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Throughout every reach of Valoran, the masks of Kindred have stalked, leaving their mark only to those subject to their ageless duty.
Harsh and withered battlefields laden with souls ready to accept their fate. Dark streets lurking with the many that do not. No matter where in this beautifully doomed world that life teems, in the end, all shall meet the ones of arrow and fang.
Lamb did not like sand.
As her ethereal cloven feet trudged through the arid dunes of the once fallen kingdom, Lamb maintained her poise. Mortal towns paid the ghostly figure no heed – none could see her – yet she trodded with grace. A soothing elegance befitting a woodland creature, prancing throughout the forest, content to exist and bask within nature’s beauty.
She fell flat on her face seconds later.
Lamb grumbled on fishing her leg out from the divot that would’ve taken a volley of arrows had it been capable of experiencing death. None were around to catch her faux pas but it annoyed her all the same. Shurima was her least favorite place to visit. While the weather had no sway over her, that didn’t stop the terrain from providing its fair share of challenges. Who’d ever heard of a sheep in a desert?
But the half of Kindred had her own reason for treading the Shuriman sands. One that brought her out to a hut, far beyond the local towns or any foreseeable civilization for that matter. No food nor water for miles. No reasonable human could survive in this remote location.
Hence, why Lamb knew this humble home was inhabited by no human.
The aged wooden door creaked with a simple push as if threatening to break from its hinges. She was treated to less of home and more of a…
Lamb wasn’t sure what name to call it but “home” was not one of them.
The cramped space was littered with nothing but books and dusty scrolls, all written in languages she could only describe as ancient. None anywhere near as old as her, of course, but still. Stacks of dusty parchment and tomes clamored around a lone, hardworking bookcase struggling to survive under the pressure of the malicious novella. The shabby bed was the only remaining surface that was spared from the all-consuming void.
Finally free of the annoyance of treading sands, now Lamb had to contend with navigating the city of books stacked at her feet.
Joy.
“You’re early.”
Lamb’s honed ears directed towards the source of the unexpected voice yet her stoic demeanor was unmoved, even by the revelation that she’d been seen by one she hadn’t marked for death. The hut allowed for almost none of the sun’s light to seep through, yet what little rays did make it inside allowed her to properly gaze upon her host.
His black fur blended in almost too well with his surroundings even with the bits and pieces of gold-plated gear adorned on his person. Pointed ears jutted out from his head, standing rather proudly in their natural state. A pair of striking canid eyes regarded her from the shadows – similar to her Wolf yet lacking his savage, hungering gaze. No, this one hungered for something other than blood.
“Strange.” She curtly addressed the figure who knelt in his little cocoon. “The Curator seems to have mistaken sand for books.”
He regarded her with an entertained glance, probably the first he’s laid eyes on something not covered in words for weeks. “I can safely say that getting lost in text is far preferable than the desert.”
“I have heard a particular term for that. Used in the city of trade and progress.”
Ever the inquisitive type, Nasus’s brow perked at the challenge of a guessing game. Tales of the city she spoke of - Piltover - would often reach him through some of the more recent texts penned. Its rapid advancement and growth allowed for it to become the epicenter of craftsmanship. Of genius. The smallest twinge of envy would plague his thoughts upon being reminded that his once great city was no longer comparable.
“Scholarly?” His glance at Lamb’s mask for an answer turned up with nil. Her stoicism was difficult to read, to his nonexistent surprise. “Academic?”
“Nerd.”
Nasus blinked, a record-breaking 5 seconds passing before realizing the personification of death had just made a quip. “...Ha.” A wry smirk played across his muzzle, seemingly in place for her. “I half expected that from your other half. I take it he’s-”
--
Under the harsh Shuriman sun, an ethereal cloud of black grumpily curled in its little ball of annoyance.
No game. No hunt. And no Lamb.
She was off to visit the dog-faced hermit. Again. Wolf didn’t know why she bothered with the bookish cur. Fate hadn’t called for his time as of yet - to his knowledge. It remained a mystery as to why his precious Lamb always had to leave him bored with nothing to do but chase critters crawling beneath the vast desert.
It was always when she got all fidgety around her legs too.
Probably nothing. She always came back feeling better either way. That only left Wolf having to deal with-
“Too much sand…”
--
“Occupied.” Lamb finished, holding her palm dangerously close to the spot between her legs.
Nasus’s keen eyes were quick to notice.
As the legend goes, the masks of Kindred were known for being lonely – they owed their entire existence to it. But in Lamb’s case, the ailment took things a step further and in ways that her eternal companion simply could not assuage. She longed for companionship that would serve to quell those monthly pangs.
A particularly unlikely candidate, Nasus had been content to shut himself from the waking world after the fall of the empire he had served for ages. He too fell into the rut of loneliness that Lamb had known intimately yet felt as though there was precious little that could relieve him of that burden. Ascension may have afforded him to cast aside a great many of his mortal limitations but Nasus – with a collection of certain…racier novels he’d gathered – would be reminded of the urges that made him very much human.
Their meeting may have been more fated than they cared to believe.
Nasus coyly returned to the book he’d been reading the same paragraph in since Lamb had appeared. “I take it you’re-“
“Hush.”
She navigated past his labyrinth of literature until she penetrated his little bubble. The inquiry he was seconds away from raising died in his throat as his folded legs were then occupied by one-half of Death. Nasus dwarfed her in size, making her look more like a cat on its owner’s lap.
It wasn’t long before she was bugging him for attention like one.
He unsurprisingly found his book steadily being palmed away from his attention in favor of her. Smirking, Nasus indulged her game with one of his own. When novelist Kesho’s accountings of hidden Shuriman treasures served their use, he was quick to move on to another book from his pile.
“Hm, Josso Adel’s Guide to Camel Upkeep. Interesting!” Nasus mused, jovially blocking out one clingy Lamb.
She was not so easily ignored. Again, she batted aside the borefest of a book. Nasus was even faster.
“Here’s an old favorite, Kalim Azzir’s notes on nomadic life atop the venturing dormun.”
Another swat of her hand, this time with an impatient grumble. Lamb’s stare turned deadpan with what little emotion her mask was able to express. Nasus didn’t so much as try to hide his enjoyment.
“Ah, and how could I forget Theories of Sand Tunnel Formations by Nazan-“
“I will feed it to Wolf.”
Judging from her agitated glower, Nasus was compelled to gingerly return the book back to its former place. He still couldn’t help but smirk at her annoyance.
“Very well. You have my atten-”
“Carry me.”
He paused before chuckling softly. The order of his new empress was followed without delay.
“Bed.”
Her tone was bossy yet playful enough to indulge her. “Yes, your highness.”
Nasus had a much easier time navigating his “organized chaos”. Expected as he was the lone occupant. He was just as delicate with handling Lamb’s smaller frame. Despite her body being honed by countless ages of an unending hunt, she was light as a feather. Muscle that was surely hidden beneath her fluffy, thick fur and yet Nasus held her gently like glass.
Nasus was far less fragile. He may have been Shurima’s patron of knowledge and tactics but his body was as honed as his mind. Years in solitude never once caused his muscled figure to wither. One of the remarkably few perks of Ascension he’d thus far discovered.
Nasus laid Lamb down on her back slowly. For all the lack of elbow room in the curator’s hovel, his bed was the one thing not wanting for space, as it was the only thing that could accommodate his form. It was soft, only smelled somewhat of dog, and was only partially coated in sand. She’d just have to get used to the latter two, she thought. She had bigger problems at the moment.
Nasus’ eyes locked with Lamb’s, an inquisitive look on his face. Lamb’s eyes went half-lidded as she slid a hand down her body, spreading her legs to expose her nethers for him. She could have sworn she saw a blush come to the curator’s face… just before he disrobed before her.
She never got used to seeing his size as his linens fell away from the shape that was beginning to lift them. She brought a hand to her mask, right where her mouth would be.
While he was still hardening, his cock was massive. As thick as her arm and just as long, with a thick vein running down the side and a set of balls between his legs that compared in size. Lamb swallowed at the sight, her loins burning suddenly hotter.
Nasus brought his hands down, one on each side of her head as he rested his member on her petite body. The two of them spent a moment taking in each other’s features.
“You are…” Nasus began.
“Save…” Lamb said as she put a finger to his mouth. “...your flattery for once we’ve both finished, dear curator.”
He sighed, smirking slightly. “As you will it.”
Pulling his hips back, Nasus lined himself up with Lamb’s entrance. He poked and prodded at her gently-- Lamb grumbled, clearly impatient. The curator chuckled, at last making some meaningful effort to penetrate her. He pressed forward, the tip of his cock pushing into her folds.
She moaned even at this little bit of pressure. She’d begun to forget the feeling of his size inside her, but now that she was here, the ecstasy was coming back to her. She breathed out a “Yeeessss…” as Nasus pushed further inside her, his glans fully inside her and his shaft following slowly.
Still, Lamb would not be satisfied so easily. She furrowed her brow. “Will you not go any faster? Surely the sands haven’t dulled your boundless strength. Or perhaps the long hours buried in your scrolls atrophied you?”
Nasus cocked a brow, a wry smirk painting his face. “Faster? Why, dear Lamb, you should have said something sooner…” He said. Lamb could have sworn she sensed…was that deviousness in his voice?
She didn’t wonder for long.
His arms moved to grip her hips, her eyes widening as Nasus flipped her cleanly on her stomach, his shaft still buried partially inside her and twisting her insides along with it. She squeaked. Nasus relished that little noise, but he wasn’t done yet. His hands moved from her hips to her long ears, and with one in each, he pulled back and pushed forward as hard as he could.
Lamb let out a moan that grew in volume until it was more akin to a shout of surprise as her guts were suddenly rearranged, her fingers gripping the bedsheets below her as she arched her spine and threw her head back in response. Nasus leaned over her shoulder and spoke into her ear.
“Fast enough, your highness?”
After a moment’s pause, Lamb recovered just enough to fire back a taunting glare. “Perhaps…Though if you aren’t readily up to the challenge, maybe I could instead-“
“After trekking so far?” Lamb felt a slight shiver run down her spine upon seeing the grin across Nasus’s muzzle. “By all means, allow me to tend to your weariness. I insist.”
Lamb might as well have looked like one of Wolf’s victims from his hunt.
Satisfied with her reaction, Nasus pulled back and pushed again, slowly building up a rhythm but making sure not to let go of Lamb’s ears, instead giving them a yank every now and again to keep the reaper in her place.
Though his shaft was as thick as her haunches and twice as long, Lamb took it as well as someone double her size, perhaps owed to her partially ethereal nature. Still, the sheer girth of the thing wasn’t lost on her body, pressing out in an obvious abdomen bulge, which buried itself into the mattress with every thrust he made.
What Nasus found spurred him on further were her sounds. Each motion he made, whether pushing or pulling, elicited a grunt or squeak from Lamb, who despite her stoic nature, could not manage to remain straight-faced to such a thorough breeding. What riled him further was when he brought his free hand down on her plump, fluffy rear hard enough to leave a perfect red handprint on her cheek-- and each time he did so, her whole body shuddered in reflex around him.
Lamb’s pristine white fur grew unruly as their session went on. Nasus was rarely if ever this…rough. He was always content to let her fuss on his technique and form. Criticizing every minute motion he made in her little crusade for the utmost perfect romp.
As part of his strategic nature, he snared Lamb into his trap thus flipping their routine on its head.
“That’s quite the puddle you’re making, dear huntress.”
She praised her treasured mask for being able to efficiently cover the persistent blush on her face. “Any reas-uunh!...r-reason to get you to…clean your dusty sh-EEets!
He was committed to not letting her get a word in edgewise, each vocalization she made only being interrupted with a tug on her ears or a palm to her rear. The noise produced by their love-making could be heard well beyond the thin walls of the curator’s abode, whether the sound be Nasus’ hips or hand smacking into Lamb’s ass or their shared pleasured groans.
At last, his pace slowed, and Lamb felt his member twitch and throb inside her. Squeezing her eyes shut and bracing herself, she gripped the sheets as Nasus pushed one last time, unloading his spunk in gratuitous amounts, oozing life into the womb of Death herself. They both breathed sighs of ecstatic relief.
There they remained for a moment before Nasus pulled out his softening cock, plopping it between her cheeks where it lazily drooled the rest of his load on Lamb’s back, all the while her slit oozed the product of their shared labors.
Nasus let go of Lamb’s ears, and her front half flopped to the mattress, where she lay taking heavy breaths. Nasus panted, as a jackal was wont to do.
“Now,” his breath was ragged and low, enough to send shivers down her back, “was that to your liking, dear Lamb?”
Her head still plopped on his sex-stained sheets, Lamb weakly turned to him. Her body felt as though she was still riding out the remnants of his orgasm. White, thick seed dripped from her entrance, leaving a burning tingle deep within her stomach. Her legs were sore, backside beet red from the rough handling it had received. There was no telling how long it would take before she could stand prope-
“No.”
For the first time since their session began, the Curator had been caught off guard. Surprised even. Though before the pang of disappointment could plague his mind, Nasus caught a playful gleam in her ghostly eyes. She turned to lay on her back, legs reopening to reveal a slick entrance ready for another round.
“But that’s nothing practice won’t fix.”
Nasus felt that Ascended stamina returning to his body already. “Then the cycle begins ane-”
Of all the things that could’ve had its fate sealed by the Mark of Kindred, Nasus’s door was the least likely of them. The pair jolted in response to the remaining half of Kindred standing – floating – before Nasus’s former doorway.
Judging by his agitated glare, the appeal of chasing scorpions until they burrowed beneath the sands wore thin quickly.
“LAMB, IS IT TIME TO HUNT YET?!”