The Sudatorium

Ulfang gives a low, rumbling chuckle at Naoki's pitying tone, shaking his head and waving her concern away. If he had been the average Valeman, her pity would be highly insulting, but he has the perspective of having already experienced the divide of cultural etiquette between Isra and the Vale in a most uncomfortable manner, and he would rather not subject Naoki to the same discomfort.

"Lonely it may be, but us Valemen are used to such seclusion! Still, it is good to spend time with friends and allies, even off the field of battle," he intones valiantly, using bluster to cover for the arousal that still burns in his loins despite his best efforts.

At her chiding he offers a bemused smirk. Black Vale hot blackstone massages were very, very pleasant, as the stone had a naturally conductive quality to it that made them perfect for the task. Still, it's true that he's not recieved one in ages. On further reckoning, it must have been at least forty years.

In fact, the thought of having a castle masseur had never even occurred to him. But now that the gorgeous and altogether irresistible woman across from him is suggesting it, well. He would certainly have to look into it. She looks like she knows a thing or two about such pleasures of the flesh.

And there his mind goes again. His face reddens once more. What is wrong with him? His willpower is usually impressive, almost unbreakable. But something about Naoki, something about the way she speaks, the way she carries herself, even the way her breast heaves as she takes a breath, has suddenly awakened a fire in his heart that he's finding unusually difficult to control. Gods, what an intriguing ally he's made.

"No, Naoki, I am afraid I haven't a court masseur to speak of. It has indeed been long since I have received a massage, as well. Perhaps you should show me how it is done in Isra," he suggests, recognising the implications of his words mere milliseconds after they leave his lips. He sighs again. His ineloquence is sure to get him killed someday.

"Naoki, I apologise. I have a way of shoving my foot squarely between my jaws," he groans, his face beet red now. Of course he had meant that she introduce him to her masseur, not that she herself perform such an intimate act upon his person. Still, difficult to retract such a statement now, and his searching for the right words gives Naoki plenty of time to interject. 

"Oh, well, Naoki, I didn't mean--" begins Ulfang in that growling baritone, but by the time he can finish his objection, she's eagerly begun her process, lathering her hands with oil and moving up to sit behind him. The corners of his lips turn up into a slight grin. Well, he figures if she's that keen on doing it, he may as well let her. After all, it has been a long time.

He relaxes and leans back against the second bench with a gentle exhale as Naoki leaps up to the third, his excitement at the prospect mounting. After all, why not? The Empress is the lady of the citadel within which he currently sits, and if she wishes to serve him in such a way, who is he to argue? It would be rude not to accept her tender ministrations.

He catches a glimpse of a little more skin as Naoki's towel rides up a bit during her ascent, the quick glance certainly not helping with the problem still blatantly present below his waistline, his towel nearly tearing from his hips yet again before he gets the bind under control. He's about to speak again, but then Naoki begins her expert massage, and he shudders at the feel of her silky smooth hands pressing and rubbing away at the knots that have built up in his powerful trapezius, shutting his mouth so as to prevent a wholly embarrassing sound from escaping. This will surely be one of Naoki's tougher clients -- as expansive as his musculature is, it's also very tense, clearly having been neglected for a long time.

Ulfang's eyelids flutter shut and he rolls his head forward a bit to give Naoki a better vantage. He winces every now and again as she presses at a new tension spot, but then sighs pleasantly afterward as the tension is worked out. The scent of mint refreshes his mind and the feel of the massage oil being worked into his skin fills his body with a pleasant warmth. Not the hot, urging warmth of arousal, but the gentle, cloying warmth of bliss. What divine treatment.
"Mmh, I could certainly get used to this, my lady," he groans. "You may practice this skill on me any time you please. As for juggling...well, perhaps later."

Ulfang shivers a touch and rolls his shoulder as Naoki's gentle fingertip traces his flesh. He grins a little brighter as she inquires as to his past, though. Storytelling is a cultural pastime endemic to the Varan peoples, and Valemen are no exception. The skalds of Aesgir are renowned for their ability to weave a tale, and the ancient Vale possesses many a tale to be told. The king is no skald, but he's not one to turn down such a request, especially not when made by a singularly attractive woman.

"Let me see...ah, yes. Have I ever told you of the Battle of the Crow's Summit? Undoubtedly not," he begins. "Long ago, decades before the establishment of Isra, the Black Vale was home to two necromancers who would be king. Myself, of course, and an ancient lich possessed of unimaginable strength, who called himself Maketh the Crow."

Ulfang has to pause for a moment as Naoki's elbow presses down on a particularly sensitive spot, sending a shudder of pleasure up his spinal cord. It elicits a pleased rumble, somewhat reminiscent of a bear's growl, but finally he continues.

"Maketh was a nasty sort. In life he was a Ravenpeak Giant, expelled by his kin for slaughtering a village of his own kind to raise in order to do his bidding, and in death his necromantic powers were beyond compare. A deadly foe, especially back then, when I was still rebuilding the Von Haren power base," Ulfang explains.

"From his base situated upon the fortified peak of a tall mountain, he tore across the Northern reaches of the Black Vale, spreading terror and death wherever he went. Reports of swarms of ghouls tearing through entire villages reached my ears, and I mobilized my own forces to meet him."

"Back then my army was small, and I possessed no airborne units. As such, I was forced to--ohhh, Gods," Ulfang is interrupted by another wave of bliss radiating out from Naoki's gentle hands, causing him to groan with absolute ecstasy. He quickly gets himself under control, though, and clears his throat, a touch embarrassed at the outburst.

"Excuse me, Empress. Your touch is simply divine and I could not contain myself. Your hands must be blessed by the gods themselves. Now, where was I?" He inquires, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Ah, yes, of course," says Ulfang, somewhat distracted still by Naoki's touch. It doesn't take him long to get back into the spirit of the story, though.

"Well, as I had no way to cross the Harvestlands by air, and there was no way for my small force to fight his on the open fields, myself and my lieutenant at the time, Borog the Strong, needed to come up with a plan of attack that didn't force upon us unreplenishable losses."

"For three days and three nights we plotted, without food or sleep. We went through plan after plan after plan, but every one we thought of was either too slow and would end with the Harenhalls captured by Maketh -- such as skirting the mountains to go around the harvestlands -- or would be overwhelmingly likely to end in both our deaths. But then, it hit me. In a fit of sleep-deprived insanity, a plan came to me. It was surely suicidal, but it was our only shot. Borog and I...we would ride a Storm Dragon."

Pause for effect.

"We finally got some sleep and supper that night, and the next day we set out for the Ravenpeaks, to search the known territory of a massive Storm Dragon called 'Ranyaro', who the Giants had been trying to hunt for decades with little success."

"After two days of searching the craggy mountain passes and tracking the beast relentlessly, icecicles were beginning to form in my beard and Borog was on the verge of collapse. We were nearly out of will to continue."

His tone becomes hushed, almost reverent.
"But then, a mass of thick, dark clouds passed overhead, and a great blizzard began abruptly. Darkness fell as quickly as if the sun had been blown out like a candle. We saw him then, the great beast, a black spot amongst the grey, barely visible through the whipping winds and swirling snow flurries."

"He dipped below the cloud cover for a moment, his silver-white scales shimmering as if struck by moonlight, great bursts of lightning following his path through the clouds like the wake beneath a ship. Naoki, let me tell you, he was a magnificent beast. So glorious was he that I nearly hesitated."

"But I knew what must be done. A great bolt of black magic formed within my hand and I threw it up into the sky. My aim was true, guided by the gods, and a thick black smog surrounded the beast, stealing the wind from below his wings and forcing him down to land before us. With a great, terrible roar like rolling thunder he faced us, electric blue eyes piercing our very souls with their enraged intensity."

"The beast must have stood at fifty fod at the shoulder, and longer than the towers of Harenhall were tall. Glorious, he was, and terrible. Borog brandished his great axe and I raised Fang, and we charged the beast, neither of us certain we could best the creature despite our dark powers."

"The fight lasted half the day. Wind whipped around us, lightning struck the ground near our feet, setting our ears to ringing. The beast took swipes with it's great razor sharp claws and blew blasts of impossibly cold air from its gaping maw that turned the earth to ice. But we were faster, and hour by hour we weakened the creature, taking swipes at gaps in its scales at every opportunity, barely evading its sweeping claws and whipping tail. The dragon nicked my back once, tearing through my armour like hot butter, but it only left a small wound. It's that shallow scar there," he reaches around to point to a light pink, jagged discoloration of his skin running along his lower back and wrapping about to his iliac region.

"We eventually exhausted Ranyaro to the point where he could not fight anymore, and thus began the much more difficult part of the plan: convincing a dragon to serve us."

"Surely we could have simply taken the dragon with a silver rope about its neck and bound it to our service, but as soon as we let it free it would have killed us. No, there was a more elegant solution to be had. Borog, you see, was a powerful diviner, a user of the mentalic arts. This allowed him to communicate with the dragon directly through his mind, as long as he kept physical contact. Borog touched his hand to the exhausted dragon's crown between four massive horns, and communed with the ancient beast for hours. I am still at a loss as to how he did it or what he said. Borog took that secret with him to his grave, but after what felt like an age, the diviner opened his eyes at last and informed me that the dragon would help us save the Vale."

Ulfang leans back into Naoki's touch, his mid back pressing against her shins, the feeling of more skin-to-skin contact a great pleasure to Ulfang. He's certainly loving her deft fingers, if the throaty growls of pleasure slipping past his lips are any indication.

He takes a short break from the story to collect his thoughts for the second act, which also gives time for Naoki to ask any questions.

Naoki listens silently to Ulfang’s story, continuing about her task in her tender, methodical fashion. Kneading, pressing, massaging, working 40 years’ worth of stress out of his muscles. But the massage abruptly stops, her hands frozen mid-motion, as she hears someone in the changing room. There damn well shouldn’t be anyone in the changing room — if there is that means something’s wrong! But her alarm turns to pleasant surprise as the door opens and Naoki sees who it is.

“Oh! Haru!”

Chuckling to herself, Naoki picks up where she left off. Seeing as how the two haven’t met, she feels it appropriate to make introductions. “Speaking of magnificent beasts: Haru, this is Ulfang, King of The Black Vale. And Ulfang, this is Haru, Soft Kitty.” She nods to each of them in turn.

Peeking up over Ulfang’s shoulder, Naoki watches with no small amount of amusement as Haru flops himself d i r e c t l y across Ulfang’s lap. The whole bench groans in protest! It was determined early on that she is far too delicate for such treatment — Haru is no small cat. Usually, he flops adjacent to her, but Ulfang here has a very sturdy lap indeed.

“He would like you to pet him,” Naoki oh-so-helpfully offers.

Letting out several rumbling purrs as Ulfang stroked his spine, Haru pawed at the air several times before letting out a long yawn. The one who Naoki petted was petting him… This was as it should be. But now that he was in the Sudatorium, he began to realize how warm it was!

While he did very much like being petted, his fur against another warm body in such a place as steamy as this… It was simply too hot! Tail thumping against the bench several times, Haru unceremoniously rolled off Ulfang’s lap and onto the floor. Rolling over once more for good measure, Haru is left belly up several feet away from Ulfang.

Turning his head to observe Naoki and Ulfang, Haru opened his jaws to let out yet another long yawn while stretching his arms and legs out to their full length. Naoki had said some things when he first arrived, but the only important thing she’d said had been telling this large human to pet him. While he could understand the humans’ language, most of the time he paid little attention to it.

Deciding he was satisfied to simply be in the same room as his master, Haru seemed content simply lying on the floor. If she wished to pet that man, Haru would allow it. For now.

"Ah, so he is a mountain beast. I suspected as much," declares Ulfang. He sighs with relief as Haru rolls off of him, happy that the immense pressure upon his lap has been released once more, and chuckles at the cat's antics as he rolls about on the ground.

It doesn't take long for his pleasure to return at Naoki's soft touch, his sensitive spinal column sending signals of bliss up his back. He leans forward a bit to give Naoki more room to operate and brushes his smooth, snow white hair aside to get it out of her way.

Ulfang strokes his close cut beard slowly, regathering his thoughts.
"So, where was I...ah yes. There Ranyaro stood," he begins, "head bowed to the ground to allow us access to step up onto his long, sinuous neck. Even with his accommodation, Borog and I had to boost one another to reach his crest, and neither of us were small men!"

"That was the first time I had ever lain hands upon a Storm Dragon. Up close he was even more magnificent. His scales were warm to the touch, almost uncomfortably so, and felt as if electrically charged. As I sat upon his neck, just behind his titanic horns, he raised his head and I felt as if I could see the world for mil around if not for the maelstrom. Glorious creatures, truly splendiferous," enthuses Ulfang reverently.

"He took to the skies, then. I will not lie, it was a terrifying experience at first. The ground shrunk so suddenly that I felt as if I'd been flung from a catapult. It was not long before we had disappeared into the storm clouds and I could see nothing but grey in all directions, although despite the lightning that flashed all around and the violent wind that whipped about us, we were as the eye of a cyclone, untouched by the surrounding chaos."

"Borog and I had come up with an attack plan that Borog had then relayed to the dragon through their link: we would ride Ranyaro to the Crow's fortified peak and the dragon would tear it from its foundations stone by stone until there was nothing left. With the necromancer-giant exposed and a Storm Dragon to help us, we would destroy Maketh and bring an end to his tyranny. Our minds and wills set singularly on that goal, we flew north. Borog guided Ranyaro in the right direction, seeing through his eyes, those magical optics that pierced even the thick smog of the thunderheads, and their combined efforts made for a smooth and pleasantly uneventful journey."

"It would take a horse several days of running full tilt to reach the northern peaks from the reaches where we began, but on the back of the great dragon it took us less than two. We took only one rest-break, lasting but three hours, and it was an exhausting pace to keep. Not the least for the dragon, whose injuries, while relatively minor, were a draw on his body's strength. Still, we made it through, but not all was to go as planned."

Ulfang pauses for a moment, rolling his shoulders and rumbling in pleasure as Naoki rubs a particularly tense spot from his back. He leans down to give Haru's belly a quick scratch, and then sits back up and clears his throat before starting back on the story.

"As we neared the southernmost border of the northern range, the dragon began to tire. It was not long before we were alighting back upon the ground in a most inopportune place: in an open field with no cover right before the towering Crow's Peak, overlooked by a great wedge-shaped ridge of stone. There a vast army of the dead awaited us. Ghouls, shamblers, ghasts, rotting abominations...they were like a sea before us. We were not to be able to lift off again, Borog informed me, and it was too late to turn tail; the army was already upon us. Borog and I stood shoulder to shoulder, with the great dragon stood behind, looming over us and the army. A thunderous roar rang out from the dragon's mouth, fangs the length of a man's leg bared at the advancing army. A wailing wind and cold, biting rain whipped about us. The army began their charge, and Borog and I raised our weapons to greet them with valourous cries of battle. And so began the legendary Battle of The Crow's Summit."

"We carved a bloody path through the scrambling mass of undead, and Fang delighted in their destruction. Borog was near as tall as me and just as strong, and his great battleaxe cut through those who I could not. There were so many. We wheeled about and dashed and tumbled to avoid the razor sharp, rending claws of the ghouls that leapt on us like snow leopards pouncing upon prey. We cut down massive swathes of rotting shamblers, but more always stood to take their place. Ranyaro's stormcalling saved us many a kill, great bolts of lightning crashing down to send clusters of the dead tumbling in all directions."

"Ranyaro was too large for the smaller creatures to even begin to trifle with, but the roiling flesh abominations, with their hundreds of bladed limbs and tentacles and guts the width of small houses provided more of a challenge, given their numbers. Ranyaro tore across the battlefield to engage them, creating a massive swath of desolated undead in his path, which we followed, grateful for the beast's assistance. Had it been only Borog and myself, we surely would have perished upon that battlefield, but with Ranyaro distracting the abominations and guarding our entire rear flank all his own, we could survive."

"After several minutes of fighting my armour was in tatters, the bladed claws of the ghouls and icy grasps of spectres rending it apart after repeated strikes. I received several of the scars you now see from that battle. Look here--" Ulfang points to a long, deep-looking pair of scars that begin at the nape of his neck and end in the center of his back "--here I was struck by a ghoul who somehow got behind me and leapt upon me, shoving me to the ground. Had Borog not noticed my plight and cloven the beast in two, I would surely have been executed then and there. A lesson in the fragility of life, I suppose. Thankfully, my ever trustworthy lieutenant was there to save me...but he could not save himself."

Ulfang pauses for a moment, letting out a sad, wistful sigh. He collects himself with a slow intake of breath and begins again, planting his hand upon his knee and shaking his head side to side slowly.

"One of my greatest regrets. As he gave me his hand to help me up, he was charged from behind by one of the gigantic flesh abominations. I could have saved him, had I been a bit quicker, but before I could react or warn him, a long upward-curved blade of ivory attached to one of the abomination's disgusting rotted tentacles protruded from his belly and drew up his body, cleaving him in two from the waist up. It was a gruesome sight, and I was spattered with the blood of my brother in arms from head to toe. I could have saved him, but I did not, and his life was snuffed out in an eyeblink."

"Ranyaro went mad then. The dragon's pupils dilated as his neck whipped around to see Borog's collapsing corpse, and he let out a terrible sound the likes of which I cannot possibly do justice with mere words. It was like steel tearing, like an awesome lightning storm rolling over mountains, like the world itself shifting beneath you. I could feel it in my feet, as well, the trembling of an earth terrified of its own creation, and all was quiet for the space of a breath."

"In a whirlwind of activity, Ranyaro disemboweled fifteen of the abominations in a single swipe of his tail, and began rampaging through the battlefield. He was a force of nature when roused, a second wind inspired by rage allowing him to reach heights of power I had not seen even in my prolonged battle with the beast."

"It is then that Maketh himself appeared, standing tall upon the ridge of rock before his army dressed in cloaks of black that whipped about his body. It seemed then that all attention shifted to the dragon, and Maketh began conjuring a dark spell. That was to be my chance. I tore through the ranks of the undead with sword and spell, felling them like wheat beneath a scythe. With their attention off of me it was easy to wade through their tide, and I made quick progress as I closed the two hundred or so alen to the foot of the ridge. I could still hear the roars of the dragon, the thunderous explosions of lightning all around him, the cacophonous screeches of ghouls and spectres as they were disintegrated by Ranyaro's rage."

"I arrived before the ridge and began my long ascent, the handholds slippery with rain. It took what felt like a full hour. I was losing blood quickly and my strength was beginning to fail, but in one last push of will, I crested the side of the rocky ridge, but once again I was too late. I charged Maketh then, but the last word of his deathly incantation had been finished, and a great bolt of inky darkness descended from the skies and impaled Ranyaro through the back, cutting through his armoured scales like a hot knife through butter. Reddish-purple blood poured from a gaping hole in the dragon's chest as the lance of darkness vanished as if it had never been, and he stumbled forward, rocking with the pain of the strike."

"I do not know what spell Maketh used to accomplish this, but even his greatest dark power could not fully down the incensed dragon. Ranyaro slayed twenty more of the flesh abominations and countless more shamblers and ghouls before toppling down upon a group of them, finally succumbing to his injuries. Meanwhile, I was on Maketh, and I had caught him by surprise. With a sweep of Fang I tore into Maketh's hamstring and forced him onto a knee. He let out a hideous cry of pain and I leapt onto his back, running him through with Fang, the tip of my greatsword protruding from between his ribs and sending blood pouring over the edge of the ridge like a crimson fall."

"I fell to the ground from Maketh's back, then, and Maketh himself toppled from the ridge and fell several hundred fod to his death. I lay there, Fang still embedded within my enemy, disarmed and bloodied, as the storm clouds parted and the cries and groans of the undead began to fade. A ray of sunlight breached the stormclouds and fell upon Ranyaro's hulking remains, shining off them resplendently as I rolled my head to look over, as if the Gods themselves were blessing his passage with their light."

"I lost consciousness, then. I was found days later by the captain of my Dread Knights, who roused me with an essence transfer. I had been on the verge of death, so they say, and would have surely perished within the next few hours. I was incredibly lucky, so they told me. I was a hero, so they told me. But I reminded him of this: I am not the hero of this story. Borog, who saved my life in exchange for his own, is. Ranyaro, the great dragon who took on the army of the dead single-handedly and allowed me to approach its leader unnoticed, is. I am simply the wielder of the blade by which Maketh fell."

"The Vale had been ravaged by the Crow's undead army, and so I utilised my own army to help rebuild. It was a long process, but the reconstruction, and the story of how Maketh was defeated, helped immensely to return House Von Haren to the favour of the people. I have Borog the Strong entombed in the Crypt of Kings where the Von Haren monarchs themselves are usually kept after death, alongside a special chamber created specially for Ranyaro's immense body, united in death as they had been, however briefly, in life. They wait, there, to be called upon once again in the Vale's most dire time of need, but until then, they shall have their undisturbed, and much deserved, rest."

Ulfang lets out a long breath and allows a period of solemn silence to fall upon the sauna, signaling the end of his story. He leans down again to scritch at Haru's belly, but says nothing, allowing Naoki to respond how she will. His expression is contemplative and serene, and while his body is still very much aroused by Naoki's expert massage, the story seems to have set his thoughts astray for the moment.

"Ah but I am of little skill when it comes to wordcraft, my lady. I think that, were I not blessed with such pleasant company, I would be far less likely to tell my story near as well," replies Ulfang, placidly. His tone rises in jest as he adds, bemusedly, "I speak of Haru, of course."

"While a long night of spinning tales and reciting legends sounds delightful, I do believe I would prefer that, on this day, you continue your divine massage. You were surely not exaggerating when you said you were an excellent masseuse, and I would be remiss were I not to capitalise on your generosity," he says by way of addressing her second statement. He leans his head back on the second bench and looks down the way, inspecting its length and width, but then humming with dissatisfaction.
"However, I do not believe that this place would be ideal for the task. If you agree, I believe I have lost enough sweat for the day. It has been pleasant, surely, but I think what you offer is far moreso," concludes Ulfang.

He moves to stand, which causes his towel to slip a little below his hips, loosened by the earlier pressure upon the bind. While that pressure is no longer present -- telling an epic tale is not exciting in that way, after all -- the damage has already been done. He doesn't seem to notice or mind as he stretches languidly before Naoki, however, raising his arms until they brush against the ceiling and rolling his neck with several muted pops.

"Shall we, then, my lady?" he asks as he turns on a heel toward her and offers his arm to help her jump down to the ground. Even as she sits on the third bench he still towers over her, and surely he could simply lift her with little effort to place her upon the ground were he so inclined. Still, such an act would be demeaning for a woman of such stately stature, even if the two have become closer than allies over the span of this conversation, or so he hopes.