War of the Races - The Verdant Realm

June 10, 1949 - Midgard Time The Verdant Realm, the Ljosalfar coastal city of Olympia, Folkvangr- Glen’nathel Moonlilly held her hands over her mouth and tried her best to hold back her mewling as her body rocked back and forth across the divan. Her midnight hair floated all around her head like she was in water, or as if gravity did not affect it at all. It wafted to and fro like an agitated black flame, and, like all nottalfar, her hair glimmered and sparkled with the pinprick light of stars and galaxies and even gave glimpses of the wider universe, causing her hair to sometimes appear blue, green, a vast array of yellows, oranges, pinks, reds, or purples as many billions of nebulae were revealed through her hair. Today, however, her hair was arrayed with a coronet of stars, making her appear almost divine despite her carnal countenance flushed with the zeal of her s****l relations. She was thankful for her gravity-defying hair since it obscured her expressions of pleasure. She tried very hard to maintain some decorum while performing her duties as a priestess of Selene. Still, she was very aware that she fell into the pleasure of her physical unions with the parishioners of Selene far too deeply, and enjoyed the feeling of her legs being held aloft by her goddess’s humble petitioners far too much. She exulted in the feeling of his mighty thrusts slamming against the backs of her thighs and buttocks and the feeling of her tush and shoulders rubbing against the white silk fabric beneath her. She luxuriated in the feeling of her fat breasts rolling up her chest and back down as she was forcibly rocked in time with her suitor's vigorous momentum. And finally, she exalted in the feeling of her suitor’s seed blasting deep inside her womb, filling her up with the intoxication of his life-force. She howled with delight and was once more thankful that the temple room they were using was soundproofed. Glen’nathel climaxed as she moved her hands down her petitioner's arms and dug in her nails. She moaned loudly in ecstasy as she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in deeper. She panted in satisfaction as she felt his body shake and tremble as he pumped and she sucked the last dregs of his contribution inside of her. With a satisfied sigh of her orgasmic afterglow, she unlocked her legs and let him pull away. Looking through black starlit hair all about her face, obscuring her from his eyes, she saw that his countenance was a mix of emotions ranging from lustful and wondrous to guilty revulsion. It was only one of many costs of her profession as a priestess of Selene. Her body was a wondrous temple of lust and desire; however, once given to a parishioner, they never did look at her the same way as they had before she lay with them. None but the one she loved. He was the one man who always looked upon her as if she were a goddess. As she watched, her petitioner’s lustful gaze turned greedy, his wonder turning into arrogance, his revulsion turning into judgment, and so, with the act of obtaining the contribution completed, Glen’nathel gave a sad sigh and lowered her feet before sitting up on the divan. Her womb felt full and warm, filled with seminal contribution. Impowered, her magic sizzled inside her as she sat up. Her midnight hair, sprinkled liberally with gleaming stars, galaxies, and nebulae, lifted out of her face and floated above her head as she gave her petitioner a cool smile that said that she knew what he was thinking as he ogled her sweaty, naked body possessively. Glen’nathel used looking around the room as an excuse to break eye contact and take note of the crescent row of marble pillars that lined one side of the very basic square room she was in. She was in a room off the second gallery called the low quarter. This was where all of the plain folk and the poor came seeking healing when they couldn’t afford doctors or hospitals. Since it was the low quarter, that meant that the rooms here were the most basic, the least luxurious, and yet, this was where Glen’nathel found the most satisfaction in her profession as a priestess. A priestess of Selene. A priestess of the Temple of the Moon Goddess. The largest church to any one goddess in the world. Selene was known by many different names, and not even Asherah, the Queen of Heaven, Selene’s own fabled mother, was more loved or worshiped. Within this church that she so loved and had been devoted to since birth, Glen’nathel was known as an Istaru. The Istaru were hierodule priestesses and were very respected. As such, their responsibilities included sacred prostitution, performing rituals, offering sacrifices, and maintaining the temple. However, the great majority of all rituals and sacrificial offerings centered around their sacred prostitution since it was by this means that they obtained the contribution that fueled their magic. A sacred gift of knowledge given to the priestesses of Selene from the beginning of time. Of course, everyone had the secret of empowering magic now, but it was the goddess Selene who discovered the method and shared it with her faithful first. Before the four pillars, she lay upon a small circular divan covered in white silk so that it resembled the full moon, which was the sign of the moon goddess, Selene. White silk draperies were draped between the four pillars. On the other side of the draperies and four pillars was a doorway leading to an adjacent room called the Healing Room, where the unfortunate or ill awaited the priestess’s healing. Standing up, Glen’nathel arranged the silver waist chain sculpted to ride upon the curves of her broad hips. She wore nothing else. She was, otherwise, completely naked. Glen’nathel, like most nottalfar women, was beautiful beyond words. Exotic beyond words, with long midnight hair that floated above her head like a black flame, some five feet tall and speckled with stars and galaxies and nebulae, like some flame-shaped cutout in reality, giving a peek into the universe. Below her hair, she had a beautiful teardrop face with sharp pixieish features, including long, pointed, triangular ears that drooped over her shoulders. The only other hair on her body was her midnight eyebrows and long, thick eyelashes. Her eyes were black ovoids speckled with stars, galaxies, and nebulae just like her hair. As for the rest of her body, Glen’nathel’s shoulders were slim, her ribs were slim, her waist was absolutely tiny, while her breasts were huge, each one perfectly round and larger than a man’s head. She was, like all priestesses of Selene, a reflection of her goddess. A goddess of supernatural beauty, known for being bountifully buxom and extremely fertile. Glen’nathel was the physical expression of her goddess’s authority over fertility. An expression made more poignant by how Glen’nathel’s waist swept out to hips broader than her shoulders, the gentle sweep and curves of her delicious, fertile belly, and the ripe, overly curvesome rounds of her buttocks before meeting the gentler curves of her thighs and the smooth lips of her s*x. Turning to look at her supplicant, Glen’nathel’s voice took on a sultry yet commanding tone, “Take me to your wife and son.” Her supplicant gave a compliant nod and withdrew from her before reaching down and pulling up his pants. He was a ljosalfar named Vefrata, a name she consciously tried not to think of to help keep her from becoming emotionally attached to her petitioners. For her, he was only a suitor, a petitioner, or a supplicant. He had golden, sun-kissed skin, flame-red hair, and tired blue eyes. He led her out of the Room of Supplication to the Healing Room, where his wife and only son lay upon separate beds. “What happened to them?” She asked as she felt her magic awaken inside her belly and start tapping into the power of the contribution inside her womb. “Priestess? Um, I am uncertain,” He explained hesitantly. “I am a transporter for House Ljosari. I have been traveling for the last six months. When I returned home, I found my wife, Paskir, and my son, Daell, had fallen ill. For a while, they seemed to be getting better, but then yesterday they collapsed, and so, I brought them here.” “Why didn’t you take them to the hospital?” Glen’nathel asked as she held her hand above Paskir’s belly and cast her magic in a deep delve of the woman’s constitution. “Please, priestess Glenna,” Vefrata begged, “I am just a lowly transporter. I have very little money. The hospital turned us away. You are my last hope!” “No need to worry,” She reassured, “You have negotiated payment of the tithe and given the contribution. If your family can be healed, I will do so.” “Oh, thank you! And thank the goddess!” He praised in relief. Giving him a soothing smile, she glanced down and concentrated on Paskir's chest. The woman was indeed ill. A virus was attacking her lungs and immune system. If not corrected, she would be dead by the end of the week from suffocation on the fluids filling her lungs. Gathering her magic, she began chanting words of power to cast a contract by which all of the contribution would be consumed to heal Paskir with Glen’nathel’s mightiest spell. Glowing white light beyond her natural moonlight luminance surrounded her hands as the contract was established. She placed her hands on Paskir's breasts and felt the powerful magic sink in and heal the ill woman’s lungs. Color started returning, and very quickly her breathing became easier and less congested. After a few long minutes, Paskir’s eyes fluttered open, and her golden eyes gazed up at Glen’nathel. Her brow furrowed in confusion, and she asked in a hoarse voice, “What—happened?” “You were ill, my lady,” Glenna whispered as she used one hand to comb her fingers through the woman’s sun-kissed golden hair, “Very ill. Your husband brought you and your son to me for healing.” “But?” Paskir gasped diminutively, too tired for her alarm to be more than a whisper, “We haven’t the money for the hospital, or the church!” “Do not worry,” Glenna shushed as she slipped her hand behind Paskir’s neck and helped her to sit up, “The tithe has been negotiated and the ‘Contribution’ towards your recovery made. I have cleansed your body of the illness. Now, all you must do is partake of my ‘Manna’ to recover your strength and receive Selene’s blessing.” “Yes, priestess,” Paskir whispered as she latched on to Glenna’s n****e and began suckling from her breast. She drank until she drained Glenna completely of ‘Manna’ before her stamina was returned. Only once she was full did she lie back down and rest. Glenna held her hand but turned to her petitioner and announced so that both heard, “Beggar, healing your wife consumed all of your ‘Contribution’. To heal your son, I will need a second ‘Contribution’.” Paskir looked from Glenna to Vefrata and asked, “Vefrata, what does she mean by ‘Contribution’?” Turning from Vefrata to Paskir, Glenna smiled as she suggested, “Maybe you should come in and participate as well.”