Chapter 2 - The Ring Stones

Across the craggy barren hinterlands the sun glinted hard off the black rocks.  In the faraway distance dark storm clouds rolled in, blanketing the northern horizon, bolts of lightning arced over snow-capped mountains coupled with the rumbling of distant thunder, an ill omen. The lone figure of Branwen followed the tracks of the necromancer, and traveling fleet of foot she drew ever closer. He had changed course and now headed inland towards the foothills and the mountains. Not far ahead she stumbled across the scorched pit of what had been a campfire. It was still warm. The bastard had to be close, no more than a half a day ahead of her.

It was well past nightfall when she had crested a hill and through the darkness she glimpsed hazy shapes nestled down between the roving hills. They were the Ring Stones, a circle of stone slabs that stood three times the height of any man and were older than the kingdoms of Man. The Stones were said to be a wellspring of power where the mortal world was closest to the Outer Planes. A bonfire sat at the Ring’s center and between the Stones a naked figure danced.

Crawling on her belly Branwen crept in closer and hid amongst the brush. The necromancer danced naked among the stones, chanting in a strange foul fell tongue that made her blood run cold. The book lay at his feet opened to a page. What manner of dark sorcery does he taint this place with? He had painted the Ring Stones with runes that she did not recognize. The sight of him filled her with a blind fury. Standing no closer than five yards he was naked and unarmed, she could easily split his skull and be done with him but the threat of some unknown spell stayed her hand. The very sight of the necromancer filled Branwen with a seething rage.

The Necromancer’s chanting grew louder and louder and the wind began to moan and the bonfire’s flames rose up higher and higher till they near topped the Ring Stones themselves. It seemed to Branwen that she stood at the very gates of Hell and to her rising horror she was right as shapes moved within the flames, getting closer. The fiend had to be stopped. Rushing forward she tore her blade out from its scabbard and swung, aiming for the foul wizard’s scrawny neck but then the wizard vanished and her sword cleaved through thin air.

“I am glad you could make it. I trust my servants treated you well,” the wizard whispered reappearing behind her. His wet tongue licked the inside of her ear sending strange feels down her spine and between her legs. She whipped around with a snarl curdling in her throat but the wizard was already gone. He reappeared twenty feet away from her, beside the bonfire. “Still so full of that fire, perhaps you would still wish to enjoy my servants?” he asked with a sneer that made her blood boil. He, then raised his arms skywards with great effort as though he were lifting a heavy weight and the ground beneath her feet began to shake and out from the earth came scores of the long dead, digging themselves out from the soft dirt. They were warriors all, still clad in tattered remnants of armor. Grey sunken skin clung to exposed bone and rotting muscles. The undead horde descended upon her but the barbarianess stood ready to meet them and flung herself at them with the fury of a hell cat and cleaving through flesh like wet paper and snapping bones like twigs she cut swathes of the dead, trying to get at the necromancer. Hands battered against her armor, clawing at her skin but so consumed in battle rage she noticed them not. All that now stood between her and the necromancer were a handful of the druags and she cut them down with ease but the necromancer only laughed.

“Die fiend,” Branwen shouted launching herself at the dark wizard. She swung, aiming to separate his head from his shoulders but the necromancer seemed unfazed by his impending doom.

“You soft headed fool, they were meant only to distract you till the ritual’s completion and now tremble in fear,” the necromancer laughed and the earth began to quake stopping Branwen cold in her tracks. The bonfire rose up higher than the Ring Stones and there came shadowy shape coming closer and closer till out bounded from the fire, a massive hairless hound that towered head and shoulders over the necromancer. Globs of slaver dripped from its bared fangs and a pair of red glowing eyes looked her up and down, oozing with animal lust. She shivered inside imagining what the beast wanted to do with her. “Behold, Tiralous the Hellhound of Khaas, tremble and be afraid,” the necromancer cried as a roll of thunder broke overhead and the whole world seemed to shake.

Swallowing her fear, Branwen brandished her broadsword and flew at the hound. Swinging her sword down on the beast’s back, it broke shattering on its hide. The recoil sent her stumbling backwards. Seizing the opportunity, the Hellhound pounced slamming force into her knocked her down sprawled on her back on the ground. Dazed, she rolled over and trying to stand up the heavy weight of the hound crashed down on top of her pinning her on her hands and knees on the ground. Coarse scaly skin scraped against hers and she felt the horrible heat of his body. Struggling underneath the beast, she tried to throw him but sharp fangs clamped down hard, digging into her neck. Shivers of fear ran down her spine to the tips of her toes and her whole body went slack and then with tooth and claw, the hound tore apart her armor and clothing leaving her bare-naked. So, this it, at least I die in battle, there’s honor in that.  She waited with baited breath for an end that did not come. She gasped feeling something warm and hard brush against her plush heart-shaped backside and prod at her quivering quim. Looking down between her legs, she saw it, the thing’s cock. It was a pale pink color with veins standing out along the shaft and thick, thick as her fist. A bulbous knot sat at the base of its shaft just above a hefty pair of balls, full of no doubt its thick creamy dog cum and ended with a tapered tip. Would it even fit? Branwen trembled at the thought.  Its forelegs wrapped tightly around her mid-section. Mashing against her sex, it slipped between her thighs, smearing her skin with its warm pre-come making her skin tingle. Feeling its girth, Branwen bit her lip, stirring up shameful feelings down between her legs.

“Tremble ye now, o barbarianess brought low. Thou shalt serve as bitch to Tiralous and mother to his brood,” the necromancer laughed. Branwen’s face flushed. She opened her mouth to retort when the Hellhound found its mark and pushed open her folds, sinking his cock up to the hilt in her pussy. It let out a happy satisfied growl. Shame burned hot on her cheeks, she was a proud warrior and rightly feared by many but this hound had turned her into its mewling bitch to serve as it cock-sleeve and she could not deny the feelings building up within her.

Holy Mother, it was big and filled her completely. ‘Ah-ah.” Moans seeped out from her sultry lips as the hound started to thrust, fucking with bestial vim and vigor. More shapes appeared in the fire, growing larger but thinking became difficult. It humped, pumping into her with shallow quick thrusts and with each thrust, her ass cheeks jiggled and bounced and her breasts swung wildly as her body rocked back and forth in rhythm of the Hellhound’s thrusts. The demonic hound groaned. Wetness dripped down her legs as the beast’s slimy pre-come slathering her legs mixed with her own fluids, letting the Hellhound slip in and out of her with greater ease. The pain gave way to a small but growing pleasure. 

Her groans and whimpers accompanied the necromancer’s chants as he returned to the ritual. With every thrust, the hound’s knot pounded at her folds, trying to squeeze its way in. The beast let groans of pleasure as it continued to ream her. It tightened its paws around her waist, pulling her closer to it, forcing her to take more and more of its cock. The whimpering woman shook and trembled, she was close and it would not be long before this monster would make her come. It rutted her now as she was a common bitch, pumping its whole member in and out of her in quick fluid thrusts. Slowly, the beast quickened its pace, thrusting into her faster and faster. The thing would come soon. The Hellhound slowed and began to drill into her with powerful thrusts, each time its knot jammed into her, trying to force itself in. Slick with pre-come, the knot pushed her slit open and sank into her, and then her pussy lips locked tightly around the hound’s knot. The pain came coupled with the humiliation of being cemented as the dog’s bitch. She was now tied to it and could do nothing more than mewl and moan helplessly as it continued to breed her.

Pushing her over the edge, as waves and waves of pleasures crashed down upon her. “Holy Mother,” Branwen cried as her own body betrayed her. Her vision blurred as white spots flashed in her sight and spasms wreaked through her body as all thought vanished from her mind. Her knees trembled and kicked and her fingers dug deep furrows in the soft earth. It took all her willpower to remember to breathe and all the while the creature continue to hump away at her, its thrusts doing little more than making her ass jiggle. Dazed, she barely felt the first jet of cum being shot up into her womb and soon after the first, came the second and third and fourth and continued blasting her full of its hot spunk. The beast’s body hardened and flex with every cum-shot. The hound’s hot breath wafted across her face as it lay down on top of her, panting happily as it emptied its balls into her. 

Minutes passed and though the amount had lessened the monster kept on coming. Globs of its baby batter seeped out from where they were joined trickling down the insides of her legs.

Branwen lay there panting, covered in sweat and cum as she started to regain her senses and she noticed the Necromancer standing in a chalk circle with runes along its edge. Arcane protection, maybe? Stretching her arm out, her hand just reached the edge and she managed to wipe away one of the runes without the dark wizard noticing. A trio of monstrous warriors emerged out from the fire. Each one towered over the necromancer. Horns grew out from one’s head and ran all the down its back. Another’s head consisted of one enormous eyeball and its mouth was on its torso.

“Greetings glorious masters, I am a devoted servant of Khaas just as you are.” The demons looked at the necromancer as one would a buzzing gnat. Lunging forward, the three-horned demon swiped at the necromancer with its claws, raking him across the chest. He fell to the ground, bleeding profusely. Branwen could see the recognition in the necromancer’s face, the circle had been broken. He fumbled for the book and tried for some kind of spell but the demons swarmed him and his death shriek pierced through the night air. The book along with the necromancer’s severed hand still clutching it, landed by her side. The hand’s finger pointed at a spell written in a language Branwen did not recognize but sounding out the words. The portal shook and the demons including the hound still knotted in her pussy began to be sucked back in through to the other side. Branwen dug into the ground, trying to find something to grab onto. Lubricated with the beast’s cum and her own fluids, the Hellhound’s cock slipped out of her with a wet pop and was sucked up into the portal and then in an instant of blinding light everything was gone. The fire was a smoldering pile of embers and ash. All that was left was the book and the torn apart body of the necromancer.

Branwen stood up on shaky legs and gathered up the stolen tome and gave one last withering look at the ruined body of the necromancer and turned and headed back south.