The Awakenings
Prologue—The Introductions
It was in the year 2721 (AR—After Realignment), that the doors of the Centraskian monastery opened once again. The halls, long fabled to be paved with the finest marble, inlaid with only the purest silver and gold had been locked tight by the long forgotten magic of the elders. Supposedly the last of the Elder Overseers, who had been overthrown in the first year of the Realignment, by the race they had enslaved for millennia. According to legend somehow, humanity had broken free and force the last surviving “Elders” who were mythic beings capable of fearsome magic—magic which had solidified their reign over man. They were weakened—exactly how that was is unknown, after a great human mage—known only as the Spellcaster—rose up to lead a human insurrection. And so they fled into the temple, and sealed the doors behind them. The temples walls were impervious to all magic and siege weapons, not even the Spellcaster himself could budge the doors one inch.
And so the years passed in relative peace, a long unbroken line of Spellcasters kept watch over humanity. Over the passing millennia, they had forgotten the pan of their own enslavement, and started buying and selling one another once more. Until one day, as the sun rose over the Centrasken kingdom, the door was found open. Fearing a return of the “Elders”, which was predicted by the “Order of the Elders” the main religious order of the Centrasken nation, a panic broke out in the city as the people who lived in the homes built up around the monastery fled in droves, and soldiers rushed to form a perimeter around the door. Days passed, and then weeks, and after six months, it was decreed from on high that an expedition of highly trained soldiers should be sent in to investigate the mysteries of what lay within the great catacombs rumored to exist deep within the monastery, built by the Centrasken elders, from which the whole land had poached its name. The Spellcaster’s Council, who ruled jointly with the executive Spellcaster, sent out the announcement that four volunteers were needed to form the first expedition into the foreboding temple. They promised fame throughout the civilized North and fortune beyond measure.
Four men volunteered. And as they stood gazing up at the sheer, silver walls of the monastery/temple, they looked at one another, each sharing the same feelings of fear, intermixed with a fierce hope. The first one was a slave named Gareth, who had been brought to the Centrasken capital after being captured in one of their many wars with the Southern Isles. He had been fortunate, as his great stature, cobalt black skin and his ripped muscular body caught the eyes of a widowed lady of the court, who took her on as her manservant… Indeed he served her closely and daily. This lady, though older, still retained a graceful beauty, so he couldn’t complain too much compared to other slaves in Centrask, but like all men, he yearned for freedom and leapt at the chance to break free.
Then there, On Gareth’s left, was the young arrogant noble Sir Dominick Graydale, who had fallen from grace by losing his all of his family’s riches to gambling and drink after the death of his father. He was the last of his line, and, rather than end the Graydale name in disgrace, he signed up to enter the monastery… lured by the promise of riches, which would fuel his gambling habit, and help him restore the family name. Even in poverty, he managed to maintain an impeccable and colorful wardrobe, cut perfectly to show off his finest “ass”et, which, along with his shoulder length blond hair, his bright green eyes and his dashing, brilliant grin, made him legendary amongst the ladies before too many dalliances—along with the aforementioned impoverishment, ruined his good name. Still, as his fastidious attention to his appearance led him to keep in great shape, he was also notorious as a duelist. He was, perhaps, the finest warrior amongst the Centrasken nobility.
Still on his left their stood perhaps the finest soldier of his generation. Born a common baker’s son, Hubert (known as Burt for short) Kane, enlisted in the military when he was 18. Fleeing a life of anonymity and boredom, he quickly rose through the ranks by exhibiting fearlessness in the series of wars that Centrask fought with their southern neighbors. After 3 decades of fighting, and acquiring more than his fair share of scars, he’d lost any illusions about the dignity of war and he’d been promoted… the first common man made general in 400 years. This provoked the anger of less-qualified nobles who felt like they had been passed over, and they’d used their pull to have him made the military’s representative in the expedition, the “honor” of being a so-called hero. He bore it, partially because as a career soldier, he was too used to obeying orders. Despite now pushing fifty, the only sign of his age was the white that streaked his once jet-black hair, and a litany of scrapes, marks and gouges that pock-marked his flesh. His face, relatively untouched except for a gash across his right cheek, was dominated by two big piercing black eyes that glared at the world with all the ferocity of a hawk. He regarded the others with the casual disinterest of a man who had seen it all and was impressed by little.
Last, and, as the rest clearly thought, least, was the young mousy priest Quentin Phoenix, so named because of his fiery red hair—a representative of the Church of Elders who worshipped the fallen race that had once ruled them as God’s. Their theology was one of careful balance, because while they recognized the Elder Overseers as divine, they also believed that their revolution was one that was religiously ordained. They reasoned that omni-potent beings, which they held the Elders to be, could only be overthrown willingly. They preached that a 2nd Realignment was inevitable, when they would emerge from their closed doors and restore the lost order. They prayed and hoped for mercy—so that man might be spared total annihilation upon their return.
Quentin was an orphan who had been rescued from the streets by the church when he was 10. Grateful for the new lease on life provided by the discipline and structure of the church, he was ordain in 8 short years as the youngest priest in the Order of the Elders. Volunteering to be the first religious entrant into the base of so much lore and history was a fantastic opportunity to prove that he belonged amongst the oldest and most experienced of his order. Still, faced with the prospect at hand, he felt fear grip his heart. It was too late to back out now. Quentin was glad that the brown robes he wore hid his pale shaking hands.
And so it was that they stood together, looking at the ancient temple, still shining as if it were built yesterday; despite their bravado up to this point, in the bleak maw of the open doors, which towered 10 feet over even Gareth’s 6 foot, 5 inch frame, they each looked at one another uneasily, as if they could feel doom calling to them from within. A crowd had gathered for the fateful occasion. Half of them simply for the spectacle, the other half convinced that they were about to witness the end of the world.
Sir Dominick, growing impatient, even while afraid, cleared his throat. “Well, ahem, I don’t know about you gentlemen, but I’ve hardly got all day…” And he strutted through the entry-way… and was swallowed quickly by shadow. Burt grunted in ascent, and quickly followed. Gareth entered soon after and Quentin, with a gulp and a near imperceptible squeak entered behind him. And so it was that the Four exited their old-lives—soon, all they knew would be changed forever.
Somewhere deep in the catacombs of the monastery, shrouded in darkness, voices echoed from the deep.
Chapter 1 – Divide and Conquer
—My Lord, they are entering the monastery gates now.
—Good… close the doors behind them, we don’t want anyone to lose their nerve and try leaving us. Let’s see how long it takes them to become… distracted by our fair monastery’s “diversions.”
—As you command, my Lord.
—Can you feel it? Our time is nearly at hand. We have spent too long languishing in the darkness… our victory is inevitable!
…As Quentin passed further into the darkness, he felt a whoosh of air behind him and as he turned, he cried out in panic, he ran back for the door but it was too late… it slammed shut. They were trapped in the Monastery of the Elders.
An unearthly shriek pierced the darkness, which was suddenly cut-off by a soft thud on the marble. At the same time, all the lantern’s and lamps in the monastery’s inner sanctum suddenly caught fire, illuminating the cordoned off courtyard. Instead of an open sky, there was a high domed ceiling covered in paintings of the heavens, of pre-Realignment history, of Gods and of wars, of mistresses and magic. Sir Dominick, who had been the one screaming lay passed out on the monastery’s floor, which was a cool marble grey, flecked white. Gareth and Burt took in their surroundings, they recognized each other as the two most experienced of the group, and with the unspoken bond of two grizzled warriors, took stock of their surroundings, while Quentin tended to the unconsciousness fop of a noble.
The room was dozens of feet high, with long walls that grew out and away from the chamber floor. The whole place was shimmering and shining, too clean for a room that had supposedly remained untouched for millennia. Across the austere hall, there were two staircases, one led upwards towards a small door, lined with Gold which glowed unnaturally. The other led downwards to a door made entirely of silver; it was dark, circled by shadow, as if all light that came near it was deflected or obliterated. Gareth scratched his chin, bemused; if he concentrated closely he swore he could hear a low humming, or a faint singing. He could tell by the confused look on Burt’s face, that he could hear the same thing.
Burt grunted again, “Looks like we’re going to have to go forward if we want to get out. I’ve got a feeling there’s gonna be no opening those doors again.”
Gareth nodded his agreement. “Yep, and it looks like we’re gonna have to split up. There’s no telling where either of those doors lead, or even if they’ll open.”
As if in response to this, both doors suddenly loudly and quickly slammed open. Only darkness emitted from the unknown rooms beyond those doors, and there was only one way to find out.
Another yelp from Dominick signaled that he regained consciousness. Immediately he jumped up and ran to the giant marble doors that had admitted them. He started banging on them and calling for help with reckless abandon.
“HELLLPPP!!! HELLLLPPP!!! I must be let out at once! I can’t be trapped like an animal! Open these doors!! OPEN THESE DOORS AT ONCE I SAY!!!” Dominick’s knuckles started bleeding as he rapped them against the cold hard stone. He fell against the doors and slowly slid down them, until he crumpled to a heap at their base.
“So how’d that work out for ya?” Burt asked sardonically.
Quentin watched the scene unfold silently, his big open blue eyes taking in everything while betraying little—a trick he’d learned surviving in the Centrasken inner cities.
“So much for the brave warrior of the noble class, eh?” Burt continued. “Get yourself together, the only way we have a chance of getting out of here is if we don’t lose our heads. You get me?”
Dominick looked like he was about to interject angrily, but a quick look around made him think twice, and he meekly nodded his head. Besides, he was beginning to quickly feel better, and something about the place felt oddly… familiar somehow. He began to hear a voice from further within calling to him, it resonated within him somehow. He took a couple of breaths and gathered himself together, standing up and preening the wrinkles out of his ruffled popinjay outfit.
“Alright,” he said finally, “I’m ready.”
“Okay.” Gareth spoke with a rumbling bass voice that was as deep as the ocean, as forceful as the tide. “There are four of us, and there are two doors. We should split up, search them for a couple of hours, and then return here. If one of the pairs finds an exit, we’ll leave together.”
Quentin coughed quietly, “What about the Elders?” He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a voice in his head, but he felt quietly comforted and safe… this gave him the courage to speak up.
“What about them?” Burt replied testily. “I don’t know about you, but I didn’t exactly bring enough food and water to wander in this place forever. We move quickly, or we’re going to die in here. Me and… was it Gareth? We’ll take the low road. Quentin and the fop can go up top.” He didn’t know why he suggested that he and the slave go together, clearly as the two more experienced with trouble, they should have been split up… but he felt drawn to Gareth, the man was a kindred spirit. Every time he looked as his dark features, and those deep brown eyes, hardened outwardly by life, but still retaining a subtle softness. He felt his heart quicken… but he pushed the feeling aside, the stress was just making him jittery.
Dominick opened his mouth to insist the insubordinate baker’s son address him with the appropriate title of Sir, but closed it as he caught sight of Quentin. He’d obviously seen him already, but something about the way this place glowed… he found himself drawn to the boy. Blue eyes that seemed to draw him towards eternity, smooth porcelain skin… he closed his eyes and shook his head. Quentin was a kid, and a man at that. The old air in this place was just making him woozy is all.
Silently, they all assented to the plan, and paired off, perhaps getting a little closer to each other than was necessary, and made their way to their respective doors. As they crossed the room, the low humming/singing grew louder yet still remained in the back of their minds. Unable to concentrate on the noise, or determine its point of origin, it remained in the back of everyone’s minds… ever present, but somehow… unimportant.
They were all far less surprised, though no less alarmed, when the two doors slammed closed behind them as they left the large entryway.
Chapter 2
Dominick felt his heart beating quickly in his chest, but he could not tell if it was from his fear or excitement. As they proceeded further upwards into the monastery, the air had grown steadily thicker and harder to breathe. It almost seemed to shimmer in front of him, making it difficult to see further in spite of how well-lit it was. Torches in front of them automatically lit as they went passed, somehow sensing their progression.
Every attempt to start a conversation was stifled by the oppressing atmosphere. The both felt like they had to concentrate on every footstep just to keep breathing. As they crept up the hallway, their footsteps echoed ominously, as if they weren’t alone.
With each passing step he found himself more and more aware of the waif-like presence of the young, vulnerable Quentin—who seemed to be literally burning up with fear, not tearing his eyes away from Dominick, clearly too afraid to even acknowledge his surroundings. His heart went out to the kid, he found himself feeling quite protective of Quentin. He wanted to tousle his dirty-brown hair, look into those deep blue eyes, and whisper that everything would be alright, that he would protect him… He snapped back to reality as the hallway they were in opened up into another larger room, like the one they had first entered when they walked into the monastery, but smaller.
Quentin for his part, couldn’t take his eyes off of Dominick not because of fear, but because he was struck by the noble’s beauty. The earlier display of cowardice did nothing to diminish the luster of the radiant Sir Dominick. From the shock of blond hair that feel carelessly down to his broad, defined shoulders, to the twin rows of perfect white teeth, to the well-muscled thighs and toned buttocks that his perfectly tailored trousers did very little to hide. The noble was every inch Quentin’s fantasy.
Quentin had always known he was different from other boys, he found himself lingering to long on their naked form when they were changing, and he would often stare at his fellow future-priests with longing as they swam gracefully in the temple’s pool. He had known these feelings to be wrong, and tried to suppress them, but something about the air in here just dredged those impulses back to the front of his consciousness. His hand accidentally (or was it on purpose) brushed Sir Dominick, and he felt a shock of electric pleasure. Something which, judging by the sudden reddening of Dominick’s perfect dimpled cheeks, he had also felt.
As they entered the room, they suddenly came to a confused halt. There was no obvious way forward. The room seemed to be made seamlessly out of marble like the rest of the temple, but there was no other way out than the hallway they had just entered from. What the room contained was as bewildering as it was useless… there was a stage on it with a pole which jutted out from the floor of the stage into the ceiling. In front of the stage sat a solitary plush chair, straight in front of the pole, which, at the edge of the stage was almost close enough to the chair so that someone sitting in it could touch the pole.
Dominick scratched his head, plainly baffled as to what to do next. But something within Quentin stirred. Not knowing what he was doing, he felt himself slowly propelled forward towards the stage. The singing, which seemed to emanate out of the air, drove him to the stage. Dominick called out, “Wait, what are you doing?!?” But his plea fell on deaf ears. He gracefully hopped on to the stage, and firmly grasped the pole. Suddenly and instinctively, he started gyrating with the pole sensually, dancing around it with a confidence and an attitude he did not know he could possess. He turned and faced Dominick, giving him a “come hither” stare. He did not know how he knew to do this, in fact, his mind wasn’t involved at all; it was like he was a puppet being played expertly by an unknown puppet master. Instead of being frightened at his helplessness, a sensation of burning pleasure began to emanate outwardly from his crotch. Driven by instinct, he twirled around the pole once more, and bent over slowly, and turned and he straightened, and began to hungrily smack his lips. His young cock quickly grew hard, covered in the folds of his robe. He began to feel hot and constricted in his ponderous clothing.
Dominick felt dumbstruck by the display. He knew that he should avert his eyes, find it grotesque, but he couldn’t look away. He found himself enticed by Quentin’s figure, which was only hinted at under the great magnitude of the robe. Suddenly he realized he was sitting in the plush chair, which seemed to envelop him in comfort as soon as he sat down. He was leaning forward with an eager, hungry glint in his eye.
Quentin was off in his own world of previously unknown sensations, all his walls blocking away his pent up desires were gone, and he gave into the pleasure that was calling to him without second thought. His body swayed effortlessly and gracefully around the pole, as if he had been born to it. Suddenly he became conscious of the singing once more. It had always been there in the back of his mind, but it slipped into his subconscious, without him recognizing it. Submitting to its rhythm, he spun faster and faster, up and down, his eyes an unfocused haze of a determination to further his own pleasure. His crotch, alive and aroused with unfettered lust, thrust in and out. His robe impeded his movements, frustrated; he quickly shed it revealing the simple white cotton cloth shirt, and white cloth undergarment he wore underneath. The robe fell to the floor, slowly, fluttering in an unseen wind.
The noble’s mouth was agape; this young man was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. The robe had hidden just how athletic his slim frame was. Hardened by years of swimming, running and hiking through the mountains that had ringed the abbey that was his childhood home, Quentin’s young legs and calves were as hard as carved alabaster, and with a glowing sheen of sweat, they gleamed in Dominick’s eyes, the tight fitting cloth shirt, which was lightly soaked with Quentin’s sweat hinted at similarly well-defined abs, and his nipples were nice and pert. Dominick’s reservations melted away. All his thoughts were consumed by lust. His doubts crushed by his need. He had to have this boy. And he needed to have him now.
“Come.” Dominick said, with all the authority of his superior birth. But the boy danced on, only aware of his pole, his stage, and the heady stench of his own pleasure. His pale skin glistened; his tumescence became obvious as it strained against the stretchy cloth of his underwear. Dominick growled angrily and reached out and grabbed Quentin off the stage. The cloth shirt tore in his hand and Quentin fell into his arms, where he immediately began to nuzzle Dominick’s well-developed chest and moaning.
At first, Dominick just gazed into the boy’s blue eyes lovingly. He was such a good little boy. He stroked his hair as an absent hunger began to eat at him. The boy purred softly at his ministrations. The humming in his ears was so loud now it was all he heard, and it stoked the flames of his lust. Dominick’s dick poked insistently through the tight waist of his trousers and began to knead the boy’s thigh—he was slowly gyrating on top of Dominick at this point. Dominick felt a wave of overwhelming pleasure hit him, and another low growl emitted from his bowels. In one deft movement, he flipped Quentin—who was moaning, so deep in the throes of his lust that he was nearly oblivious to the world—over and began massaging his surprisingly firm and ample ass.
At this touch, the burning in Quentin’s crotch spread through his whole body, but in his ass, it became an insistent itch. Like a chord struck by a master pianist, it stirred a violent surge of need within him. He had to have something… his ass needed something, but his young, lust-addled brain couldn’t figure out what. He ground his ass eagerly into Dominick’s hands, which were kneading his ass with a mindless abandon.
At this movement, some force which played Dominick’s heartstrings with a deft expertise shifted something in him. A sudden rush on anger hit him as he realized, this wasn’t a good innocent boy. Innocent boys don’t encourage a man to embrace their ass—no matter how firm and well-muscled it might be. This was clearly a bad, bad boy. He needed to be punished. And so, with the authoritarian nature of a noble, he raised his hand, open-palmed, for a series of three whacks against the boys butt. Thwack Thwack Thwack. With each hit, the boy just moaned louder and louder. Clearly, Dominick needed to hit harder.
With each successive spank, Quentin felt the hit get harder, he felt the pain… and he remembered hating the corporal discipline of his temple, but something about this was different. He felt the pain, and something in his mind immediately converted the sensations into even more pleasure. It was such a dopamine increase, that with each spank, a moan escaped his lips. As Dominick was egged on to hit him harder and harder. Quentin just moaned louder and louder. Until finally Dominick’s hand began to tire. His anger/lust still not satiated, he pushed Quentin down on the chair, which was wide enough for him to sprawl ass up in front of Dominick. The itching in Quentin’s ass prompted him to wiggle it seductively in Dominick’s face. The smell of his sweaty body pushed the intoxicated noble over the edge. He ripped off the cloth underwear with an inhuman grunt, and pulled down his pants revealing his fully erect nine-inch cock, fully engorged with veins crisscrossing its length. The foreskin pulled back from his head, revealing an engorged purple head, steadily leaking pre-cum.
Quentin’s itch was all of a sudden replaced by an intense pressure as Dominick began to ease his cock slowly and firmly into his ass. It shocked a sharp intake of breath into his system as he began to focus on relaxing his sphincter—somehow he knew to do it instinctively, the sense of fullness slowly travelled up his butt. He slowly, but loudly moaned, and sighed a sound of contentment. The pain of the girth and length of the dick as it slid more quickly into his ass, made slick by his sweat combined with Dominick’s pre-cum, was, like the pain of the spank, was converted into even more overwhelming pleasure. His own cock got even harder. Dripping a combination of his own sweat and precum onto the lush purple material the chair cushions were made of.
Encouraged by Quentin’s moans, Dominick drove his dick all the way in, and slowly pulled out to the tip, and then thrust back in again. Slowly he worked into a rhythm and sped up his motions, with each thrust he felt a surge of pleasure, and the world faded away. All that mattered was his dick, that cute boy’s ass and their pleasure. A chorus of “Ohs” and “Yeahs” came from the couple as the chair rocked back and forth with their energy.
After a while Dominick flipped Quentin over, so he could look him in the eyes while they fucked. His baby blue eyes were dominated by his dark, dilated pupils which filled his irises. But his intense glare was focused squarely on Dominick’s own eyes. With his brown hair in sultry disarray, his red lips pursed, and his pale cheeks flushed rosily with arousal. Dominick couldn’t help but bend over to kiss his open mouth, which went from slack to hungrily sucking at his own face with his touch. The chorus of “Ohs” and “Yeahs” quickly devolved into animalistic, primal grunts and moans eked out between kisses.
Their hands excitedly explored the other’s bodies. Dominick shed his frivolously colored shirt to reveal his firm chest, lightly matted with blonde hairs and his chiseled arms. He alternated between slapping Quentin’s ass, which got him even more excited, and rubbing his hands over his abs which were etched in his pale white stomach. He also grasped the boy’s leans hard thighs to brace his harder strokes. Quentin’s mind was overrun with pleasure, he stopped become aware of who or where he was. All that mattered were the intense sensations. He didn’t want them to ever go away. He intrinsically realized, without being conscious of anything, that he would always want this feeling, he would always crave something to fill his itching hole. Dominick’s mind was filled with visions of the boy’s delectable ass. All he could do was keep slamming away at the perfect, pale, shimmering ass; it was all he wanted to do.
As they pounded away, some unspoken, heretofore unfelt connection between them alerted Dominick and Quentin that they were both almost finished. With a few powerful final thrusts his tight full balls emptied both barrels into Quentin’s virgin ass. As Quentin felt the warmth in his ass, he also came immediately; the first spurt hit him square in the mouth, giving him his first taste of his own cum. They came in unison for what felt like an eternity. Quentin’s white, creamy semen pooled in his stomach and belly-button while Dominick’s leaked out of Quentin’s ass around his slowly, yet surely receding manhood. Some instinct in Dominick’s head compelled him to lean down and lick Quentin’s cum-covered taut stomach, tasting the salt of the cum and of the sweat stuck in the defined ridges of the young boy’s abs. They then kissed, swapping the taste of Quentin’s salty cum, and, suddenly overcome by the fatigue of their marathon session lapsed into deep, dreamless, slumbers.
And so, as they slept, they were utterly unaware of something that slowly lumbered towards them, a shadow that emerged from a secret passage in the far wall…