Bretonnia and Beyond

Repanse de Lyonesse - Knight of Bretonnia, Damoiselle de Guerre, Bane of All Evil - moaned happily into the kiss she shared with her husband in the shattered ruins of El-Kalabad's palace. The city that had withstood the attentions of Arkhan the Black, which had dared the wrath of the wicked Sultan Jaffar, and had crushed countless armies belonging to Khemri's undead kings in the centuries since, had finally been brought low by the will of the Lady and the strength of her champions. epanse had always been more keenly aware of the Lady's intent than other knights, even more so since she had been dispatched from her halls to once more ride the mortal world in her name. The vision that had turned her attention to El-Kalabad had been the most intense of her life, her goddess kissing her deeply between soft, sibilant whispers.

She awoke to find the Lady's gift waiting for her - her new husband, towering over her by more than a head, his cloven hooves resting so lightly on the sand that he almost seemed to weigh nothing, even as he could toss around a warhorse with each of his lithe, slender body's four arms. She recognised elements of both her champion and her beloved steed in his rough manner and equine features - no surprise, given that the Lady had fashioned his body from both of them so that he might be the perfect husband for her. Her knights had been similarly blessed, subdued by their own transfigured steeds and rutted until any semblance of masculinity had vanished from their bodies, the Lady's blessing transfiguring them into female forms to better embody her will.

Now the grand marketplace echoed with heavy, meaty claps of flesh on flesh and low, needy moans as her husband and his kin rained cockslaps down onto the faces of El-Kalabad's noblewomen. Dusky skin glistened with precum and perspiration, ruby lips parted in eager shows of submission, eyes widened and pupils dilated as the full presence of the Lady's chosen paramours washed over them. Repanse smiled and basked in the warmth that filled her, the Lady's approval filling her heart with light and her womb with a ****, burning hunger for seed...

Had any living thing dwelt within the halls of Castle Mousillon, the moans and whispers echoing through its corridors and reverberating around its cavernous halls would have driven them first wild and then mad with desire. Rotting vines and ancient stains disintegrated into nothingness, dust vanishing from the ancient stones as frigid white flames lit every sconce and candlestick, but the disappearance of the more visceral signs of the Damned Duchy's corruption brought no relief. Even as the swamps began to dry and the seeping, oozing miasma of decay began to lift, the new state of the castle and its surroundings were nothing but a pallid parody of purity.

In the throne room of the castle, amid the scattered bones of the would-be King of Brettonia, Malfleur and Malory de Mousillon ground their cunts together in a shameless display of incestuous affection. All around them, absent Maldred or any of his men, the noblewomen of Mousillon cavorted. Where before their flesh had been porcelain-pale, now it literally glowed in the ghost-light, the depraved spirits letting their hands and tongues roam each other's bodies while they waited for their Queen and Princess to drag themselves apart and direct them. Heavy breasts overflowed from low-cut dresses, thick rears wobbled and clapped as they were molested by slender hands, plush lips parted in breathless moans tinged with dark desires and even darker magic.

Suspended above the crowd of salacious, insatiable banshees by shadowy tendrils that emerged from nothing, reverberating with every brain-searing moan and heart-stopping cry, spilling its ectoplasmic contents down onto them, the False Grail blazed with lurid purple light. Malfleur and Malory gazed up at it in bliss as they continued to desecrate the fallen Duke's resting place even further than his actions in life, feeling the words of the Lady grip their souls and offer them redemption as Her champions and slaves - promising endless pleasure in servitude, for them and all of their ghostly subjects...

In the forests and caves of the Old World, musk-addled noblewomen and commoners alike gasped in pleasure rather than pain as massive Beastman shafts spread their holes...

In the dark lands to the east, captives of the Dawi Zharr felt a great and terrible presence pass over them, and shivered at how right their heavy collars felt...

In the depths of Athel Loren, Ariel whimpered softly as her daughters each took one of her swollen, leaking nipples in their mouths and began to suck...

Atop tempestuous waves, Aranessa Saltspite smirked as another blow from the lash dragged an especially **** moan from the latest vampire wench who'd dared to challenge her authority...

In distant Ulthuan and Naggaroth, Elven women tossed and turned in their sleep, their dreams drenched in desire and depravity...

In far Cathay, the Storm Dragon's tempestuous mood was dimmed a little, as a dim ember of whorish lust took root in the depths of her soul...