Warhammer Fantasy
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Warhammer Fantasy: Dark Tidings free porn video
Demon Prince. Everchosen. The Neverborn. The Ruiner. The Despoiler. These were the names thought by those who saw Orgmund, or Raghaz as he went now. Though born a human, he was a warrior and wizard without peer, and devoted entirely to the Chaos Gods. With such benefactors, his skills did not go unnoticed for long. He was marked by Chaos from a young age, and his gods giggled with every life he took, moaned with every ounce of blood spilt, roared with every home pillaged, and whispered power into his ears with every further step into Chaos. He spilt blood from the very southernmost seas sailed by Lizardmen and Dark Elves, to the Chaos Wastes where he slew every other champion of darkness on his way to the thrones of the gods. He became their champion entirely, a marauder unparalleled, a spellcaster unmatched, a debaucher like no other, and a spreader of plagues untold.
Now, his skin was no longer snow-white, but a dark purple with black runes that seemed to move over his body with their own sentience. They flitted between languages, over mountains and valleys of demonic muscle, and changed meanings more quickly than a hummingbird flapping its wings. To know the real meaning behind just one of them for a moment was to invite a madness into your mind, a madness that only a select few have ever been forced to endure. His body had grown too, he stood twice the height of a man, and three times as wide at the torso. His four arms were massive and intimidating. When he spread his wings, they could shroud an entire house in shadow. They were magical and constantly shimmered in demonic energies of blacks, lavenders, and reds. Each enchanted bone in his wings was tipped with a talon as black and hard as stygian iron. His fingers and toes, too, were similarly equipped by those talons that could rend armor. His horns were a darker purple than the rest of his body, and they curled his head another foot into the air. His skin was smooth and flawless. His twin tails were dextrous and sleek, though spike tipped and deadly. His face was hard like marble, and chiseled to a perfection no mortal artist could ever hope to achieve. His eyes were red and glowed with hatred and malice, except for the eye on his forehead that was silver and unblinking–as if staring into a future only he saw. His muscles bulged beneath his skin, at times literally as if trying to escape his body. His teeth were razor sharp, beautifully kept, and dripping with venom.
With each step his claws left gouge marks in the dirt and people shuddered. There were those who could not take the sight of him, for one reason or another. He never covered his body, with the exception of a brilliant red loincloth of delicate silk, with a dazzling blue leather belt and golden buckle. Some launched themselves at him in lust, and often he was prepared to reciprocate in kind. Such unions rarely bore fruit, for the seed of a demon prince was not always life, but a thing of chance with all the chaos of the gods. Others saw the blood he’d spilt and the rage in his eyes. Most ran in fear at that sight, but a rare few drew weapons and charged, always to their own end. There were some who knelt before the prince for power, mercy, or even pure supplication. Once, when Raghasmir and his warriors had raided a Bretonian city, a grail knight and damsel tried to flee, but ran directly into the demon prince. They were bedazzled by his form. Thoughts that would have been heretical or taboo mere moments ago rose unbidden in their minds as they fell in awe to their knees, mouths agape at the splendor of the prince before them. A grail knight and a damsel of the Lady were people of high status who were meant to never bow to evil, but they bowed for him. And they bent for him. Once, an Asur mage’s teleportation spell went wrong, and she beheld the foul form of the avatar of all that was chaotic and evil in the world. Her eyes blackened as she stared and she fled from his palace with her mind so broken even Khorne would have had no use for her in his ranks. Yet so many others bowed before him and worshiped as the voice of their gods, and sometimes as a god.
Raghasmir was a man, and yet not. An immortal wrought by death. He was the Everchosen of the Chaos Gods. He was power and grace. Evil and healing. He could torture and pleasure with the same finger. In battle, he was as like to spew venom from his maw as he was to lash with claw, blade, or fang. His tails could spear through plate metal armor and pierce a warrior’s heart, or their venom could heal a lethal wound, flavor a meal, or give the blessing of the Chaos Gods.
In power, in the range of his being, and in his character, he reflected his dark gods entirely.
In this moment, however, his mind was on more earthly matters than his benefactors. His mind was on his own primal lust, on his own glorification, and the Rite of New Blood. His home of Svarblod was choked with people seeking to gaze at him and the ritual he walked towards. His gait, though heavy and wide, was still possessed of an unnatural speed and grace. He felt the eyes of his people grazing over his entirety, and he enjoyed it. He knew of his beauty, of his terror. He knew how the feeling a person got in their stomach could be indistinguishable from fear, sickness, lust, or madness. But today, he had important things to do and could not afford to be held back by every human his presence overpowered. His tails kept people at a length with their barbed ends, though for those who caught his gaze he bestowed a momentary caress from said appendages.
The sound of drums and chanting had registered in his supernatural ears from their beginning, but now he was close enough to see the flickering flames that lit the square before his black keep. It stood black and jagged for miles and miles until it disappeared into the clouds. Even he did not know its extent or the entirety of its contents. He had found portals to new worlds in there, eldritch primordial beings locked in combat for eons, and, once, a single silver tree with bloody red leaves. On each level there sat a throne, this he knew. He had spent hours, or possibly years, trying to explore its darkest reaches, and always to no final avail. One of his lovers was still lost there. Presumably the minotaur had died by now, but he could certainly be alive somewhere within, surviving on the generosity of an uncaring darkness and the cruel chance of chaos.
But he had come from his old keep, a three story structure of stone and wood that served as a religious building now. His wings had fluttered behind him with each step as he bestowed the sight of himself on his people. But now, a sight was bestowed upon him as he entered the city center. It was a large square that normally housed duels, markets, and religious exercises. Now, it was cleared of all structures except for a stage that stretched for the length and breadth of the whole center. It was made of wood and iron, and heavily reinforced to take the demon prince. The whole thing was covered in a massive blanket that the children of Svarblod had spent the entire last year creating, and the next day they would begin again for the next year.
Upon the stage were one hundred people, each one of them naked. They were offerings to him and his unholiness to do with as he pleased for the night. The flickering of braziers and torches illuminated and reflected off of the sweat on their bodies, despite the frigid temperatures of the frost peaked mountain they made their home on. But the blanket had been made for this night specifically, and its fabric reflected the heat of all who were upon it.
Raghasmir took in the offerings upon his altar. These were not sacrifices in his dark rituals, nor were they enemies slain in the name of his gods upon a battlefield, These were the lucky few who had been chosen out of thousands of other volunteers to be here tonight. Many in the crowds wished for the drums and growing chanting to be for them. Yet many more were too excited for jealousy or envy, they merely waited for their prince to begin.
The wood did not creak under his extraordinary weight, that would have been unworthy of his infernalness and cause for death to the builders. The stage did not splinter under his talons, too much care and fear had gone into its construction. Nothing less than perfection was expected and required as the pulsing sounds filled his ears, and the flames illuminated him too. Gasps rippled through the people before him, most of them humans, but not all. He spotted Elves among them, some of the fair Asur, the grey-skinned Druchii, and the forest-dwelling Asrai. There were some chaos Dwarves wearing only their most glorious jewelries with infernal runes upon them. There were two Greenskins, an orc man and an orc woman whose musculature was glorious even to Raghasmir’s ancient gaze. A satyr with his eyes gleaming in lust and horns standing proud salivated. Two lizardmen, taken as slaves but freed later, stood as high as the orcs with bright scales. There was even a half giant woman whose curves were silhouetted by the bright moon and multicolored lights in the sky. A horned beastfiend with shaggy brown hair and cloven hoofs was hunched over the lap of an Elven woman, having already begun to sample the delights of the night. On another night, to begin without the demon prince would have resulted in death, but tonight such eagerness was a portent of debauchery to come, and something to be rewarded.
With a voice that carried without effort or volume, he spoke to the beastfiend over the mass of watching and murmuring bodies in a soft whisper.
“Excellent, pet.”
The delicate whisper caught the person off guard as they whipped around to see the one they came here for staring directly at them, with wings splayed and lavender sex hardened. The Elven woman, her face red and mid moan reached to bring the shaggy haired beastfiend back. When he slapped her hand away, she opened her eyes and saw the perfectly nude demon prince standing at the edge of the stage.
In a voice deeper than any ravine and more powerful than the stars, he spoke “No need for fear little ones, you are to be commended on your lust. Touched by Slaanesh I think.” He paused and drank in their forms. The people on the stage tonight were chosen for devotion, dark power, and beauty. The beastfiend’s shaggy brown hair rippled down her back and spine, and onto her hairy tail. Her horns were demonic and red, matching the skin under her brown coat. Her mouth had two sharp incisors, much like a vampire, that dripped with her Elven lover. Her red skin came to ruddy peaks at the tips of her ample breasts that stood erect under the frosty night sky. Where Raghasmir looked for her sex, he found something that also stood proud from a brown coat. This was another gift from the Chaos Gods, and one he himself could–and had in the past–conjured into existence. Her Elven lover was was an Asur, fair of skin and hair, slight of build, and tall of body. Her form was ample too, though she obviously lacked the size her half-demon, half-beastfolk lover. Her face was flushed and her pink peaks also stood at the tips of her breasts while her chest heaved. Her sex was covered in a mound of mousy blond hair that glistened in the light, partly from her lover and partly from her own excitement. The beastfiend also dripped her own excitement, and the demon prince’s magic eyes saw it also on the Elven woman’s hands and breasts.
“Come” was all he said after he had finished taking them in.
They reeked of a mixture of fear and lust as they approached him and knelt unbidden before him. Upon their knees for him, they kept their eyes far below his, upon the ground. His tails swept around his body, swift but gentle and loving, to force them to look up at him.
“On any other day, in any other circumstance, I would punish you.” He saw both their eyes flutter as he spoke as their thighs squeezed together in hopes of some relief from the tension. “But tonight, no death is necessary, though punishments are to be expected of course.” The ghost of a smile touched the beastfiend’s face. Her hand crept down to her length, slowly but surely. He knew her game, that she sought to touch herself disrespect even as he spoke. His tail whipped down from her face and wrapped around her hands because he knew what she wanted. A moan escaped her lips as she was lifted by her hands into the night sky, her feet dangling three feet above the ground. The Elven woman could only stare shocked as her lord and master, the being she had pledged herself to tonight, lifted the woman she had been so close to finishing around moments ago.
“What is your name woman?”
She struggled as the tail wrapped around her wrists with all her might, but they both knew that she had wanted this. Her hand had been obvious on purpose. He had said her lust was to be commended, and this was the reward she wanted. To be his first plaything of the night.
“I am Embertongue, your grace.” When she spoke, her tongue lit up her mouth as if it was lit, indeed, by embers. Raghasmir could even feel warmth emanating from her mouth when she said her name.
His length had been between her legs, but now the demon prince lifted her higher and closer to him. Close enough for him to whisper in her ear as one of his arms grabbed her throat and lightly squeezed. “Is this what you want, Embertongue?”
She struggled around the hand at her throat, but she was born of beastfolk and demon. She was an acolyte of Slaanesh, the God of Pleasure, the hand wrapped around her throat was pleasurable even in its pain. “If… it pleased yo-... you, your… grace” she said as her red face grew darker.
“Good, then I shall put that ember in your mouth to good use.” Most men would have had to put her back on her knees for her to take him in her mouth, but he was the demon prince, and he had no intention of putting her down. His other tail moved from the face of the Elven woman and lashed around Embertongue’s ankles. With one quick movement, he rotated her around, flipping her entire body upside down so that she was suspended by the tail holding her legs.
Though well-versed in all forms of pleasure, Embertongue was used to dominating others in her cult of Slaanesh, not being dominated, and especially not by someone as large as the demon prince. She let out a shriek of surprise as her face was brought within inches of Raghasmir’s length. She had lain with other demons and beastfolk, all of varying shapes and sizes, but never one with the length and girth of the demon prince. He was massive, and for the first time she wondered if laying with him would result in her death or maiming. He was the perfect shade of purple, his veins pulsed in delight as her breath warmed him, his head blossomed out from his shaft, a deeper shade of purple that was nearly red. Normally she would have begun to tease him with her hands already, but they were held tight below her head by the tail. Her ample breasts, which had also been a gift from Slaanesh, now proved hindersome as they fell into her face. But she only had a moment to think on how to deal with them before he thrusted forward.
Immediately, her lips parted for him as best they could. He was wider than any she had ever taken, but she tried to allow him into her mouth and throat as she began to gag around his immense head.. Her tongue wrapped around him, longer than any human tongue, it was the only agency she had as he speared into her lips. As he pushed deeper and deeper into her throat, bulging against her spasming flesh.
As he fucked her mouth.
“Elf, what is your name?” Staring at the woman suspended in front of her, the massive cock thrusting in and out of her mouth with spluttering and gagging difficulty, she took a moment to respond to the question. But she did answer it.
“I am Nienva, your grace.”
“Then tell me Nienva, how may I reward she who is so blessed by Slaanesh?”
A compliment from one such as he, one so perfect, so large, so smooth, so wet and gushing with beauty set her aflame like nothing other. His eyes, they burned with a fire that she felt between her thighs. If she were not already slick, then she would have been now. But as she tried to think of an answer for him, her eyes fell onto Embertongue’s length. It was pointed down towards her face as she took the demon prince deep in her mouth, and bounced against her lightly furred belly with each thrust. And she beheld his tongue as it danced over his teeth. Embertongue’s had been long, dextrous, and warm, but his was longer and thicker. She wanted them both inside of her, at the same time.
“Your grace, if it pleases you, I’d like your tongue in me, and her in my mouth.”
Raghasmir’s mouth flicked up into a smile as he beheld Nienva. For an Asur to be here, she must have been taken from Ulthuan as a slave. Elves were favorite slaves of the raiders in his Kingdom of Svalbard. They were old and knew secrets that could be offered to Tzeentch. They were often trained as warriors that could fight in arenas for Khorne. They were long-lived, so for many years could they spread the plagues of Nurgle. But even more importantly in some cases, they were delicate beauties unlike any other in all the world who could be used to curry favor with Slaanesh. This one was not Alarielle, whom Raghasmir had wanted for nearly two decades now. But she still a great beauty despite what harsh conditions she must have endured in order to break and serve the Chaos Gods. As his lower right arm caressed her face and drew her up, he reached into her mind to find that memory.
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