His Imperial Majesty’s war Brig, Dirvish
Lieutenant Tyrion Hest, of His Exalted Imperial Majesty’s Brig, Dirvish, bit his lip, determined to fight the constant influence of the ship’s Warlock Wethwork, who stould at the stern railing, not far behind him.
Tryion was hard, throbbing and hard in his tight black leathers, a usual occurrence when near the Warlock, whose power emanated from his sex. It was a lingering heady power that kept those around the enchanter in a state of perpetual heat.
Personally, Tyrion thought the Wethwork less than sane. The man was muscular, handsome, swarthy with a caramel complexion typical of the Zorian contentment a quarter of the way around the world. But he was young, undisciplined and his personal aura of heavy concentrated languid sexual heat permiated the ship, interfearing with the crew’s discipline and attention to their tasks.
The crew, like their commanding officer, did their best to ignore it, but here and there idle sailors would not so accidentally brush up against each other, breathing hard, sometimes plunging a hand into their worn ragged tan breeches to hold themselves, giving themselves a stroke or two when a superior wasn’t watching.
Some of the crew were inured to it, but even for them the constant provocation of dark energy from the Warlock was exhausting.
Sailors moved slowly, distracted but, relatively used to it. Their sexual energy feeding the Warlock.
Tyrion was naturally good looking, not unnaturally enhanced like the Warlock, and as such an object of desire to the two two Midshipmen and single junior officer, Lt. Cravs-tigil aboard. The Midshipmen were attractive and Tyrion would have shared pleasure with them, but Cravs-tigil was a hook nosed beedy eyed bony snake, just short of ugly and profoundly unattractive.
If Tyrion gave into his urges with the Midshipmen, Cravs would want his share. The thought made his stomach roil.
Yet another bram Isle appeared out of the morning mist dead ahead and Tyrion hurriedly snapped orders “Hard to port, back the storm jib. Bring us over, quick!”
The brig answered the helm quickly enough but it was a close shave as branches and twigs of Bram scraped down the starboard side of the ship.
“Whats the matter, Captain? Unable to get us clear? The enemy draws away to the North East. If you let them escape, your head will roll.” The voice was quiet, husky with sexual weight.
Tyrion did not know how the Zorian Priest knew the enemy was fleeing North East, the morning mist was blocking any sighting.
“If the enemy is still here, Reverence, we could miss him entirely.”
“He will not be. My Superior has informed me that the one we seek is moving North East. And if my superior reaches the enemy ship before we do… I will take out His displeasure, on you, Captain, and while there may be some pleasure in the experience I guarantee there will be more pain.”
Tyrion turned away to hide the palor of his skin.
Warlocks as talented as the the Reverence Sectrel, could manipulate their bodies for subtle changes and disguises, which included altering the size of their cocks. He knew well that Sectrel could have him screaming, begging for mercy if he so desired, bending him over his bunk and pushing that monster into his otherwise virginal hole. The Warlock had already tortured and killed a prisoner from the enemy ship that their squadron sank, and he had used that method, ripping the man’s anus, breaking it, lauging the entire time the man screamed.
Tyrion decided to dare ask the question on his mind. He did not doubt that Tyrion could hear his superior, though the latter was several spans away. It was well known the Priests communicated long distance through their rings. Sectrel’s ring was dark ruby that glowed whenever its power focus was drawn upon.
“Might I ask what is so important about one person?”
“You saw the light of the object falling from the sky, did you not, Captain?”
“I did, reverence.”
“My superior believes it is something we must investigate. That is all you need to know.”
“But..”
The warlock stepped close to Tyrion, and reaching out groped and squeezed the hard bulge of cock in Tyrion’s tight leathers. “Ask no further questions.”
“y-Yes, Reverence.”
The warlock moved his lips, engaging Tyrion’s in a passionate sudden kiss which nearly made Tyrion’s cock explode. He was taken to the brink in seconds, before the Priest turned away, letting him go.
“Just continue as we are, Mr. Tyrion. The answer to our questions seem to lie with that little ship. That is all we need to know at this time.”
“Yes, Reverence.” Tyrion said, bracing himself so that he wouldn’t stagger. He hadn’t climaxed, but he felt much as if he had. Lethargy threatened to overwhelm him.
Turning back to the wheel, he found his ifst mate, Lt. Cravis, giving him one of his weasily buck toothed rodent like lecherous grins. Tyrion scowled back at the man, not for the first time wishing the Admiralty had saddled him with just about anyone else. Worse yet, little nasty snake seemed to have gained the favor of the Priest Sectrel, undermining Tyrion’s command a number of times already. Tyrion’s one consolation, was that the crew hated Lt. Cravis to a man.
At last they were free of the Islands.
Tyrion altered the ship’s course to the North East, cracking on sails, taking in a single reef in each as a safety precaution. The wind was rising and he didn’t want to chance straining the rigging. Dirvish had been at sea continuously for three years now, two of those years before Tyrion took command, and he was not sure he trusted the integrity of her lines and spars. Luckily for him, the Warlock never took note of any details of seamanship. Unluckily for him Cravis did.
The first mate all bu scuttled to his side. “Mr. Tyrion, I really believe it might be in your best interests to take the reefs out and have all canvas flying. The reverence is very keen to catch our quarry, and he is not happy we did not take them last night. Even though he kissed you, you should not consider yourself in his good graces.”
“And if we lose a spar or split a sail, what will he sy then, Mr. Cravis?” Tyrion muttered.
Cravis buck teeth were covered for a moment by a puckering and sucking sound. Tyrion looked away.
“Ohh, it is not for me to say, Mr. Tyrion. Perhaps you will find pleasure in what the Reverence will do. There is always that to hope for.”
Pacing the deck he kept well away from the Priest. But his thoughts kept going back to the assault fource and the four long boats. Why had two of them sprung such bad leaks a the same moment after hours and days of poling around the bram Islets searching? The Priest was dominating, his personal power pungent and magnetic with power. But he’d dismissed Tyrion’s concerns that they were facing something unusual.
“Poor maintenance on your boats, is the obvious answer. Don’t look for excuses and fantasy to find an escape goat for your incompetitance.” Had been the dark priest’s only comment. Stifling a curse, Tyrion thanked his first captain for teaching him to hone his mental defenses. It would do little good for his superiors, which included the damn Prist, to know that he secretly hoped the enemy ship would escape to the safety of the Duchy of Nor.
