Desert’s Fierce Kiss

Desert’s Fierce Kiss
by Thevina

Rating: Adult
Pairing: Cobweb/Lianvis
Summary: Potentially set canonically at some point not quite a decade post-Bewitchments, Lianvis visits Forever (in search of Ulaume) and spends some memorable time with Cobweb.
Author’s Notes: Written for Gingerspark (former Niennaainur), who requested this pairing.

“So. How long before the scorpions arrive?” Cobweb asked, picking up a cup of tea with steady hands.

Ithiel raised a tawny eyebrow. “A few days yet. Our scouts intercepted them on the very southern borders. Their leader is with them.”

Cobweb shuddered, gooseflesh washing along his forearms despite being covered by layers of silk. “Him,” he muttered, looking into the cup all at once to see if there were messages to be read, but the leaves were silent. “Why did he come?”

“He didn’t say much to the patrol.” Ithiel gave Cobweb a sympathetic look. “Lianvis, much like you, is a force unto himself. We are allies, as you know.”

“We’re overrun,” Cobweb snapped. “I’ll be courteous. I always am, even when— after all that… Gelaming,” he finally concluded with a venomous hiss.

“I believe he’s coming because he’s looking for someone. A har that used to be close to him but vanished a few years ago. He hadn’t been told about Terzian’s death, so now he wishes to give his condolences in person on top of his true purpose.”

Cobweb fixed his old friend with a brittle stare. “I can’t imagine that desert sorcerer could miss anything going on in his tribe, much less an actual har.”

Ithiel took a deep breath and let it out again, his gaze flitting around until it alighted on a bottle of sheh. “I’m only telling you what’s been told to me.” With an agile hand he poured himself a drink and helped himself to two green olives from a plate sitting between them.

“Thank you for that,” Cobweb said gloomily. “At least Swift and Azriel aren’t here.”
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A New Life

A New Life
by Orleans

Story Notes

Characters: Ulaume, Lianvis

Rating: NC17

Beta: Steph, thank you.

Summary: My first attempt in this fandom. Ulaume’s life changed when he started his new life with the tribe of the Kakkahar.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters; they all belong to Storm Constantine. No money is made.

A New Life

I was getting tired and all I wanted to do was lying down and sleep. For how long I had been waiting inside this pompous tent since my arrival I really had no idea. Not that I particularly cared, I just wanted to finally rest.

It was too hot for my liking, since it was barely past midday and the sun was directly at the zenith. I felt terribly sticky and the dried blood on my wrists and ankles made me want to scratch the skin from the bones there.

All I wanted – beside some sleep- was a nice bath to get rid off the dirt. That was indeed the worst thing of all, when I thought about it. I hated to be dirty like this! Dust, sand, blood and sweat covered me like a second skin; I couldn’t stand the smell of myself.

After some unknown hara of this new tribe had pulled the blindfold away, unceremoniously lead me into this tent and told me to sit down no one had bothered about me. I just had caught a glimpse at a tall, golden haired hara who was sitting in front of the tent with the leader of my ‘keepers’. That was all.

I was thirsty as hell too, licking my dry lips, I hoped that someone would think of giving me something to drink after the long journey I had behind me, but no.

No one entered the tent for a long time and I simply couldn’t make myself get up and look through the wooden cupboard nearby. And that was the famous hospitality of the notorious Kakkahaar? If so, then the stories were terribly exaggerated.

From time to time I heard soft murmurs coming somewhere from the left, where the entrance of this tent had to be. Words drifted through the fabrics, words I didn’t really understand. Only now and then I recognized the voices. The delegation of the Colurastes, ‘my’ tribe, I thought sourly, was obviously still trying to sell my hide. Perhaps the leader of this camp had no interest at all to buy me? Would be funny to see what they’d do then.

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The Snakes-Tamer

The Snakes-Tamer
by LoLL

Story Notes

Author: LoLL (loll4000 (at) gmail (dot) com)

Title: The Snakes-Tamer


Rating: NC17

Characters: Lianvis/Ulaume

Summary: Ulaume meets his fate

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Wraeththu Universe and its characters belong to Storm Constantine.

Spoliers: None, I think. This is just how I love to think things between those two have gone

Warning: Angst, a bit of violence, slight BDSM and, of course, aruna.

The Snakes-Tamer

I woke up in a room that was as cold and dark as a black pit. It took me a while to realize that my eyes were still closed . When I tried to open them, a jolt of pain radiated from my skull throughout my body. I tried to breath deeply for not retching. Slowly, my other senses began to register the surroundings while white flashes danced in front of me.

I was lying on a sandy floor, naked, and my hair was curling around my frame as to protect and keep me warm. But that was not enough; I was shivering and my teeth rattled, making a weird sound in the silence of the room. With a huge act of will I forced myself to remember, but my only memories were the beatings, and voices… Somebody was trading on me as if I was a piece of dead meat. And maybe I was indeed.

Again, I tried to open my eyes, carefully this time, and even if the pain was still there, raging behind the eyelids, I began to see something blurred. It seemed to be a tent I was inside, a small canopy. Between the thin fissures of my swollen eyes I could see the end of my legs: they were roped by ankles to a peg in the ground, like a dog. But what really caught my attention was a half broken cup in front of me. I sensed water and suddenly my throat burned. Ignoring the ache, I extended my hand, panting and wailing like a broken puppy, and managed to drag the cup to my split lips. Half of the water washed on the floor but I drunk avidly what was left, only to throw it up a moment later. I lay still, panting hard and felt tears burning my cheeks. If I had to die, I hoped it would be soon.

In that moment the tent opened and a tall figure stood between the light and me. I could only see the outline and something waving behind his back, maybe a cloak.

“Very well, our new guest has finally woken up, it seems. Did you rest well, Ulaume?”
With a kick, the figure threw the cup away and I moaned in desperation.

“Do not worry, I’ll bring you more water, if you behave. And food. But you must prove you are worth the money I paid for you, or I’ll let you die of starvation.” The voice was calm and deep, cold like ice.

The tall har snapped his fingers and another figure entered the room. He was dressed in a long tunic and a scarf covered his head and face, leaving only his eyes visible. The new har knelt beside me and lifted my head gently. I moaned. I must have broken some ribs from the beatings. Every move stole my breath away.

“Hush…” whispered the new har, “do not move. This will help to lessen the pain and heal faster.”

The brew was tepid and smelled of rotten fruits, but I welcomed the little droplets the har let slip into my mouth like the most tasteful and refreshing juice.

“Slowly! Or you will retch again.”

It took me an eternity but I managed to drink it all and keep it in my stomach. When the last droplet was drained, I collapsed against my saviour’s body, trying to steal a little bit of warmth.

Another snap and the har laid me back on the dusted soil and disappeared out of the tent.

I wanted to talk. I wanted to know what had happened, why I was there and who they were, but the words only rasped on the back of my throat and didn’t come out.

The tall har knelt beside me. It was too dark to distinguish his features but his eyes sparkled like two opalescent pearls, a strange nuance of pale blue that seemed almost white.

“My name is Lianvis, and this is my tribe, the Kakkahaar. The reason why you are here should be obvious to you since you tried to kill your former master. A thought I warmly suggest you to never direct at me… or I will make you yearn for the punishment he gave you as a sweet reward. He sold you to me for my… experiments, but I’m curious to see what hides under that filth and blood. If I think you are worth the effort, I may even keep you and train you. Otherwise, well… we’ll find, for sure, a recreative use for that body of yours.”

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The Summons

The Summons
by niennaainur

Story Notes


Pairing: Lianvis and Thiede

Rating: PG-13 – (?) who knows I’m very liberal

Summary: This was originally the character intro and setup for an RPG. Unfortunately, due to a horrific crash and tragic death of my hard drive, a considerable increase in workload, an overly active Mommy schedule, and an errant muse, I was unable to play … *sobs* This was intended to position Lianvis in Imbrilum so that he could play with Vaysh.

Disclaimer: All the pretty Wraeththu, as well as the world they live in, were created by, and belong to, Storm Constantine, who (bless her!) is gracious enough to allow fans like me to take them out and play with them occasionally. No disrespect or copyright infringement is intended.

Warning: AU

Beta read by: a very patient bigunen – all the rest of the mistakes are mine.

The Summons

Lianvis stood in the entrance of the tent and watched absently as hara put the finishing touches to the encampment. He noticed with a certain degree of satisfaction the veiled, guarded looks hara sent his way. “Let them be slightly wary of their leader,” he mused; it’d serve him better than too much ease and familiarity. Today, however, the wary watchfulness was perhaps warranted as he was brooding. He was Lianvis har Kakkahaar, leader of the Kakkahaar tribe; no har summoned him anywhere, and yet he had, in effect, been summoned. What was even more disturbing than the summons, at least to Lianvis, was the fact that he had heeded them.

A self-satisfied smirk spread across the Kakkahaar’s face for he had only partially heeded the summons. The missive had not contained any details. Lianvis had a fairly good idea what the meeting was going to be about; Immanion was currently busy tying up loose ends. His presence had been requested in Imbrilum “immediately.” He had come but not alone: he’d brought his entire camp. He had come but not to Imbrilum: he’d camped in the desert at the very edge of Kakkahaar territory close enough to access the town. He had come, but most certainly not immediately.

With the war over and tentative new alliances forged, he was, as were all the non-Gelaming leaders, walking a thin line between tribal alliance and tribal consolidation into the Gelaming machine.

He sighed softly and let the tent flap fall. Turning, he headed back to the bed, lowering himself gently, so as not to wake the young har who lay sleeping peacefully. Lianvis reached out, and with a feather light touch, traced the soft contour of the sleeper’s shoulder. The har, one of the tribes’ listeners, stirred slightly and snuggled closer into the curve of Lianvis’s body. Lianvis was half-tempted to wake the sleeper and lose himself once again in pure physical pleasure; the young har had been so deliciously accommodating a few hours earlier. At the memory, Lianvis felt his body begin to stir to life.

Then, with a sudden sigh, he rolled onto his back amid the small mountain of soft pillows, and stared intently at the tent wall.

He’d dreamt strange dreams for the past several nights. He’d dreamt about Ulaume for the first time in a long time. Along with his erstwhile chesnari Ulaume, Thiede, General Aldebaran, and Pellaz, and even Pellaz’s ever present shadow Vaysh had flitted in and out of the dreams. Were these just dreams? Were they some shadowy messages from the ethers?

He made a face at himself as he rose from the bed and tied his knee-length honey-coloured hair back with a leather thong. He left the listener’s tent quietly. As he threw up the hood of his dune-coloured robe and strode off in the direction of his own tent, the skies above him darkened and appeared to fold allowing one lone sedu to exit from the otherlanes depositing it and its rider on the desert floor.

Any visible surprise Lianvis might have displayed at the identity of the rider was well hidden in the shadows cast by his hood. He folded his arms across his chest as his visitor dismounted and handed the reins of the sedu to the young stable-har who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere and now stood in wide-eyed awe of the sedu and its rider.

Standing motionless, Lianvis waited as the new arrival approached him; when they stood face-to-face, Lianvis inclined his head by way of greeting.


His visitor inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.

“I am honoured, but somewhat surprised that you have …” Lianvis paused pointedly “thought to visit.”

His visitor inclined his head slightly.

“Please…” with a slight gesture of his arm he indicated that his guest should accompany him. “I shall have some refreshments brought,” he added and they both set off towards his tent.

Drawing back the tent flap Lianvis ushered in his guest. Lianvis swept past him, extending his arm gracefully to indicate a low pillow-strewn couch; he settled himself onto the couch directly across and lounged back regarding his exotic-looking guest with candid interest. His guest remained standing and motionless in the center of the tent.

The guest studied his host with an inscrutable gaze and said nothing; in return Lianvis offered nothing. The silence remained and under the intense scrutiny Lianvis began to feel an unusual sensation: a slight sense of awkwardness. He was saved from appearing uncomfortable by the arrival of a tall willowy serving-har carrying a tray bearing delicate anise biscuits and a lightly spiced tea.

“I can send for something more substantial if you prefer…” Lianvis offered, but his guest shook his head and with a brief wave of his hand dismissed the attendant. Lianvis busied himself by pouring the tea. With a practiced and theatrical flourish his guest seated himself on the low couch opposite Lianvis, and leaned back, and observed Lianvis, his head cocked to one side somewhat pensively.

“Lianvis, Lianvis, Lianvis” Thiede began in a bemused tone “whatever am I going to do with you?”

“Do with me?” Lianvis replied dryly “How about giving me a seat on the Hegemony.”

Thiede chuckled “I don’t think so”.

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Maelstrom and Mage, Desire Thine Darkling

Maelstrom and Mage, Desire Thine Darkling
by Thevina

Story Notes

Editor\'s PickAuthor’s Email:

Web page:

Pairings: Ashmael/Vaysh, Ashmael/OC

Overall Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 49,000

Spoilers: The Enchantments of Flesh and Spirit

Summary: Genesis. Paradise. Illumination. Exodus. Before they went to Immanion, before Thiede manipulated their destiny, before death and despair, Ashmael and Vaysh knew and loved each other. This is one way their story may have been told.

Disclaimer: Ashmael, Vaysh, and the harish world all belong to Storm Constantine; I’m merely playing with great abandon in her sandbox.

Author’s Notes: I fell in love with the tragedy that is Vaysh/Ashmael; the desire to write a gap-filler from Ashmael’s POV up through the point of Vaysh’s death became overwhelming, and these are the fruits of that obsession.

Sequel: Down the Whispering Well

Maelstrom and Mage,Desire Thine Darkling

Vaysh burned.

I’d watched him ride into our collective, and steered away as any sane sentient being, whether human or har, should do around open flame. He would burn and scorch; he was seared into the very marrow of this mutant blood that flowed in my veins; from sight alone my cells were branded. Of course I briefly tried to keep my distance, knowing as instinctively as a plant turns to the sun, or a drowning man clings to anything to keep him from dying in watery depths, that to get close to him would cause an elemental transfiguration.

I was stone: solid, yet porous when necessary.

But you know what happens when rock is punished by relentless heat. Lava. Liquid, destructive, transient.

Could anyone ever look back at our lives and not marvel at our exploits, our so un-refined, un-controlled, Wraeththu-anathema love for each other?

* * * * *

My first thought when the small entourage came riding in was that some har, somewhere, had made a grave error in judgment. All of us, we Wraeththu, are this mutated amalgam of the sexes, two combined into one, yet presumably not both at once. Ever the enthusiastic pioneer, however, I’d vowed to myself to try and find out, which I did, successfully.

The hara who approached wore leather of rich chestnut, designed scored into them that resembled constellations. They looked heavenly, quite easy on the eyes, but also as haughty and distant as the stars, radiant and far off. We’d known they were coming, as the one who seemed to be their leader had sent out a thought-call. Our clan head, Monarch, had replied and warily bid them approach. Wraeththu hadn’t been in existence all that long then. We were still actively hunted down though of course we fought back with deadly vengeance.

Their horses were as well fashioned and groomed as their masters. I wondered if they had some kind of occult or spiritual connection to equines. Each tribe and splinter group I’d come across or heard about appeared to have taken on its own unique personality, passion, and/or perversion. I didn’t know, philosophically, what I thought of that, as it reeked of humanity to me. We all came from different backgrounds, though, had been incepted in myriad ways with tales of bliss and horror (or both), so I supposed it made sense that each small stronghold would have a very different culture shaped by their respective leaders.

A willowy har with long hair the colour of burnished sand dismounted, his presence commanding despite his fetching, sinuous body movement. Before I had become har, I’d of course been a human male, with raging hormones that had churned and bruised me though I’d not had an outlet aside from solo release. My fantasies hadn’t involved men, back when the decaying world still boasted of its male and female polarities. I’d had a love affair of sorts with the insatiable creature between my legs, dreaming of burying it in a silken heat of some secretive, foreign darkness. A flare of my former self, the insipid human part I’d hoped had been scoured away forever, raised its regressive head when confronted with Vaysh, as I soon learned this compelling har was named.

“He’s flaming.”

The ancient slur blindsided me, some dormant, pre-har wire in my brain tripped by the sight of him. Perhaps back in the past this Vaysh had favoured his own gender, and been flamboyant about it. It wasn’t for me to ferret out of him, or care. We were Wraeththu now, beyond such banal and reductive concepts of she and he. This har evoked more of the feminine in outward display, but I soon discovered he had balls of steel. Vaysh was a sword, clothed as a sylph.

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