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‘During the early days of the Sunstrider dynasty, Thalassian cuisine truly failed to flourish beyond simple fare used as a means of survival. While the high elves had existed in an oft-times lavish and extravagant manner prior to their exile, it would appear their dietary habits had shifted to things that many would consider field rations instead of actual food. Dishes like porridge with quail eggs, or dried rabbit meat with thick and typically stale bread were common amongst the people of the newly-formed Quel’thalas. In fact, it wasn’t until they had been settled for nearly a decade that Dath’Remar’s people started experimenting with what the lands they had settled on had to offer. Trips to the coast became more common-place once they learned sunfish could be pan-seared in its own oils with a little bit of thyme and pepper to create what would eventually become a staple at the dinner parties of future nobility. The same could be said about…’
Alleria’s eyes unfocused, refocused, and then unfocused again as she read the same line about lynx steaks for the third time. It wasn’t a poorly-written study. Quite the contrary, in fact; she was proud of her son for the thought-provoking way he explored their culture’s dietary practices. But when she was already restless and sleep-deprived, all that she seemed to be accomplishing by attempting to read it was rapidly losing her patience. She had promised to look over Arator’s research, and she was trying very, very hard to do so, but ‘A Treatise on Delicacies in Historically Elvish Communities’ was definitely not where her mind was.
With a heavy sigh, Alleria closed the presentation folder and placed it down on her desk. Her glasses were placed on top of it and her hand scrubbed down her face. A break would be okay. To sleep, to recharge, and to maybe figure out how to fix the feeling of every nerve in her body being fried beyond repair. A nap then, she decided. The archaeologist wheeled her chair back just enough to rise from it without knocking her knees on the hard oak of her desk, and then stared sidelong at her glasses.
“Don’t go anywhere,” she warned them, as if they could magically grow legs and wander off in the time it would take her to nap on the sofa in her study.
Speaking of the sofa… the plush behemoth of a couch beckoned to her, and she allowed it to charm her with its silent siren song. Alleria practically flung herself down onto it, letting the sea green velvet soften her fall. It cradled her like an embrace, as if she had landed on a cloud of feathers. Another sigh, one of relief this time; stretching out on her back was a welcome respite from the supposedly ergonomic and spine-safe chair. She knew that her neck would be screaming in protest by the time she would wake, however that was a problem for Future Alleria. Present Alleria, a simpleton, was just happy to close her eyes and try to even out her breathing.
But that was easier said than done.
Without noticing, she began to tap the side of her foot mindlessly against the cushion, only to realize she had been doing so when she felt the ache, a tired muscle in motion finally catching up to its owner. When she consciously stopped that one, the other took over as if following an unheard order. It was like she couldn’t sit still, like there was something buzzing under the surface of her skin. A huff of frustration left her and before she could even try to recover some sense of serenity within herself, her not-peace was disturbed by a smooth, sultry voice.
“Rough day?”
The noise that escaped her this time was less of a huff and more of a growl. “Not in the mood.”
“You wound me, doctor. I am simply asking after your well-being,” Xal’atath promised.
Alleria could hear the smirk in her voice. She decided that she didn’t like that, not one bit, and propped herself up long enough to pluck the dagger from its home on the side table, watching that haunting amethyst eye swirl around as if to reorient itself. It stared at her unwaveringly, and very unnervingly.
“No offense, but you don’t particularly strike me as the ‘caring’ type. Considering, oh, you know, the whole wanting me to sacrifice myself to you thing.” As she hissed the words, she gestured, and as she gestured, the dagger was jerked this way and that, its eye spinning just to keep Alleria within its sight. “So forgive me for asking, but why on Belore’s green earth would I ever believe that?!”
“Tsk. Is that any way to speak to a god, Alleria?” Xal’s voice was nothing less than a self-satisfied purr, as if her only desire had been to get a rise out of the woman currently brandishing her… vessel. She refused to call it what it was — a cage. “I would think one with such a reverence for history would have a little more respect for things far more ancient and powerful.”
“You are a talking knife,” Alleria said dryly. When the entity didn’t seem keen on responding to her petulant little dig, she sighed. Loathe as she was to admit it, she really should learn to be a little nicer to those around her — Xal’atath included. Especially when she considered that the aforementioned talking knife had been the only “person” she’d been able to stomach having a full conversation with since they’d lost Locus Walker down in the dig.
The elf shifted so that she was half-tucked into the corner of the couch, one leg folded beneath her while she slouched against the cushion. Her fingers traced the hairline cracks and growth ridges in the blackened bone of the hilt before gliding over the deadly-looking spikes that protruded from the leather-wrapped guard.
They quivered.
Alleria’s brow shot up but she didn’t speak, tracing over the largest one, the one on the pommel, curiously. It almost seemed to twitch, flexing just slightly as the leather — or rather, what she had assumed to be leather up until now, but was looking more like the living hide of an unknown creature at present — folded in on itself and the spike leaned towards its brethren instead of standing straight. Curious.
Glancing at the iris, she found it staring at her hand instead of her own eyes for once, spun at a very odd angle to watch as she passed over each spine. Her touch was almost reverent, a slow, exploratory crawl over the expanse of the knife, all the way down to the where the hilt ends and the blade begins before repeating the path in reverse. The more she touched it, the more it seemed to thrum with some sort of energy, though she couldn’t quite place what it was. Surely some sort of magic, Alleria thought. She was sensitive to magic; all elves were. Oddly enough, she found herself wondering what Xal’atath was sensitive to, if anything at all. She hooked her thumb into the curve of the guard and dragged the digit along it, experimenting with a little more pressure than the previous touches had applied.
The thrum became a hum, though it was such a low frequency that it made her ears contort at an odd angle. Very curious.
“Can you feel that?” Alleria dared to ask, watching as the eye snapped away from long fingers and locked onto her with its piercing gaze.
“That depends.” The retort was quick, but there was the faintest hint of a tremor in Xal’s voice. “Are you going to acknowledge that I am more than a talking knife?”
Alleria snorted. “So you were giving me the proverbial cold shoulder because you were offended. A very mature and wise response, O ancient one.”
The spines flared out suddenly, nicking one of her fingers where it rested too close and drawing a thick drop of crimson out. The pale amethyst moon ended its glaring and zeroed in on it in an instant. Very curious.
“The day I found you, when you tried to talk me into putting you straight through my heart. Was it a life you needed, or just blood?” Alleria didn’t think; she just spoke. She couldn’t help but ask. She had to know exactly what powered the being, what sustained her, what sort of secrets there were to be unlocked about Xal’atath with even this one simple inquiry.
“I will grant your answer, but not freely. I demand something in return.”
Of course. Of course she’d bargain, because why would this infuriating hunk of metal make anything simple for Alleria? “Part of me wishes I had just left you in that cave,” the historian muttered darkly. “What are your terms?”
Xal’atath laughed. Actually laughed, not unlike a full-belly laugh that one might have at a particularly humorous comment. The entire knife seemed to undulate in time with each little burst of sound. Alleria would never say it out loud, but the rich and velvety tone was oddly… pleasing.
“A simple act of worship. And, as a show of good faith, I will even offer you my benevolence. I will answer any question you ask me, and all I seek in return is another small act. Tit for tat.”
Alleria’s eyes narrowed as she watched the droplet of blood make a slow descent down the back of the finger it was borne from. The purple orb stayed trained on it like a faithful hunting hound. “I don’t trust that.”
It was Xal’s turn to be unimpressed. “I am an ancient deity, Alleria. Not some scum-sucking creep you found stuck in the aqueducts.”
Aqueducts. Belore, you’re old, Alleria thought. She didn’t voice the comment, though, instead weighing the merits of one small act of worship for each question she could get answered versus potentially getting herself into big, big trouble. But she was curious about things that she’d only find out if she were to ask. What harm would it truly be, then? However… “No crimes, right? Or killing?”
The request for clarification earned her another dark chuckle. “No, I will not ask that of you. You aren’t nearly devoted enough for a level of worship on that scale,” Xal said, those sharp spikes wiggling back and forth in a teasing manner. “You’ll find what I have in mind to be… mutually beneficial.”
“Fine.” Alleria’s agreement came quickly and without further protest. The slow crawl of blood down the back of her hand began to tickle. She finally swiped her tongue across her skin, smudging only the slightest amount. The coppery tang of it felt strange on her tongue. “Answer my question.”
“Ask nicely.”
If the elf had any less impulse control, she’d have chucked the damn thing clean across the room. She could picture it getting stuck by its point in The Light and You: a Guide to Building Trust in its Radiance and sending both toppling to the ground. At least the book belonged there anyhow. She gritted her teeth. “Alright. Will you please answer my question?”
“Much better, dear doctor.” There was a pause, long enough to make clear to Alleria that it was meant to taunt her, and then: “Life and blood are just two sides of the same coin. You need one for the other to have any true power. But to answer your real question, what I desired was a soul. Most mortals are tainted by their own misdeeds, and darkened souls are a delicious form of sustenance.”
Alleria shifted with unease. Once more, that terrible curiosity reared its head, demanding answers that she didn’t truly want to a question that she really shouldn’t ask. “How… tainted am I? For you to have tried to take mine?”
“Ah, ah. My act, first. Quid pro quo, remember?”
“Right. What do you want, anyhow?” She sat up a little straighter, gripped the hilt of the dagger a little tighter, and didn’t relax even as she heard Xal coo at her to do just that.
“To taste,” Xal uttered, as if it were the most simple thing in the world. “You spilled blood upon me and then took it away before I could sample you.”
Alleria’s cheeks darkened. She couldn’t mean — could she? She still tasted the blood on her tongue even though her finger had long since stopped leaking. She supposed… well, would it really hurt that much, in the grand scheme of things? “Okay.”
She brought the dagger to her lips, heart racing. Slowly, agonizingly slow even, she dragged it along the flat of the blade. The cool steel was a balm against hot muscle. She felt the groove of each ancient rune carved into it, the smooth grain of the metal where it had been folded and folded and folded again to forge it. The hum stuttered a time or two, and she felt the spines flutter against her fingers.
The point at the end taunted her, daring her to continue her path. She felt its sharpness before the little bloom of pain as it pricked the very tip of her tongue, but before she pulled away she turned the blade, making sure to leave a smear of crimson and saliva on the flat of it. “Answer me,” she said, taking in a lungful of air she hadn’t realized that she needed and completely ruining the effect of her demand with the breathy quality of her voice.
“You have your share of darkness, Alleria. Just like everyone else.” Was it Alleria’s imagination, or did Xal’atath sound winded as well? It was a dizzying and distracting notion, so much so that she almost didn’t realize the entity had failed to give her more than half an answer. Almost.
“A little more specific,” the elf said, tapping the blunt top edge of the blade against her chin. “Please.”
Xal did not seem to be in a giving mood in regard to that line of thinking. She did, however, provide another, one that Alleria was still quite curious to explore. “Yes, I can feel your touch. I feel everything, everywhere, all over. Even the taste of your tongue, your essence and blood.”
A new sort of shiver ran down Alleria’s spine, a slithering insidious creature made of heat stirring within her. The implication was there and was very real, and Xal’atath continued to speak as if she hadn’t just rattled the elf’s very foundation. This time she wasn’t imagining it; Xal’s tone held a certain rasp now. “I am bound to this vessel, true, but I have made it mine. All that you do, whether its purpose is to educe pleasure or not, might just make my very being shake if you do it well enough.”
Now that was far more than a mere implication. The flush on Alleria’s cheeks spread to the tips of her ears, the long appendages angled so upright that the ends almost touched. She couldn’t stop the shaky breath that escaped, but she could have stopped herself from running her tongue along the same blunt edge on the top of the blade. Could have, but didn’t. Once again, the spines quivered against her hand.
A thought came, then. “Can you feel the entire dagger, or only parts of it?”
“All.” The word was laced with something else, something visceral and a little bit animalistic, and Alleria thought that she could definitely work with all. More to the point — and to her own surprise — she wanted to work with it.
Though her fingers held a faint tremor, Alleria brought the dagger to her lips once more. She could feel its pulse, the steady thrum Xal’atath’s energy trapped within it, a sure sign of life. She knew that the entity could feel each brush of her lips and swipe of her tongue, but the more… attention that she lavished onto the weapon, the more her curiosity grew.
The more she thought about it, and the more she went back and forth with Xal’atath, the more that sliver of heat grew to an inferno. It became unbearable after a point, and though she was unsure of where the idea came from, the elf knew she had to see it through.
“Are you well, doctor?” Xal’atath asked her after she pulled the point of the dagger out of her mouth yet again, a thin line of spit still connecting her lips to it.
She had shifted and squeezed her legs together, certain she was starting to soak through her slacks. Was she taunting her, or was she asking out of legitimate concern, she wondered. Instead of answering the question, though, Alleria steeled herself and took a breath. She held it for several seconds and then exhaled, and then she bit down on the flat of the blade, leaving her hands free to conduct further research. For the sake of science, of course.
She struggled with the button, fingers slipping twice as she tried to pop it open. She could feel Xal’s humming stutter again as she bit down a little harder on the dagger and decided to cut her some slack; she slid the sharp edge under her waistband and jerked upwards, slicing the front of her pants open.
“Interesting,” Xal all but purred, letting her eye roll around to watch while Alleria shucked off her pants and boots in an ungainly manner.
The archaeologist noticed that she wasn’t inclined to tease her further, merely watching the admittedly awkward show she was getting. The entity didn’t even bully her for the dark spot on the front of her briefs or the way they stuck to her center before she peeled them away. They joined her ruined pants and dirty boots on the floor.
The spines on the guard laid flat, tucking down against themselves. When Alleria ran her finger over them, the surface was just one long expanse of ridges. Her skin didn’t catch on a single point, and she took that as silent encouragement that she could continue. Rising to her knees, she flipped the dagger around to position the guard under her. But she found herself for a brief moment, needing to ask.
“Is this—.”
“Yes,” Xal’atath interrupted, the hum turning into a quick, sharp buzz, akin to an electric shock but without the pain that typically accompanied one. “Don’t tease, Alleria. It is unbecoming of a devotee.”
A devotee. Is that what she was now, she wondered? The thought drifted away as she angled her hips and dragged herself along those ridges. She wasn’t sure if the gasp had come from herself or from Xal’atath, but she knew that the entire dagger shuddered hard enough to make her bite her tongue. The tang of blood filled her mouth again as she rocked her hips a little harder, seeking pleasure to add to the pain.
But this time, she didn’t hesitate to give in to the urge that suddenly welled up inside of her. A little voice in the back of her mind told her that Xal wouldn’t have any complaints. Her hips chased the friction of their own accord as she pulled the dagger forward, away from her body so that she could lean over it, and then Alleria let a thick glob of saliva and blood descend from her mouth to the dagger below her.
The elf watched Xal’s iris attempt to follow it with a strange sort of satisfaction that just fanned the flames of her arousal further. Something about the way the entity was positively buzzing beneath her spurred her to start rolling her hips against her vessel once more, a strangled sound clawing its way out of her throat as she doubled down.
“Such a lovely gift,” Xal’atath said beneath her.
Alleria could have sworn she felt the vibration of each syllable against her center. The words reverberated in her very bones, as if the entity had spoken inside of her body rather than against it. But that begged the question; could she? A new line of thought that threatened to undo Alleria before she’d even gotten to explore it, the muscles in her thighs tight and trembling as she continued to rock and grind.
“I can give more,” she panted. “I can—. Fuck.” The pleasure was getting to her. Her mind was becoming more and more addled, and Xal’s humming was growing stronger and stronger. She wasn’t going to make it much longer, she wasn’t—.
“Then give, Alleria.” The entity’s low rasp sent her body jerking sharply; she had to bite back the half-feral noise that threatened to escape. “Give, and I will show you how true devotion is rewarded.”
Something within her snapped. Whether it was her self-control or her survival instincts, she couldn’t be sure. The only thing that Alleria knew for sure at that moment was that she wanted to show the devotion that Xal’atath was speaking of. She needed to show it.
This was no longer scientific.
With great strength, Alleria pulled herself from the dagger again. She fell back against the couch much like before, only this time her legs remained apart. Hooded blue eyes found the violet iris of the dagger, and then shifted to survey the mess she’d made of the hilt. Carefully, she ran the flat of the blade up the inside of her thigh until she was barely a couple of inches from where she wanted it. With a flick of her wrist she made a shallow cut in the muscle there, letting the blood trickle out of it and onto Xal’s vessel directly.
“More,” Xal’atath crooned. She dug the end of the blade in just a little more, hissing at the sting and forcing her body still lest she truly cause herself injury; it wasn’t as if she’d find any friction with how she was holding the dagger, anyhow.
Alleria looked down to see the ancient inscription within the blade glowing the same pale purple as the eye was, the blade rippling with shadows as if it were coated in some sort of strange oil. No, to call it an oil would be incorrect. The coating was some sort of crystalline substance, smoothing over the sharpness of the blade despite its constant swirling motion. She ran a finger over the edge, one ear flicking as she noticed the dullness there now. It made her curious; she wanted a taste. There was a rapid pulse of energy from it as Xal’atath laughed at her. Was her hunger for this new phenomenon so apparent?
She abandoned the thought a moment after thinking it, distracted by something new – the shadows coating the blade had extended beyond its length so as to tease her, causing her body to twitch towards the sensation like some needy, desperate thing. She let out a shaky breath, already overstimulated and yet aching for the release she still hadn’t found. Then, Alleria released the last of her inhibitions, letting go of everything that had prevented her from giving herself completely over to everything that Xal’atath had to offer. She let the blade sink in, so slow that she could feel the impatience in the steady pulses of energy reverberating from the dagger. But she let it slide home at that pace anyhow, for the sake of both of their pleasure.
A low, satisfied groan left her lips, echoed in the ever-increasing buzz of energy from the dagger. It grew in its intensity, vibrations resonating from the hilt throughout the blade, all the way to its tip. Alleria was already so, so close, trembling with how sensitive her body already was. She didn’t know if it was the desire to show Xal just how devoted she could be, or if it was the need to finish with the entity buried inside of her – because truly, this was no longer just a talking knife, it was Xal – but she mustered the strength to keep going.
“Xal,” Alleria’s voice broke, the words whispered like a desperate, fervent prayer. The vibrations grew stronger as the curved end of the blade all but touched that spot within her.
“Let go,” she commanded, voice straining just as Alleria’s was. “Let it drown you. This is divinity, Alleria. Fall into it. Fall into me.”
That was all it took for Alleria to tumble headfirst into oblivion. Sinking fangs right into the muscle of her thumb, killing whatever noise she was about to make. Iron flooded her tongue, threatening to overpower the sounds of pleasure that clung to the back of her throat like the overflow of a river threatening to break the dam.
Somewhere in the depths of her mind she wondered if divinity was meant to taste like sweat, blood, and beatific rapture. But did a creed need justification, when its god reached down to satisfy?