Uruk is a da biggest and da strongest Orkverlord! Waaaaaagh!
You are a noble Goblin, somehow.
Unwillingly chosen, you were hoisted over a shoulder before you knew what fate had befallen you.

Our name is Asrael Val'Sorinth, we are are a tiefling noble woman, and we have come to serve the dark lord, Venkalth Zorandir, quite willingly. Our dark dreams have told us that we are the ones who will usher forth a chosen one of the dark from our womb. And we do crave that power.

>>843522
Oh, a name, right!
How about Vrika Rotgut, of the infamous brewer clan?

I care little for our person but I prefer Udroghan the Undeterred simply because he is anomalous among the other two and I like his name... plus magic > swords

>>843523
Voting for this, let's see if some evil-on-evil lust and practicality can't become something more beautiful.
Failing that, ushering in an even bigger bad under the nose of the current big bad would be interesting.

>>843521
Layla Veldmire, a raven-haired, now pale-skinned common lass who's nonetheless been beaten down by the state of life. Hauntingly beautiful on the outside but deadened to true compassion on the inside by the horrors you'd seen committed by men against them fellows even in their darkest hour, you've decided that you all deserved your lot in life- and when the mighty Venkalth Zorandir came to your door and commanded you to be his, you simply bowed, packed what little you owned, and set out with him that very day with nary a look back at your wailing father.

You'd had a bit of a fascination with the dark arts for some time, believing initially that the best way to defeat such a foe was to turn his own magics against him, but by now you've come to understand that power respects power, and trying to do such would be a terrible waste, and likely your own death. You're more curious and respectful now to his abilities- perhaps more than you're willing to admit to yourself even now...

>>843521
Your name is Lidia Antfoot, a gnome who is considered the most beautiful woman in the world, fawned and sought out by men of every race, even some women, to be wed to you. Despite this, you yourself do not consider yourself to be beautiful. Pretty, yes, ESPECIALLY by the standard of your fellow gnomes, but not beautiful persay, what with your round nose and considerable chubbiness.

Whatever the reason, your parents used your apparent beauty to raise themselves to the level of nobility through the sheer amount of money and treasure thrown at them as a means of marrying you. The fact you're still single is a testament to your folks being master manipulators, able to fleece whomever ask for your hand without actually giving you away. Worse yet, you are constantly pampered and sheltered, more like a prize pig bred to win contests then an actual person.

There were a couple of suitors you actually WANTED to marry, as they seemed nice enough, but the ones you truly wanted to bed you were those who looked past your beauty and wanted to love you as the person you really were....but all of them were turned away for being too poor, killed off by rivals, or, worse, were not into women at all and wanted to marry you as a status symbol.

You were finally fed up when the forces of Venkalth Zorandir came knocking at your door to take you away. You gave yourself up willingly, but not out of concern for your "family" or you community, but because you just don't give a crap anymore and sick and tired of the charade your parents put you through. If your finally going to be deflowered, it might as well as be from being ravaged over and over as the sex slave of a powerful dark lord. Who knows? If you're still alive, you might convince him to let you lead the charge in ransacking your former homeland and personally executing your good for nothing birth parents......

Uruk Bloodgnasher claimed me.

My name is Janice, Tiefling of Royal Descent.

I came unwillingly.

>>843522
Dis is da best choice.

Venkalth Zorandir

Euadne Zima. Willing Noble Elf.

You're not evil but... power is hot. And hey, nobles get in bed with people for power all the time.

I'm waiting for a suggestion to reach three or more votes.
Take all the time you need, all the same, I'm eager to get started.

>>843523
This suggestion has my vote.

>>843536
Seconding this.

>>843525
Thirding. Greenskin romance is go.

You are Zophia Rucks, bastard daughter of Prince Johannes Vulcanus and a demonic chicken merchant (long story). And it is clear you were bred to be a scapegoat.

When Venkalth stormed the gates, lusting for a worthy fight from the losing city's royal knights, the last thing he expected was the 'noble and just patronage of the Valkyr' surrendering in cowardice. Enraged and without tribute to his evil gods, he demanded a complete victory over the forces of good, of which includes either a battle to the death with the overlord of the kingdom or relinquished titles by means of marriage, or he'd start making heroes out of soon-to-be orphans in the castle. Johannes immediately threw his daughter in Venkalth's face, who responded by sharpening his blade with her bones, insulted by this holy tribute to an unholy warlord. Thirty minutes later, you were bound in chains and delivered before Lord Zorandir in chains, drenched in holy water (which was 25% acid), and a complete wreck from having your virginity stolen in less than twenty seconds.

Vankalth demolished the entire castle and turned the entire kingdom into a giant farm. Then he buried any non-commoners dead or alive in preparation of the dark harvest. The survivors have never prayed so fervently and happily to hell itself.

OP!8B/dtspiTU 2017/11/08(Wed)17:27 No. 843601 ID: 48d058
File 151019086281.jpg - (23.29KB , 223x224 , 1510086120192.jpg )

>>843523
>>843531
>>843589

Asrael Val'Sorinth, willing Tiefling noble, is the first suggestion to receive three votes and will be our protagonist, and as the overwhelming majority prefer the Dark Lord Vankalth Zorandir, he will be our deuteragonist. I'm sorry for everyone that would've preferred another protagonist with Uruk Bloodgnasher or Udroghan the Undeterred, but the majority has had its say. The introduction is soon to commence, be patient, as something might come up and delay it by an hour or two.

>>843601
AWWWWWW YEAAAAAAH!!!

I’m glad mine got voted in, let’s have some evil romance!

You were given the name Asrael at birth, as the third eldest daughter of the patriarch, your surname was assigned the prefix Val, and you were born into the lesser noble house of Sorinth. Your full, proper name is Asrael Val'Sorinth, though those closest to you refer to you as As'ra in private.

As third eldest daughter, under ordinary circumstances you most likely would've been married off to a foreign merchant-lord or noble prince to seal an alliance and further your house's standing. However, the circumstances of your birth were anything but ordinary.

Unbeknownst to your house patriarch, a Pit Fiend of infernal house Ztygia came into the material plane and bred your mother, siring you as a Tiefling. Fortunately for you, the kingdom of Ratxha pays worship to the Abyssal Lords, and thus, instead of being slain upon birth, you were revered as divine.

The Pit Fiend, Sybith'Gynis Kul'Tnul, happened to be the eighteenth in line to become arch-demon of the infernal minor house Ztygia, a powerful and widely renown pact-maker, and an immensely influential figure in the higher infernal realms. As such upon birth, you were immediately exalted to the status of lesser infernal nobility, making you almost equal in rank to the eldest members of the highest mortal noble houses.

This alone would've proved a boon for your house, but as the years winded by and you came to mature, your unmatched beauty became evident. Whether by fate or profane blessing, you were the most beautiful maiden anyone, your father's thousand-year old imp advisor included, had ever seen or even heard tell of, outside of the eldest of myths and wildest of legends.

The patriarch of house Sorinth, recognizing the windfall your birth provided, invested near the entirety of the house's treasury into your education and upbringing, to prepare you for sacrifice toward one of the Pit Lords and with their aid, cement the house's status as Ratxhan royalty. Fortunately for you, the warlord Vankalth Zorandir arose shortly after your birth, and within the decade, his numberless legions came to conquer the whole of the northern continent, the kingdom of Ratxha included.

Almost two years under his imperial rule passed, and those lands which weren't foolish enough to oppose him and be burnt, razed, and pillaged in exchange, prospered. Extensive roads came to connect the empire, brigands either joined his forces or were tortured and slain, and for the first time in centuries, the noble houses ceased their open and bloody infighting and turned their attention towards subtle intrigue.

On the dawn of your sixteenth summer, Venkalth came to hear the rumors of your beauty, and, wishing to see the truth for himself, visited the kingdom of Ratxha. He, along with a contingent of elite legionnaires, traveled to the Sorinth manor in the countryside, and demanded to see your face for himself, on pain of the gruesome death of each member of house Sorinth.

Upon seeing you, he fell to his knees, proclaimed his undying lust for you, and demanded your hand in marriage. Your patriarch, intending to sacrifice you within the week, demanded to know what he'd get in exchange. When the Dark Lord replied total recency over the kingdom of Ratxha and its neighboring provinces, he instantly lost any and all inhibitions toward offering you in marriage, and proclaimed his desire to see Lord Zorandir as his son-in-law.

You yourself, remembering months of prophetic dreams of giving birth to the greatest demonspawn to ever walk the earth, conceded without hesitation. His imposing frame, handsome face, and chiseled body, covered in hard-won scars, and rippling with sinewy muscle, may or may not have had some small influence on your enthusiasm to accept his proposal.

Lord Zorandir, ecstatic to hear your approval, swore the two of you would be married by the season's end, and left as quickly as his steed could gallop. Upon reaching the empire's capital, he demanded his finest stewards arrange a lavish wedding such as the northern continent had never seen within the month, lest their bodies be put to the sword and their souls be burned eternal.

Needless to say, they finished it within three week's time, and escorted by an elite cavalry regiment, you and the entire house of Sorinth reached the capitol unmolested, to find an opulent province-wide festival had been prepared in your honor. You were raised in the lap of luxury, catered to hand and foot by countless servants, but even you had never seen such an audacious display of wealth.

> ...

It is the night of the wedding ceremony, and you stand in your chambers, facing a gilded full-length mirror. You've spent hours preparing to meet your husband-to-be, but even as you stare into the mirror, you find yourself filled with doubt and worry.

> Looking into the mirror, what do you see, and what garments have you worn for the occasion?

Humble bump.

>>843628
You are wearing a flowing black dress that trails behind you, accented by stitched thorns and black-blood roses. The dress hugs your curves and accents and teases the lusciousness of your body, and just enough cleaveage is showing to let any man get a small taste of the pleasures of your flesh, but only a sample.
You dark black hair you have meticulously straightened letting it flow behind you.
You are also dressed in black gems, enough to show you truly are a prize to be won, and only the best may have you for themselves, but not so many implying you are some uppity princess, no, not you. You aim higher than that.

>>843650
I forgot to say the dress is made out of soft onyx black silk.

You are wearing a black robe made of quality silk and enchanted with enough anti-assassination wards to walk through a hailstorm of poisoned arrows on fire. To the untrained eye, this is still a cheap excuse for a wedding dress. It is anything but that, though an experienced mage will think your clothes are rainbow-flavored weird.

In sick fashion befitting demons, you and multiple body doubles will dance towards your husband. Each league of the aisle is fitted with multiple traps, which will use up the ward associated with that trap and subsequently destroy the associated enchanted portions of your robe, which are currently butt-ugly, until at the end the robe becomes a proper sexy dress. The other maidens won't be so lucky. You are all expected to continue the dance as the victims with inferior costumes scream in agony when their wards fail to defend against a specific elemental trap. If you didn't know any better, you'd say Venkalth proposed to a dozen women and would rather watch them die in his wedding than just break up with all the second-rate whores. But that's just you...

>>843666
>>843650

Think we could combine these?

>>843650
Sounds good to me.

>>843678
>You have been described as being thicc and a few others have described you as EXTRA THICC.
You've never been described this way, and you're pretty sure your family would have killed anyone who had.

>>843628
>you find yourself filled with doubt and worry.
Are your horns polished enough?
Did you remember to tie that adorable bow to the tip of your tail?
Oh no, is that a split end in your hair?!
Did you remember to put on your makeup? Wait, what are you thinking? You don't need makeup, your face is beautiful even without it.
.....does horn polish count as makeup?

>>843628
Make use of those tiefling resistances: She is clad in hellfire, a dancing suggestion of a robe held in such a form by some enchanted jewelry; anklets, bracelets and a necklace all made of brass and set with golden topaz.

The set is enchanted to protect as well as any blackguard's fullplate, the dread flames leaping to intercept all but powerful holy weapons and spells.

>>843650
>>843652
>>843667
>>843718

The vote has been cast and Asrael's wedding garment has been decided. Could you go into a bit more detail concerning her appearance? After all, no two Tieflings are the same and I need to know for descriptions.

Suggestion 2017/11/09(Thu)09:06 No. 843797 ID: 2fe26a
File 151024716942.png - (94.81KB , 500x684 , tumblr_inline_oyr7swVvyn1roji71_500.png )

>>843791
>The tallest and the fairest in the land
>You're not wearing heels so as to not make Venk look even shorter in comparison (on the other side of the aisle, his soles are looking a bit thick)
>Charcoal grey skin
>The horns add even more height, very straight then hook backwards at the end
Pic of a similar tiefling for reference.

.

>>843791
You worry about your appearance, but it is not about your dress. Instead, you worry more about your physical attributes, starting with your skin color. While the majority of tielfings have shades of red, with blue being more uncommon, and purple being the rarest and most coveted, your own skin is a shade of bright, luminescent green. Your father's imp adivser assures that green is the grandest color, but you believe the shade makes you look too similar to the greenskins, like a tall goblin,or even, Hell forbid, half orc.

Then your horns look more like the antlers of an elk than the usual ram, goat, and bull horns of other tieflings, like those worn but those tree worshipping druids. And despite your height being taller than most humans, including men, Venkalth dwarfs even elves, more than a head taller than yourself even without those thick boots, so cannot help feeling tiny compared to him.

Ultimately you find such doubts to be trivial and insignificant, indicative of pre-ceremony stress as only NOW have you ever actually had such thoughts be so pronounced.

>>843797
>>843819
What about her tail? Don't tieflings also have tails?

>>843824
Gotta have a spade tail.

>>843824
>>843828
Oh, right, she HAS a tail. Ends on a spade that practically looks like an inverted heart, but that's only slightly uncommon among female tieflings.

9_9
You have an arrowhead tail that hangs neatly to your ankles. It is extra sensitive.

>>843819
>>843858

Backing.

>>843797
>>843832
Seems solid, add some glowy yellow eyes as well as unnaturally sharp nails and teeth and we're on to a winner here.

>>843877

This, but with

>>843858
>>843819

This

Also, her cup size is C.

But she has two pairs of tits.

>>843912
Of all people, I thought you would have larger aspirations. Like F for Fiend, perhaps. Or K for Kome.

>>843819

I'll support this, because we should be smaller than our demonic warlord husband, the antler handholds and exotic green skin are just a bonus. Glowing eyes and sharp nails/teeth ate also good. I don't have an opinion on the tail.

>>843912

I disagree, we are not a cow, and two handfuls should be enough for anyone.

I've returned, after several hours of intense voluntary labor, and an update is imminent, and will be posted within two hours, at the latest.

>>843819
>>843873
>>843877
>>843879
>>843929

As for Asrael's appearance, the vote dictates she is tall by human standards but is all but petite next to her husband, who towers above all but the tallest of elves. She has vibrant luminescent green skin, the shade of which could be aptly compared to that of a peridot gemstone's. Instead of the usual bovine horns, two slim and elegant elk's antlers sprout from her head, and a thin, delicate spade-tipped tail dangles between her shapely thighs.

Her immaculately groomed pitch-black hair hangs a hand a half's span past her shoulders, and the way her ears taper off to a point denotes an unnatural ancestry. Her eyes are alluring and otherworldly, with pitch black irises, and faintly glowing golden sclera and pupils. Her teeth are ever so slightly sharper than normal, and her canines are longer than average, though nowhere near the length of a vampire's fangs.

Her finger-and-toe's nails give the impression of sharpness, though they're unable to cut much more than butter. Her breasts and bosom are plump and ample, but not so large as to take away from her slender and graceful figure. All in all, she's an easy 11/10, even more so to those well-acquainted with the nine hells.

>>843650

You are wearing an ornate and flowing black dress, its front is tight, hugging your womanly curves, the merest hint of cleavage leaves much to the imagination. Its sleeves are lined with an intricate pattern of interlocking stitched thorns and black-blood roses, and nine dazzling onyx gemstones adorn your form.

A quick look reassures you. Your viridescent skin and glimmering flaxen eyes contrast perfectly with the obsidian dress, and your choice to go without makeup only serves all the more to display your beauty. Your antlers aren't bulky or weighty like other's horns, rather, their branch-like shape is elegant, and only serves as the highlight of your outfit.

You feel confident, but will Venkalth be impressed? You have naught to do but wait and see.

>...

Scarcely half an hour of frantic back-and-forth pacing later, and someone knocks on the dressing chamber's door. Waiting a moment, you resolve to open it, revealing a short but exceedingly well-dressed servant, who intermediately greets you with a deep bow. He's old, far past his prime, and regards your appearance with an academic interest. When he speaks, his voice reminds you of rattling dishware,

>"M'lady, you may refer to me as servant, or as Imil, should the mood strike you. My master, Lord Zorandir, has assigned me to serve you, and I assure, my lifetime of hard-earned skill will serve you well. He told me to ensure you were prepared and fetch you for the ceremony, lest you be late. If you will,"

He steps to the side, gesturing for you to enter the hallway, and naturally, you follow. He leads you through a labyrinth of winding corridors and sparse chambers, before reaching the palace gate itself. You'd guess the journey took a quarter of an hour, though you have no way to check.

The servant speaks a deep and guttural language to the armed guardsmen at the gate, and glancing in your direction, the gatekeepers allow you both to pass unaccosted. The servant further leads you through half a dozen checkpoints, each more defended than the last, until you find yourself standing near a bustling and crowded courtyard. He speaks, softly so as not to disrupt the crowd's chatter,

>"M'lady, this courtyard is where the ceremony shall take place, do not be unnerved by the fur-clad barbarians, scarred cutthroats, or robed cultists, I assure you, each of them has a reason to be here. Furthermore, do not be alarmed by the dozens of demons present, those are all related or acquainted with your husband-to-be."
>"Regrettably, his father, and your genuine father are absent for this plane, and shall be absent from your wedding. Do not be saddened, both are dealing with matters of extraordinary import that simply cannot wait."
>"The ceremonies are simple enough, when the signal is given, advance through the aisle, meet Lord Zorandir before the arch-priest, listen to him speak, and kiss him when told to. After that, you'll be a married woman. Understand?"

You nod,

>"Excellent, nothing to it, just don't mess up, whatever you do. On second thought, you should probab-"

A series of horns and trumpets are blown. The servant's eyes widen,

>"M'lady, there's no time to spare, good luck!"

He gives a thumbs-up and toothy grin, then sprints into the crowd and within moments, is nowhere to be seen. A deep and authoritative voice echoes through the crisp night air,

>"LORD ZORANDIR AND LADY VAL'SORINTH ARE TO BE WED ON THIS FINE NIGHT. ESTEEMED SIR AND MADAM, YOU MAY ADVANCE TO THE ALTAR."

All of a sudden, a gap appears in the crowd. You can see a blackened cube covered in bloody esoteric runes, which you deduce must be the altar, and a cloaked stranger holding a thick book stands in front of it, who you deduce must be the arch-priest. As nervous as you are, you steel your nerves and advance towards the altar.

On all sides, common warriors, wealthy noblemen, and even wealthier noble demons stare, taking in every inch of your dress and body. More than a few eyes are filled with passionate want, and in several, another emotion you assume to be envy. Walking at such a slow pace, it takes you almost five minutes to reach the altar, and by that time, the Lord is already waiting for you.

He is dressed for battle, decked out in a suit of battered full-plate, missing only his helm. Several weapons are sheathed on his person, and you get the impression this is what he wore on his campaigns. Seeing you, his eyes are surprised, and his mouth widens into a triumphant smile.

His gauntlet-covered hands reach forward, grabbing yours, and though he does his utmost not to crush your hands, you feel he's applying a fraction of his full strength. You stare into his eyes, and the arch-priest begins to recite the rites.

>...

Almost an hour later, he has finally finished giving extensive praise to each of the eighty-one arch-demons of the nine hells. He first speaks to Lord Zorandir,

>"Do you, Lord Zorandir, take Lady Sorinth to be yours, and yours alone, so long as the fabric eternal holds fast?"

He replies without hesitation,

>"I do."

The arch-priest turns toward you,

>"And do you, Lady Sorinth, vow to forever serve Lord Zorandir as he sees fit, and lay with no other man, so long as the fabric eternal holds fast?"

You reply, stuttering slightly,

>"I-I do."

The arch-priest nods, and speaks aloud.

>"M'Lord, you may kiss your bride."

He pulls you to him, and his lips touch yours, in what you know to be your first kiss. He holds you there for several moments, before releasing you. The arch-priest intones,

>"So it is, so it shall be. It is done!"

And with that, the ceremony is concluded. You sit at the head of the feasting table beside your h-husband for nearly half an hour as he boasts of his martial prowess, his military exploits, and more than once and to your embarrassment, your beauty. You're starting to grow tired of the chatter when he turns to whisper in your ear, nibbling ever so slightly.

>"My dear, I'll soon tired of these festivities, and my desire to consummate our matrimonial bonds grows by the minute. Go to our bedchambers, and prepare yourself, as I'll arrive within the hour."

You give a shaky nod,

>"Y-yes M'Lord..."

He puts his massive hand on your knee,

>"Please, call me Venkalth."

>...

Nearly fifteen minutes later, the servant has shown you to your bedchambers. The room is spacious, yet seems cramped and compact with the haphazardly arranged mounds of treasure, gruesome war trophies, and vast, ever-burning hearth. Aside from a large wardrobe and mirror, the only piece of furniture in the chamber is a single, perfectly carved black-wood bed covered in soft, violet and crimson silks. Staring at it, you know your husband is soon to claim his bride.

> How do you feel about this, how do you prepare yourself, and what, if anything, do you plan to do during the act?

>>844002
>How do you feel about this?
It's your first time in bed with any man, so obviously you're nervous about how well you'll perform. But at the same time, after hearing of Venkalth's many exploits, you're very turned on! You're actually surprised at how well you hid your arrousal!

>how do you prepare yourself?
Undress and get in a provocative pose on the bed.

> what, if anything, do you plan to do during the act?
Scream your husband's name loudly and repeatedly in the throes of passion!

And when both of you are ready to sleep, you'll cuddle closely with Venkalth.

>>844013
I agree with the provocativeness and the screams of passion but here is how we should do this. Undress from your clothes and put on a new a silk robe, that also hugs your curves. It opens down to almost your navel showing even more clevage and offering even more sights to your honored husband, a sight that is for his eyes alone. When he enters present yourself, but do not disrobe, make him want you even more. Turn the the bed and removed the robe down to your firm and ample buttocks, make him desire you even more. Then when he approaches let him take you in his arms.

Start of slow, simple moans of pleasure but then you begin to buck as well and whisper his name into his ear. Then say it again, but louder. Show him your lust, then when he is almost there, stop. That is when you show him your will. You roll on top of him. Now you are the one in control drive him insane with ecstasy as you yourself are doing! Then when it is too much for either of you, you scream his name, shouting loud enough to wake the heavens and let them know the true demon lord has been conceived!

>>843628
Make yourself look as tall and regal as possible. Also,give yourself a veil encrusted with jewels that are significantly less attractive than your face, just to pick out people with poor taste.

Also, think about having your father killed. Trying to sacrifice us and avert our prophetic dreams is not cool.

Expect assassins on your wedding night, as that is when your husband will be at his weakest. Plan accordingly and equip some weapons; killing ninjas with your husband while in the throes of @#$%ing should be memorable.

Take off the fancy dress, but don't just lay back and wait for him. Pick out a weapon from among the trophies, and after he closes the door, challenge him to disarm you without spoiling your beauty by leaving any visible scars. Great conquerors won't really value anything that comes too easy.

>>844076
Asrael has never held a weapon in her life. Do you really think she can do that without accidentally cutting herself?

Besides, most weapons in here are for someone as strong as Venkalth to use, meaning they're going to be big and heavy. Asrael will probably pick one up and then drop it from how heavy it is.

>>844077
>accidentally injure herself
That adds to the 'without visible scars' part of the challenge. He'll have to be strong, quick, precise, AND gentle, controlling the movements of his new bride's body better than she can herself. Good warmup exercise for the sex.
>too heavy
So? Visible clumsiness would help to minimize the risk that he misinterprets the playful challenge as a legitimate assassination attempt. There's an order of magnitude difference between "too heavy to wield effectively" and "too heavy to lift at all." If it's seriously a matter of absurd surfboard-sized killsticks weighing a hundred pounds or more, delicate Asrael could simply pick out something reasonably light, like a wizard's staff, or a sword broken off near the hilt, or a weapon intended to be thrown.

>>844024
Vote for this, but also add in the following:

* Before Venkalth arrives, start by, uh, *ahem*, lubricating yourself a bit. Not matter how vivid your imagination over the epic lovemaking you're about to do, those gruesome looking trophies are a massive turnoff, especially those with eyes. Cold.....dead.....lifeless.....seemingly judging you from beyond the grave.....waiting to laugh at you for failing to sufficiently pleasure their owner.......

* Once the love making starts, be sure to only open your eyes when looking at Venkalth, especially to look into his own. Again, the trophies are a turnoff. Even when long dead, being the subject of vouyerism is deeply troubling to you.

* Be sure to scream as loud as possible, even if the sex is not THAT good, if only to mock any second rate whores trying to listen in from outside.

* If you wake up first, volunteer to deliver breakfast to your new husband.

You stare at the bed, transfixed for a moment, then snap yourself out of it. Your husband is soon to arrive, and if you're to bear darkness incarnate, you mustn't disappoint him. You remove your dress as quickly as possible, more than once, almost pricking your finger on the thorns, and find yourself naked.

Aside from the warmth of the hearth, the chamber's air is bitingly cold on your skin, and you find yourself shivering. You're tempted to crawl on the bed, and present your maidenhood to him, but you're a queen, and such base submission isn't befitting for one of your status.

You dig through the wardrobe a moment, passing by several highly provocative and extravagant fabrics and garments, before settling on a plain white robe. It is small, barely covering your navel, tight around your midsection, and loose everywhere else. Unlike your wedding dress, it reveals almost two-thirds of your breasts, and doesn't attempt to preserve your modesty in the slightest. Aside from a thin, tight leather thong, and a pair of pale stockings, your legs are entirely uncovered.

You feel you could do better given sufficient time, but Lord Zorandir's approach is imminent, and you can't be caught unprepared. You sit upon the bed, and adjust your position several times, before you come to a decision. You'll lay against the cushions, facing the door, arms extended to either side, and legs parted to face him.

>...

You've sat in anticipation for nearly twenty minutes, and the urge to get under the covers is starting to overwhelm you, when a faint click is heard. Your eyes snap to the door, and HE enters.

Almost eight feet tall, with a figure like a masterwork statue, his biceps are broader than your thighs, and staring at his figure, you feel small and vulnerable. He takes a minute to slowly and methodically admire every inch of your form, heightening your nervousness. He has shed his armor in favor of a black, velvet-lined robe, without a word, his fist shatters the clasp, and it falls to the floor.

His physique is even more impressive in person, and it far exceeds your imagination. You stare with wide eyes, unabashedly taking in his person, and noticing, he flexes. His skin is a bronzed burgundy, and covered in scars from battles past. His face is similarly scarred, but handsome nonetheless, his ram's horns are thick enough you doubt both your hands together could wrap around one.

His eyes are wholly black, save for crimson pupils, and his wild dark mane is shaven to a half-inch's length. His teeth and claws are large and viciously sharp, unlike yours. You're certain they could bite into a pound of raw meat and rip it apart without issue. His tail is short, thick, and arrow-tipped, a sharp contrast to yours, long and slender spade-tipped.

The most intimidating part of his body lies between his legs. Eight inches long flaccid, his member is a sight to behold. The thought of it erect, at full-length, penetrating you at the push of his corded, sinewy thighs...

You shiver, and not because of the cold.

You're at a loss for words, and before you can, he speaks.

>"Of all the maidens I've deflowered, none were so perfect as you. Those thin, noble antlers, that smooth, royal skin... Those full lips, pert breasts, and juicy thighs... Simply perfect, and it's all mine to take."

You don't know whether to feel flattered, or terrified. You've never heard words like his, and the way his deep, baritone voice says them, oh. In a single, fluid motion, you slide off of the bed, and turning away to face the cushions, bend over. You slide the robe's bottom to your upper back, revealing your shapely hips and hardly hidden mound. Beside the crackle of the flames and your soft hyperventilating, his voice is the only sound to be heard.

>"I love a woman who knows her place."

Without warning, a pair of meaty hands grip your quivering ass-cheeks and spread them wide. You feel his index and middle fingers slide under your thong, and with a moment's exertion, rip it in two, leaving a faint welt where the knuckles touched. You know it's coming any moment now, and in preparation, bite the cushion.

>”Brace yourself, my dear, this may hurt.”

You feel a sudden warmth against your mound, and without warning, it pierces inward. In that instant, your hymen is torn asunder and you are a virgin no more. You can feel him inside of you, and it hurts like nothing you’ve ever felt. On instinct, you try to move but his hands are on your shoulders, and you can do nothing but what he desires.

He holds you there, impaled upon his length for what seems like an eternity. The pain has only begun to subside when, to your horror, you realize he has only just begun. As he thrusts inward, you grip the silks and grit your teeth. Heedless of your suffering, he thrusts deeper, and deeper into you, building up momentum, and within minutes, he is rutting like an animal.

Wave after wave of pain strikes you, and biting into the cushion, you moan in agony indescribable. Aroused by the noise, he redoubles his efforts, pounding away with wild abandon at the softness of your maidenhood. When you feel you’re being torn in half and simply cannot continue, the pain begins to recede, and slowly but surely, your screams of torment turn into squeals of passionate ecstasy.

A cascading a storm of pleasure flows through you, and you all but melt into the cushions. Your voice cries out his name. You howl the word Venkalth, again and again as your tightness gives way to his want. He forces his rigid length into you and you gasp in rapturous delight. After an hour-long eternity of ravishing, you come to your senses, and begin to grind your hips and push back against him.

The weight of his body comes over you, and his hands slide under your robes to grasp your breasts in a death grip. He penetrates you to the hilt over and over, and you begin to lose yourself in his embrace. Minutes later, every muscle in your body tenses, you shout loudly enough to shake the heavens themselves, and heaving in pleasure, you release.

Orgasm, after orgasm, after orgasm, at least a dozen, each more powerful than the last. When it’s over, you lay limp, scarcely moaning as he continues to pound your flesh. Finally, half-conscious, you feel his member throb, and with a grunt, he finishes, releasing a veritable sea of semen into you. He pulls out, strokes your back, pulls you to him, and holds you in an ironclad embrace. When he speaks, the exhaustion is visible,

>”My dear, that, was without a doubt, the best I’ve ever had.”

>Do you reply, and if so, what do you say?

>>844123
You respond not with words, pushing yourself up with what little strength you have, you pull his face into yours and share a kiss, a REAL kiss one of enflammed passion.

>>844125
This.

And then after the kiss, tell him you've been dreaming of this moment ever since the day he demanded your hand in marriage. However, those dreams pale in comparison to what just happened, as the real Venkalth is far superior to anything you dreamed of!

>>844125
Unfortunately, the kiss you gave him is rather sloppy and uncoordinated due to the sheer amount of pleasure still drowning your mind. You try to say something elegant but it comes out as incomprehensible gibberish, again due to your mind being clouded by sheer pleasure.

>>844123
Like this >>844125 no words, just kiss him out of barely-conscious love, while limp in his arms from exhaustion and teary with pain and passion. Then after recovering, whisper "The child you beget in me shall make the world tremble and the gods cower." (in reference to our prophetic dreams)

Alternatively (not my vote, just a suggestion), reply to
>”My dear, that, was without a doubt, the best I’ve ever had.”
with something very arrogant and entitled, like "Only the greatest pleasure from the greatest lady" or "And the best you've ever given, I hope."

>>844157
oh or "Shame on you for expecting less." (but my vote is still kiss + prophecy reference)

'Twas foretold!

"Now I understand why Prima Nocta is a 'holy thing'."
>Because royalty is always better in bed and the royal heir wants every man in the kingdom to know that they'll never be a better lay to their own wives than him?
"WRONG. Because the royal heir's limp pecker is good practice before getting a stone tower jammed up our delicate flowers! Seriously you jerk, how many girls have you killed with that thing? But yes, the second half was as satisfying as you think it was."

Shifting your position in his arms, you roll on your back. Your hands slide behind his neck, and reaching up, you kiss him. He replies in kind, pushing your body deeper into the silks, and pushes his lips onto yours. You both lay there, entwined in lover's embrace, kissing and grinding against one another for nigh-on an hour, before he breaks off, staring into your golden eyes. You smirk, and teasingly say,

>"Shame on you for expecting less."

Roll:[17+4=21]
(+4: Coital Afterglow)

His chuckle denotes sincere amusement, and his voice carries no small amount of affection,

>"Indeed, my dear."

Holding your antlers, he enters you a second time, much softer and gentler than before. You close your eyes, wrap your arms around him, and give a quiet purr of contentment. He plows your tight fields for some time before releasing, and by the time he's finished, you're both spent in every meaning of the word. You lean into him, and whisper,

>"The child you beget in me shall make the world tremble and the gods cower."

He gives a slight grunt in reply,

>"I should hope so, my dear. Good night."

With that, you drift into a deep, and for the first time in months dreamless, sleep in your husband's arms, tails wrapped around each other's.

>...

Something tweaks your nipple and you awaken with a start. You blink several times, groggy and half-asleep, before groaning in displeasure,

>"Ugh... What time is it?"

Your husband is already up, and busy buckling on some kind of leather chest-piece. Unlike you, he's chipper and wide-awake. His voice is amused,

>"Just past dawn, five ante meridiem to be exact."

You're incredulous and more than a little disgusted. When you speak, your voice comes across more whiny than you'd intended.

>"Five in the morning? But why?"

His grin only widens.

>"If you're to be my wife, you're to keep a tight schedule!"

Your eyes roll back in your head, and you find his chuckle much more irritating than before.

>"Oh, cease your complaining, were you a conscript I'd have you flogged and pilloried. Be glad I didn't wake you at four."

You roll off the bed, and shakily come to your feet. You're a mess, your crotch is sore, your antlers are cramped, and your ass is positively bruised where he'd groped it all last night. The silk robes you'd worn is ruined, it's filled with jagged tears and the whole thing has all but been ripped in two.

You've a severe case of bedhead, the bags under your eyes are a sight to behold, and your stomach and thighs are covered in dried black semen. And that's to say nothing of the bed, the covers are torn all over, the silks are covered in sexual stains, and more than one priceless cushion has been mutilated by your antlers. And on top of all that, it's freezing, and the hearth's stopped burning while you slept.

Meanwhile, you're husband is already up, armed, armored, and ready for the day. He's one of those morning persons, no doubt. When he speaks, his voice is mockingly patronizing, and you're more than a bit incensed with him.

>"Good morning, awfully chilly eh?"

You shiver, a snap of his fingers, and the hearth bursts into flames. He steps forward, pulls you into a rough kiss, and smacks your already sore behind. Mirthful, he looks you in the eye, and gestures toward a mahogany door.

>"You'd best prepare for the day, and you'd do well to be modest around others. The side chamber has a filled basin, a stock of soaps, and several changes of clothes, pick whichever strikes your fancy, I do not care."
>"Don't worry about the room, a servant should be along shortly to clean up. If you'll excuse, I'm off to train the legionnaires and catch up on my exercise routine. Goodbye my dear, I expect you in the chambers by ten."

He turns to leave, and his hand is on the doorknob when you speak,

> "But, what do I do?"

He turns back and waves his hand dismissively.

> "You're my Queen, you've full reign of the castle. So long as you're prepared to warm my bed, I don't care how you preoccupy yourself. Tomorrow, you'll be taking on your other duties, I suggest you enjoy yourself while you can."

With that, he leaves. Well then,

>How do you prepare for the day?

>>844290
Already feels like you've married a overly chipper fitness instructor. XD

Anyway, wash up, dress up in something modest (completely covers the most important parts while tight enough to taunt any male that isn't your husband), and then look around the building. Start by asking what sort of responsibilities you can do since, ya know, you are now da Queen. I suggest overseeing any executions that need to be done, in particular whom are nearing the end of the time limit they have to be pardoned by Venkalth himself. Indulge your demonic side by seductively strutting in front of some poor, unfortunate men before ordering their heads to be sliced off.

>>844290
The benefit of such a distinct appearance is not always needing the trappings of your station to signify you.
Dress in something comfortable since you're a tad sore.

Go to check the runnings of the castle, see the head servants and find out what makes this place tick.
I suspect King Zorandir runs things like a General rather than a Monarch, which is not a bad thing, he is demonstrably good at it, But you are here now and you aren't going to do nothing all day.

Get a long bath, then dress presentably for a full tour of the castle grounds, in front of all your subjects, to meet as many as possible and find out which ones are most amusing.

>>844308

I'll back this, seems most reasonable.

Bathe and clean yourself (you're a status symbol for your husband, you need to look good in front of those who see you) and dress.

Today, I would suggest familiarizing yourself with the grounds, castle, the servants, and other resources at your disposal. It is your role to support your beloved (and to ensure your child's legacy), but you need information before you can devote yourself to this task.

You decide you'd best bathe and make yourself presentable before going about your day. Ignoring the mess your love-making made last night, you enter the side chamber, and see several items of interest. A full-length mirror, a sizable dresser, a window to let some light in, and, most importantly, a ceramic washtub.

You close the door, lock the bolt, and walk over to the washtub. A silver bucket filled with colorful and nice-smelling soaps lies on a five-legged stool, as does a loofah and several embroidered towels. To your chagrin, the washtub is completely empty, and you consider complaining to the next servant you see, when a sudden realization hits you. Something about the tub smells... strange.

A sort of light, very, very subtle odor, almost like lime but a bit bubbly somehow. You inspect the tub for several moments before finding the source. Two small, bejeweled knobs lie on either the side of the tub's interior. Curious, you reach out and twist one. To your surprise, clean water pours into the tub from a heavily engraved brass pipe on the wall.

Most certainly magic of some kind, but, the water's source doesn't matter. only that it's there. Throwing off the shredded robe and stained stockings, you slide into the tub, and are delighted to find the temperature is piping hot, to your liking. A thought occurs, you twist the opposing knob, and lukewarm water pours from the brass pipe.

Experimenting, you twist the original knob to its earlier position, and ice-cold water pours from the pipe. Now it's even chiller in the tub water than it is in the air, that simply won't do. You tinker with twisting the knobs a little more, and eventually work the water to a reasonable temperature.

Content with the tub-water, you grab some soaps and get to work, scrubbing every inch of your skin, until last night's detritus is nowhere to be found. Feeling a bit indulgent, you take the time to polish your antlers to a sheen with the soaps, rinse, and shampoo your hair.

Well-washed, clean, and feeling much better than earlier, you twist the knobs off, and watch the water evaporate into a misty steam. The grime you scrubbed off doesn't vanish with it, and lies pooled at the bottom. You frown, and realize there's probably a servant dedicated to handling that.

You open the wardrobe, and spend several minutes going through the garments therein, before you assemble an outfit to your liking. An extravagant fur coat, whose black shade clashes nicely with your green flesh, several thick and warmed silk-lined leathers, and a pair of small, dark gray boots, made of some sort of lizard's scale. It's just warm enough for the season's winter air, formal enough you won't be embarrassed should you come across nobility, and casual enough it doesn't exasperate you to wear.

A fitting dress for the circumstances. You admire your figure in the mirror for several minutes, when you hear a clicking sound. You open the door to the bedchambers, and see someone hunched over the covers. You cough, and startled, they jump to attention. A fair-faced peasant girl, near your age, wearing a hide cloak, a simple cotton garb underneath, and a pair of leather boots.

She stares at you with fearful eyes for a moment, before bowing her head. Intrigued, you ask,

>"Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

The peasant girl replies meekly, with a slight northern accent,

>"M-my name is Alison, your Highness, I-I'm a servant in the castle's employ. His Majesty informed me that I was to clean y-your... eh, chambers, and g-guide you around the premises."

Wait a moment,

>"And what of Imil, the servant assigned to me earlier?"

She sounds nervous, as if you're going to harm her somehow.

>"I-Imil is, eh, preoccupied at the moment, your Highness. I-I'm to fill in until further notice."

>"And what is he doing?"

>"I-I'm not sure your Highness, Lord Zora- His Majesty! His Majesty... s-said he needed to file inventory on some regional taxation papers, in preparation for... eh, I'm not so sure, exactly. Your Highness."

>"Ah."

>"I-I've just finished with the, eh... you know..."

You gingerly nod, and she nods several times in response. She continues,

>"R-right. I've just finished with t-the, cleaning, now I'm to guide yo-"

You finish for her.

>"Around the castle premises."

>"Yes ma-, er, your Highness! W-where would you like me to take you?"

>Indeed, where should she?

> The training grounds, to watch your husband and his legionaries spar, you’ve never fought or actually wielded a weapon, you might learn a thing or two.
> The library, to read some of its books, you’re literate in several languages, though you’ve never had access an entire library of tomes.
> The kitchens, after last night’s feast you’re not too hungry, and lunch is still hours away, but the royal chef could surely find you something to eat.
> The royal court, to meet the courtiers and important servants, and see where it is your husband spends most of his time.
> The castle grounds, to walk for awhile and clear your head.
> The temple, to pray to the abyssal lords for guidance.

>>844360
>castle grounds
Let's examine the castle and its surroundings from the outside, get an idea of our new home, and find places we can be alone.

>>844360
Your husband said, "I love a woman who knows her place." so unless he thinks women shouldn't be on the battlefield, going to watch him and his troops spar might help you learn how to at least defend yourself with a weapon.

Actually, does Asrael know any sort of magic? Going to the library to read magic books might help. Or history books or anything of interest to be honest. Or maybe some books to learn about economic stuff or whatever it is your husband's paperwork is about. That way you can help him with it.

Don't really see a reason to go to the kitchens.

Not sure about the royal court.

Don't really need guidance for anything yet.

>>844363
That's also something we could do.

>>844332
Royal court might be useful. Your mind is sharp, and you might be able to help your husband there, sooner than you could learn to wield a weapon, anyways.

> The castle grounds
They're beautiful, aren't they? And everyone outside those walls knows it.

OP!8B/dtspiTU 2017/11/12(Sun)13:10 No. 844533 ID: 0c4eaa

Don't worry, I'm alive, just busy. Updates will be somewhat slower until next weekend.

>>844533
"Worry" only sets in after a few months on TGCchan, OP.

You command the servant girl,

>"Give me a tour of the castle grounds, I should like to examine the castle from outside, and better understand it."

She humbly curtsies,

>"O-of course, your Highness."

She nods, and gesturing, bids you follow her, so, you do.

>...

Nearly six hours later, she's dragged you all about the castle, interior and exterior alike, and you feel you have a basic grasp of its layout, if not an intimate understanding. At first, the peasant spoke little, saying only the bare minimum, but as time went on, she began to open up, and turns out to be quite the chatterbox.

> The castle is named Azrad's Claw, after the jagged mountain whose summit it's built upon. According to legend, the mountain was once the right-hand index finger of the Demon-King Azrad, and fell to the world after his right hand was severed and the Demon King cast into the eternal abyss by Miltor, the god of nobility, valor, and justice.
> The castle is made of black-stone, carved from quarries at the base of the mountain, the black-stone is an exceptionally rare material, known for its innate resilience and remarkable ability to hold profane enchantments, something otherwise not found outside of gems and precious metals.
> Azrad's Claw, and the region surrounding it, is the world's largest deposit of black-stone, and your husband maintains a soft monopoly on it, selling it by the pound to aspiring warlocks and demonic priests who require it for ritual chalk, sacrificial altars, and the like.
> Azrad's Claw is in the extreme far north, it is perhaps a hundred day's march to the northern continent's southern coast from your position. Because of this, it is nigh impossible to travel to the castle unless one is adequately prepared for the freezing weather and frequent legionnaire patrols along the single road leading to it.
> The castle's black-stone is enchanted to generate and efficiently distribute heat at key points, though it's still cold outside and thick furs are required for comfort. Your husband is partial towards forcing legionnaires to train without them, as he believes it hardens them towards suffering.
> Away from the castle itself, thick furs are required to stave off frostbite, and it's preferred to travel by heated wagon, if possible. Allegedly, yetis, ice wraiths, and polar bears are a severe threat to lone travelers, and it's not uncommon for legion contingents to suffer light casualties traveling to and from the castle.
> The castle's defenses are fairly standard, though far more extensive than average, with the usual water moat, (enchanted to maintain liquid form despite the temperature) guard towers, (much larger than usual) battlements, (much more frequent than usual) and a single momentous portcullis, (made of steel-girded black-stone and heavily enchanted with runes of shielding, binding, and, as a last resort, annihilation).
> The castle is vast, encompassing nearly three leagues of space. As many as nine full legions, consisting of 6,000 men apiece are stationed at the castle, along with four contingents of summoned and bound lesser demons, consisting of 2,000 demons apiece, rounding out to an army 62,000 soldiers strong.
> A vast city of several hundred thousand peasants is built around the base of the mountain, the buildings are made of black-stone, and designed to retain heat. They survive by cultivating several thousand acres of meat-shrooms, white potatoes, and rarely, other crops less adapted to the cold, in hundreds of large black-stone farm-houses.
> Their lives are laborious and dreary, but they are protected by the strongest of Lord Zorandir's forces, and the more fortunate among the peasantry are tasked with servicing the nobility and soldiery in the castle, a much more comfortable lifestyle than communal farming or carving black-stone at the quarries.
> Alison explains she's the youngest daughter of four in a common peasant family of nine, and volunteered to serve at the castle two years ago in the hopes of eventually catching the eye of a lesser noble and marrying them, to make a better life for her family. So far, she's had no luck whatsoever, as most nobles are disgusted with the idea of marrying a commoner, let alone one without a hint of demonic ancestry.

This is very fascinating and all, but you've been walking for hours on end, and Alison's incoherent rambling, no matter how soft her voice, is beginning to grate on you. It's not even noon yet, and you're already bored out of your skull. Ugh.

> How do you preoccupy yourself until night-time?

Well, she could always enter into an ill-thought-out pact with a demon and get her soul bound to the infernal that way. You hope she sells her voice so she'll stop talking so much.
Off to the library for some quiet before you meet the cacophony of the court!

Calmly request that she show you to the Library.

>>844644
Ask her to take you the royal court, to meet some of the nobles you heard about and get to know how things are rung. If Alison's lucky, you might be able to hook her up.

Show usthe way to the library, the the royal court.