Elise Olisbos (c) 2013 | email: eliseolisbos@yahoo.com
website: http://www.asstr.org/~Elise_Olisbos/
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Title: Larunalia (Chapter 1)
Author: Elise Olisbos
Keywords/Codes: futanari/dickgirl, fantasy
Summary: The manifestation of a death-goddess finds her consort.
(Inspired by the myths of Isis and Lemminkäinen.)

NOTES: Written for the Autumn Harvest contest over at the
Hentai-Foundry forums.

**Chapter 1 - The Eluuar of Laru**

Vitalia reached out to tug at the thick woven cloth which covered
the window, pulling it to one side. The closely packed buildings
of Greater Nalel rushed by in blur of grey stone. People strolled
and danced along the streets, dressed in elaborate clothing:
massive headdresses, long trains dragging behind them on the wide
sidewalks. All the fabric was in some shade of red or orange,
shades beloved by the death-goddess Laru. It was the time of
Larunalia, occurring as usual in this time of reaping.

The spectre-driven carriage shuddered as it slowed down at an
intersection, and sped up once more after it turned the corner.
Vitalia watched the reactions of the revelers as the carriage
passed them by: some shrank back against the sturdy walls of the
buildings, bowing their heads. A few of them stared fixedly as it
rattled along the narrow street. Vitalia let the curtain fall
back into place and leaned back against her seat, sighing.

"Are you tired?" Malon, her assigned companion for this trip,
stared at her with wide eyes. Vitalia blinked at her, and nodded
slowly. A lock of her long grey hair separated from the elaborate
pile atop her head, and she brushed it away with an annoyed
twitch of her hand.

"We've been travelling for a long time," Vitalia murmured,
smoothing down the red lace of her gown. Malon reached forward to
help, but Vitalia quelled her with a slight frown. "Do I have to
be at this Luranalia?"

"Of course!" Malon's tone was extremely scandalized. She was some
years older than Vitalia, but with her dyed hair styled in tight
curls around her round face, she seemed younger. "All of these
celebrations are for you!"

"For the goddess Laru, you mean." Vitalia slumped down in the
seat, letting her head rest against the padded back.

"For you," Malon said, her voice very firm. She drew herself up
as high as her narrow frame could manage, shoulders held
squarely. She had very small eyes set close together over a sharp
nose, and they sparkled with indignation. "You are the Eluuar,
the physical embodiment of Laru in this plane. All Larunalia
celebrated in Jharna is in your honour!"

Vitalia sighed and closed her eyes for a few beats. Not for the
last time, she wished she had never performed that miracle back
in her small village of Shevalir; but the little feathered lizard
had been so small and so still, and Vitalia had just wanted to
see it move again.

Malon was still fussing: "Do you know how long we in Jharna have
waited for another reincarnation of our patron goddess? All the
other countries have been through four, five, even six
manifestations! Jashkar has had nine!"

Vitalia snorted. "I'm sure that's just propaganda," she stated,
opening one eye and peering at Malon, who huffed.

"Well, you may see your Gelnadyar at this Larunalia," Malon said
in a wistful way and Vitalia sighed again. In the many stories,
Gelnadyar had been a close friend and then the consort of Laru.
The giantess Gelnadyar was a minor deity of battles and weaponry;
an offspring of one of the Nayir and a mortal, Gelnadyar played a
relatively important role in the mythology of their people. In
Jharna, the entire festival of Larunalia was to celebrate the
goddess's legendary quest to restore Gelnadyar, the orgies Laru
participated in while in the Deadworld, and her rise to her
acknowledged role as the Queen of the Deadworld. Even the
activities of harvesting were dedicated to Laru, farmers
contributing a portion of their crop to the temples.

As the manifestation of the death-deity, there were high
expectations for Vitalia to find a mortal version of Gelnadyar.
Vitalia was exhausted of having a line of acolytes parading in
front of her at each turn; it seemed that every priestess and
priest harboured the wish that Laru's consort be found at their
temple. Vitalia wondered if she should start reminding them that
the last two personifications of the goddess did not find their
consort, and therefore it was very likely that she would not.

The carriage creaked to a halt, and the spectre which powered it
spoke up in its whispery, hesitant voice: "Eluuar and Malon, we
have arrived at Temple Laru-lel. This is the Great Hall."

"Wima, I told you that you don't have to call me Eluuar," Vitalia
said as she leaned forward to let Malon affix the circlet of
orange feathers right above her forehead, and attach the long
veil of beads so that it obscured the upper half of her face. "My
own name is fine."

Wima's voice echoed through the cabin, "Eluuar, I could not. It
is not proper."

Vitalia frowned. "Oh, Wima--"

"That's right, Wima," Malon said very primly, taking a hairpin
out of a little jewelled box and taming that wayward strand of
Vitalia's hair. "Don't let the Eluuar make you overlook your
protocol imprinting."

"Yes, Malon," Wima answered. The door to the carriage swung open
with hardly a creak and Malon exited with a grand flourish of her
arms. She held out a hand back into the carriage and Vitalia took
it, allowing Malon to help her down the few metal rungs. The
crowd gathered in front of the Great Hall drew back as her booted
feet touched the ground, whispering to each other from behind
their festival masks. Vitalia strode quickly through the cleared
path towards the massive door, following Malon's skittering gait.
As she climbed the wide steps, she could feel their stares boring
into her back.

Before she had been sent to the Necrohal, Vitalia had been
treated with a mix of respectful affection by her neighbours and
friends in Shevalir. In the Necrohal, worshipped as the goddess,
she had been removed from daily contact with 'mortals',
restricted by the priestesses. Vitalia had managed to convince
the ghouls to let her out at night, and she had freely roamed the
villages established nearby. The ghouls had dogged her steps, of
course, not willing to let the Eluuar out of their sight. At
least they had kept to the shadows when Vitalia slipped into the
taverns.

The priestesses had found out and had been about to re-imprint
the poor ghouls with their spells. In anger and frustration,
Vitalia had reacted rather badly; at the end of her...outburst,
parts of the ancient inner structures of the Necrohal had simply
wasted to dust: massive stone walls and timber beams rotted as if
they'd undergone years of decay in a few moments. The
priestesses, faced with this display from the Eluuar, had quickly
acquiesced to Vitalia's wishes for more freedom. However, from
there on there seemed to be an underlying streak of uneasiness
permeating subsequent interactions. The priestesses were awful,
but Vitalia hadn't wanted to be the source of anyone's anxiety.

Here, in front of the Great Hall of Laru-Lel, that same weight of
trepidation from the crowd weighed Vitalia's shoulders. She
pressed her lips tightly together as she climbed the last step of
the Great Hall. The waiting priestesses knelt on the ground,
murmuring their welcome. Their robes were gathered closely at the
waist, and belled out into highly wrought skirts, with necessary
layers of red lace. Malon knelt with them as well, tucking her
arms into her sleeves.

From behind one of them, a teenaged girl stepped forward. She was
dressed in the voluminous robes of an acolyte, her head covered
with a roughly woven scarf.

"Eluuar!" The girl exclaimed in a high-pitched squeak, going on
one knee in a shaky manner. She held out a bouquet of
long-stemmed flowers with translucent red petals. "We are
honoured to have you in Nalel, and at Laru-lel. Please, accept
these as a token of our esteem!"

Vitalia couldn't help but smile. The girl peeped up at her, and
seeing Vitalia's lips tilted upwards, offered a hesitant grin.
Vitalia bent at the waist and reached out to take the bouquet.
These flowers had the same name as this temple, larulels, and
were said to grow near the portals to Deadworld. They had healing
properties, especially when brewed in a tea for fever.

One of the priestesses reached out and pinched the ankle of the
acolyte, no doubt to warn her for smiling at the Eluuar. The
acolyte flinched, and winced.

Vitalia said, very mildly, "Leave her be," and the priestesses
bowed even more. The one who had been pinching the girl drew back
her hand as if it had been set on fire. "Did you collect these
yourself?"

"Yes, Eluuar!" the girl chirped. Charmed, Vitalia reached out her
hand, the wide sleeve of her dress slipping down to her elbow.
The acolyte snatched the scarf from atop her head, revealing a
strip of red hair in the middle of a shorn scalp. Vitalia rest
her hand atop the girl's head, her dark skin stark against the
copper strands.

"What is your name?" Vitalia asked.

"Arla, my Eluuar," the girl whispered, her voice shaking.

Vitalia said, "Arla, you are specially dedicated under the
protection of the Eluuar," she pronounced in the requisite
weighty timbre and a small fraction of her power flowed out of
her arm and into the top of Arla's head. The girl trembled and
Vitalia moved her hand. "Rise, child."

Arla stood up unsteadily. To be placed under the protection of
the Eluuar was an honour, but Vitalia found that the very small
potential she passed on was exhibited in a different manner for
everyone. A small boy in one of the Necrohal villages had gained
the ability to perceive the ghouls, wraiths and other Deadworld
denizens which served the Eluuar, instead of just hearing them or
seeing the way they affected objects in the mortal world. An old
woman was able to revive her dead plants after Vitalia had
blessed her; however, there were many who didn't present
abilities at all.

As Arla reeled in apparent shock, one of the priestesses got to
her feet, followed by Malon and the rest.

"Arla," the head priestesses said sharply, and the acolyte ducked
her head. Arla stepped away, heading towards a small side-door.
In mid-step, she paused and then darted back to grasp Vitalia's
hand in both her small ones. She kissed the back of Vitalia's
hand fervently and then scampered away, her scarf tucked under
her arm as she wrenched open the side-door and disappeared into a
service passage. Vitalia hid a grin; she had high hopes for that
one.

"Eluuar," the high priestess intoned, and Vitalia glanced at her.
"The Luranalia is ongoing inside the Great Hall."

Malon took her place by the Eluuar's side again, and the
priestesses commanded the door-wraiths to open the massive wings
of the main doors. They creaked open; the pounding beats of drums
and applause drifted out.

The Great Hall was really a covered amphitheatre, a half-oval in
shape. At the bottom of the sloped seating area, the sunken stage
was divided into different sections, each part designed to depict
a well-known scene of the Luranalia. The priestesses led Vitalia
and Malon to a decorated booth near the middle of the sloped
seating area. All the available seats in the Hall were occupied,
and people sat on the wide steps; yet, there was a clear space
around the Eluuar's compartment.

"Look!" Malon said, pointing down at the stage. "They've just
started!"

Vitalia perched on the gilded stool, peering at the actresses and
actors lit by the bright spotlights. In the nearest section,
festooned with paint and leaves to resemble an ancient mountain,
two individuals wrestled mightily. One of them was a tall
muscular female, clad in flimsy yellow material which did nothing
to hide her large tits. Her blond hair swung freely as she
fought, her teeth bared in effort. This actress represented the
sun-goddess Bithror, Laru's sister and ruler of the three suns.
Her adversary was just as tall, but even more muscular, a large
cock swinging between legs that were built like tree-trunks.
Underneath a cloak of thick fur, two stiff and obviously fake
breasts were affixed to a firm chest. The actor played Gelnadyar,
who had merrily engaged in a sparring session with Bithror after
being challenged by the sun-goddess during an argument. Their
fight had created the great mountains of Buir and the valleys of
Helna in the north of Jharna. One could still see the great lakes
formed by their feet pressing into the earth.

Bithror was powerful, but Gelnadyar was the offspring of a Nayir,
an elder deity. Over time, the Nayir had been gradually
overthrown and absorbed by the Jaur, the younger pantheon to
which Bithror and Lura belonged. Still, Gelnadyar's sire had been
the earth-Nayir, and as long as Gelnadyar's feet touched the
ground, she was nigh unstoppable.

Vitalia accepted a tall cool drink from a serving-ghoul's tray,
giving them a grateful smile. The ghoul bowed deeply, clearly
pleased to be seen and acknowledged by the Eluuar. It returned to
its spot at an upper level, where numerous tables of food were
placed near an arched exit. Vitalia sipped the sweet nectar,
watching closely as Gelnadyar pinned the sun-deity to the ground,
gripping her by the throat with one great hand. Bithror screamed
and struggled, but Gelnadyar simply released a booming laugh. The
sun-deity clawed at the corded arms and legs pinning her against
the rich soil, and after a few moments, she parted her legs in
defeat.

The Gelnadyar actor shoved his cock up in her without hesitation,
rutting crudely. Bithror screamed in rage and arousal, her
breasts bouncing as Gelnadyar fucked into her with rough
recklessness. The legends said that Gelnadyar impregnated Bithror
with the entities that would be born as the seven moons. On the
stage, the actress wailed and jerked as the actor came inside
her, and the spotlights dimmed at that section.

The next part of the Luranalia rendition focused on another
actress, now playing a heavily pregnant Bithror seated in her
bright boudoir. Her clothing stretched over a round belly, and
the ominous music swelling from the nearby ensemble indicated
Bithor's dark thoughts: revenge on Gelnadyar. A scowl marred the
pale brow of the enraged sun-deity. An old man dressed like a
beggar wandered onto the stage in an absent manner, carrying a
shining sword. The man was a Nayir as well, a primeval blacksmith
who had forged that blade from the void. He handed it to
Birthror, who accepted it with a nasty smile. She set it aside,
and pulled up the hem of her dress, bending forward to present
her shaved pussy to the old man. He wasted no time in gripping
her hips and grinding his crotch against her, dragging down his
tattered breeches to enter her. As the Nayir fucked the
sun-goddess, she smiled with slow anticipation of her triumph.

The crowd hollered and whistled in response the next scene, when
Bithror snuck up on the unsuspecting giantess during a hunt,
stabbing her in the back with the Nayir-forged sword; the blow
weakened Gelnadyar, and the actor fell to the ground with a
pained cry. Even though it was a play, Vitalia averted her gaze
as Bithror cleaved Gelnadyar's feet at the ankles, finally
separating the half-Nayir from her source of strength and life.
The actress chopped the 'body' into pieces, and a group of small
adults dressed shifts made of red feathers flitted on the stage,
snatching portions of the corpse and fleeing in all directions.
These actors represented the thirty red ravens, whom Bithror had
sent to all corners of Overworld, Middleworld and Deadworld with
the pieces of Gelnadyar's body.

All the lights dimmed, the ensemble quietened, and in the
stillness a single spotlight picked out a woman standing in the
middle of stage. A massive white cowl covered her face, and the
thick robes obscured her figure. Laru, currently just the deity
of sleep and night, sang a song of mourning for the murdered
Gelnadyar. The two had been close friends, and Gelnadyar's death
was a focal point in all the changes wrought in Laru.

Out of the corner of her eye, Vitalia noted the other viewers
trying to glance at her surreptitiously. In the stories, Laru was
as tall and powerfully-built as any Juar, but with silvery hair
instead of blond like her sister Bithror. Vitalia looked nothing
like the goddess depicted in the temple images. Instead of an
athletic frame, Vitalia was actually shorter than average, with a
heart-shaped face and eyes that tilted up at the outer corners;
the priestesses at the Necrohal had wanted her to wear stilt-like
boots to appear taller, but Vitalia had refused. The long,
shining grey curls and pale-grey eyes were only features which
marked Vitalia as the personification of Laru.

The Laru onstage pulled the cowl from over her head, and at the
sight of the grey hair atop the singer's head, Malon whispered
loyally, "It's but a dye, Eluuar!" Vitalia tried not to laugh
aloud. The actress, still singing the song of mourning, searched
the stage, grabbing the red ravens as they tried to escape,
reclaiming the pieces of Gelnadyar. The cowl taken from her head
became a large sack and she travelled from one side of the stage
to the other, struggling with the ravens. The ravens fought back,
but Laru subdued them with increasing ruthlessness, her white
robe ripped during the skirmishes to reveal the blood-red gown
beneath.

With most of the unfortunate Gelnadyar's body collected in the
sack, Laru paused to count them. There was still one piece
missing, a symbol of Gelnadyar's rampant sexuality: her massive
phallus. At one end of the sunken platform, a prop was cleverly
rolled into place: an archway representing the mouth of a cave,
with pots of larulels around it: an entrance to the Deadworld,
the last place Laru needed to search for the missing portion.

At this section of the festivities, the entire assembly seemed to
rise as one, and rushed down to the stage. Vitalia did not move,
but simply watched as frantic fucking broke out amongst the
throng, fingers and dicks finding convenient slick orifices; even
the red ravens jumped in, their smaller bodies grasped with lusty
craving. Vitalia could almost feel Malon vibrating in excitement
beside her.

Vitalia glanced at her and Malon returned a wide-eyed, pleading
look. "You may go," Vitalia said and Malon took to her feet with
enviable rapidity, almost skipping down the sloping passages. As
she plunged into the orgy, a large throne appeared from behind
the stage's curtains, carried by cavorting actresses and actors
meant to portray wraiths, ghouls and spectres. This was the Nayir
god of the Deadworld, a great cock gripped in his claws. Massive,
blood-stained tusks curled out of the sides of his mouth as he
waved around the phallus of Gelnadyar. He descended from his
throne, grabbing onto the closest reveller by a handful of hair.
The young man willingly knelt before the Nayir, parting his lips
so that the prick could be shoved into his mouth. He slobbered
over it, sucking and licking with abandon, reaching out greedily
with as the Nayir pulled it out and pounced on another
merrymaker, parting the puffy lips of her pussy with his claws
and twisting it up into her.

The actress playing Lura, now nude except for a long red cape,
went from group to group, joining in the hurried sex at every
stop. In the legend, Lura spent years in the Deadworld, tricking
and seducing her way to the side of the King. On the stage, with
juices dripping between her thighs, she approached the King
without caution, allowing him to rub the used cock along her flat
belly.

Vitalia idly turned her head, letting her gaze trail along the
walls of the Hall, so tall that the tops of them were in shadow;
the sex on the stage was interesting to watch, but not
particularly arousing for her. Apart from the massive entrance at
the top and back of the amphitheatre, there were other doors,
presumably leading to the living quarters of the priestesses and
the acolytes. Each doorway was guarded by both a wraith and a
mortal sentinel. The streets outside had on-going Luranalia
festivities, but only the most influential residents in Greater
Nalel had been allowed access to the celebration hosted in
Laru-lel. The sentinels stood at attention, although a few of
them were serviced orally by a merrymaker who had wandered in
their direction.

One of them leaned against a door at the lowest level, near to
the stage. She wore a dark bronze breastplate over a
short-sleeved tunic, and the rest of her armour was nowhere in
sight. Her skin was a creamy shade; scars and decorative inking
covered her exposed arms. Although the sentinel watched the many
permutations of intercourse onstage with a sort of fascinated
amusement, she shook her head every time someone approached her,
offering a wry smile with each negation.

Vitalia gazed at her so hard that she thought the sentinel would
feel the weight of her stare and turn around, but she didn't. The
sentinel simply observed the crowd, brushing her hand over her
auburn hair now and again. The hair at both sides of her head was
cut low, indicating someone who worked for the temple. However,
the strip in the middle of her head was fairly long, and pulled
into a neat braid which ended just past her neck. The sentinel's
face had hard, strong lines. She was probably younger than she
looked, and Vitalia breathed deep, even breaths.

The Laru on the platform finally plucked the Gelnadyar's prick
from the clutch of the Nayir god, who was so busy pounding into
her as she hooked her legs over the arms of his throne. She threw
it in her sack and the giantess emerged, fully reconstructed and
brought back to life. In the narrative, Laru had to search for
Gelnadyar's soul in the cave of spirits before Gelnadyar was
restored to become Laru's consort, helping her to oust the Nayir
god and take the throne. The performance handily skipped that bit
about the soul and resolved the rest of the tale by having Laru
rip out the tusks of the Deadworld King as he came in her.
Gelnadyar grabbed his convulsing body and threw it to the ground.

The play was over at this triumphant moment, but the revellers
carried on fucking. It seemed as if the participants were
especially fervent because of the Eluuar's presence, but Vitalia
could not keep her eyes off the auburn-haired sentinel. Even
though she couldn't see the eyes of the sentinel from this
distance, Vitalia was nearly overcome with the surety that they
were a very light brown.

She stood abruptly; her feet and legs moved without any conscious
thought on her part, and she travelled down the aisles with one
goal in her mind. The sentinels straightened as she walked past
them, and door-wraiths called out to her in their sweet whispers.
The sentinel who had captured her attention did not notice the
approach of the Eluuar until Vitalia stood right beside her,
looking up at the side of that inflexible face. The closest
partiers went still, gazing at the Eluuar with wide eyes.

The sentinel noticed their frozen scrutiny, and her stance
shifted. She frowned; her shoulders straightened and she placed
her hand to her waist, where a short sword hung.

"Be at peace, sentinel," Vitalia called out very gently, but the
sentinel whirled around, stumbling back a few steps. She had
drawn her sword with a very eerie speed, and held it steadily
even as she tried to retain her balance. Vitalia gazed at the
sharpened tip of the sword, and kept still.

Vitalia saw the moment when the sentinel realised just who she
held at the point of her weapon. The sentinel jerked back her
hand, blinking rapidly. Her eyes were indeed a very light brown,
like the tea brewed from larulels.

"Eluuar," she murmured, her voice shaking and she went down on
one knee, holding up the sword above her head with both hands.
Vitalia took it, and set it against the wall with great care. The
sentinel's head shifted slightly to look at it, as if surprised.

Vitalia placed her hands on the sides of the sentinel's face, and
exerted very slight pressure. The sentinel lifted her face very
obediently, but kept her eyes averted.

"Look at me," Vitalia commanded and the sentinel obeyed. When
their eyes met, Vitalia felt a shock skirt down her spine, like
the lightning which danced over the Necrohal. "What are you
called?"

"Bahjkir," the sentinel answered lowly, and Vitalia nodded.

"Bahjkir," she repeated, enjoying the sound of her name on her
tongue. "That is a good, strong name. Does your family call you
Kir?"

The sentinel's full lips pressed together briefly before she
answered: "My sister does."

Vitalia continued to stare at Bahjkir's face, feeling the air of
familiarity about her. Dim images floated before her eyes, and
one of them solidified: entering a cave of spirits, calling for
her friend's soul.

"Gelnadyar," Vitalia said now, and she could hardly recognize the
loving timbre in her voice. Bahjkir jerked back out of her grasp,
shaking her head slowly.

"Yes," Vitalia insisted. "It's you. It's you, you're here."

------------------------------

email: eliseolisbos@yahoo.com
website: http://www.asstr.org/~Elise_Olisbos/
Please leave my e-mail address attached if you archive this or
share it with a friend.