Thread: Of Lust and Envy: Some Sins can be deadly -- Darkangel76 and The Gladiator

Talinaths normally even keeled temperament seemed a bit flustered as she continued to speak, stating that it had gone deeper for her, that her words were more than a compliment. He had to admit it was the one festival above any other that he remembered most. The only other festival he remembered with anywhere as much detail was his first festival, which coincided with his first sexual experience. He was rare among his people in that he had had no amorous experiments before his 99th birthday. Many did, for elves were physically mature many decades before they achieved social maturity at 99. Talinath had devoted his life to study and had made no time for such distractions. Needless to say when the much more mature elven woman had intuited he was inexperienced, she had taken charge, guiding him, teaching him. She had explored his body, taught him how to explore hers. However, even that memory paled to the night he lay with Tiathi. Talinath found it uncomfortable to contemplate that evening though, even after so many years. It brought up such a roiling riptide of emotions each time he did. Somehow though, knowing who ones partner was personalized the festivals in a way that seemed counter to everything the festivals stood for in his mind. He watched her tuck a raven lock behind her delicate ears as she approached him. His blue eyes met hers as her delicate hands came up to take hold of his hand. He was surprised when she lifted it to her lips to press a kiss against the wound. It was the sort of gesture an elven mother would make to her child, who still believed that a mothers love could heal bodily injuries such as scrapes and bruises. However, he knew it was his sisters way of silently apologizing. She recognized his uncharacteristic slip had been caused by her words. Her unusual disregard for custom, and excitement in blurting out what she felt she had needed to had taken her brother aback. Green eyes lifted back up to meet Talinaths as her voice spoke again. This time the tone softer, more like the gentle healer he knew her to be, not the exuberant girl, or overly needy woman, she had just resembled moments ago. Talinath was glad to be back on ground that was thankfully more familiar to him. Healing He nodded without hesitation, for that was something he had no doubts about. His sister was a very capable healer. He remembered the first time he had seen her work to heal injuries, the first time they had worked together on healing, in fact. That time long ago when his sister had thrown down her bow and sword and come to her brother who was kneeling over two supine figures. Even from a distance the uniforms of the two elves on the ground were instantly recognizable. Talinaths father and the man who was all the father Tiathi had ever known wore the distinctive green Uniform of the elven Army, his rank as Commander standing out clearly marked. He lay side by side with his wife, the cleric of Sollaran dressed in the red robes of her order. He could remember the feel of Tiathis hands, much more calloused then as they were now, coming down over his own as his sister sought to lend her strength to his. Talinath had crouched, one hand on either parent, desperately praying, channeling all of his energy into healing his parents, delving into their minds, trying to take away their pain, do anything to ease their suffering. Even as Tiathi had touched him with her hands, she had touched him with her mind. It was a rough touch, untrained, but she had given of herself freely, melding with him without hesitation. He was surprised that his sister had this much potential this much ability even untrained. It should not have surprised him, their mother was one of the highest ranking clerics of Sollaran, and Talinath himself showed great promise as well. However even then, there had been a different flavor to her touch, to her magic. It became clear to him as he heard the first notes and words of her prayers. It was not Sollaran the father that she prayed to, rather Lunaira the mother. Somehow, she had known who to pray to, which deity would hear her call. Even though they had not been successful that day, the evening ending in tears in each others arms, something had changed inside his half-sister that day. It was not that her desire to follow in their fathers footsteps and be a warrior was gone, but she had felt the calling. Talinath couldnt remember a time when he had not felt Sollarans calling he had always known that was his destiny. However, many felt the calling much later in life, and it was clear that Lunaira had spoken to Tiathi that day. He recalled it was the next day that she had approached her brother to ask him to accompany her to the temple of Lunaira, to pray, and to seek guidance from the priestesses there. It was not long after that that the green uniform had been exchanged for the blue robes of a cleric of Lunaira. Blue and silver, the complimentary colors to Talinaths own red and gold. The night to his own daytime. Although that had been their first time working together, it by no means was the last, and they were often seen working together to save the lives of their elven kin. Their faiths complimented each other, even as their strengths and personalities always had in life. Aside from that first horrendous night the siblings had only failed one other time, had only been unable to save one other elf, and the biting loss of that failure stung almost as much as losing their own parents. Talinath wondered if his sister could read his thoughts in his eyes, could read how proud of her skills as a healer as he allowed her to examine the wound. It was deep, not quite to the bone, but close. Talinath like Tiathi had been trained by their father and so any tool he used was the finest possible, therefore this meant the knife he had been using was razor sharp and had parted the skin cleanly. He watched, curious to see if his sister would seek to use magic on the wound, disinfect it and bandage it, stitch it, there were several possibilities. Talinath was perfectly capable of tending to his own injury, however letting his sister tend to it, and fuss over him was easier than arguing about it with her. Galan was lost in his thoughts, in the plans he was generating, ways to entrap his cousins, ways to get even. They deserved his scorn, his hatred. They had had everything handed to them. He had never asked anything from them but one thing, and that one thing he had asked for was the life of one individual, and they just let him die. How could they, they never failed, it was inconceivable that they happened to fail this one time, the only time, in Galans mind, that it really fucking counted. Galan found himself being distracted by Loreleis touches. He thought about brushing her off, shoving her away, was he really in the mood for this? He wanted to wallow in his pain he wanted to let the fires grow. However her lips on his ear and her questing fingers were igniting a different sort of fire. She drew a low growl and hissing curse, both indicating his pleasure as she massaged and stroked him. Her teasing driving his body up in flames. He had been so lost in his thoughts he hadnt even been aware that she was playing his body like a musical instrument and now it was thrumming like a harp string to her tune. An interesting concept. He thought with a wry twist of his lips, take what he deserveddid she mean from his cousins, or, with her touches, was she referring to her wanting him to take her. He wasnt sure if he did not stop her because he wanted to see what she would do next, how far she would go, or if he couldnt resist her at this point. However he knew that if he moved he would take her and that would spoil what she was doing. He found it more and more difficult to lose himself in his plots and his plans, her real world intrusions were growing more and more insistent, and god how he loved it.