Nymeria

NYMERIA

In the days following the raucous gala and the subsequent raid on Nymeria's fortress, the Sand Snake's most devoted subjects have been diligently restoring her palatial abode to match her licentious tastes.  The hallowed halls of the converted megachurch now teem with a debauched opulence that reflects the Queen's own carnal desires.

Withered vines snake their way up the weathered facades, while salacious tapestries depicting the most lurid of scenes adorn the crumbling walls. The grand foyer swaths in lustrous velvet drapes, casting an amber glow over the defiled chapel-turned-throne room. Tattered remnants of religious vestments punctuate the dungeon & torture chamber, now repurposed as the queen's bedchambers.

Gazing upon the fruits of her subjects' labor, the Queen murmurs to herself with a smug, self-satisfied smirk.

“My subjects toil diligently to restore my kingdom to the glory I so desire.  The renovations progress well, the palace now taking shape in the debased vision I behold.  There shall be no finer locale for a royal orgy.”  The Queen's fingertips trace teasingly along the grotesque contours of a sculpture depicting cherubs in lewd congress, savoring the carnal grotesquery.  “Mmmm, I wonder what his reaction will be when crossing the threshold of my sanctum?  'Twill be a thing of dark delight to observe if that winning smile and empty flattery can whet the hunger of mine appetites.”

A titillating frisson of anticipation courses through Nymeria's lithe form, her lust-swollen lips curling into a lascivious smile.

The Queen reclines upon her bed of gnarled, twisted wood and supple leather, her long dark hair cascading around her bare shoulders.  The flickering light from the bedside lantern dances upon the tribal tattoos etched into her brow, casting an ethereal glow across her comely features. She lazily draws a sharp-edged dagger along her thigh, the keen blade glinting in the dim light.

The night air is thick with anticipation as she awaits the arrival of her guest, John Smith. Months of deposing his whore princess, Zara, and battling the grotesque warlord Rattlehead across the blasted wastelands have stoked an insatiable desire within Nymeria. She yearns to unravel the secrets of what truly lies beneath that rugged exterior.

The opulent chamber, once a grotesque mockery of the faith that once resided within these sanctified walls, now serves as a testament to the debased pleasures she craves.  Crimson velvet drapes adorn the vaulted ceilings, while salacious frescoes of her glistening form, entwined with beasts and lovers alike, line the crumbling façade. The once holy altar, now a grand four-poster bed etched with eerie sigils, stands as a wicked crown jewel.

Emboldened by her triumphant defense of her palace and her people, Queen Nymeria thirsts to claim John Smith as her own conquest and lays in wait, like a fantastical beast of myth and lore, for him to cross her hallowed threshold.  She knows not if he shall prove to be the perfect plaything, but utters to chance.  For in the realm forged in the fires of the old world's demise, she has grown to the knowledge that desire tempers all.

Recalling the disastrous turn the grand revelry had taken, Nymeria clenches her fist in frustration, her nails digging into the supple leather of her bed's headboard.  Not a single sultry coupling had she managed to commence before the infernal interruption of Rattlehead's marauding horde.  And afterward, the cream of her lovers lay dead and cold upon the blood-stained altars of her once hallowed halls.

But such recollections fade as her gaze falls upon the fruits of her subjects' labor.  The once-shattered stained glass windows are being carefully restored, great swathes of shimmering jewel tones casting kaleidoscopic refractions across the crumbling walls.  Hundreds of her most devout followers work tirelessly to mend the damages wrought by Rattlehead's unholy crusade, their hands blistered and calloused from the arduous tasks they labor under Nymeria's watchful eye.

Nearly two hundred of her chosen had fallen in defense of the palace, completing the darkest of sacrifices upon the unholy altars of chance and fortune.  A toll she will not soon forget. But oh, what a toll had been levied against her despised foe! Hundreds of the wretched dung eater's horde of miscreants lay strewn about the blasted battlefield, their blood soaking into the parched earth like the sweetest of sanguinary rains.  And when at last she had laid eyes upon the fallen leader's corpse, his ruined manhood sheared away and cast asunder by a well-placed bullet, Nymeria could not help but to cackle with a blood-hungry mirth.  Such casualties were a bitter pill to swallow, yes, but the knowledge that she had dealt the horrifying marauder such a crushing blow was the finest ambrosia imaginable weaving itself 'round her darkened soul.  Soon, her proud palace would stand unscathed and gleaming in the harsh light of the unforgiving sun, a testament to the power of her indomitable will.

 John and Nymeria fuck. John becomes King.

Nymeria updates John on all the Freemen afterwards .... Warlords: Deadly Jasmine has Gutgash in the sandpits, he's being nursed to health.  Cutter has absorbed Vizzeon and Rattlehead's crew.  Rachie has teamed with Roxy.