Date: Sat, 23 Aug 2008 00:05:08 -0700

From: The Oaken Satyr <the.satyr@gmail.com>

Subject: Stag God Chronicles - The Archon, Chapter Two

Hey, everyone.

This continues new series, a continuation of the Stag God Chronicles

in the form of a new trilogy I'm calling "Light in the Forest." This

first story in the trilogy is called "The Archon."

I'd also like to invite everyone interested in joining our chat list

about the Stag God Chronicles at:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/stag-god-cycle/

Also, if you'd like, feel free to IM me on Yahoo!, under

"the_oaken_satyr".

As usual, involves adult situations, with all that entails. You've

been warned.

+++++++++++++++++++

This story is (c) The Oaken Satyr, 2008

+++++++++++++++++++
Chapter Two: Purification

Though it was located weeks from the borders of the Empire, the Palace

of Light's influence stretched to the very edges of civilization.

Wherever the brilliance of the Lord of Light was known, there, too,

was felt the power of his priesthood. Everyone in the Empire knew the

priests of the Lord of Light by sight -- strongly built men, with hair

worn short or even shorn entirely, clad in pure white vestments marked

with the sacred sigils of their order. Gold was sacred to the Lord of

Light, and his priests wore the metal aplenty.

From the shining beads that counted the number of seasons the priest

had been with the priesthood, strung on the thick leather cords that

hung from their belts, to the white leather bracers embossed with gold

around their wrists, to the sacred rings of gold through their ears on

which prayers were written so that their ears might always be near to

their Lord's sacred words, most people knew that the sight of gold on

a man probably marked that man as a priest or other devotee of the

Lord of Light.

The Keepers, men dedicated to the defense of the Church's most

important priests and holy men, protected its grounds. Where most men

in the city wore the robes of monks, priests or acolytes, the Keepers

wore shining mail chased with gold under tabards of snow-white cloth.

The Keepers at the gate did not try and stop the figure, who was clad
in the garments of a pilgrim, as he entered the great Palace of Light,

pausing for just a moment beneath the great statue of the Lord of

Light that stood above each of the gates, in order to bow and pray for

a moment.

Then, he entered the town. Here, in the Palace of Light, it was not

simply on priests that gold might be seen, however. This, the very

beating heart of the Lord of Light's sacred Church, where the Holy

Illuminate -- the man said to be invested with a tiny drop of the sun,

who spoke the Will of the Lord of Light among men -- dwelt, gold and

white was everywhere. Tall towers of pure white marble stretched to

the heavens, their spires crowned with orbs of gold. The streets were

crafted of white cobblestones that showed slight gold flecks when the

rains washed them clean. The Palace of Light was the size of a small

town, though it was, in truth, a great temple.

The heart of the temple, however, was off-limits to most. Only the

most important of priests were granted open access to the so-called

Eternal Sanctuary. The Order of the Weeping Sun, a bureaucratic

monastic order, served in the Eternal Sanctuary, fulfilling their

primary oath: perfect and unwavering service to the Holy Illuminate.

The Eternal Sanctuary, which towered above all other structures in the

Palace of Light, so that it received sunlight from the moment dawn

lightened the horizon until the sun sank into the west, was defended

by the Auric Keepers, the finest fighting men of the Keepers.

They all seemed like heroes out of legend, with long hair that they

took oaths to allow to grow until they failed at some task, clad in

shining gold-chased armor with the massive two-handed gold blades that

were their signature: long, straight weapons whose grip and guard were

cast in gold to resemble a sunburst, with a long line of gold that

extended from the grip down the length of the deadly, razor-sharp

blades. It was said that the Hiraldir, the warrior-angels who served

the Lord of Light, first gave those blades to mankind.

"Halt," the first of the Auric Keepers stationed at the doorway into

the Eternal Sanctuary said to the young pilgrim. "You are welcomed to

the city on your pilgrimage, friend, but this is the Sanctuary of the

most blessed Holy Illuminate, and none are permitted to interrupt his

meditations."

The pilgrim regarded him calmly and, without removing his hood or

revealing his face, simply held up a coin marked with a sigil

depicting a crown in the center of a sunburst. The effect was

immediate: the Auric Keeper snapped into a salute and immediately

gestured for his friend to open the door.

"Forgive me," the soldier said, nodding to him. "I didn't know you

were on the Holy Illuminate's business." The bowed, and the pilgrim

returned the bow, keeping his face hidden. He strode through the
doorway without missing a beat, and it was clear that he was familiar

with its interior -- a boast no ordinary pilgrim could possibly make.

The Auric Keepers at the door traded a look and then went back to

their sentry duty.

The pilgrim walked past the entry vestibule, pausing to make the

appropriate signs before the Holy Stations. It was clear that he was

in a hurry, but his training was also impeccable. As he entered

further into the chapel at the heart of the Eternal Sanctuary, eyes of

white and gold watched him from above. Far above, the Holy Illuminate

watched the shrouded figure go to the holy font and ritually wash his

face, forehead and hands, and then kneel in prayer.

The Holy Illuminate was a tall man, and quite strong. With good

reason, of course -- only the strongest of mortals could possibly act

as the vessel for the Descended Illumination, the spark of holiest

Light sent to the mortal world by the Lord of Light. Lesser men who

tried to contain it were burnt to a husk by its awesome, majestic

power. Though he'd once had a name like other men, he was simply now

the Holy Illuminate, tall and broad shouldered, with strange white

hair that hung in tiny braids to the middle of his back. It was said

that though he'd once had dark hair, the invocation of the Light had

changed that. His eyes, as well, were now warm pools of golden amber.

Those eyes slid from the young man deep in prayer below to the broad-
shouldered monk beside him, his head shaven completely bald like the

rest of his brethren in the Order. Beneath one eye was inset a small

golden tear into the flesh of his cheek, to hang there perpetually, a

mark of his vows. The monk immediately dropped his eyes as the Holy

Illuminate turned to regard him.

"He has come," the holiest of holies said, his voice sending warmth

down the monk's spine. "As foreseen. Bring him to the council chamber."

The monk bowed and quickly scurried away to the stairs, descending

them quickly. In short order, he touched the shoulder of the pilgrim,

who started and glanced up. Seeing who it was, he pulled the shawl and

cowl away from his dark head and beseeching eyes.

"Mathis," the monk said, genuine affection in his voice. "The Holy

Illuminate has sent for you. Come with me, please." Inwardly, the

young man -- having spent the last few weeks contemplating his recent

induction into the cult of the Stag God -- swallowed nervously and did

as he was bidden.

The two began to climb the stairs that led upward, to the study and

mediation chamber of the Holy Illuminate. Mathis touched the walls to

his right with his fingertips; the white marble was cool to the touch.

The touch of his rough fingers rasped against the smooth stone -- the

sound was vulgar and embarrassing. The young man snatched his fingers
away as the monk glanced over his shoulder at him and smiled.

"I have missed seeing you in the cloister, Mathis," he said, with warm

affection in his voice. Mathis smiled and continued to climb. When he

glanced up again, he noticed that the monk Poltrin was watching him

curiously.

"I've missed being here, Poltrin," he said quickly, and the monk

smiled. The two continued the climb, past landings, each decorated

with the impressive white marble and gold statuary depicting Holy

Illuminates of the past. Finally, after many flights of stairs, the

steps simply ended in a doorway, marked with holy symbols inset in the

gold edging of the archway.

This chamber was at the very top of the tallest tower in the Eternal

Sanctuary. It was round, with a great glass dome and impressive

windows all the way around it, allowing every bit of light in the sky

through into the room. The sun seemed brighter, somehow, almost

blindingly so, and the white of the room didn't help Mathis' vision

any. He could tell that a figure knelt in the center of the chamber.

"Enter, Mathis," the monk said, stopping to stand beside the doorway.

It was clear that he would not be accompanying the young man inside.

"He awaits you."

The young man walked in. Once he passed the threshold, he blinked a

couple of times and found it easier to see. Still, it was bright

enough to bring tears to his eyes, and he quickly wiped at his face

with his sleeves.

"Are you alright?" The voice of the Holy Illuminate was deep and

resonant, with a smooth timbre to it that rumbled in Mathis's chest.

"I am, Your Eminence," Mathis said, bowing deeply. "Forgive me. It is

simply dark in the hallway outside, and very bright in your chambers."

"How blinding the Light seems when one stands in Darkness, my son,"

the holiest of holies said. His back was still to Mathis, and he had

not stood from his seated meditative position. "And yet how bearable

and wonderful the Light is, once one stands in it. Please. Sit."

Mathis quickly sat, assuming the seated position used by postulants to

the High Church while they are in training. He allowed himself the

luxury of gazing on the Holy Illuminate. The man was broad-shouldered,

and his long braided hair, which hung to the middle of his back, was

an impressive searing white color, purer even than the marble that

made up the room. His back was well-muscled, though somewhat marred by

patches of white scar tissue here and there.

Mathis had enough experience with the training of the High Church to
know that those scars came from weakness; those who wield the powers

of the Lord of Light must be strong and pure in body to channel his

holiness. Any failing or weakness -- physical or spiritual -- will sear

those who cannot wield it fully.

His naked back tapered down to a narrow, muscular waist, around which

was clasped a thick steel and gold belt, with plates of white-

lacquered steel inset with large chunks of amber that seemed to catch

and contain the sunlight that hit them, so that they practically

glowed with an inner light as well.

The Holy Illuminate wore a white cotton kilt, which left his well-

muscled legs bare. It also nicely outlined the shape of his rounded

buttocks, resting against the firmness of those legs, tucked almost

entirely under him. The light that came into the room passed through

the kilt somewhat, showing Mathis tantalizing lines of hard flesh

beneath that...

Suddenly, Mathis realized what he was doing and his stomach almost

turned itself inside out. He clasped his hands over his face and

muttered a prayer. When he dared to remove his hands again and glance

up, the Holy Illuminate had turned to face him, and simply sat,

watching him in his turmoil.

"You found them, I take it." Mathis only nodded, not trusting his
voice. The Holy Illuminate stared at him for a moment, and then spoke

sharply.

"Look at me!"

Mathis' head snapped up, and he looked into the face of the Holy

Illuminate. Some small part of him -- even now! -- observed that the

square-jawed, clean-shaven face of the holiest of holies was quite

handsome, and Mathis gritted his teeth as revulsion rolled over him.

He wanted to look away in deep shame, but dared not.

Tears rolled down his face.

"Do you see? This is the degradation they would lead all of mankind

to, my son. You have been with them only a short while, and this is

what you have been reduced to. This."

He practically spat the last word, his contempt and revulsion thick in

the utterance. Mathis could tell that his...yearning...for the foul

physicality of other men was as visible to the Holy Illuminate as the

light in the room, and the shame on his face.

He looked up and found only deep pity and the dedication to see all

sin and wretchedness wiped from the world in the eyes of the Holy

Illuminate.
"Tell me, then. Speak to me of what you learned of the growth of these

cults at the edges of the Empire. Did you find out how they spread,

how they communicate, who commands them? How do they recognize one

another. Tell me, and then I will release you to Poltrin's care, and

he will prepare you for purification."

Mathis nodded gratefully, and began to speak.

***

Several hours later, Mathis stumbled out of the chamber. He was

sweating, and clearly exhausted. He wobbled as he walked, his legs

having long since stopped hurting him for remaining in the postulant's

seating position and simply gone to sleep. He threw out a hand to

steady himself on the archway that led to the stairs down, but missed.

Fortunately, Poltrin was there to catch him.

"Easy, my boy," the monk said, concern radiating from him. "Take it

easy."

"Poltrin, please, I...I need...purification...and I..."

"Hush," the monk said, steadying him back on his feet. "Hush. What you

need is to get down these stairs. Purification will come in time. For

now, though, you can barely walk, much less endure the rites necessary."

Mathis collapsed against the burly monk and wept. Poltrin simply held

him, and let him cry as he carefully led the young man down the

stairs. In short order, the two of them -- the older monk and the

younger man, still dressed in his pilgrim's garb -- found their way to

the cells used by the monks of the Weeping Sun. A low, stocky

building, it was plain where the Eternal Sanctuary was opulent,

reflecting the humility and simple lives of the monks there.

"Do you remember when you first entered these halls?" Poltrin asked

Mathis, smiling at the young man. "How afraid you were."

"And now I return to them, tainted and filthy," Mathis whispered,

barely holding back the revulsion in his voice. Poltrin stopped him

and kissed him on the forehead.

"You are not tainted, Mathis," he said, embracing the boy to himself.

Mathis was rigid, and seemed to want nothing more than to pull away

from the touch of the older man. Poltrin held him out at arm's length,

his hands on the young man's shoulders.

"Mathis, listen to me. You have performed a great sacrifice. You duty
was difficult and onerous, and yet you bore it bravely. I heard what

they did to you -- what they forced you to do. But your sacrifice will

end in a great good."

In a short time, Poltrin led the young man to a simple cell, with a

bed and narrow window. While Mathis undressed and bathed the dust of

the road from his body, the monk went to fetch food and drink for him.

He sat with the young man, side by side on the bed, while Mathis ate

mechanically, wrapped in the thin blanket of the bedding.

"Thank you, master," Mathis said after he was done, handing the

platter back to Poltrin, who simply set it aside. "I feel better. Can...

can we go to the ritemaster? The sooner I receive purification...the

better I shall feel, I think."

Poltrin eyed him carefully, and then finally shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Mathis, but I can't allow that. In this condition? You're

so exhausted, and your spirit is low. The Holy Illuminate has asked

much of you today, and you have given him much. You must rest -- you

know the dangers of purification without strength in you. It could be

fatal."

Mathis simply stared at the floor and willed himself not to cry. How

miserable he felt, like a knot deep in his gut. Poltrin stood, and
pushed gently but insistently on Mathis' shoulder until the young man

lay down, facing the wall. Poltrin sat on the edge of the bed, and

stroked the young man's shoulder.

"You have given so much, Mathis. So much." His touch became lighter,

and his stroke wandered from his shoulder, down his arm to his elbow,

to his side and over his hip. "So much, my boy."

Finally his hand strayed down over his hip and cupped Mathis' buttock.

Mathis started, and Poltrin placed his other hand on the young man's

shoulder, keeping him from rising or turning over.

"Hush, my boy. Your trip has been difficult." As he spoke, pushing the

young man's shoulder against the wall, trapping him there, his other

hand reached down and pulled up on the nightrobe, hiking its hem past

the young man's knees, over his thighs and then laying bare his sweet,

curving buttocks. "You have given us so much...will you not give me just

a little more?"

Immediately, the monk grasped the warm, smooth flesh of Mathis' ass,

roughly and almost bruising. Mathis tried to shift, to turn over, but

he didn't fight it. Not truly. The bed creaked slightly as the monk

leaned on it, laying his knee into the young man's back and holding

him down with the force of his weight while his hands withdrew and

shrugged away his garments.

"Shhhh, Mathis. All is well. I have simply missed you, so much, my

boy." Mathis heard Poltrin spit into his hands and suddenly the monk's

fingers were worming their way between his muscled asscheeks. Quickly

enough, they found the entry to his hole and, slimy from the man's

spittle, worked first one finger into them, and then quickly

thereafter a second.

"Ahhh, my boy. You have been well-used. Your stories were not

exaggerations. Did their filthy cocks drive deep in you?" he asked,

pistoning his fingers in and out of the boy while he leaned down to

whisper in his ear. The monk's body weighed heavily on Mathis', and

the young man wasn't even sure that he could have escaped if he'd tried.

"Did they stretch your asshole with their thick meat?" he asked,

slipping a third finger into them. He pulled away from Mathis' face,

licking a line from the edge of the boy's shoved-up robe, over his

buttock and then spitting a great deal of saliva into Mathis' hole,

now gaping open thanks to the stretching of the fingers invading them.

"You must have loved it, Mathis. Why else would you be wracked with

such guilt? That's why we chose you, boy. You know that, don't you?

The Lord of Light knows the frailties and filth of his servants all,

my boy, yourself among them. He knows."

The monk quickly repositioned himself, and Mathis felt the hot
hardness of the man's cock touch his lower back and then press against

his ass -- not the largest he'd ever taken, especially not since

initiation into the Stag-God's cult, but thick enough, and with an

upward curve to it that always struck pleasant places within him. The

monk spat again, this time directly onto his cock, before positioning

it against his own fingers, now deep in Mathis' burning hot ass.

"Filthy pagan cocks, tearing into you. Were they truly as big as you

claim they were? Or were you embroidering? Was that how it was, or

simply how you wish it was, you filthy little animal? Do you crave

cock so?" he asked, and quickly shoved the head of his cock into the

boy's hole and pulled away his fingers. Then, with a savage lunge, he

buried his hot, fat cock in the boy, hissing as he did so.

Mathis cried out slightly, and Poltrin shoved his face into the

mattress of straw beneath him, muffling his cries.

"Not so jaded, I see," the monk chuckled, and then drew his cock

almost entirely out of Mathis' ass. He slowly, teasingly fed the cock

and it's delicious curve back into the boy, forcing inch by agonizing

inch back into the ass under him, packing the young man's nethers as

full of his aching cock as he could. "Not so used that a normal man's

cock fails to elicit a response, then."

Slowly but surely, Poltrin withdrew his cock again and slammed it
home, reaching down to bite the young man on the earlobe and the neck.

Mathis sobbed and -- damnable, against his will, nearly -- arched his

back, pushing his ass back against the monk's violation, taking the

cock as deeply as he could. Poltrin picked up the pace, sliding it

almost completely free and then shoving it into him over and over.

Mathis writhed under the rape, gasping his pleasure and his shame.

"Oh, they have changed you, though," Poltrin panted into his ear,

never pausing for even a moment in his relentless pounding of the

young man's ass. "No more of that mewling and sobbing I know from you

so well. Do you remember the first night you came here? When I found

you asleep, and my heart was moved to such sins as to make us both

shame-faced, with your rounded, sweet ass and that tight little hole

just aching to be filled by me?"

The sound of sweaty flesh slapping against sweaty flesh, and the

grunts of the two men, filled the room.

"But this...you are truly a debauched thing. What skills they must have

to turn the hesitant boy you were into the cock-hungry little monster

that writhes beneath me now. What terrible things did they do to you?

How many cocks did they slip into your hot little hole, over and over,

until they spilt their demon seed in you? How many times in one night?

Do you actually remember? Take that cock, boy -- take it deeply and...ah...

ah! Lord! Oh god!"

The monk shuddered and pulled the young man tightly against him as he

collapsed against Mathis' back, his existence narrowed down his seven

or so inches of fat, hard cock, jetting its seed deep in the boy's

bowels. The monk stilled, and Mathis shifted, turning over onto his

back.

Poltrin watched in fascination and revulsion as the young man shoved

two...no, three...fingers into his own cum-sloppy hole, pistoning them

rapidly in and out, while he took hold of his own thick meat with his

other. He pulled on it once, twice, thrice, and before Poltrin could

chastise him, he groaned aloud, and came messily, shooting thick ropes

of jism. The first spurt spattered against his cheek and slopped a

thread of cum into his mouth, while the rest of them painted his chest

and belly with the stuff. His tongue darted out and licked up the

ejaculate from his face that he could reach.

The monk simply stood there, staring, his mouth agape. The young man

on the bed below him was...possessed, almost. He was so taken by the

sensations of the fuck and orgasm that all trace of the shamefaced,

fearful young man was gone, leaving only a wild, primal creature

writhing in sheerest ecstasy on the bed. His breath came in gradually

slowing gasps.

By the time Mathis recovered from his orgasm, Poltrin had recovered
his clothing and donned his vestments again, the long robes hiding any

signs of his recent violation of the young man.

"Rest," he said shortly. His voice communicated anger, but Mathis

could tell there was something else there -- perhaps even something

slightly fearful, or awe-filled. "You have clearly been polluted by

their dark ways, and stand in great need of purification."

He turned to go, and then paused, his hand on the door. When he turned

to regard Mathis again, there were emotions warring on his face --

shame, anger, and deep, deep guilt. But more than that, Mathis

realized, was the desire to simply lay down again with him and hold

him -- and be held by him -- until the night passed.

"I...forgive me, Mathis. What I did was...I meant what I said when you

left here on your mission. I have been a poor mentor to you in your

time here, and weak besides. When I promised that would be our last

time...I meant it. This was...they have done something to you, Mathis, and

polluted you in some way. That...corruption...it affects me, too. You will

not be the only one in need of purification tomorrow."

With that, the monk departed, and closed the door behind Mathis.

Regards,
~The Satyr

the.satyr@gmail.com

Y!IM: the_oaken_satyr