Mortish
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Night VI Excerpt | Unaligned Zealot [Steamy]
🕑 Added 2025-04-15 02:04:21 +0000 UTCOkay, so I said no more Zealot but indulge me one more. It occurred to me that a lot of readers haven't played the unaligned Zealot route and aren't aware that it has a different ending than the main routes for Heretic & Zealot. Basically, your MC has a bit of a breakdown in the bath and, depending on which RO she has the highest bond with, she'll seek comfort from either Valdricht or Serax. I'll post the end of that scene to orient you, along with the subsequent Night VI passage. Since we've been a bit Serax-heavy the past couple of days, let's do the Valdricht one!
Excerpt:
"Valdricht," you say through sniffles. "I need Valdricht."
It's an inane request, and yet it's the first thing that comes to your mind. Not The Dawn Mother, not The Weaver, but the man whose presence makes you feel sane in a world that makes less sense by the hour.
As if the name is magic, strong hands take hold of the sides of your arms. Serax releases you. You catch a glimpse of his concerned expression before you're turned to face Valdricht. He's clad all in black, just as the night you met him. And just like that night, you feel drawn to him. Inexorably so.
"Go and wait with Oskari," he says to Serax.
The younger man obeys without question, departing through the open door and closing it behind himself. When the door clicks shut, Valdricht's frosted gaze turns down to regard you.
"Tell me," he says.
He doesn't elaborate, and you don't need him to.
"Have you ever believed something that you knew to be untrue, yet you continued to act as if you believed, because to admit otherwise would mean the end... the end of everything you thought you understood? Everything you thought you were?"
Valdricht runs his long fingers through your damp hair. "That is somewhat convoluted, but yes."
You wipe at your eyes. "Really? What happened?"
Without inflection, he says, "I watched my father condemn my mother to death."
"Oh," you gasp, covering your mouth with your hand. "I'm so sorry."
"It was a very long time ago."
"Still... What did you do? How did you move forward from something like that?"
He guides you to the laugheim, sitting you on the edge and then taking a seat beside you.
"In truth, I do not remember," he says. "I was young. Perhaps half your age. I know that I believed I loved my mother above all things and that I was the sort of son who would walk through fire to save her. And then I stood at my father's side and watched while she burned. By nightfall, my mother and the son I believed myself to be were nothing but ashes, and I had to make peace with what remained."
Quiet tears roll down your cheeks, though they aren't for yourself. "Gods... I must sound like a fool, weeping over my faith."
"Grief is not a pain to be measured against that of another," he says. "And if you were a fool, you would not feel conflicted. You would continue to lie to yourself."
You rest your head against his arm, close your eyes, and breathe. Valdricht sits with you in silence until you're ready to speak.
"Serax said that you're older than the Elodari faith. Is that true?"
"Yes."
You exhale slowly. "Is it true?"
"Some of it. In the way that fables carry a remnant of something true."
"The Dawn Mother?"
"A work of fiction, created by King Adonir the Conqueror."
Your eyes snap up to meet his. "Adonir was real? And a king?"
"Yes on both counts. He was the son of a god, but not a nice one. He spent centuries warring against rival gods, conquering lands, and subjugating lesser beings. When he grew tired of being a despot, he retired to play at being king. He invented Elodine, a benevolent mother goddess of peace and mercy. Within a few generations and inquisitions, the people forgot he was a villain."
Your mouth has gone dry, making your words hoarse. "But what about their old gods? The ones they worshipped before?"
He tilts his head. "If you put ten men on a pyre and tell them they can leave if they denounce their gods and swear adherence to your pagan faith, how many do you think will choose to burn?"
It's a macabre question, and yet you're grateful for it. The whole conversation has distracted you from your existential crisis. Even what he's told you about Adonir and Elodine doesn't hurt in the way that it should.
"I suppose it depends on what kind of men they are. What if they're holy men?"
Valdricht swats at the air. "Nei. The holy men do not get a chance. You burn them first and publicly, so that the people can see them suffer and cry for deliverance that does not come."
You swallow. "Oh."
"These ten men, they are the ones from the crowd. They've seen their holy men burn and now they have the choice. Do they renounce their gods, or do they burn for them?"
"I suppose they'd all renounce their gods, no?"
Valdricht arches a brow. He clicks his tongue at you, even as his lips slant. "Not the answer I would expect from a holy woman."
You once more cover your mouth, this time in an attempt to stifle a grim laugh. It's not effective.
"Clearly I wasn't a very good holy woman," you point out. "Also, I've had the unfortunate experience of burning to death. It does shift one's perspective."
His lips tighten. "A unique perspective, indeed. The answer is three. On average, three out of ten choose to burn. The number goes down to two if you threaten to burn their wives. Zero to one, if you start with their children. But the latter two are ineffective at rooting out dissidents. You burn the three who will not accept your pagan faith, along with their families. That is how you erase a pantheon of gods and fabricate a new one in a generation."
"That is... You sound as if you speak from experience."
"I have witnessed a fair number of inquisitions in my time." Valdricht pauses, waiting for you to absorb what he's told you, and then he says, "You would not burn for Elodine."
"What makes you say that?"
"What does it matter? You know it is true."
"I..." You wet your lips. "I think the version of me who would have, she already did. She burned to death in Kalat, but I can't seem to let go of her. She's in my head all the time, judging my actions, critiquing my thoughts, and biting my tongue. It isn't—"
You suck in a breath as Valdricht takes hold of your chin. In the span of one heavy thud of your heart, his mouth is on yours, claiming your lips with his.
It isn't just his blood that tastes like sin.
You wouldn't burn for Valdricht.
But the woman who would have pushed him away, who would have taken offense to the way he touches you, grips you—you're glad she's dead.
[Night VI]
You've never given much thought to what it would be like to be kissed. The few times you mused about it, you imagined it would be wet, the man's mouth reeking of garlic and sour spirits. And it was always an assailant, because you couldn't fathom being kissed by someone you desired.
Valdricht's kiss is warm. Soft yet firm. Demanding, yet restrained. You're torn between the passivity of inexperience and a burning urge to respond. In the end, all you trust yourself to do is lean into Valdricht as his lips move against yours. Your hands settle on his chest, a feeble gesture to keep distance between your bodies.
You tell yourself you'll push him away.
You must push him away.
A dark part of you prays he'll push back.
His hands are far from idle. The one that gripped your chin now cradles the back of your neck, his claws grazing your skin like a whispered warning. His other hand trails slowly down your chest. A throaty noise escapes you as his thumb brushes the side of your breast. You've touched yourself there in recent days, but never have they felt so sensitive.
Everything is sensitive. Your robe, loosely tied, feels cruelly restrictive. Each frenzied breath presses your skin against the rough fabric, teasing it to near agony.
And between your legs...
In your mind, you weave a veil, imagining it draping over you both. It's crafted of some enchanted thread, thick enough to shield you from the gods' prying eyes. Only then do your hands curl, clutching the fabric of Valdricht's shirt.
He makes a sound—a low, masculine grunt—as his grip tightens on your waist. It's the only warning before he pulls you into his lap.
A faint alarm bell rings in the back of your mind. It isn't enough to stop the whimper that spills into his mouth. Your knee scrapes the edge of the bath, but it doesn't urge you to pull away as Valdricht shifts you in his lap.
You're acutely aware of your lack of undergarments as he positions your legs on either side of him. Still, it doesn't give you pause—not until he presses your pelvis against his, or perhaps he presses himself against you. The moment it happens, nothing else makes sense. Something stiff grazes the apex of your tender sex, and pleasure jolts through you.
For one fleeting instant, clarity returns, sharp enough to act upon...
✧ Stop him.
✧ Don't stop.
My thoughts:
Yikes! That's a cruel place to leave it, but I don't want to spoil too much. A tip (heh) for the chaste vestal RPers, you're safe to indulge and click the second option. He won't tarnish you too much.
I want to thank you guys for all the awesome feedback on the last tendency post. That was so valuable to read and I love how respectful everyone is of differing perspectives. I almost didn't feel like I was on the internet when I was reading your back and forth comments, they were so nice!
As I wrap up the first in-game week, I'll be discussing various changes that I'll be making in the Week One update. I will be shifting the tone a bit closer to my original, darker vision for the story, however I also intend to respect the integrity of each MC and avoid fundamentally changing her. I do intend to emphasize the sexual desires of the MC as a fledgling darksinger, particularly around feeding times, though I won't turn her into an over-sexed nutball. I think it'll make a particularly juicy conflict for the Zealot and a more natural flow into intimacy for the Heretic. We'll talk through all of the changes as I restructure. I plan on touching base with you guys several times a week and I'll rely on patrons to help fine-tune the narrative.
Once it's finished, the Week One update should be an awesome foundation for you to steer your story in the direction that most interests you, be it the romance, the journey of self-discovery, the sexual content, or the pregnancy plotline. In fact, I actually have a new mechanic planned so that you can choose between those options in the prologue and tweak the story accordingly!
Anyway, that's all for tonight. I'll be slow to answer any questions here or on Tumblr for the next day or two while I reckon with Night VI. Every time I think it's almost ready, another drifting, disconnected branch springs up to taunt me with its lack of a satisfying conclusion. I promise, at the risk of being excessively prideful, Night VI is going to be awesome. I have scenes where I'm squealing like a girl at a K-Pop concert as I edit them, I love this night so much, even as it taunts me with its complexities. Thanks for bearing with me.
-Mortish
Comments
Ro
His fated mate senses were tingling and he has been waiting at the bathroom door this entire time /joking. Real talk, I figure he felt Serax's distress when Zealot screamed via the bond and booked it, since the last time this happened... well.
Fiona
I actually got this scene, and it's amazing. Valdricht makes me so sadge
sunday
1 thing I’ve always wondered abt this scene is how Valdricht teleported in there so fast like 😭 did he sprint down the hall
