Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

Chapter 233 Priestess of Magvath

The place was ribbed in Opalstone. It was made in spotless ivory, polished in the tusks of mighty Numidian elephants that roamed the savanna. It was splendorous milk upon the stretch of dunes and cliffs and sand that went beyond it. And on a vast reef of brown it perched majestically.

Everything about the Seat of Sétland was white, the cavernous halls and trilithic steeples.

"Wow! Now that's a Temple." Ravenna guffawed; it was more ecstatic awe. The rest in the group were struck speechless, and the caravan had stopped moving, at a small hill in the wilderness. From it Rafel and the others glared into the scarlet sunset at the great Keep of white. The Guide accosting them pulled off his wide sunhat.

"How wondrous," said he, in his pupilar eyes some thing of worship. "No matter how many times I see this, I can not relate otherwise to its beauty. The souls in there are the purest in the realm. Bodies that have been touched by no hands. Vessels of the Martyr. Beautiful creatures."

The Guide's hands were up to his chest, clutched to his bosom like a praying monk.

Rafel had enough of the outward spectacle. He put his hand, with the gold sceptre forward and closed his legs together, squeezing in the saddle. And the great, brown beast under him began humping off again. It lumbered down eastward from the dusty hill to the looming white towers.

"Good boy." Rafel patted the camel's back. At the last second, he had remembered it was not Agamemnon and refrained from much petting.

Dipping in the far west, the sun met with the sand, scattering scarlet light deeply into the vulture country. For a measure of time, one of the escorts: a very close guard of Dementa—an [Adept Survivor] lifted her left hand to finger-read the horizon. Sat upon her own jewelled camel, she said, "it's about fifteen minutes to complete sundown on this side of the desert."

"Wait!" Rafel interrupted, "the sun set differently here?"

They had reached the gates of Séltand. White also, moonstone. The girl replied from under a thick turban and face veils. "...yes, but by only a few minutes. Sometimes indistinguishable."

Rafel nodded and she proceeded. "We should be in before total darkness. At night, you can see the flags of the bands, or tell which from which. Some of Grone's men use the cover of night to execute harsher punishments," she bit her lip, "we usually find raped dudes out here in the morning. Sétland is sanctuary, but the roads leading to it is not."

Everyone nodded, instantly getting it.

The personal guard drew quickly into the vast compound of the Vestals Seat, leaving the caravan to draw in behind. A small press of bikes whizzed in after. The compound itself was a cross between a nunnery and futuristic satellite town. They passed by a well that had automated levers, a bell tower with a strike that worked by the machination of solar energy, and a windmill that powered the night lights.

Really, there was no magic here.

On a little, pampered grassland west of the compound, Rafel spotted a gathering of habits tending quietly to gardens. They hummed religious songs in a foreign tongue. Avalonic, maybe.

The nuns were a bitter reminder of Rosamunde.

"She would have loved it here." He told Aya telepathically. She reached out with a comforting touch in their mind link.

"Are we doing this?" Corazón asked when they reached the white brick roofing of the Temple's colonnade, much like a castle.

"We are."

It was Israfel. His voice was somber. But the bass hit deep. 'For Rosa. For Bruna. Yes, we are doing this. Definitely!' Only Peitho heard the rest of his statement.

Dementa's personal guard was the first to pull off her camel. "Tsk! Tsk!" She clicked her tongue twice and the animal went down, folding its knees under on the sand like a goat. It was then Rafel noticed the woman's height. Her [Darkfyre Hijab] hid out a scar that almost shut out completely her left eye. The other was a complete purplish orb in its socket. It moved around eerily. The breeze picked up and the turban covered her face again. This woman was the second tallest in the compound after Rafel.

She had no feminine features whatsoever. If Rafel was asked one adjective for her, it'd be 'sturdy'.

But still, he knew she had a pussy. Knowing himself very well, Rafel knew the only creature that could catch and hold his eye were the females of 'all' species. Emphasis there. He had no gay bone in his body. At all!

"This way." The sturdy woman led on.

But currently, before the double doors, the woman known as the Grace of the Seat, moved forward, interrupting the dialogue before the turbaned guard had a chance to reply what exactly [Central Core] meant. She had knickers or something under the white shroud because even though her robes were translucent, Rafel could see nothing.

'But then, this... girl has lived three hundred years in this desert temple-palace.'

The Grace was 7ft tall—it made her skinny figure that much eye-catching. She was beautiful. And her skinny wasn't anorexic. She was slim like a roe. A zebra. A supermodel. Because she was supertall. Really, she was the tallest female Rafel had seen since Bloody Mary. Discover more content at empire

He remembered the reptilian kickboxer fondly.

'Ah, good times. Those were good times.' He mused. 'Do I miss Emberfall. It's mist and quiet weather sobriety.'

Back then, who'd known all this shit was gonna happen. Not him!

'I should have hired myself a Clairvoyant first thing after my ascension,' he chastised his past.

The voice of their sturdy sentinel broke in: "I'll leave you guys to it." She bowed to the super tall Grace, as Rafel wondered why everybody in this brown realm liked white. And just before she hastened back the same way they'd come, she said, "oh, and I'm Khalifa, by the way."

"Khalifa," repeated Corazón.

The Hijab hid Khalifa's smile. In reality, the silver face veils were a [Shield of Demolition].

Rafel nodded. For once, beside his harem, he saved up a girl's name in his head. It wasn't because he was an asshole; girls just tended to be much around his proximity—and they died too quickly to bother. Even the ones he did bother about. Khalifa was gone. And Rafel turned his full focus to the 7ft, silver-robed Grace.

He said without preamble.

"What's your name?"

The immortal Vestal smiled that same benign smile. It sent her lips a touch fuller. Rafel was drawn to them. He was drawn to her similar eyes. He was drawn to her miraculous ashy hair. Her gazelle body. And sure as hell her long freaking legs.

Seven feet was a long way up for a woman. She fucking carried it well.

"Yes, a man of few words." The Grace of Sétland said. Her voice called Rafel's mind back to the Autumn angel, Aelaria Törmund. He wondered if she was she in hiding, yet another personification of glory. The Grace continued, settling their hearts with her words. "Dementa sent word by vulture mail. She said to expect you. Her descriptions fit the eye." She perused Rafel.

Catching the eyes' of the other girls, she laughed.

"Oh, by Visha! I'm a virgin, not blind. Come on in."

"You still have not answered my question," came Rafel's solid tremor behind her.

At the open doors of sanctuary, the tall Grace turned with a knee-buckling smile.

"I am Indiravasanathārekalee.

I am supreme Mother of the Vestal Seat, undefiled in three hundred years. My friends just call me Indira."

Rafel turned over the name in his head—it was the longest single name he had ever heard. He made up his mind to be the Grace's friend. As he followed her into sanctuary with his girlfriends, he set his thoughts on the two things he needed from her: Central Core, and how to win over Zaftig and Grone, the other two Skullriders.

He set his mind like stone. Certainly not on her pristine shroud, rippling in the cool wind from the grounds, which showed for just a fraction of time what an amazing thigh-gap the virgin Priestess had.