Rynn

The Blood Moon.

It's a phenomenon that happens once every ten years. A night that is feared and dreaded by all. And for good reason. For on this night alone, portals open up all across the land - hundreds of them, drawn - everyone assumes - by the vibrant life and habitats of people come together to form villages, towns, cities. For when a gathering of life grows large enough, it draws the attention of one of these portals - and those that dwell on the other side of it.

It's happened for centuries now, and only through trial and error have effective defenses been found against them - not a way to stop these portals, no far from it. But whenever they appear, on the night of the Blood Moon, each small village or town or city takes steps to defend against it. Parties are formed and sent through to slay the monstrous demons and predators on the other side. Sometimes these are soldiers. Or mercenaries. Or whatever feasible defense the small hovel of humanity can muster together to fight for them. One enterprising city sends through their most hated and feared criminals - justice and punishment meted out for the good of all. None ever return. But should the villages and towns and cities fail in this defense, the hordes of demons and monsters and predators on the other side swarm through and leave havoc and destruction in their wake. Entire villages have disappeared, been raised to the ground, their inhabitants never seen from again.

Far better to sacrifice a few stalwart heroes to protect their families than to lose everyone.

Such a human notion, after all. The brave and glorious martyrdom that will save all those who need them. Such a useful ambition to play on. We've cultivated it for centuries, of course. Played our cards very carefully. Made sure that this one solution was the only one to ever succeed, ensured that it would continue to succeed, and so the humans never deviate from their merciful victories. Decade after decade. Those who defend are known as heroes, venerated with a reverence that becomes almost godlike in some realms.

And so they continue to march through our portals, to defend those who they love, to keep all they hold dear, safe.

And hand themselves over to us like darling little lambs to the slaughter.

A metaphor, of course. They're no use to us dead, after all. If that was all we were after, we could have swarmed into their realm at any time and picked them off at our leisure. But oh, no, they are a far more useful commodity than that. Once, perhaps, our kind were the simple little hordes of monsters who preyed with mindless hunger on their kind but we've long since evolved into a far more clever sort of predator. And humans? Well, they are one of the most vital assets in our economy.

Their life essence. Their emotions. Sometimes their blood, their flesh, their seed. There is very little of them that someone somewhere doesn't want a claim on. So we've turned them into an industry.

And I'm no exception. As one of the Elder Lords of this realm, I get my pick of those herded and rounded up on the night of the Blood Moon. It was initially my idea, after all. My genius plan, to have so many of them come to us instead of us putting in the exhaustive effort of tracking such worthy samples down. And my personal brand of industry? Well, it's one of the most lucrative and sought after in our realms.

I'm speaking of sex, of course. Lust. Desire. Pleasure. They are so good for it, you see. These little humans, who do everything so passionately. It's almost too easy, especially for one of my kind. We feed off it, you see, and in turn, feed it back. It's a lovely little cycle that we've cultivated to an art. And now, with so many humans in a near-steady supply, my operations have expanded wildly in the past few centuries. At first, it had only been a handful. A few dozen. But now? Now we are Legion.

~ ~ ~
Pride; The Hunters

I leave nothing to chance. Therefore it is many of my own kind who fill the ranks of those who lie in wait for our 'heroes' to march through to face us. But this realm is not like the one the humans know. Everything here is designed to be a pretty poison, a decadent entrapment. The very land itself could feed its fill on our little humans if we let it, from the flora and fauna to all that roam upon it. If the humans are not rounded up quickly enough, it's not impossible for their numbers to be lost entirely. Even so, there are those who fight or those who are lured away in the chaos. It is those of my number I set to this task that are responsible for us losing as few to this end as possible. Of course, if they take their payment in pleasure - or pain - well. Such is to be expected. They can be so very excitable, after all.

And should a portal fail to provide the desired payment from the humans on the other side? Well, payment must be extracted from somewhere. The humans cannot be allowed to think there will be exceptions, after all. We will not be seen as weak. There is truth to the tales of destruction and disappearances. Should the humans not be willing to pay a pittance for their existence? We will then take our own payment - in full.

Gluttony; The Breeders

They are the lowest ranking of those who pass over to us. The standard stock. There is rarely much special about them and, unfortunately, the largest number of those who stagger into our little snares end up here. That doesn't mean they're not still useful, however. They very much are - they are the biggest suppliers lust and base desires here, after all. After a little attention from our little Queens, many of them end up mindless beasts of hunger and need, desperately addicted and always craving more. What they provide varies on the need - emotions leeched, lust and desires fed on, any number of bottled tinctures for any of the baser pleasures and hungers. Often, even, just holes to be filled - and eagerly so. They fill the Stables in their little stalls, hooked up to feeders, to the machines to gather the desired results, kept addicted and mindless and biddable, just like the good little cattle they are.

Wrath; The Fighters

Not everyone reacts to our little Queens' attentions quite the same way, however - we learned this quickly. HUmans are, if nothing, ingenious in their little rebellions and defiance. For some humans, the Queen's little sting does not make them biddable and pliant, harmless in their desire to follow along like high little sheep. No, these are the obstinant, the stubborn, the willful. The Fighters. The little sting affects them quite differently - bringing out much darker of their instincts. Perhaps they had these already or perhaps there's something in that addiction that awakens it in them - either way, it matters little, but these are always too violent and restless to be happy being contained in a small stall for whatever scraps we need from them.

So instead, we let them find their challenge in one another. The Gladiator Pits were once a human invention - they are so very brilliant in coming up with new ways of slaughtering one another, after all - but we've tweaked and modified the ideal a bit. As violent as the matches get, there is little to no chance of death for the contenders. Pain, yes, and plenty of room to vent that rage and wildness that now instills them, motivates them. They've become a great source of entertainment in our realms, leaving each of the Fighters to make their little names for themselves here. Bets are often placed around matches and a great deal of bidding goes into their stud prices - most of them are male, after all, since they seem more predisposed to the loss of control and the surrender to more primal natures, but there are a fair share of females here, too. Either way, as a side venture, it has turned out to be quite profitable for those who much prefer a little fight in their prey, to bend or break as they desire.

Sloth; The Queens

But I suppose I should explain what it is that makes both these groupings so valuable - and so containable for my people. There is a subset of our kind we refer to as Widows - they are rare and as a result, few and far between. Reclusive, but they are known for one very special ability - their sting. In most humans, it produces the effects listed above: euphoria, need, desire, hunger. A potent aphrodisiac that in its purest form is more addictive than any drug. A prick from their nails is all it takes, but in truth, they exude this about them - a kiss, a caress at the correct spot, that's all it would take for them to claim their newest prey. And the humans are harmless against it.

Of course, being so rare, there's no way they could possibly manage the numbers I now claim. So we've come up with a compromise. They hold the knowledge of how to share their abilities, to create a hybrid of sorts, with a select few who they deem talented enough to survive the process. Once they subsisted in little nests of their own making, but this was what drove the humans to hunt them, only contributing to their rarity. Instead, they now impart this gift on those they choose from my stock - some they keep and the rest they leave with me. My little Queens, I call them, for each has a hive of his or her own on the estate - most near the Stables or the Pits. They have their chosen feeders around them, for a Queen cannot survive without them. His or her own little harem, as it were. A Queen's very presence excites them, arouses them, and they need one to live - a Queen's scent, a Queen's pleasure. They dote on him or her and in turn, are fed by their Queen's desire. It makes a delicious little rebound, a continuous cycle, and the Hives I keep are always just buzzing with their happy little orgies and love nests inside. And I have more than enough Queens now to make sure every little human that is filtered into my domain is kept with a steady supply of what I need to control them with.

Greed; The Auction

Not everyone chosen, unfortunately, has what it takes to make the cut of our high standards. Or, on occasion, one of the little cattle or fighters outlive their usefulness. They're still in great demand in the rest of the realm, however, so once every few moons, I have a culling. Separate the chaff from the wheat. Those not up to muster are cleaned up, prettied up, and put up on display. it's a very high profile event, of course - these are still not your bottom-rung humans, after all. A feast is held with the merchandise on display, to be viewed and inspected at my guests' leisure and after they have looked their fill, they gather for the Auction. The bidding often goes quite high - for some more than others, although I often pick my guests according to what it is I know they will seek. They are often not as discerning as I, and for most of the pets getting sold off... well, that is their fate now and no longer my business. If that is to be broken in or to be feasted on for a short time before they are used up, it is not my concern. I'm getting compensated for them, after all, and what their new owners do with them is up to them.

I did mention that there are tastes for all sorts of things in these realms, did I not?

Envy; The Jewels

Of course, even while most of our little tributes are standard stock, ordinary, average... there are the rare few that are something more. Special. Extraordinary. Agile, or graceful, or beautiful, or capable of being molded into the most exquisite example of all that we love about them. They are the diamonds in the rough, needing to be sorted out, polished up, and then set in a fitting to show off their most attractive uniqueness. These rare and beautiful few, of course, are in the highest demand. only the upper echelon of our society could even dream of attaining one of these rare jewels. Bidding for them does not happen at anything so crass as an open auction. No, these require careful molding of each pet to a particular taste so they will be perfect for their matched owner, their new master - and their masters' desires.

Some are obedient and pliant, the perfect affectionate little pet to be coddled and spoiled and doted on. Others are pristine, to be dressed up and shown off at the exquisite little dolls they are. Some crave the despair, the humiliation, of a possession utterly debased, objectified. The demands are quite vast and varied and oftentimes exhausting, I assure you. But I pride myself on the fact that I can provide anything my elite and very particular clientele may be searching for - for a price. And that they've become the rarest and most sought after pieces of art and beauty in our realm? Well, that's just a nice side-benefit, isn't it?

Lust; The Pets

I'm sure it should come as no surprise to anyone that I've my own particular tastes to consider, of course. While many of our little diamonds in the rough are set aside for those who seek them, I must admit to having a wandering eye of my own and I'm not above and beyond singling out those who draw my eye for more personal natures. These are my pets, my own little pretty collection, even if my tastes and hungers may be more varied than eve that of my most finicky client. I am drawn to the spark in them, after all, something that calls to my own desires, my own endless cravings. These are all ongoing projects in their own right, for I rarely tire of a challenge, of the opportunity to craft perfection. That the humans are so willing to sacrifice themselves to me and pay homage to their god is only right, and it would be disrespectful of me to take my pleasure from those rare few I find worthy. Interesting.

I am Lust, after all, and these are my realms now.