clear, he can't harm or kill you, only restrain you. The stallion faces more limited options in this case.
Trained as her guards, they are not reluctant to use their horse forms in battle. One shifts to nonmorphic in mid stride to spin on his hooves and bring his hindquarters in a vicious strike to an anthro's chest knocking yet another down with dents to their forward armor. Though he is immediately corralled by two of the opposing group also in horse form to be pressed inbetween their large bodies to try and wrestle him down. Her guards try their best to interrupt and pull people from attacking their general directly though it does mean that they take losses. She watches with a gut wrenching pain as another get a spear in the shoulder for his efforts at blocking another of her brother's soldier from attacking her.
Kalan stares into the face of the male in front of her, a thrill running through her, a mingling of anger and fear knowing he's been trained much like she has. From birth. Her own hooves striking down upon the ground while she swings her sword downwards as there's a red spray, a hot coppery scent on the air and her eyes alight with a fierceness, kill the leader now and the skirmish will end. End him now.
The light of battle fills her eyes as she blocks out the battle even though there is a skitter of four hooves and a squeal of rage and readiness the pounding of a massive four legged creature with hooves as weapons and sharp teeth. The dark unicorn bares her teeth and lets out a sudden scream of her own, a war cry and she lunges again trying to press him back as she dances in the heat of battle. The madness of the fight in her eyes while she watches one of her soldiers dropping down to try and take out a guards legs, taken down completely by another using the chance to swing down a shield to hit the back of the head.
Size and weight has their disadvantages; the big male she's downed is unable to easily rise, not with her charging down on him. She gets another soldier who tries to stop her lunge who is easily dispatched by the swing intended for the fallen soldier. Her sudden cry and frankly.. demonic appearance keeps any more from trying to fight the dark mare directly.
In fact her own soldiers rally at the sound of her voice. One of her other men, a large palomino strikes away spear hafts with an axe and batters two of the soldiers with his heavy iron shield while miraculously one of your remaining guards pulls away from the two he was fighting to come to your side. A dark buckskin whose name is hard to remember right now. He comes to her flank to tighten up the circle of guards. It looks as if the dark unicorn might be on the cusp of turning the odds in her own favor.
Kalan snarls and turns her head to the next soldier, the sight of him charging making her go after him in turn, leaping back slightly while she crouches down. Flaring her nostrils as she backs up towards her soldiers slightly, her eyes darting towards them to see them starting to rally. To see them pick up the fight, though not as well trained as she is, they are still vicious fighters in their own right.
Standing side by side with the buckskin while her tail lashes and hits against the ground, her teeth constantly bared in a rush of victory and she barks out, "Take him." to the soldier at her side letting him lower his spear and push forwards towards the one soldier. Her breathing barely labored before she turns away towards the rest of her soldiers, an arrogance coming over her, a natural thing to the dark mare. Especially in the midst of battle, forgetting she's even more on her brother's side then her own, that they have reserves here where she does not, only knowing she's winning at the moment.
The buckskin gives a distant nod, eyes not quite meeting her own as he slowly steps to the soldiers. The soldiers around have taken up ready positions but have stopped their immediate charge. Have they decided against holding their lords sister? She arrogantly feels she could break away at any point now and leave them behind to be punished. Perhaps try to take the city with her small band of guards in stealth if this was the merit of what her brother kept about.
The answer to their perplexing behavior comes in the sharp sting of a knife cutting into her upper thigh then the sharp yank of her head being pulled back by her braid. The wet edge of the dagger comes to her ebony throat as it is the buckskin leaning over the broken horned mare. He is not kind with the dagger and she can feel the trickle of blood down her neck as the edge bites in. While the warcry before rallyed the troops, her sudden capture by one of their own turns their heads and leaves them vulnerable. The one in nonmorphic form missteps and his foreleg is shattered by a maceblow which has him falling to the ground returning to anthro while holding his broken arm with a yell. while the great Palomino is taken down like a quarterback by the sudden rush of soldiers who were plainly waiting for this betrayal.
Kalan walks away with a slight roll to her step, a confident motion of her body as if knowing she's going to be able to break free and run. Even outnumbered she's won the day, as she knew she would, the light of victory showing just in her blood red eyes while she moves. She hasn't gotten a few feet before she stares at the soldiers wondering at their pause and a red lash of pain hits out against her leg and she lets out a hiss and almost whirls around to face whoever attacked her.
Finding her own soldier gripping her and a wet blade pushed up against her throat, her teeth bared in her rage while a low growl escapes her teeth, "Drop it, dog, or I'll have you gelded." Her eyes flickering towards her own three guards left as the enemy descends, the screams of the Palomino ring upon her ears as they flatten down and she pushes forward feeling the trickle of crimson blood against fur, more of it wetting down her thigh and coating her leg.
The buckskin challenges her ruby gaze, openly with cruelty and resentment in his plainer brown eyes. She remembers his name now, Crevan and certainly should have recognized him by the fact he is missing his tail. It is clear now that he had never gotten over the punishment she had doled out to him when he was just a pony squire. The threat of gelding seems only to infuriate him and ratchet another cut of that knife.
"So you can take another object away from me?"
She should have beaten him harder with that severed tail during his younger years, apparently he still had some ambition left in him to perform this bit of treachery. He seems fearless at this point, the way the crazy are fearless. She knows that she could very likely twist that knife away, but he has already done what was asked of him and the soldiers close in to string up Kalan's loyal guards. Wrist bindings as well as the symbol of true enslavement: A bit and bridle put on each. They approach the unicorn mare now warily, tack in hand. She get's the impression of being the wild horse on a ranch with the slow approach they make towards her. At the very least she watches the Palomino stand shakely and the guard with the broken arm stand. Her third guard looks to have been among the killed.. and the fourth is of course behind her sneering.
Kalan keeps her teeth bared completely towards the betrayer, the anger flaring in her own eyes as if not caring for his own pain and fury. The dig of the knife against her leaving another knick along her neck and she jerks her head backwards to take the pressure off.
"Worthless scum, can't handle a punishment so your loyalties are thrown from the window?" She almost spits into the stallions face while her eyes watch her loyal guards trussed up like common animals.
The moment the guard attempts to walk forward with a bridle in hand the dark mare seems to lose it in her own way, instead of trying to fight the knife she lashes out with one leg, the sharp cloven hoof sheering through the air at the closest who dares to come near her. Her ears pinned down flat against her head while she lets out a squealing war cry, "The first to get that thing near to me, will be losing bits of flesh even if I have to use my teeth." She growls out her threat, which is more then just a threat, jerking her elbow back to try and dig into the stallions side despite knowing even free even she can't fight through this many guards. Still it's worth a try, even failure that results in death might be better then this.
Crevan's face does not change. He cannot hate his tormenter anymore than he can now it seems. The first soldier goes down howling over his broken shin, the plate of his armored guard puncured with the stamp of her clove on it. They are after all only mortals wearing plain metal armor. At Kalan's cry and shout The guards murmur excited to one another now. She is no stranger and the mare can hear her titles being brandished about.
The Black Mare of Dacey, Ciardha, Dark Sister of the Lord. Spoken with as much awe as derision. They hesitate as if unsure now just what to do. The irony is that these were likely the men who would have followed her had she not been found out. Yet another favor she has Crevan to thank for as it is certain now he also likely tipped off the city to her presence. Her elbow sends that knife leaving a shallow zigzag across her neck but has the male bent double as he stumbles back away from her gasping for breath.
The guards jolt to action by this but instead of trying to bridle her they opt to lasso the dangerous mare instead. The lassos, like bit and bridle, are as natural things for them to carry as handcuffs. They are overzealous in their flinging and she ends up with multiple lassos falling on her from every which way which might produce the amusing picture of a slender female being roped by five stocky males were it not for her deadly reputation.
Kalan leaps forward away from Crevan when he falls back from her, her ears holding back and feeling the burn of the knife across her throat, not stopping to touch it, to find out how deep it is. She knows and has been injured enough to know exactly when she's injured too badly, she listens to the titles they give her as she nearly screams out:
"Come for me then! I'll give you your death!"
She stands with her legs slightly apart before leaping when the lasso's are brought out, her eyes gleaming as the ropes fall and tangle in her body. But she is not a fool, nor is she one who hesitates on using her form to her benefit. For a moment her shape is absorbed in a rush of dark shadows before she slams down on four hooves. Rearing and twisting as some of the ropes manage to fall away from her change and she dances to slash out with her hooves towards the creatures hitting one guard in the thigh to hear a satisfying crack of bone while she twists and turns. Her rage blinding her to everything but killing her enemy, her rage at her betrayal taking her to a form that while dangerous also holds limitations. The mare trying to do as much damage as she can in as short a time as she can, her hind legs kicking back out towards the downed Creven.
The soldiers make a shared gasp as she truly appears as something out of a nightmare. Even without the fiery hooves or sulfurious breath of a demonic being. A black mare with red eyes and even redder fury can do a fair imitation of one. For a moment the anthros are outclassed and even as one horse falls to the blow to the legs the other one still holding onto a lasso gets instead dragged across the ground by the ebony whirling body. Whipped around like a doll.
For the moment Crevan is left on his own when she rounds about on him. Suddenly the five inches of knife seems to be such a small weapon compared to the several ton of equine bearing down on him. She feels his body catch on her hooves and then the succinct snap of bone underneath the press of her shod hooves. Flesh tearing,and his pelt smoking from contact of her hooves' touch. He reels, stumbles then falls in a broken heap, if not dead then very soon will be as blood spills from the ruin of his front.
The soldiers in the meantime scurry to unfold supply bags. They attempt to lasso her again, but this time not with leather but with chain. It's an improvisation, the heavy chain meant to hold army supplies to body not as a lasso but they use it fearfully throwing links of chain at raging mare like whips. The heavy iron falling like flying hammers to pound into her fetlocks to throw in between her legs to entangle. For their salt. Seeing her cripple three and pulverize Crevan makes them fear the creature, but they fear her being loose even more.
Kalan tramples over Crevan's body in a bloody dance of rage and revenge, screaming her triumph as she works on turning her traitor into a red bloody ruin on the cobblestones. Blood coating her cloven hooves while she works on her victim and lifts her head, her nostrils flaring wide before she sees them pull out chains and she rears up moving to charge forward as a lasso goes around her head and digs down around her supple neck before another falls preventing her from turning back against the fool hardy guard.
The mare a piece of night itself come to life, a thing of nightmares and terror in her rage but the chains hold as they tangle with her, snapping white teeth in the air in front of her while she screams and squeals her frustration. Wild sounds that echo around the place before one of the chains tangles with her long limbs and the sharp killing hooves and she crashes down against the ground hitting on her side while she flails her legs out. The chain flying and hitting bruising muscle and bone a like, her own remaining guards straining against bridles to get to her and tugging though held while she pins her pupils down to mere pin points before they flare open wide. Her breathing ragged and after a few moments her body fades to that of an anthro, her form shrinking down as the lasso's hold and she grips one with her hand.
"Let...me....go..." A living legend of battle brought down, her pride and will though remaining untouched. Her eyes burning with hatred and rage.
There is a moment of silence as the soldiers look upon the downed dark unicorn with quiet fearful looks. She may be night, but there is certainly a lot of red splattered in her hide, most of it from the pulped figure of Crevan, mashed like a potato in his armor and hide. In hindsight that if she had simply ran forward when she changed she could have gotten away. But that would have left the traitor alive. The soldiers look far from cheerful and there is a bit of mute gloom, to be killed in battle is one. But they saw that frenzy, that killing light in her eyes.
It is several long minutes of waiting before more troops arrive. None of the soldiers want to get near the mare and instead they keep at the chain's length, using it to pull her up but keep you taut at a center of several links. Kalan and her guards are lead like this, in a strange procession through the streets of the city. It is obvious now that they are taking their Lord's sister to its heart to see her brother. Though to call it a city needs some qualifiers.
Its more like a very large village. There are paved streets but also great tracts of grass and forest intermingled with the buildings. As they make their way through the town's center she can see a Gray Appaloosa female and her two foals grazing on one of the communal lawns. When the column of soldiers and captives walk past she and her fillies stop their eating to turn anthro and quickly hurry to a nearby building.
For the druidic horses the center of the city is not a mansion housing a throne as a typical lord might rule from. While there are dwellings for the equines to enjoy the benefits of being anthropomorphic there is a balance between that and open air spaces. There is an open grassy courtyard with high ornamental stones that bring vague impressions of Stonehenge with their blending of engineering and nature. There is no floor or rugs rather just dirt and grass. Myridon's herald hangs from the tops of the stones. His emblem a vain silhouette of himself rearing in charge. Her brother has never been one to hide his divine-touched nature and the general in him knows the value of presentation.
With the other equines about with their mottled hides, greys and browns they do in deed look drab to the self-appointed Paladin-of-a-kind who stands tall in his shining armor and very clean looking white and silver hide. He wears a diadem of gold chain link in a celtic circle around his brows which both appoints him as a king and draws attention to the horn sprouting from his forehead. No doubt another deliberate attempt to bring attention to it. Despite the fact his horn is not a true unicorn's horn, he got more of his dark Norse father than Celtic mother.
How ironic that it is that she ended up being the dark hided one. Twisted blood or not, he is still a hoof ahead of the mortal equines and when he strides up to his sister, she can see his soldiers automatically bow or salute slightly. When he spies on their approach up the road and onto the soft turf of the court grounds his brow arches first at her appearance and the limping walking dead nature of his wounded soldiers. Calmly he turns to the Sargent, "I take it this is what is left of the southern garrison if this is truly my sister you have in tow." He addresses Kalan, "Really. If you were going to come to my lands it would have been more polite for you to have come to me first, Ciardha."
Kalan moves along the street, the dark form almost slinking with a silence that is unnatural, cloven hooves just shouldn't be that quiet when hitting stone. But the way she places them, tip first and then the rest ever so slowly is enough to ensure that she moves like a shadow, the hunter in her long since known for this way of walking. A whisper of magic and fear following her trail to those that first knew of it, the way she learned to ghost about the forests. Her eyes rake around the place but her world is centered on one thing, the knowledge she is being taken to her brother, a ball of warm anger forming in her stomach as the scent of blood is thick in the air. Coppery and hanging on her fur from her fight, both her own and others as now the wounds start to sting and ache.
As they come upon her brother her eyes hold a disdain for his show, in her own ranks she is beloved, her soldiers fed before she took her own supper, her people sheltered before she herself sought her bed; in many ways her royal bearing just holds her above them but her adoration for them as her children had won more then a few from Myridonin the past. She walks before him finally and lifts her head up, a regal gesture showing no shame, no remorse, not even anger as she gives blank red eyes.
"True, it might have been polite, but I have little time for endless feasts and wenching. I prefer to do something worthy of my time then become another dandy in the midst of his nobles." She comments lightly, a subtle jab to the gleaming white unicorn.
Myridon'seyes lid heavily as he cants his head towards his sibling, narrow glimmers of blue shining between those lashes. For all his fanciful nature, he does seem to catch on pretty quickly. She can see him count her captured guards, notice the missing Crevan, notice your extremely bloodied form. He nods.
"When the alternative is to become a banshee who flays her victims maybe the soft life has its virtues."
A servant brings him a wineskin which he takes a drought out of. He gestures for the servant to give it to his sister next which has the brown filly blanch at the ears. Again there is that look about and almost a look of aggravation as he sees how shaken everyone is by her presence. He takes the skin and stands and approaches her. The chains tighten as the soldiers brace themselves, thinking she might lunge. Myridoncomes to stand next to you and with him so close it is a display in contrasts. Dark to white. Horned to hornless. Red to blue. Male to female. He makes an ironic quirk of his mouth.
"How I've forgotten how pleasant it is to talk with you..sister." Again he offers the wineskin, likely to clean out the blood so that he can do his ceremonial greeting. He brings his muzzle close to the dark cheek as if to politely kiss her though turns it to an more overt nip at the mares cheek with his flat teeth, his stringy chinbeard brushing past as he does.
"You should be more gracious in the presence of family. You came here to take my troops away from me. Had you been more warm to me you may not have faced the prospect that comes to you this day." He turns his head in a sly sort of egotistical gesture. The type who likes the lead with his questions, to make a suggestive comment and then let it hang and force her to say 'what do you mean'.
"Aye, you would muss your clothing and then where would you be? Haven's forbid you learn how to defend yourself, what with so many guards surrounding you." Kalan gives a short laugh, a burst of sound that comes from between her lips
She shifts to her left leg to take the weight from her wounded one, narrowing her own eyes to watch him take a drink from the wine skin, an even closer look to watch her brother's throat move as he swallows before the frightened filly halts and he's forced to come himself towards her. She reaches out a hand to take the skin, her hand a bare shadow in darkness, like a stained version of himself done in female. Granted her dark coat hides the warmth and courage of her heart and body, the blood red eyes may look mad with rage almost all the time, a gentle soul hidden within despite the warrior's ways.
She draws in a drink before she drops it down and growls a sound low in her throat when the muzzle comes in as if to offer a chaste kiss and teeth nip her dark coat She purposely does not washing the blood from her body, simply getting it off of her hands and wrists.
"That I did, as they should serve a true leader and not a fop who is taken with his own idle toying ideas of conquest rather then the good of his people. So you can stop the foolish talk and get your head away from me, dear brother, before you lose an ear to my teeth." She stands back insolently her head raised as she draws a bored look, not following those leading questions. In her own way she's as blunt as a soldier, "Then send for my ransom, you know you cannot kill a member of your own blood and your prison will not hold me for long. Take your gold and your life, and pray I do not return with more guards at my side."
Myridon's own eyes darken at her words. His muzzle twisting in an expression of one feeling the sting of a wasp. As pure and holy seeming he might be, the same stormy lineage flows through his veins. His sister might think he will rage at her, use the wineskin like a bludgeon to slap her outright. There is a tense beat before his expression softens back into that superior, look. He crosses his forearms and regards her.
"I am afraid not, sister. Gold is not what I be after and I tire of watching my back for your hounds. Your traitor only gave me a few days notice but months ago McKann had already approached me with a proposal. A joint effort against your lands. Why, I said to our cousin, I would not raise my hand to a sister though I promised I would not interfere." His eyes hood a little, "Yet now here you are. Whose side should I take? Our kingly cousin who takes me in, shows me his castle gives me wealth and tribute. Or my sister who would the only gold she would give would be the piss on my grave."
He stalks away, trodding heavily on the grass and her retinue of handlers silently tug her along. Myridoncircles the center altar stone of the stonehenge courtyard and runs his bejeweled fingers across the flattopped stone. He breaks gaze with his midnight sibling to look at the stone.
"A kin who is ever busy with her strategy and plans. I only break bread with when we are over a map of our enemies." His eyes drift upward to her cracked horn, "It is hard to remember a time when you were whole. Maybe that has been the thorn in our hoof. I cannot let you go. It was enough trouble to capture you here. McKann would be happy to go against your army without their siren screaming for blood."
Kalan glares at Myridon from her own dark eyes, the red gaze not an easy one to meet, at least not for his soldiers and guards. It never has seemed quite sane and the blue she meets is just like her own, disconcerting with that power that roils beneath the surface. The equine shaped creatures holding power in a tight layer woven in their very being. White and black coat alike seemed to glow and darken with the divine magic that flowed through their very veins.
"You stand here with an army, you do not fight for me or against me, you stand here smug with talented men and women listing away in bars and taverns. Yes, I took them, who would not? They who must pass their lives wasting talents they've honed." Her eyes narrow sharply, her words sharp and piercing with her disdaing.
"Aye you want to take my side, brother love, because you cannot slay me. And if you can't slay me then by all the gods above and below I will bring such war upon your House that the hounds themselves will be left moldering in the sun as corpses." She states as calmly as if commenting on the fact he's had a very good harvest this year, "Do you think they will not come for me? My children? My army? They will hound after me and McKann will not dare to face them to protect your gleaming house of gold and excess. You shall take your be damned ransom, take your gold and let me pass. Spoiled and lazy you may be, but even I will not call you stupid." She states the words almost spitting them out after a moment, not flinching.
Her broken horn worn as a symbol of pride, of loss and of her own strength. A vivid reminder of a battle she had not hesitated in joining,nor mourned the price she had once paid.. "Or will you go lapping up to our cousin, whining and simpering for his good will and fine wines? What next, dog? What trick shall you learn? Roll over? Or play dead when he is not satisfied by my lands alone. You have certainly learned how to beg prettily enough."
Myridon keeps his back to her as she yells her invectives. It is meant to project an air of unconcern. But the dark mare can see the tense swish of his tail. The stiff jutting of his spine and shoulders. She knows him to be taking her barbs like blows though dearly trying not to let it show. Some of the servants gathered start murmuring to themselves. Gossip already hot on their lips, before Myridon makes a cutting motion with a paw to dismiss most of the court from the courtyard leaving his sister with Myridon with her handlers as witnesses. Three of them who keep the balance of Kalan's chained figure between them. Finally Myridon speaks, though his voice is quiet.
"Oh I think they will come for you. If any of us could have you in a dungeon you would have been in one for years." He shakes his head and gives her a strange look, "I think you losing your horn did more than blacken your flesh. Are you as barren as your hide?" He taps one of his rings on the altarstone, the wooden one with intricate carvings.
"You never sought out your birthright. A plea to the white lady can do great things. Find your purpose again." Myridon turns then and pulls on the side straps that buckle his armor to place, loosening the leather underharness.
The metal Cuirass slides off him and he shrugs it aside with a minor rattle. His body like a roman statue, the whitegray pelt cording with the strength of musculature underneath. A horse headed imitation David with little in the way of body scaring. In fact the only mark noticeably is the minor halfmoon underneath his ribcage. It draws his sister's eye as it was her hoof that made it during one of their many previous scuffles together. It might be a measure of pride that while blade, claw or hammer could leave no lasting mark, the killing blow from her hindquarters had. He rubs self consciously at the mark.
"Mother wanted her daughters to bring life to the world, not take it away. I see it a point of duty to bring that around."
There is a different look to his eyes now and you can see that he has adopted a different stance. His erection plain now that he has disarmored himself. He is white hided but his penis is a dark ebony, the hide going down to a dark leather pouch. His maleness a nonmorphic's in minature, standing tall with a broad brim and glistening tip. He leans on the altar as if it were a table.
"Aye. Reason or wealth means nothing to you. But I know that you have yet to spring a life from your loins. I hear it when you speak. I see it in how you look at foals. You are a wild horse of the plains. I think we have had most of the conflict because of your own bloodthirsty nature. Mckann comes at you today because he knows that tomorrow you will be at his throat if you could. Neigh sister. I think it is you who need to be tamed. You know well how we break our barbarian women here."
Kalan watches the air of unconcern, the way Myridon simply seem to stare at her but she knows, she sees the tension and hears the whispers. A flicker of triumph in her eyes, word will spread, spread not only of her skills as a fighter but that of her words. That his sister had no wish for warriors to be wasted when they were to be used in the best of ways, to be savored and held in a sacred trust between their commander and themselves. They would sway, some of them likely would make the dash and carry word to her army of what had befallen her. Of that she was sure.
She moves and gives a slight shrug of the chains around her. tugging at them experimentally before she licks her lips and answers, "I think you are the foolish one, brother, the one who is broken. I am the Warrior, the fighter and the Black Mare. The Fire Mare. I am she that makes enemies shudder and wilt, and that is no body to carry a child within. When the time of carrying my flag is over.."
She trails off as he comes to her and the hands move to pull at the buckle of his armor, loosening the leather beneath. It falls down and she looks at the white grey pelt, but rather then desire that rushes through her, scorn replaces her face, "Is that it?" She barks a laugh looking up and down him with a cold look that even a hardened stallion might find degrading. A look of measurement and the look that he did not meet near any standard she had set.
"You think that you will carry on your line through me? Oh my brother, should you have only told me your wish to made useless in bed, I would have been pleased to give you that chance." She all but purrs those words, a threat hidden in a sound that should have been seductive.
Her eyes linger on that scar, she has one of her own. A pale mark along the small of her back where your blade skidded along her hide leaving it deep enough not to heal. Only between the pair of them could they hurt badly enough to scar, the mingled blood of their mutual mother seemingly binding them together, the reason they could not strike a killing blow between them, the most sacred of their laws. As sacred as the law against taking the lives of foals and young. No child, no youngster, nor pregnant mare would ever be harmed by their kind.
"I think that you are going to fail, and you are going to be sobbing by dawn and bloody. If you think I want you to touch me. Ever. You are wrong in ways I shall be pleased to teach you about." She shows her teeth and braces herself snarling low in her throat, her anger is plain to see, her disgust, and her eagerness to get a chance at hurting him in a lasting way. None of their kin would say a word against her if they found out he had had this in mind. )
Myridon's jaw sets and those eyes are a blazing bright cerulean. So exposed he seems before his sister, literally with his cock hanging out. Though certainly he must be feeling rage and the ears pinned back at they are show he is seething but his shaft does not wilt. Instead the taunting seems to make his flesh strain at the air, to cord and thump visibly against his own belly then back against the stone altar with a beat of the heart.
It is a mystery until the guards push and handle his sister closer to the altar and a strange impulse grips her body. Like a fluttering fanciful thought. That she should urinate to return some of the water she has taken back to the earth. Other feelings spring up, like the sudden weight of her chest and just how much the leather of her outfit slides against the mares chest and nipples when she moves. These thoughts are minor and only takes a strong moment of concentration to banish them. But it is a hint that its no imitation decoration, that it is a true altarstone to likely Epona herself.
Even the grass along the edge feels clean and lush underneath the siblings' hooves. Likely while she can easily turn aside the thoughts, Myridon is letting them substitute for foreplay, letting them stroke his ardor. Even when he talks now. His voice going from the timbre of a calculated politician to one quite maddened his voice raises and little flicks of spittle comes from him as he responds in a more feral sense of purpose. He wets his lips.
"I think you lie. You would be a mother if you could only find the one seed to overcome that curse. I am glad you have come today sister. It is my duty to see my seed sown in worthy ground as it is yours to receive it."
It is a question, if her own brother believes his own words to be sure. Does he truly believe in the restorative nature of the altar? Or has he finally dropped off the final edge of a noble's indulgence into the land of perversion. The only witnesses now are the soldiers that hold Kalan in place, but either they are true loyalists and believe every word or the dark mare's butchery of their forces earlier has hardened their hearts. After all she is far from any whimpering filly begging not to be raped.
When Myridon cants his head towards them they are all keen on giving his sister a hard choke with the chain, pulling her body upright as three sets of hands work on undoing her gear, unbuckling and drawing out the strings. One guard shows the forbidding mare up with a minor pinch and twist at her nipple before letting it bounce free. Kalan is then lifted shoved onto her brother, made to straddle his abdomen. He receives his sister with strong arms, clasping them around her elbows and biceps in a bear hug to pull her down to his chest. Face to face now he butts heads with her scarred one, pushing his crystaline horn to your stumped pearl one.
Kalan forces her gaze upwards towards Myridon, her eyes blazing in the set of her ebony face, her pupils pinned down until it almost seems she lacks them. Not staring at the shaft that hangs out, swollen and ready, straining and probing the air in a lewd fashion, nor even the tip that seems to gleam. She struggles, as automatic a response as breathing when the chains pull and guards start tugging her forward, the madness of her gaze enough to make them swallow. They perhaps even realize she might know their faces, know that they chose not to help her, not to let her free or offer her aid to escape in this sick idea.
She draws closer her gaze moving, sliding from her sibling's face towards the altar as her hoof falls down with an uncharacteristic clicking noise and she feels a sudden roil of thoughts flood her brain. The clenching of her stomach, her tail lashing against the ground as she fights the urge to flag it, to prance and curvet towards you in a show of her fertility and promise. The want to slide away her armor and leave her dark body naked in the night and to the air. She shakes her head and drives them away concentrating for a moment as the grass slides along her hooves and she moves forward.
"It is my duty, O Beloved Brother," She spits the words out like a curse, "To refuse to see an inferior stallion ever let his genes pass on within me, as you are a failed creature that should have never been, a defect, a sport, a misborn."
Her rage grows as she says the words and the power of the alter seems to pulse inside of her, to coax her womb deep within to start to change. Time speeding up for it to release the precious fertile ova there before she finds herself close to his body. She chokes out as the chain bites into her neck, scraping the wound there so that she bows her back for a moment and struggles snarling and letting out a snap her teeth through her wheezing breath as her armor and clothing is torn from her and she stops.
Glaring at them, the determination in her face showing she'll see them dead if she can, slowly dead, painfully dead. Her body is as dark as the night sky, so dark that blue highlights run along it. She's toned and supple from her love of the outdoors. A goddess in her own right. Her breasts are full and heavy as they rest upon her chest, the darkness of her nipples shown in a tight hardness. Her belly a graceful sweep down to the broad curve of her hips and nestled between them lays the soft tear shaped mound. The dark lips already growing enflamed with her forced fertility.
She struggles and snapes as her body forced over him as she feels the heavy jutting shaft pushing against her and she breaths out a rush of breath and her pupiles flare out to fill almost all of her eye, Tensing up as she hisses out, "Touch me like this, do this and you make love with Death. For I will see you shuddering with my broken horn through your heart when next we meet; even if I will be slain after wards." Her eyes show a glint of panic, knowing well the power of the altar...of the results that would happen.
Myridon himself says nothing to Kalan's scathing comments though the guard does respond with a blow to her kidney. A hard punch at the black bare back. Again it might be an almost ridiculous thought that he needs 'aides' to have sex with his sister in the form of three restraining guards. Or at least he does for this opening bit where he asserts his grip on your body. She gets wrenched up by the braid with some assistance of that choking collar while his paws feel down the sides of her familiar body to the flare of her hips.
His fingers spread wide and they grasp her at the hips and buttock, fingers sinking in to knead and feel at her flesh. There is a minor sting as he pushes his fingers uncaringly into the cut on Kalan's thigh, feeling the mare's rump cheeks as well as aggravating the cut so that your blood runs down the side of your thigh. The first fluid offering to the altar as it trickles onto the stone. His hands then tighten to split his sister's crevice and spread her cheeks wide to open air.
Is that the heat of gaze you feel from the gathered soldiers tickling their nethers? No wait it is the touch of.. rain? The sky remains clear yet there is the minor pitter patter of raindrops falling. With just the hint of salty brine in them. Myridon gazes upward.
"It is our mother there in the sky who cries for the violence threatened on her very altar. Is that all we have to give her. Violence and threat? Kill me sister if you dare. Let mother decide if it was the right. Perhaps you will be born again a nightmare. But I am to have you here and now and if you do not kill me. Then whatever wound you give will be the price to pay to have what I want." He makes a sharp nicker to the soldiers and they remove the chain from Kalan's neck and step away now.
Leaving her for the first time in the full embrace of Myridon. He then rises up, putting them both in a sitting position with each facing each other. His biceps cage her torso and her breasts are made to shore up flat against his pectorals. Kalan can feel the heat of him. His chest thumping against her dark breast, with the mirror of the twitch in his penis as it flexes rhythmically against your backside. The stroking tuck of cockflesh, still poking up but not angled right. He brings his hand up in a light slap now, the one still wet with the mare's blood. Smearing her own vitae with a thumb over her face and lips.
He surges forward in a kiss. Not a romantic one, but one with intent and savage gnashing of teeth, lip and tongue. As if he takes his half sister's threat to spear him with your horn serious and decides the best way about it is to control her face with his.
Kalan grunts at the blow to her bare back, hitting against her kidney when it blows down against her, bruising her skin but it's barely even a love tap by her standards of life. She writhes against the chains trying to pull them free from her, feeling the grip on her braid as her naked body is held against the white one. She's darkness incarnate, a form that holds muscles toned from fighting, practicing, hunting. Athena made flesh in her form, the hidden huntress. Curved breasts stand out along her chest, tipped with dark nipples, her stomach flat and slender and though muscled she is padded with the curves that are a mares mark. Her thighs spreading out on either side, her rump a sloping run that moves down to the top of her thighs and the curve of her legs.
For all the talk of her being a broken thing, a burnt out womb and lacking the key to being truly female, her body does not give strength to those words. Her long leonine tail lashes against the ground behind her, slapping roughly before lifting up once more behind her. Feeling the hands gripping the crevice and spreading them open, the curve of her body exposed, her body a uniform color but for the slight glimpse of darker pink along the crux of her thighs. She hisses out in his face.
"Filthy creature, do you think magic will change my mind? To excuse your perversions this night?"
She feels something tingle, quiver and she jerks her head roughly back and forth for a moment, as if denying the feel of anything in her body but her own anger. Her head finally coming up when the chains slide free and she bares her teeth before a mouth mashes against her own, her body lifted up into her lap, her breasts a warm softness against your chest. She snaps her teeth out, clicking them against your own, scraping along them as she tastes blood on her lips. The twitch of the penis against her backside sending a roll of panic through her and she tries to move her thighs to clamp them together and her leg moves just enough as the fingers dig into her womb, her cloven hoof digging along the white leg, dragging a thin furrow there to spill crimson over white flesh.
To the guards the pair must look like some violent and savage pagan dieties, light and dark, crimson blood and rage, naked and entwined together in an embrace that lets the mares scream of rage die upon her own brothers lips when he probes and moves his shaft. Even now her body is forced to react in ways she can't stop, the thick outer lips winking and flexing in flashes of her heat and need and she growls. She will have one spot of revenge at least, she lets one thought that went through her mind go free and she tenses. A line of golden wetness spilling from her in a hot wash to hit along his lap, his shaft, his legs, trailing down to dribble along the alter making it almost gleam. The fertile pheromones of her body reacting to the magic even as she soils your body with relish.
Myridon's body arches against the dark mares and again she is reminded that as much as her brother has been indulging himself with the illusion of being a lord, he is still a healthy stallion who has lead as many charges into battle as she has. She can feel his muscles tense as he works to contain her struggles against him. Hotly he responds through mashed lips, words muffled, "Not... magic... But a child will." Further explanation another grunt and then a sharp cut on his sister's lip as he reflexively bites at the scoring mark her hoof leaves on his thigh. Yet more horse blood to spill on Epona's altar, his vintage of crimson to mix with her own.
She can feel his chest and abdomen flex. His fingers dig again into the flesh of her rear and he lifts the dark curved body up by her seat, sliding Kalan up and up then grasping her tail at the root, using it as a handle to pull hard on her tail until she tilts her hips back and in line with the raised spire of his shaft. She can feel his stallionhood touch her mound. The broad brim making intimate contact like a hot kiss to the pink outer labia. The cocktip making a pointed rub against the marble of the tender clit when her winks push it out and have the two make contact for each brief contraction and split her sex makes out into the air.
He makes her shove herchest at his face as he holds his sister upright and against him. His large head pancaking one breast against his cheek as he blindly seeks to impale her. The sudden tumble of urine has him whinny out the sting of fire that the steam makes as it splashes onto the fresh cut on his thigh. For the second time he bites at the mare, this time closing his flat teeth hard on a nipple and mashing it and the areola behind it between those molars. His grip loosens and there is a moment where she is strained fighting gravity and keeping herself at the point of his shaft while suffering his bite on her tit flesh.
The smell of urine brings a fecund odor to the air. It hangs heavy with the smell of rainwater, cut grass and the arid sting of spilled blood. Finally his arms assert themselves again and hugs his sibling hard at the weight. She's pulled down hard while his body arches upward. That shaft rushing at her and bashing against her sex like a fist, dimpling her lips inward before she winks opens and lets him push his head into his sisters fertile body. The mating of dark and light indeed. Already sweat plasters his features, his wild hair held in stringy clumps as sweat mattes them, his pulse hot under his flesh.
Kalan feels the muscles of his body shift beneath her own, the rush that pounds in her ears even as she tries to ignore the fact it even exists, "I...will...kill...you.." She cuts off each word deliberately, the honesty raw in her eyes along with her rage as her lips dribble soft drops of blood down between the pair of them, dark enough that it's barely seen against the dark lips and muzzle. The blood from the pair mingling and joining on the altar, both the same lineage, the same in so many ways but polar opposites.
As if the world could only throw two foals and neither could be like the other in even small ways. She writhes and her form shoves against him, trying to pull back when the hand grips the base of her tail and heaves her body up, her body raised as something blunt pushes up against her outer labia. The thick soft lips being pushed up against it while she sucks out a breath and she gives a shuddering sound as lips capture her nipple, bite down and her scream comes out of her throat. The sound torn free when she feels the cock tip probing against her clit and flat teeth digging at the same time.
She tucks her head down and snaps her teeth out to grab his mane and jerks back, trying to force her brothers head up, her eyes wide, frantic. The panic there plain to see as anything in this world before the slam up and the head pierces against her lips. They hold close as she tenses up trying to stop it before feeling him punching through into her tight body and the first hot embrace of his sisters wall close down. Shuddering at the thickness of it, the profound wrongness of sitting on their mothers altar while she's taken this way.
Her body glossy with her own sweat, panic and fear mingling even as desires rise in her that offend each part of her being, her aching nipple throbbing against her chest while she frantically tries to raise her hips up to tug the tip out of her body. For a moment her form wavers and then snaps back into place, and wavers again trying to change into a four legged mare but the arms gripping her won't let her, her concentration not allowing her that escape. The mare's flexing outer lips cause tightening and relaxing around her brothers cock, teasingly erotic despite her mind. The wet heat of her body just starting to form around the shaft, knowing that even as she struggles if she fails she'll be unable to fix this. Stop this. Their laws prevent harm to the young, even the young that are still hidden within the womb.
Myridon's shaft is no tool to be ashamed of, as it is in a society where one can switch forms freely, most males tend to keep themselves hung well. He does keep himself girthy enough to press and stroke against his sister's tunnel's sides as his head plows forth. When he comes to the end of Kalan's tunnel his shaft bulges slightly as he is compacted against it. The broad cap of his glans knocking on the struggling mare's womb's door and then wedging in slightly.
He blows out hard breath from his flared nostrils, face in a grimace as his hips lift to grind against her own. He lets her struggles, your writhings be apart of the now erotically intimate rocking of their entwined bodies. He doesn't dare let his sister go and his face gets pushed hard alongside her own, curled to push his white cheek solidly to dark one. Each effort by her to pull away to lift herself up is countered by him to turn it into a grind, another internal jab and stroke of his shaft along her velvet insides.
One might think the two look more like serpents than horses with most of the motion into the warring thrust and sway of hips and hindquarters. He is so much 'there' she can surely feel the echo of her brother's heartbeat in the shaft now. Her clenchings bringing into hard relief the hot pulsing twitches of his lifevitae pumping through his veins. The drum of his chest against her bitten breast while seconds later she can feel his shaft tremble and twitch in the same way. The mare can feel his organ heave and convulse, spitting fluids into her body, wetting her already wet insides, slicking the perverse dance of siblings.
What do the soldiers think? One watches the mating with clear interest, the lewd expression of him savoring the sight of Kalan's body viscerally. Another looks more shamed and turned away, knowing the import of what is happening here. A brother raping his sister not even for the feral raunch of pleasure but for the forbidden taboo of impregnation.
He mouths at her ear, bending it towards him in a vigorous chew. His body arching more and more against her own. Lifting Kalan on the point of his hips and letting her rump rebound again his thighs. Each motion like a bounce and then a falling slap against the altar stone. There is hardly a moment passed where her pubic hairs are not wetly shoved to his own, the wiry silvercurls a brisk scrubby mat that rakes your clit, that sands against the sensitive nub. "Kill me then." He whispers into the ear right at his lips. Almost a breathless dare. As if he too in some small part is fearful of what will happen, at what will be brought should he climax. Already his body is shaking, under this combined onslaught.
Kalan lets out a soft groan the shaft digs into her body, prying open her walls that protest the motions, closing down tightly before relaxing again and then the muscles are rippling once more. Her breath coming out shortly as the cap of the shaft pushes up and hits against her cervix, bumping it to cause a cry to fall from her lips and her ears fold back harder along her maned head while she's pressed against him, held close in a forbidden embrace between the pair of them. Ways that make her arch her back and try to move her hips, dragging them back only to feel her lips being tugged along the way, spread open almost too wide before pushed into him again.
She feels the cheek pressed against her, the breath of his own rushing against her. She can't stand the touch, each brush of the white flesh another stain on her body while she finally snarls into his ear. A low sound, a sound no horse should make but she forms it while the cock heaves and there's a sudden splatter of fluids inside of her and she jerks. Stiffening at even that small amount touching inside of her while the altar beneath them seems to pulse. She turns her head finally.
"Lazy beast...unable to seduce a willing woman..." She breaths out and curls her lips backwards. She feels the eyes of a guard staring at her, not AT her, more importantly at the sight of her gleaming sex being impaled time and again, the movement of her muscled body and the soft sweetness of her skin against him. She turns her head down as she feels the push of the harsh pubic hair hitting against her clit while she bucks and writhes in her panic, even through it she feels the stabs of pleasure of a body that's all too ready for a males seed. Her body doesn't care that it's her brother.
The whispered dare does it and her head darts down the blunt teeth grip that white gleaming neck and digs in twisting her heard sharply to shake him almost like a dog might trying to do the most damage, her teeth coming frighteningly close to more vulnerable spots as she attacks. Her hands move to push against you while she strains. Worse is the way the wetness is tickling from her. Sliding against his own body and around the length that drives into her, the air mixed with scents of blood and wetness and sex so that she has to breath shallowly, "Do..not...do this.." She's almost pleading now, her voice harsh.
Inside of his sister's body she can feel his shaft make several threatening swells. The broad head flattening out and stretching her cervix on the raised crown before diminishing only to swell up several thrusts later to once again give her the intense point of pressure. Each fall back into the cradle of his hips she can feel the hot leather of his balls pillow out against her rump's underside, sweaty and heated. Each slap on them you can feel them tense and draw up. Almost begging the question of 'now?!?' Only for this tableau to hold for yet another cycle of grinding, thrusting and grunting.
He groans into his sibling's ear, "Only you sister. Only you.." At your sharp tongued barb, whatever inner reserve of stamina, being worn down by the millstone of her rear sliding against his hips. What ever deep learned morality that keeps him reigned back ending when she strikes at him. Kalan's bite draws blood, cuts through that semi-divine flesh. How ironic that with the cut to his thigh and now to his neck they two will have wounds that mirror each other.
He can feel the hot pulsing of blood spill past her lips through the gore of his slashed neck, the main artery so close. Though it does not drain him or make him go limp. Instead his limbs crush his sister in a grip around the torso, so tight to squeeze the breath from her as his body shudders and jolts into her. "It is done!" He answers with a wheeze to your last pleading comment.
Inside of her body she can feel his maleflesh ram at her cervix, push that ring in and then spread it as that brim blossoms out. There is a beat of time where he is just upraised against her where all Kalan can feel is the thrumming of his loins as they convulse within her body. If she is focused enough she might feel the actual moment where his urethra fills and that first eruption of seed splatters into his sister. Her brother is a stallion through and through and there is no lack of amount or potency. She can feel it like liquid warmth swirling into her in a bursting cascade enough to be a quart, two quarts,three! Spurting from that thick foal-making flesh.
There is some backwash and their senses smell the tang of spilled semen as it backwashes along the edges of his shaft. A hot pasty taste/flavor so unmistakably that of semen. His body falls backward and carries his sister with him, falling hard against the flat, now throughly soaked stone of the altar with Kalan held in his grasp still on top, fluid bubbling from the join between their legs. A sexual stink and filthy feeling as they are joined and glued together, even the hairs on her crotch feel like they are entangled with his. He is bleeding visibly from the cut on his neck, a hank of fur missing from his scalp. his ear drooping from where she had hurt it. Those eyes glassy with the shock of orgasm. Yet he has a death grip on the night dark mare as if he will force her to be a statue, forever impaled on him in this altar.
Kalan feels the shaft swelling and stroking, flattening out within her and sliding back down again, the motions riding her body while she lets out sharp sounds. Each time the hips push up to cradle against the light coloration of the hips and she feels the heat of the round orbs pillowing against the underside of her body, feeling the sweat of it brushing against her. Each time is a new rush of dread, a new tremble that works inside of her, making her question if it's then that she'l feel the rush inside of her. Her teeth grip, the copper scent and taste of blood rush upon her tongue in a heat that makes her shudder, falling down with her brother and muffling a scream as that only drives the tip against the thin barrier to her womb.
The stiffer hairs of her loins joining with his own while she feels a sudden hot fluid rush between our legs, pushing into her and she lets go, a cry of despair and forced pleasure running through her lips. A sobbing cry as she feels the seeds of life sown within her unwilling body, more and more of it flooding her form, pushing into her shoved through her cervix and into her womb. Some sliding free from her spread lips while she gives a disgusted and enraged squeal and shaking tries to raise her hips upwards to pull herself free from the grip but it holds while she's held.
Tears coursing down her cheeks as even now she knows it's too late, even sliding into water and trying to remove the taint will not free her of what her brother has done. Her body a shaking thing above the moon pale form, her walls clamping and tugging around him, as if wanting more even as her eyes show the sheen of panic in it. Her rough breathing sounding unnaturally loud in the place, as well as one of the guards fast breathing, as if the sight of the mare laying over her brother, drooling out a bit of his seed is almost too much for him.
The rape of her body by her brother shaking her to her core, but more so what the altar has done. She turns her eyes towards you and growls, "Let...me....up...now.." SHe pushes against the arms. Her tail hitting, lashing, smacking against the altar itself while she struggles even more frantically and another tear rolls down her face followed by it's twin. The after shocks of pleasure still teasing her body letting her walls convulse at times around the length of him. Wanting to tease even then before as if it's still wanting more of the stallions seed, betrayal, shame, guilt, pleasure, anger, fear, rage, despair, contentment. The mingling emotions almost too much.
Myridon's face looks paler than usual. The rivulet of blood down his neck has slowed to a trickle but still leaves an almost inky stain on his white hide. He is almost delirious, his voice cracking slightly as he murmurs, "You.. you have it inside you?" A question he seems to address the air that strengthens into a steady, "no, No." When she tries to move away from him. Even the act of trying to untangle only gives an even lewder sounding of flesh squishing on flesh and the tug back has his head give her body an internal jarring more intense than the penetration was.
Kalan can feel the fresh tumble of pent seed spill as she slides away. Though even as her womb spills the pearly cream, the seed has already transfered their spark. The flint to the tinder of her insides. The altar of their mother is throughly abused as much as she has been. Fluids running rampant on it. his blood, her piss, his semen her blood, the shared filth of sweat and exertion. It smells just like it looks. Like a pair of rutting, lusty animals mated on this spot.
When she finally breaks away she can see his shaft, wrinkled and half flaccid, the tip broad and sagging with the weight of a dollop of seed on it. Though he stops the dark mare from getting further away. Flopping on the altar to wrestle her body to him to keep that intimate press of hips to rub himself against her belly and stroke the outside of her mound with a certain..feral relish. He grasps at Kalan's arms now, holding them to the stone as he asserts himself on top. A leg thrown across her hip so that she does not get away, "You have no choice now but to stay here and have.. and have our child."
Do you enjoy my stories? If you do and would like to think about tipping. It encourages me to write more and if you include a note on what you enjoy most I'll strive to make more stories with that sort of theme.
https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=ENYW546FKUK7G