Incubii’s Order

With one final, visceral thrust, Ohmon emptied himself into the woman pinned beneath him. A groan would climb it way from his lips, deep and primal, cut short by a heavy pulse from his exhausted loins as he looked down upon the extraordinary sight of whimpering royalty. Lady Hawke, heir to the throne of the Hawke Dynasty and braggart by nature, had encountered Ohmon by chance during an expedition to the lost mountains of Dratharan, where her sexual fate was sealed. She willingly supplied her thighs to Ohmon’s whims from then on, partially due to her own infatuation but mostly because of Ohmon’s meticulous incantations. She had already bore six of his children, and now there would be a seventh to carry on the necessary task of expanding his legacy.

With an effort, Ohman shook off the last remnants of his satisfaction and reach to reclaim his discarded clothes that lay haphazardly on the floor beside the bed. The surrounding visage of an extravagant suite was already beginning to trickle itself from the plane of existence, as if to mimic the receding tides of ecstasy ebbing from the Master who willed it into being. Exotic linens, flowing drapes, and finely-carved furniture were dissolving against the simple wooden cabin that lay underneath it as misty blue lines of energy crissed and crossed, claiming vibrant details from their place in reality. Even the bed soon disappeared as Ohmon stood beside it, with Lady Hawke still laying in a dreamy daze as her fingers set about caressing her bare breasts. She would float in space until Ohmon lowered her gently into a cot with a downward wave of his hand. Sleep, Ohmon would say with a voice that was out of place for the realm which he now prowled. Sleep well, Kelona Hawke, and accept my seed once more into the womb which has done me much service.

Ohmon stood tall at 6’5”, with piercing blue eyes, flowing black hair, and bronze skin which seemed to glow against its surroundings. Strong, sturdy shoulders tapered down to a softer midsection which had lost a bit of firmness due to many decadent dinners and leisurely sex-fests. Various tattoos were scrawled upon his flesh here and there, mostly related to the tenets of the Incubii order. A pair of wings were tucked tightly against his upper back, as if he was afraid or ashamed to disclose them unless absolutely necessary. His attire was always simple, by taste and by design, and rarely deviated from a blue button-down shirt which matched his eyes, a pair of black jeans which seemed to blend with every shadow, and leather boots that were strapped almost to his knees.

Once he was fully dressed, Ohmon exited the now plainly-decorated cabin of Lady Hawke and make his way to the deck of the airship. Dusk was falling outside, with broad strokes of pink and orange painting themselves near the horizon before fading quickly to a bluish black. The captain and several deckhands were tending to navigational coordinates near the ship’s wheel. Their collective hairs would stand on end, with one hand turning his head towards Ohmon as he walked leisurely by; nothing would be seen, prompting a shrug and a return to business. Ohmon smiled, an impossibly seductive smile, before he stopped himself at the bow of the ship. With a sigh that offered no contentment nor displeasure, he looked out towards the land which scrolled languidly, far below.

Oh father, dear father. Why won’t you accept my withdrawal from the Incubii Order? The last few years of Ohmon’s life had been a blur of disillusionment and despair, tempered only by the promises of his newfound quest. He was actively fighting against a fate which seemed so sure to claim his life and soul until the end of time, all the while indulging in urges which offered no solace to his dilemma. Old habits died hard, it seemed, but a wise old prophet at a temple would provide him with a tantalizing hope. If only he would discover a long-lost artifact and perform a long-forgotten ritual, Ohmon could possibly neutralize his need to seduce every woman that crossed his path. The concept of being sated by one, and only one lover was almost beyond his comprehension, but filled him with a burning desire to cull his desires just the same. And now, Lady Hawke’s ship was taking him to the next in a trail of clues which were escalating with trials and puzzles.

Ohmon’s father was having none of this, of course. Agents were being sent to intercept his progress, though they offered no physical resistance. Instead, pleas for his return to the Order were presented with intensifying robustness. Ohmon knew it would only be a matter of time before his father brought forth more drastic measures. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if…

His wandering thoughts would abruptly cease. Ohmon turned his attention sharply to the multi-leveled cabin area of the ship and narrowed his eyes. A series of lessons with a psychic had made more receptive to empathic changes in his environment. Someone… or something was waiting for him there, waiting for him to make a move. He didn’t know who, or what, or where, or how… but it wasn’t sent by his father, and it wanted him dead.

Slowly, surely, he reached a small dagger upon his belt and claimed it into his right palm. The feeling was getting stronger now, and Ohmon braced himself for the inevitable. Come out and face me, he growled with steely blue eyes that were ready to bore holes into his new enemy.

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