Date: Sat, 23 Aug 2008 00:05:08 -0700 From: The Oaken Satyr Subject: Stag God Chronicles - The Archon, Chapter Two Hey, everyone. This continues new series, a continuation of the Stag God Chronicles in the form of a new trilogy I'm calling "Light in the Forest." This first story in the trilogy is called "The Archon." I'd also like to invite everyone interested in joining our chat list about the Stag God Chronicles at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/stag-god-cycle/ Also, if you'd like, feel free to IM me on Yahoo!, under "the_oaken_satyr". As usual, involves adult situations, with all that entails. You've been warned. +++++++++++++++++++ This story is (c) The Oaken Satyr, 2008 +++++++++++++++++++ Chapter Two: Purification Though it was located weeks from the borders of the Empire, the Palace of Light's influence stretched to the very edges of civilization. Wherever the brilliance of the Lord of Light was known, there, too, was felt the power of his priesthood. Everyone in the Empire knew the priests of the Lord of Light by sight -- strongly built men, with hair worn short or even shorn entirely, clad in pure white vestments marked with the sacred sigils of their order. Gold was sacred to the Lord of Light, and his priests wore the metal aplenty. From the shining beads that counted the number of seasons the priest had been with the priesthood, strung on the thick leather cords that hung from their belts, to the white leather bracers embossed with gold around their wrists, to the sacred rings of gold through their ears on which prayers were written so that their ears might always be near to their Lord's sacred words, most people knew that the sight of gold on a man probably marked that man as a priest or other devotee of the Lord of Light. The Keepers, men dedicated to the defense of the Church's most important priests and holy men, protected its grounds. Where most men in the city wore the robes of monks, priests or acolytes, the Keepers wore shining mail chased with gold under tabards of snow-white cloth. The Keepers at the gate did not try and stop the figure, who was clad in the garments of a pilgrim, as he entered the great Palace of Light, pausing for just a moment beneath the great statue of the Lord of Light that stood above each of the gates, in order to bow and pray for a moment. Then, he entered the town. Here, in the Palace of Light, it was not simply on priests that gold might be seen, however. This, the very beating heart of the Lord of Light's sacred Church, where the Holy Illuminate -- the man said to be invested with a tiny drop of the sun, who spoke the Will of the Lord of Light among men -- dwelt, gold and white was everywhere. Tall towers of pure white marble stretched to the heavens, their spires crowned with orbs of gold. The streets were crafted of white cobblestones that showed slight gold flecks when the rains washed them clean. The Palace of Light was the size of a small town, though it was, in truth, a great temple. The heart of the temple, however, was off-limits to most. Only the most important of priests were granted open access to the so-called Eternal Sanctuary. The Order of the Weeping Sun, a bureaucratic monastic order, served in the Eternal Sanctuary, fulfilling their primary oath: perfect and unwavering service to the Holy Illuminate. The Eternal Sanctuary, which towered above all other structures in the Palace of Light, so that it received sunlight from the moment dawn lightened the horizon until the sun sank into the west, was defended by the Auric Keepers, the finest fighting men of the Keepers. They all seemed like heroes out of legend, with long hair that they took oaths to allow to grow until they failed at some task, clad in shining gold-chased armor with the massive two-handed gold blades that were their signature: long, straight weapons whose grip and guard were cast in gold to resemble a sunburst, with a long line of gold that extended from the grip down the length of the deadly, razor-sharp blades. It was said that the Hiraldir, the warrior-angels who served the Lord of Light, first gave those blades to mankind. "Halt," the first of the Auric Keepers stationed at the doorway into the Eternal Sanctuary said to the young pilgrim. "You are welcomed to the city on your pilgrimage, friend, but this is the Sanctuary of the most blessed Holy Illuminate, and none are permitted to interrupt his meditations." The pilgrim regarded him calmly and, without removing his hood or revealing his face, simply held up a coin marked with a sigil depicting a crown in the center of a sunburst. The effect was immediate: the Auric Keeper snapped into a salute and immediately gestured for his friend to open the door. "Forgive me," the soldier said, nodding to him. "I didn't know you were on the Holy Illuminate's business." The bowed, and the pilgrim returned the bow, keeping his face hidden. He strode through the doorway without missing a beat, and it was clear that he was familiar with its interior -- a boast no ordinary pilgrim could possibly make. The Auric Keepers at the door traded a look and then went back to their sentry duty. The pilgrim walked past the entry vestibule, pausing to make the appropriate signs before the Holy Stations. It was clear that he was in a hurry, but his training was also impeccable. As he entered further into the chapel at the heart of the Eternal Sanctuary, eyes of white and gold watched him from above. Far above, the Holy Illuminate watched the shrouded figure go to the holy font and ritually wash his face, forehead and hands, and then kneel in prayer. The Holy Illuminate was a tall man, and quite strong. With good reason, of course -- only the strongest of mortals could possibly act as the vessel for the Descended Illumination, the spark of holiest Light sent to the mortal world by the Lord of Light. Lesser men who tried to contain it were burnt to a husk by its awesome, majestic power. Though he'd once had a name like other men, he was simply now the Holy Illuminate, tall and broad shouldered, with strange white hair that hung in tiny braids to the middle of his back. It was said that though he'd once had dark hair, the invocation of the Light had changed that. His eyes, as well, were now warm pools of golden amber. Those eyes slid from the young man deep in prayer below to the broad- shouldered monk beside him, his head shaven completely bald like the rest of his brethren in the Order. Beneath one eye was inset a small golden tear into the flesh of his cheek, to hang there perpetually, a mark of his vows. The monk immediately dropped his eyes as the Holy Illuminate turned to regard him. "He has come," the holiest of holies said, his voice sending warmth down the monk's spine. "As foreseen. Bring him to the council chamber." The monk bowed and quickly scurried away to the stairs, descending them quickly. In short order, he touched the shoulder of the pilgrim, who started and glanced up. Seeing who it was, he pulled the shawl and cowl away from his dark head and beseeching eyes. "Mathis," the monk said, genuine affection in his voice. "The Holy Illuminate has sent for you. Come with me, please." Inwardly, the young man -- having spent the last few weeks contemplating his recent induction into the cult of the Stag God -- swallowed nervously and did as he was bidden. The two began to climb the stairs that led upward, to the study and mediation chamber of the Holy Illuminate. Mathis touched the walls to his right with his fingertips; the white marble was cool to the touch. The touch of his rough fingers rasped against the smooth stone -- the sound was vulgar and embarrassing. The young man snatched his fingers away as the monk glanced over his shoulder at him and smiled. "I have missed seeing you in the cloister, Mathis," he said, with warm affection in his voice. Mathis smiled and continued to climb. When he glanced up again, he noticed that the monk Poltrin was watching him curiously. "I've missed being here, Poltrin," he said quickly, and the monk smiled. The two continued the climb, past landings, each decorated with the impressive white marble and gold statuary depicting Holy Illuminates of the past. Finally, after many flights of stairs, the steps simply ended in a doorway, marked with holy symbols inset in the gold edging of the archway. This chamber was at the very top of the tallest tower in the Eternal Sanctuary. It was round, with a great glass dome and impressive windows all the way around it, allowing every bit of light in the sky through into the room. The sun seemed brighter, somehow, almost blindingly so, and the white of the room didn't help Mathis' vision any. He could tell that a figure knelt in the center of the chamber. "Enter, Mathis," the monk said, stopping to stand beside the doorway. It was clear that he would not be accompanying the young man inside. "He awaits you." The young man walked in. Once he passed the threshold, he blinked a couple of times and found it easier to see. Still, it was bright enough to bring tears to his eyes, and he quickly wiped at his face with his sleeves. "Are you alright?" The voice of the Holy Illuminate was deep and resonant, with a smooth timbre to it that rumbled in Mathis's chest. "I am, Your Eminence," Mathis said, bowing deeply. "Forgive me. It is simply dark in the hallway outside, and very bright in your chambers." "How blinding the Light seems when one stands in Darkness, my son," the holiest of holies said. His back was still to Mathis, and he had not stood from his seated meditative position. "And yet how bearable and wonderful the Light is, once one stands in it. Please. Sit." Mathis quickly sat, assuming the seated position used by postulants to the High Church while they are in training. He allowed himself the luxury of gazing on the Holy Illuminate. The man was broad-shouldered, and his long braided hair, which hung to the middle of his back, was an impressive searing white color, purer even than the marble that made up the room. His back was well-muscled, though somewhat marred by patches of white scar tissue here and there. Mathis had enough experience with the training of the High Church to know that those scars came from weakness; those who wield the powers of the Lord of Light must be strong and pure in body to channel his holiness. Any failing or weakness -- physical or spiritual -- will sear those who cannot wield it fully. His naked back tapered down to a narrow, muscular waist, around which was clasped a thick steel and gold belt, with plates of white- lacquered steel inset with large chunks of amber that seemed to catch and contain the sunlight that hit them, so that they practically glowed with an inner light as well. The Holy Illuminate wore a white cotton kilt, which left his well- muscled legs bare. It also nicely outlined the shape of his rounded buttocks, resting against the firmness of those legs, tucked almost entirely under him. The light that came into the room passed through the kilt somewhat, showing Mathis tantalizing lines of hard flesh beneath that... Suddenly, Mathis realized what he was doing and his stomach almost turned itself inside out. He clasped his hands over his face and muttered a prayer. When he dared to remove his hands again and glance up, the Holy Illuminate had turned to face him, and simply sat, watching him in his turmoil. "You found them, I take it." Mathis only nodded, not trusting his voice. The Holy Illuminate stared at him for a moment, and then spoke sharply. "Look at me!" Mathis' head snapped up, and he looked into the face of the Holy Illuminate. Some small part of him -- even now! -- observed that the square-jawed, clean-shaven face of the holiest of holies was quite handsome, and Mathis gritted his teeth as revulsion rolled over him. He wanted to look away in deep shame, but dared not. Tears rolled down his face. "Do you see? This is the degradation they would lead all of mankind to, my son. You have been with them only a short while, and this is what you have been reduced to. This." He practically spat the last word, his contempt and revulsion thick in the utterance. Mathis could tell that his...yearning...for the foul physicality of other men was as visible to the Holy Illuminate as the light in the room, and the shame on his face. He looked up and found only deep pity and the dedication to see all sin and wretchedness wiped from the world in the eyes of the Holy Illuminate. "Tell me, then. Speak to me of what you learned of the growth of these cults at the edges of the Empire. Did you find out how they spread, how they communicate, who commands them? How do they recognize one another. Tell me, and then I will release you to Poltrin's care, and he will prepare you for purification." Mathis nodded gratefully, and began to speak. * * * Several hours later, Mathis stumbled out of the chamber. He was sweating, and clearly exhausted. He wobbled as he walked, his legs having long since stopped hurting him for remaining in the postulant's seating position and simply gone to sleep. He threw out a hand to steady himself on the archway that led to the stairs down, but missed. Fortunately, Poltrin was there to catch him. "Easy, my boy," the monk said, concern radiating from him. "Take it easy." "Poltrin, please, I...I need...purification...and I..." "Hush," the monk said, steadying him back on his feet. "Hush. What you need is to get down these stairs. Purification will come in time. For now, though, you can barely walk, much less endure the rites necessary." Mathis collapsed against the burly monk and wept. Poltrin simply held him, and let him cry as he carefully led the young man down the stairs. In short order, the two of them -- the older monk and the younger man, still dressed in his pilgrim's garb -- found their way to the cells used by the monks of the Weeping Sun. A low, stocky building, it was plain where the Eternal Sanctuary was opulent, reflecting the humility and simple lives of the monks there. "Do you remember when you first entered these halls?" Poltrin asked Mathis, smiling at the young man. "How afraid you were." "And now I return to them, tainted and filthy," Mathis whispered, barely holding back the revulsion in his voice. Poltrin stopped him and kissed him on the forehead. "You are not tainted, Mathis," he said, embracing the boy to himself. Mathis was rigid, and seemed to want nothing more than to pull away from the touch of the older man. Poltrin held him out at arm's length, his hands on the young man's shoulders. "Mathis, listen to me. You have performed a great sacrifice. You duty was difficult and onerous, and yet you bore it bravely. I heard what they did to you -- what they forced you to do. But your sacrifice will end in a great good." In a short time, Poltrin led the young man to a simple cell, with a bed and narrow window. While Mathis undressed and bathed the dust of the road from his body, the monk went to fetch food and drink for him. He sat with the young man, side by side on the bed, while Mathis ate mechanically, wrapped in the thin blanket of the bedding. "Thank you, master," Mathis said after he was done, handing the platter back to Poltrin, who simply set it aside. "I feel better. Can... can we go to the ritemaster? The sooner I receive purification...the better I shall feel, I think." Poltrin eyed him carefully, and then finally shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mathis, but I can't allow that. In this condition? You're so exhausted, and your spirit is low. The Holy Illuminate has asked much of you today, and you have given him much. You must rest -- you know the dangers of purification without strength in you. It could be fatal." Mathis simply stared at the floor and willed himself not to cry. How miserable he felt, like a knot deep in his gut. Poltrin stood, and pushed gently but insistently on Mathis' shoulder until the young man lay down, facing the wall. Poltrin sat on the edge of the bed, and stroked the young man's shoulder. "You have given so much, Mathis. So much." His touch became lighter, and his stroke wandered from his shoulder, down his arm to his elbow, to his side and over his hip. "So much, my boy." Finally his hand strayed down over his hip and cupped Mathis' buttock. Mathis started, and Poltrin placed his other hand on the young man's shoulder, keeping him from rising or turning over. "Hush, my boy. Your trip has been difficult." As he spoke, pushing the young man's shoulder against the wall, trapping him there, his other hand reached down and pulled up on the nightrobe, hiking its hem past the young man's knees, over his thighs and then laying bare his sweet, curving buttocks. "You have given us so much...will you not give me just a little more?" Immediately, the monk grasped the warm, smooth flesh of Mathis' ass, roughly and almost bruising. Mathis tried to shift, to turn over, but he didn't fight it. Not truly. The bed creaked slightly as the monk leaned on it, laying his knee into the young man's back and holding him down with the force of his weight while his hands withdrew and shrugged away his garments. "Shhhh, Mathis. All is well. I have simply missed you, so much, my boy." Mathis heard Poltrin spit into his hands and suddenly the monk's fingers were worming their way between his muscled asscheeks. Quickly enough, they found the entry to his hole and, slimy from the man's spittle, worked first one finger into them, and then quickly thereafter a second. "Ahhh, my boy. You have been well-used. Your stories were not exaggerations. Did their filthy cocks drive deep in you?" he asked, pistoning his fingers in and out of the boy while he leaned down to whisper in his ear. The monk's body weighed heavily on Mathis', and the young man wasn't even sure that he could have escaped if he'd tried. "Did they stretch your asshole with their thick meat?" he asked, slipping a third finger into them. He pulled away from Mathis' face, licking a line from the edge of the boy's shoved-up robe, over his buttock and then spitting a great deal of saliva into Mathis' hole, now gaping open thanks to the stretching of the fingers invading them. "You must have loved it, Mathis. Why else would you be wracked with such guilt? That's why we chose you, boy. You know that, don't you? The Lord of Light knows the frailties and filth of his servants all, my boy, yourself among them. He knows." The monk quickly repositioned himself, and Mathis felt the hot hardness of the man's cock touch his lower back and then press against his ass -- not the largest he'd ever taken, especially not since initiation into the Stag-God's cult, but thick enough, and with an upward curve to it that always struck pleasant places within him. The monk spat again, this time directly onto his cock, before positioning it against his own fingers, now deep in Mathis' burning hot ass. "Filthy pagan cocks, tearing into you. Were they truly as big as you claim they were? Or were you embroidering? Was that how it was, or simply how you wish it was, you filthy little animal? Do you crave cock so?" he asked, and quickly shoved the head of his cock into the boy's hole and pulled away his fingers. Then, with a savage lunge, he buried his hot, fat cock in the boy, hissing as he did so. Mathis cried out slightly, and Poltrin shoved his face into the mattress of straw beneath him, muffling his cries. "Not so jaded, I see," the monk chuckled, and then drew his cock almost entirely out of Mathis' ass. He slowly, teasingly fed the cock and it's delicious curve back into the boy, forcing inch by agonizing inch back into the ass under him, packing the young man's nethers as full of his aching cock as he could. "Not so used that a normal man's cock fails to elicit a response, then." Slowly but surely, Poltrin withdrew his cock again and slammed it home, reaching down to bite the young man on the earlobe and the neck. Mathis sobbed and -- damnable, against his will, nearly -- arched his back, pushing his ass back against the monk's violation, taking the cock as deeply as he could. Poltrin picked up the pace, sliding it almost completely free and then shoving it into him over and over. Mathis writhed under the rape, gasping his pleasure and his shame. "Oh, they have changed you, though," Poltrin panted into his ear, never pausing for even a moment in his relentless pounding of the young man's ass. "No more of that mewling and sobbing I know from you so well. Do you remember the first night you came here? When I found you asleep, and my heart was moved to such sins as to make us both shame-faced, with your rounded, sweet ass and that tight little hole just aching to be filled by me?" The sound of sweaty flesh slapping against sweaty flesh, and the grunts of the two men, filled the room. "But this...you are truly a debauched thing. What skills they must have to turn the hesitant boy you were into the cock-hungry little monster that writhes beneath me now. What terrible things did they do to you? How many cocks did they slip into your hot little hole, over and over, until they spilt their demon seed in you? How many times in one night? Do you actually remember? Take that cock, boy -- take it deeply and...ah... ah! Lord! Oh god!" The monk shuddered and pulled the young man tightly against him as he collapsed against Mathis' back, his existence narrowed down his seven or so inches of fat, hard cock, jetting its seed deep in the boy's bowels. The monk stilled, and Mathis shifted, turning over onto his back. Poltrin watched in fascination and revulsion as the young man shoved two...no, three...fingers into his own cum-sloppy hole, pistoning them rapidly in and out, while he took hold of his own thick meat with his other. He pulled on it once, twice, thrice, and before Poltrin could chastise him, he groaned aloud, and came messily, shooting thick ropes of jism. The first spurt spattered against his cheek and slopped a thread of cum into his mouth, while the rest of them painted his chest and belly with the stuff. His tongue darted out and licked up the ejaculate from his face that he could reach. The monk simply stood there, staring, his mouth agape. The young man on the bed below him was...possessed, almost. He was so taken by the sensations of the fuck and orgasm that all trace of the shamefaced, fearful young man was gone, leaving only a wild, primal creature writhing in sheerest ecstasy on the bed. His breath came in gradually slowing gasps. By the time Mathis recovered from his orgasm, Poltrin had recovered his clothing and donned his vestments again, the long robes hiding any signs of his recent violation of the young man. "Rest," he said shortly. His voice communicated anger, but Mathis could tell there was something else there -- perhaps even something slightly fearful, or awe-filled. "You have clearly been polluted by their dark ways, and stand in great need of purification." He turned to go, and then paused, his hand on the door. When he turned to regard Mathis again, there were emotions warring on his face -- shame, anger, and deep, deep guilt. But more than that, Mathis realized, was the desire to simply lay down again with him and hold him -- and be held by him -- until the night passed. "I...forgive me, Mathis. What I did was...I meant what I said when you left here on your mission. I have been a poor mentor to you in your time here, and weak besides. When I promised that would be our last time...I meant it. This was...they have done something to you, Mathis, and polluted you in some way. That...corruption...it affects me, too. You will not be the only one in need of purification tomorrow." With that, the monk departed, and closed the door behind Mathis. Regards, ~The Satyr the.satyr@gmail.com Y!IM: the_oaken_satyr