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The Psions

Author: 
lynnatha
Old Vault Category: 
fanfiction
Old Vault ID: 
20

“Sssylvia.” A sibilant call with an unmistakably sinister timbre droned on, insistent and unrelenting, until I came to – and found myself in a room that wasn’t Flirin’s. A room I should’ve left far behind me.





Nyavin’s “playroom” was exactly as I’d remembered, an ironclad dungeon replete with his “toys”: whips, paddles, gags and taut leather thongs hung from the walls, ready to dispense pain and pleasure for his amusement. Stocks, shackles and far more devious implements bespoke of his depravity.





“It’sss good to ssee you again, Ssssylvia.” The scion of House Ssavanthos almost whispered from behind me, his fetid breath raising hairs on my neck and I strained to move away to no avail. My arms hung limply at my sides, my legs stock still, and my continued efforts only left me with a thudding ache in my mind.





“Have you missssed me? I know you have, sssslut.” That forked tongue, barely perceptible, played across my neck, darting around to tickle my trembling lips. His heavy tail slithered smoothly on the clean metal of the floor as he ran a finger chillingly down the length of my thigh.





With bated breath I faced him finally, his clean-shaven, slit-eyed face now sporting a grievous gash across his hollow left eye socket. I tried to look away, again to little use, an invisible force willing my sight to focus on that – that black pit on his face.





“You have wounded me horribly, human whore. To think my family raised you, educated you and blesssssed you, bitch, with the honor of bearing Ssavanthos’ heir, to think I lavissshed you with my mind tricksss, and pleasssure beyond sssimple human ken, to think of your bloody betrayal – it burnsssss my blood.” As he spoke his fingers splayed across my helpless form, and he chuckled at my heavy breath, a nasal, raspy sound.





“You remember the sssensssationsss, yesss? Even now your mind is ssshivering with anticipation, tremulousss with memoriesss of your time with me. My pssionicss have read your mind like a map. I know jussst where to toy with you to make you ssshiver and sssigh… and ssscream in ssssweet releassse. But not now, little one, sssoon I will find you and reclaim you as my wife and toy. Know you thisss… your mind bearsss my mark. Run a million milesss… and I will ssstill know where to find you, and take you!” With a swing of arm and flick of wrist a whip from the wall cracked and lashed at me, stinging my bare face-





I sat up, clutching at my cheek, grabbing at a moment’s stark pain that wasn’t there. Sitting still I waited for the deep panting to pass me by, to catch my breath amid rampant, fearful thoughts.





I hadn’t thought about Nyavin in a year, in fact I’d tried desperately to forget. I had nightmares every now and then, but I’d stopped having them lately. This dream, out of nowhere, so vividly and intricately painted, was no mere dream. He left something in the deepest crevices of my mind, his vague sifting manifest in blur nightmares, then finally found it after a year, and would find me soon enough.





Flirin slept soundly, smiling beside me, all the while gladly oblivious to my ordeal. I tore my mind from the pain, to the sinful delight of her female form and thoughts of our curves entwined, turning again to sex as my refuge. She’d played my body like a flute, the impassioned music rousing all the neighbors. She gave me a night of gasping orgasm, something to remember in a life so far only fit to forget. I straddled her, pressing her hands to the wall, lavishing her sleek neck and luscious lips with a teasing tongue.





“Can’t get enough?” She sighed and whispered huskily, dreamily, her brown doe’s eyes fluttering wide open.





“Just returning the favor,” so I would owe her nothing.





* * *





It was early morning when I reached Oldover House, a towering four-story stone city mansion, right where my fellow Tymorans directed me to, at the corner of Manycoins Way and Hawk Passage in the Temple District not far away from the Luckmaiden’s Temple. The Guild of Sages in a city of adventurers, so thick in action and intrigue, would surely have my answers.





“Tell me the nature of your query: magical, historical, heretical or nonsensical?” A gray-bearded old fellow greeted me at a counter.





“I have a psionic problem. Someone is using psionic powers to trace my whereabouts, and I’d like to know how to correct that.”





“Come with me, I’ll bring you to our psionics expert. Answers will cost between a hundred and a thousand gold, depending on complexity. The price will be quoted and paid before the answer of course,” he informed me as he led me upstairs and through a classy mahogany door labeled “Grimaeus Verbold.”





“Sage Verbold, I presume?” I seated myself on a plush couch.





“Answer: affirmative. I am the sage that is Verbold Grimaeus. What is the matter?” He arched bushy white eyebrows.





I told him unabashedly about my slavery at yuan-ti hands, my frequent, intimate interactions with Nyavin with a heady mix of psionics, my yearlong affair with nightmares and the latest, most vivid one that promised long-reaching vengeance.





“Quite the story, miss, since both my ring of lie detection and crystal ball of sensing magic tell me it is unadulterated truth. Your solution will cost you a hundred and fifty.” I untied my purse and handed him the coins. He counted them, scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to me.





“I have a friend who has considerable psionic talents. Seek him out at the address I wrote. He will wipe your mind clean of all your problems.”





* * *





In a crowded neighborhood, an innocuous, nondescript residential home is nothing out of place, except that my greenstone amulet took on an eerie, flickering emerald glow as I approached the home of the good sage’s psionic friend.





The greenstone amulet I wear round my neck is something I nicked off Nyavin, something his psionic tutor gave him to use during their psionic duels or ‘mind matches’, to protect him from his tutor’s superior mind force. It would glow brightly when his tutor assaulted him with seething surges of psionic powers.





So the kindly old sage’s friend was already exerting some kind of power, but the amulet was keeping me quite safe. I didn’t feel dizzy, or unwell, but rather fighting fit. I decided to play along, and stepped boldly up to the doorstep, knocking hard.





“Anyone home? Grimaeus Verbold sent me.”





“Come on in.” A male voice called, so I opened the door and stepped through into a simple living room where a middle-aged blonde fellow sat on a sofa chair beside a lively hearth. He motioned for me to take a seat.





“So what seems to be the problem with you?” I told him. He kept nodding and smiling.





“That’s very interesting. Your memories will be worth a slow savoring, and now, I will solve all your troubles.” He thrust his hand outward, fingers spread and my amulet glowed hotly. I twitched my hands and sat as still as a statue. He looked me over, smiling beatifically, and then fingering a purple crystal sphere in his palm.





“You see, after I steal your memories into this bauble here, I’ll wipe your mind clean of all your woes. Then you’ll spend the rest of your existence as a mindless thrall. How ironic, isn’t it? That you escaped slavery all the way from Hlondeth, and came for help to be free once and for all, but now you’ll be a slave again for the highest bidder. This time, you won’t escape, though,” he chuckled, “you’ll be dead, in a way, an empty shell to be used and abused in any way, and you won’t even notice. How sad.” He traced a finger from the edge of his eyelid down his cheek.





“I’m really sorry, but I could use the gold. Let’s not waste any time.” He got up and made one step to me, which was when I sprang from my seat, swinging my mace in a momentous arc, crushing his head with solid steel. The side of his skull I struck cracked and dented audibly with a small splash of gore, and then he fell lifelessly. I wiped my mace and arm clean on the sofa.





I searched his abode thoroughly, looting a number of tomes on psionics, some of his ill-gotten gains, and the peculiar purple crystal sphere he still held in a death grip. My answer would be there, I hoped, but for now it was time to tie up the other loose end.





* * *





“So what’s the news today?” I asked the town crier with a stack of The Trumpeter at his feet the next day.





“Hear ye, hear ye! Cambion childbirth in the city! Sage mugged and slain at his doorstep! Read all about it for only one raven!” I looked at my new ring. It burned bright red. I just knew demonic adultery was too far out.





The Psions © lynnatha

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