yatsabel
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Apr 19, 2001
- Messages
- 296
- Points
- 18
"The Tempered"
The sheer scale of Glee felt endless to Corina.
In the weeks following her arrival, she was certain she had only seen a fraction of its sprawling halls and hidden chambers. She had been elevated immediately to the rank of Green Mage, a status that signified her as a promising student of Mistress Sydra. Her robes, the color of fresh leaves, were a sharp contrast to the plain white tunics of the less-promising mages. She often spotted practitioners in the coveted purple robes of the most senior students, realizing she had a long ascent ahead.
Of all the places in Glee, the most infamous was undoubtedly the Vivarium, or what the apprentices still grimly called the "Stables." It was a fitting name for a stark reality. Here, lesser mages, referred to basely as "cows," were "milked" for their magic in booths, not unlike those where horses might be sheltered. This was where mages with limited potential were condemned to live out their term at Glee, their magical reserves constantly drained to fuel the training of promising students like Corina. Hope of redemption was rare; how could one improve their skills when one was always being drained of their power?
Due to Mistress Sydra's urgent need for more mages for the Evergold war, a few of the "better cows" had recently been elevated to active training, yet this only intensified the demand on those who remained in the Vivarium, making their existence even more difficult.
Mages were allowed to choose their "cows," and a certain exclusivity was granted as long as the "cows" were not already claimed by a higher-ranking mage.
Corina, with her gentle and thoughtful nature, had quickly befriended three of them.
Meghan was the first, a young centaur with short, blonde hair and a boyish frame, who specialized in plant magic—a discipline not currently favored by Sydra's war aims. Despite her grim circumstances, Meghan was perpetually cheerful and embraced her fate, grateful for the base knowledge she had already gained.
"My village will have all the flowers it could ever want," she'd once told Corina, her expression bright. "I'll be able to make them bloom a dozen times faster after all this."
Meghan was also unbelievably ticklish. Corina never used the standard stocks with her, which were clumsy and uncomfortable. Instead, she used her own fine, magically woven webs to bind Meghan’s human torso and equine legs.
"Oh! Oh, Corina, that’s so much better," Meghan had said during their first session, her voice a mix of relief and barely contained giggles.
"This feels so much more… personalized. The wood stocks are dreadful." It took very little effort to reduce Meghan to a pool of helpless laughter. Her joy was infectious, and her constant supply of magic was a welcome boon. Meghan wore no robes, simply a wide white sash at her waist, proudly displaying her bare human torso.
Without feet or human ticklish legs to focus on, Corina explored her other highly sensitive areas: her trim belly and the nub-like belly button just above her sash, and her apple-sized breasts with their small, pink nipples. Corina took particular interest in tickling these earnestly, especially around the sensitive areolae and nubbins that made Meghan purr and laugh in a blend of ticklish terror and sensory pleasure.
She also quickly realized that Meghan's armpits were insanely sensitive; digging her nails into their ticklish depths made the centaur snort with uncontrollable laughter. From her position by the webs, Corina skillfully navigated these spots, finishing with particular attention to Meghan's neck and ears, nibbling with gusto and sending Meghan into gales of helpless laughter. Meghan, unlike most "cows," truly enjoyed the tickling and valued Corina's company, a friendship that went beyond the necessary extraction of magic.
Haka was Corina's second "cow" and a different story entirely. A towering half-orc, she possessed the aggressive demeanor of a seasoned battle mage. However, Haka was a "shallow well." She had the ability to cast a single, powerful spell but lacked the magical reservoir to continue fighting, a quality Sydra's mind-warfare tactics did not value. No one else wanted to train with Haka because she provided so little magic, but Corina took her on.
With her gentle yet skilled touch, Corina was able to draw a decent amount of power from Haka without causing her lasting distress. Haka’s feet, surprisingly soft and sensitive, were a vast landscape to explore.
Corina found a strange pleasure in learning all the different places and touches that would coax magic from the formidable half-orc. Haka was ticklish in other spots, but her feet were by far her most vulnerable area. Corina didn't bother with other spots once she discovered the secrets of Haka's bare and sensitive soles. Corina enjoyed watching the serious and physically powerful half-orc step into the rigid stocks, placing her ankles and wrists into place with humble resignation. It seemed almost comical as small Corina closed the stocks on the massive, hulking half-orc, securing her. Tickling was especially torturous for Haka. She broke down immediately, turning from a proud, stoic warrior into a begging, maniacally laughing mess. She shook the stocks with insane intensity, and though the restraints were hardly the quality of Rika's, they held the half-orc in place despite her helpless thrashing. When done and released, Haka would lay panting on the ground, utterly exhausted. She'd eventually rise, grunt a curt nod at Corina, and go about her way, never discussing the session.
Torian, a male minotaur, was Corina's third "cow." He was even larger than Haka, with a muscled upper body that made Herschel, the strongest man Corina knew, seem slight in comparison. Yet, among his own kind, Torian was considered a runt due to his lack of combat prowess. He had a deep magical well, but his skill was lacking.
Still, he was gracious and appreciative of Corina's gentle methods. Like Meghan, he preferred being bound by her webs rather than the clumsy stocks. He would kneel on the floor, his great body trembling with anticipation, as Corina carefully tethered his dangerous horns and bound his large hands and thick ankles with webs. He was a thrasher, and other mages feared getting gored, but Corina’s webs held fast. No matter how much he struggled and kicked, the magic held him immobile.
He screamed, shouted, and begged like no one else in the Vivarium. Torian stretched the webs to their limits. His torso was hard and powerful, but he was ironically vulnerable under Corina’s fingers. His feet were enormous, even bigger than Haka's. Corina was swift and never taunted him like some other mages might.
Torian was fiercely protective of Corina, and any mages looking to bother her were quickly put in their place by his intimidating presence. Corina looked up to him like the big brother she had never had.
The three combined provided Corina with enough magical energy to fuel her intense and demanding training.
Intense and demanding hardly described the ordeal of training in Glee.
While Corina felt sorry for the white robes mages, she was excited to learn more in Glee.
She soon learned that Sydra was a demanding mistress indeed.
* * * * * * * * * *
Training took place in the courtyard, a vast, open area surrounded by high battlements where the mages cast their spells. The air here continuously smelled of brimstone and crackled with the sound of channeled magical energies. It was an interior space, yet a faux sky was painted high above, and the area was perpetually illuminated as if by a bright noon sun, though the light source itself remained a mystery.
The mages on the battlements were predominantly Green Mages, as the advanced Purple Mages were usually deployed to the front lines. A few White Mages were speckled among the group, though they were not there for long: they were either elevated to the intermediate Gold rank or sent back to the Stables. Gold Mages were also on a tight wire, progressing quickly to Green or facing demotion to White and subsequent consignment to the Stables. The White Mages who weren't in the immediate moment providing power in the Vivarium were coordinated to set up targets in the courtyard—a somewhat precarious task with so many dangerous spells being cast. The battlements themselves were hazardous; magic mishaps were common, and it was not unusual for a mage to be sent to the infirmary with an injury from a spell gone astray.
High above the chaos, Mistress Sydra watched Corina practice. She observed the clean, swift, yet small fireballs that Corina cast onto her targets, one after the other. Quick and efficient, but lacking the destructive force of her colleagues' spells.
Sydra drew near. Her presence usually made mages nervous, but Corina continued to throw small mini fireballs at her target. She paused as Sydra stood next to her.
"Show me Fireball," Sydra's voice commanded, close to Corina's ear, sharp enough to cut through the din.
Corina's brow furrowed. She extended her hand, and a sputtering, apple-sized ball of fire flew from her palm, hitting the target with a faint puff of smoke.
"Not good enough," Sydra reprimanded, her tone slicing. "I don't want precision. I want power. You're just as effective as an arrow, maybe less. I want you to be feared—to sow terror into the ranks of the enemy. I don't care about casualties. We wage mind war, not physical war."
"I can't do more," Corina said, her voice laced with genuine frustration. "It's like there's a limit I can't break."
Sydra did not answer with words. She raised her own hand and spoke the command. A roaring explosion erupted from her palm, shaking the stone walls and leaving a smoking, ten-foot crater where the target had stood moments before.
"There are only limits you impose," Sydra said, her voice low and patient, yet carrying absolute conviction. "You have the talent, so any limit you have is your own creation. That is why I am so patient with you. You cast everything else with exceptional skill. But I need a battle mage, a pyrocaster, and I will make one of you. Either that,or I will make you the prized cow in my Stable."
Corina nodded grimly and her eyes narrowed in concentration.
"Show me Fireball," Sydra spoke again, her eyes fixed on Corina.
Corina took a deep breath, but the result was the same: a small, impotent ball of flame.
"You must take all your anger and all your hate," Sydra instructed loudly shouting and stepping close enough that Corina could feel her warmth. "Make it small in the pit of your stomach. When you exhale, you release that emotion."
"Fireball," Sydra whispered again her voice almost a hiss.
Corina closed her eyes, desperately trying to summon the hateful emotions Sydra demanded. She thought of her past, of all the slights and cruelties, but the anger was a faint flicker, a fleeting memory.
"There is no hate in you," Sydra observed, as if reading the emptiness in her mind. "No anger. And love will not fuel this spell. But no matter."
Sydra studied her student intently. "You do have frustration. It is obvious to me. Pent-up disappointment from feelings of inferiority. You've felt less because of this. You've doubted because of this. That is what you need to take and bring forward. Fuel your spell with that. Take it all. Make it a small, concentrated ball in your belly. Then. Release."
Corina closed her eyes and imagined all the times she doubted and didn't feel enough or didn't feel she belonged. All the times she tried and failed and felt like there was no hope. The feelings bubbled to the surface in a dull throbbing emotion.
"Fireball," Sydra whispered one last time.
Corina opened her eyes, her expression grim with self-directed focus. She felt a heavy lump in her gut, and she pushed it all out with a single, sharp breath. The magic surged from her fingertips, not as a ball of flame, but as a silent, powerful wave of heat. The target, instead of being struck, instantly turned into a puff of gray ash.
It was destroyed but not to the effect Sydra had demanded.
"Again!" Sydra shouted.
Corina frowned, her focus shattered by the failure of her new technique.
"I can't," she admitted, unable to replicate the emotional state.
"See me in the Vivarium," Sydra said, her voice losing all patience. With a rustle of silk, she was gone.
Corina felt a crushing sense of dread. She had never been told to go to the Stables. It was clear all apprentices and mages could be "milked" depending on the circumstances, and she had taken some grim satisfaction in hearing Drash plead during his session with Sydra after she learned from others that he had abandoned her in the forest. Now she felt disappointed in herself. Was she to be relegated to the Vivarium? Had she failed so badly?
Corina's head hung in defeat as she returned to the stables convinced she was for the first time going to be the ticklee instead of the tickler.
* * * * * * * * * *
Mistress Sydra met Corina a in stall in the Vivarium, unescorted. She wore a simple silk outer robe, which she promptly removed, revealing a body far more vividly green than Corina had first realized. A silken white loincloth was the only thing covering her.
She said nothing, instead removing her jewelry: the earrings, necklace, bracelets, and anklets came off and were placed neatly on a tray.
"Well?" she said, impatient. "Remove your robes. We won't allow those to dampen any sensation."
Corina stripped quickly. Having spent time in Zenobia's dreamscape, she was comfortable with her nakedness, but she felt keenly the weight of Sydra's intense, emerald gaze.
"You may look at me and claim I am bigger than you," Sydra said. "And you would be correct. Stronger than you, which is also likely. I am probably faster than you. I pride myself on my nimbleness."
Corina could only nod.
"So, you may claim I have an unfair advantage if we were to have a tickle fight," Sydra continued.
"I would be quick to agree," Corina admitted, her voice steady despite her rising nerves.
"Then I need you to disagree," Sydra demanded, stepping closer. "I need your mind to believe that you are every bit in a fair battle. That you always have a chance, and that the limits you put on yourself are not real."
Corina looked confused, her brow furrowed.
"Three times per day, we will congregate here in the Vivarium in this very stall," Sydra announced, using the correct word for the training space known to all as the Stables. "We will wrestle. Until you win, I will milk you mercilessly. I will manhandle you like a slab of ticklish elfish meat. And you will either prevail, or you will be my personal cow until the end of your days here."
Sydra leaned in, her eyes shining with manic glee. "Forget the notion of a gentle milkmaiden whose cows are grateful for her subtle touch. I am merciless. I will make you scream and beg."
"Very well," Corina said, steeling herself. "Let us begin."
Sydra moved with a speed that defied her size, closing the distance in a rush. Her hips aligned perfectly with Corina's, and she grasped the elf's shoulders. Sydra's long, green leg shot forward and swept back, hooking Corina's legs and kicking them out from under her. Corina fell back, and Sydra slammed her into the ground, knocking the air from her lungs.
Corina lay breathless and in shock as Sydra mounted her, pinning her arms and locking her shorter legs with her longer ones. Sydra's large breasts pressed against Corina's smaller ones as the Mistress leaned her head down, whispering next to Corina's ear.
"No resistance. Pathetic," Sydra hissed. Before Corina could gather a retort, Sydra began to softly nibble and rake her teeth along Corina's earlobe and neck.
Corina screamed, the shock of the attack combined with the overwhelming intimacy of the assault forcing a sharp, primal sound from her throat.
She struggled and thrashed, throwing every ounce of her body weight into an escape. Despite the size difference, Sydra had to use both hands and both legs to keep Corina in check.
But Sydra had one distinct advantage, one more weapon she had not yet fully deployed: her tail.
The prehensile tail shot out, the hairy, tufted end finding Corina's ribs and beginning a sharp, incessant assault that bypassed the struggle entirely. Corina gasped, her struggles becoming wild and desperate, fueled now by sheer panic.
Sydra held fast, her voice dropping to a fierce demand.
"I want you to show me what you have. I need to know if you are ready. Are you? Show me!"
The ram-like horns on her head seemed to shimmer with intensity as she pressed her demands. "I am merciless with you because I need to know I have your very best. I need to know you are ready. It is time. Show me you are ready, or be relegated to being a magical battery for real casters."
Corina, panting against the carpet, managed to grind out a reply. "I'm better than half your casters."
Sydra's grip tightened, her focus absolute. "You're more talented than all my casters. I need more. I demand more."
She put her robe back on a turned to face the exhausted Corina before leaving.
"Meet me here later today for the afternoon at third chime," Sydra instructed. "I will promptly deliver more of the same. And if you do not show me what I want to see, I will see you for ninth chime and then in the morning at first chime. You will either excel and show me you are ready, or you will be my cow. For me, I am served both ways. For you, you really have only two options. Prevail or accept your failure.
"Despite what you think, the choice is ultimately yours."
The Mistress of Glee turned and left Corina to her own thoughts.
* * * * * * * * * *
Later, Corina would look back at this time and it would seem like a brief period. It was not. To be tickled relentlessly, three times a day, every single day, was an ordeal few cows were even capable of enduring. Yet Corina was, and she survived session after humiliating session.
It wasn't easy, but after a few days, something began to change. Corina did not suddenly become faster, stronger, or smarter. The true change was simpler: she stubbornly refused to give up. She reached deep inside, past the pain and the fatigue, and worked with the only advantage she had—her unyielding will.
Sydra was merciless. The Mistress of Glee did not hold back her feathery, ticklish assault, nor did she spare Corina the crushing psychological pressure.
"Give up, little elf!" Sydra hissed, the tuft of her tail dancing mercilessly under Corina's armpit. "Yield! Accept your fate as my personal cow, or I will break you! You cannot win! I am the mistress of this domain!"
Corina thrashed, tears of pain and laughter streaming down her face, but her breath came out as a ragged defiance: "I'm not giving up!"
She kicked, straining against Sydra’s locked legs. She tried to bite the hand raking her ribs. "Keep at me! Attack me! I am letting you know now: I will not give up!"
And she did not. The merciless onslaught continued for many days—three times a day in the Vivarium, the sessions stretching until Corina felt her reserves, both magical and physical, were utterly depleted. Sydra did not back down, testing the very limits of Corina's resolve.
Corina became scrappy. She learned to use her smaller size as an advantage, ducking under Sydra's wide-reaching sweeps, pivoting on the smooth, green skin of her hips, and finding where to grip on the thick matting of Sydra's hair. She stopped relying on strength and started relying on desperation, using her elbows, knees, and even her teeth to escape pins.
Then, on the third session of the ninth day, it happened. Sydra momentarily overextended while trying to pin Corina with a high sweep of her leg, exposing a fraction of her flank. Corina saw the gap—a fleeting opportunity. She didn't think; she reacted.
With a grunt of pure effort, Corina twisted beneath Sydra's weight, locking an elbow around the tiefling's leg to disrupt her balance. She used her heels to kick out and drive herself upward, slamming her shoulder into Sydra’s exposed ribcage. The Mistress of Glee gasped in surprise, the breath leaving her lungs in a powerful, whistling rush.
Before Sydra could recover, Corina scrambled over her, using her nimbleness to overcome Sydra’s superior reach. She drove her knees down onto the tiefling's arms and, with a final, desperate surge of adrenaline, pinned her green-skinned mistress to the floor.
Sydra lay stunned, her breath ragged, her vibrant green eyes wide with genuine shock.
Corina, panting and trembling from the exertion, hovered over her. She raised a triumphant hand, and her fingers descended upon Sydra's vulnerable underarm. Corina explored the sensitive hollow with absolute gusto, drinking deep of the victory.
Sydra's reaction was automatic. She bucked violently and laughed heartily with a hint of desperation. She could not resist, and Corina drew deep of her magic until she finally had her fill.
"Yield, Mistress Sydra," Corina demanded, her voice hoarse but firm. "I did not give up. I win."
Sydra, testing the bonds of Corina's pin, laughed—a sharp, genuine, and deeply satisfied sound. "Splendid, Corina of Woodhaven. Absolutely splendid."
She looked up at her apprentice, a proud, sly smile spreading across her green face. "Now, little elf. Come claim your victory."
Corina wasted no time. She released the pin, and as Sydra rose with a satisfied smirk, Corina felt a profound shift. The frustration and pent-up defiance, which had previously fueled a single burst of heat, was now a constant, controllable reservoir in her gut—a source of raw power, not just fleeting emotion.
"Now show me," Sydra commanded, gesturing toward the courtyard. "Show me on the field."
Corina raised her hand. There was no hesitation, no need for strained emotional focus. She spoke the word, and the magic surged—a deep, roaring sound in the air, a scent of ozone and triumph.
Fireball after Fireball erupted from her palm, each one a thunderous explosion that shook the battlements, leaving craters in the target zone. The small, apple-sized flame was gone, replaced by a torrent of destructive power that surpassed the spells of all around her.
Sydra watched, her smile widening into a predatory grin.
"You are ready," she announced, her voice booming over the sound of the explosions. "You will be my prized weapon. You will land on the field of battle and you will lay down fire upon the enemy, and you will bring the end to this war which is long overdue."
She leaned in, her tiefling horns almost touching Corina's forehead, her voice now a triumphant hiss. "Woe to they who stand in your path. Woe to they who dare defy. Fire and brimstone. Bring such terror upon them that surrender will be their only recourse."
Corina shuddered at the sudden, immense violence she was now capable of unleashing.
She did not know what was coming, but she was ready.
To be continued...
The sheer scale of Glee felt endless to Corina.
In the weeks following her arrival, she was certain she had only seen a fraction of its sprawling halls and hidden chambers. She had been elevated immediately to the rank of Green Mage, a status that signified her as a promising student of Mistress Sydra. Her robes, the color of fresh leaves, were a sharp contrast to the plain white tunics of the less-promising mages. She often spotted practitioners in the coveted purple robes of the most senior students, realizing she had a long ascent ahead.
Of all the places in Glee, the most infamous was undoubtedly the Vivarium, or what the apprentices still grimly called the "Stables." It was a fitting name for a stark reality. Here, lesser mages, referred to basely as "cows," were "milked" for their magic in booths, not unlike those where horses might be sheltered. This was where mages with limited potential were condemned to live out their term at Glee, their magical reserves constantly drained to fuel the training of promising students like Corina. Hope of redemption was rare; how could one improve their skills when one was always being drained of their power?
Due to Mistress Sydra's urgent need for more mages for the Evergold war, a few of the "better cows" had recently been elevated to active training, yet this only intensified the demand on those who remained in the Vivarium, making their existence even more difficult.
Mages were allowed to choose their "cows," and a certain exclusivity was granted as long as the "cows" were not already claimed by a higher-ranking mage.
Corina, with her gentle and thoughtful nature, had quickly befriended three of them.
Meghan was the first, a young centaur with short, blonde hair and a boyish frame, who specialized in plant magic—a discipline not currently favored by Sydra's war aims. Despite her grim circumstances, Meghan was perpetually cheerful and embraced her fate, grateful for the base knowledge she had already gained.
"My village will have all the flowers it could ever want," she'd once told Corina, her expression bright. "I'll be able to make them bloom a dozen times faster after all this."
Meghan was also unbelievably ticklish. Corina never used the standard stocks with her, which were clumsy and uncomfortable. Instead, she used her own fine, magically woven webs to bind Meghan’s human torso and equine legs.
"Oh! Oh, Corina, that’s so much better," Meghan had said during their first session, her voice a mix of relief and barely contained giggles.
"This feels so much more… personalized. The wood stocks are dreadful." It took very little effort to reduce Meghan to a pool of helpless laughter. Her joy was infectious, and her constant supply of magic was a welcome boon. Meghan wore no robes, simply a wide white sash at her waist, proudly displaying her bare human torso.
Without feet or human ticklish legs to focus on, Corina explored her other highly sensitive areas: her trim belly and the nub-like belly button just above her sash, and her apple-sized breasts with their small, pink nipples. Corina took particular interest in tickling these earnestly, especially around the sensitive areolae and nubbins that made Meghan purr and laugh in a blend of ticklish terror and sensory pleasure.
She also quickly realized that Meghan's armpits were insanely sensitive; digging her nails into their ticklish depths made the centaur snort with uncontrollable laughter. From her position by the webs, Corina skillfully navigated these spots, finishing with particular attention to Meghan's neck and ears, nibbling with gusto and sending Meghan into gales of helpless laughter. Meghan, unlike most "cows," truly enjoyed the tickling and valued Corina's company, a friendship that went beyond the necessary extraction of magic.
Haka was Corina's second "cow" and a different story entirely. A towering half-orc, she possessed the aggressive demeanor of a seasoned battle mage. However, Haka was a "shallow well." She had the ability to cast a single, powerful spell but lacked the magical reservoir to continue fighting, a quality Sydra's mind-warfare tactics did not value. No one else wanted to train with Haka because she provided so little magic, but Corina took her on.
With her gentle yet skilled touch, Corina was able to draw a decent amount of power from Haka without causing her lasting distress. Haka’s feet, surprisingly soft and sensitive, were a vast landscape to explore.
Corina found a strange pleasure in learning all the different places and touches that would coax magic from the formidable half-orc. Haka was ticklish in other spots, but her feet were by far her most vulnerable area. Corina didn't bother with other spots once she discovered the secrets of Haka's bare and sensitive soles. Corina enjoyed watching the serious and physically powerful half-orc step into the rigid stocks, placing her ankles and wrists into place with humble resignation. It seemed almost comical as small Corina closed the stocks on the massive, hulking half-orc, securing her. Tickling was especially torturous for Haka. She broke down immediately, turning from a proud, stoic warrior into a begging, maniacally laughing mess. She shook the stocks with insane intensity, and though the restraints were hardly the quality of Rika's, they held the half-orc in place despite her helpless thrashing. When done and released, Haka would lay panting on the ground, utterly exhausted. She'd eventually rise, grunt a curt nod at Corina, and go about her way, never discussing the session.
Torian, a male minotaur, was Corina's third "cow." He was even larger than Haka, with a muscled upper body that made Herschel, the strongest man Corina knew, seem slight in comparison. Yet, among his own kind, Torian was considered a runt due to his lack of combat prowess. He had a deep magical well, but his skill was lacking.
Still, he was gracious and appreciative of Corina's gentle methods. Like Meghan, he preferred being bound by her webs rather than the clumsy stocks. He would kneel on the floor, his great body trembling with anticipation, as Corina carefully tethered his dangerous horns and bound his large hands and thick ankles with webs. He was a thrasher, and other mages feared getting gored, but Corina’s webs held fast. No matter how much he struggled and kicked, the magic held him immobile.
He screamed, shouted, and begged like no one else in the Vivarium. Torian stretched the webs to their limits. His torso was hard and powerful, but he was ironically vulnerable under Corina’s fingers. His feet were enormous, even bigger than Haka's. Corina was swift and never taunted him like some other mages might.
Torian was fiercely protective of Corina, and any mages looking to bother her were quickly put in their place by his intimidating presence. Corina looked up to him like the big brother she had never had.
The three combined provided Corina with enough magical energy to fuel her intense and demanding training.
Intense and demanding hardly described the ordeal of training in Glee.
While Corina felt sorry for the white robes mages, she was excited to learn more in Glee.
She soon learned that Sydra was a demanding mistress indeed.
* * * * * * * * * *
Training took place in the courtyard, a vast, open area surrounded by high battlements where the mages cast their spells. The air here continuously smelled of brimstone and crackled with the sound of channeled magical energies. It was an interior space, yet a faux sky was painted high above, and the area was perpetually illuminated as if by a bright noon sun, though the light source itself remained a mystery.
The mages on the battlements were predominantly Green Mages, as the advanced Purple Mages were usually deployed to the front lines. A few White Mages were speckled among the group, though they were not there for long: they were either elevated to the intermediate Gold rank or sent back to the Stables. Gold Mages were also on a tight wire, progressing quickly to Green or facing demotion to White and subsequent consignment to the Stables. The White Mages who weren't in the immediate moment providing power in the Vivarium were coordinated to set up targets in the courtyard—a somewhat precarious task with so many dangerous spells being cast. The battlements themselves were hazardous; magic mishaps were common, and it was not unusual for a mage to be sent to the infirmary with an injury from a spell gone astray.
High above the chaos, Mistress Sydra watched Corina practice. She observed the clean, swift, yet small fireballs that Corina cast onto her targets, one after the other. Quick and efficient, but lacking the destructive force of her colleagues' spells.
Sydra drew near. Her presence usually made mages nervous, but Corina continued to throw small mini fireballs at her target. She paused as Sydra stood next to her.
"Show me Fireball," Sydra's voice commanded, close to Corina's ear, sharp enough to cut through the din.
Corina's brow furrowed. She extended her hand, and a sputtering, apple-sized ball of fire flew from her palm, hitting the target with a faint puff of smoke.
"Not good enough," Sydra reprimanded, her tone slicing. "I don't want precision. I want power. You're just as effective as an arrow, maybe less. I want you to be feared—to sow terror into the ranks of the enemy. I don't care about casualties. We wage mind war, not physical war."
"I can't do more," Corina said, her voice laced with genuine frustration. "It's like there's a limit I can't break."
Sydra did not answer with words. She raised her own hand and spoke the command. A roaring explosion erupted from her palm, shaking the stone walls and leaving a smoking, ten-foot crater where the target had stood moments before.
"There are only limits you impose," Sydra said, her voice low and patient, yet carrying absolute conviction. "You have the talent, so any limit you have is your own creation. That is why I am so patient with you. You cast everything else with exceptional skill. But I need a battle mage, a pyrocaster, and I will make one of you. Either that,or I will make you the prized cow in my Stable."
Corina nodded grimly and her eyes narrowed in concentration.
"Show me Fireball," Sydra spoke again, her eyes fixed on Corina.
Corina took a deep breath, but the result was the same: a small, impotent ball of flame.
"You must take all your anger and all your hate," Sydra instructed loudly shouting and stepping close enough that Corina could feel her warmth. "Make it small in the pit of your stomach. When you exhale, you release that emotion."
"Fireball," Sydra whispered again her voice almost a hiss.
Corina closed her eyes, desperately trying to summon the hateful emotions Sydra demanded. She thought of her past, of all the slights and cruelties, but the anger was a faint flicker, a fleeting memory.
"There is no hate in you," Sydra observed, as if reading the emptiness in her mind. "No anger. And love will not fuel this spell. But no matter."
Sydra studied her student intently. "You do have frustration. It is obvious to me. Pent-up disappointment from feelings of inferiority. You've felt less because of this. You've doubted because of this. That is what you need to take and bring forward. Fuel your spell with that. Take it all. Make it a small, concentrated ball in your belly. Then. Release."
Corina closed her eyes and imagined all the times she doubted and didn't feel enough or didn't feel she belonged. All the times she tried and failed and felt like there was no hope. The feelings bubbled to the surface in a dull throbbing emotion.
"Fireball," Sydra whispered one last time.
Corina opened her eyes, her expression grim with self-directed focus. She felt a heavy lump in her gut, and she pushed it all out with a single, sharp breath. The magic surged from her fingertips, not as a ball of flame, but as a silent, powerful wave of heat. The target, instead of being struck, instantly turned into a puff of gray ash.
It was destroyed but not to the effect Sydra had demanded.
"Again!" Sydra shouted.
Corina frowned, her focus shattered by the failure of her new technique.
"I can't," she admitted, unable to replicate the emotional state.
"See me in the Vivarium," Sydra said, her voice losing all patience. With a rustle of silk, she was gone.
Corina felt a crushing sense of dread. She had never been told to go to the Stables. It was clear all apprentices and mages could be "milked" depending on the circumstances, and she had taken some grim satisfaction in hearing Drash plead during his session with Sydra after she learned from others that he had abandoned her in the forest. Now she felt disappointed in herself. Was she to be relegated to the Vivarium? Had she failed so badly?
Corina's head hung in defeat as she returned to the stables convinced she was for the first time going to be the ticklee instead of the tickler.
* * * * * * * * * *
Mistress Sydra met Corina a in stall in the Vivarium, unescorted. She wore a simple silk outer robe, which she promptly removed, revealing a body far more vividly green than Corina had first realized. A silken white loincloth was the only thing covering her.
She said nothing, instead removing her jewelry: the earrings, necklace, bracelets, and anklets came off and were placed neatly on a tray.
"Well?" she said, impatient. "Remove your robes. We won't allow those to dampen any sensation."
Corina stripped quickly. Having spent time in Zenobia's dreamscape, she was comfortable with her nakedness, but she felt keenly the weight of Sydra's intense, emerald gaze.
"You may look at me and claim I am bigger than you," Sydra said. "And you would be correct. Stronger than you, which is also likely. I am probably faster than you. I pride myself on my nimbleness."
Corina could only nod.
"So, you may claim I have an unfair advantage if we were to have a tickle fight," Sydra continued.
"I would be quick to agree," Corina admitted, her voice steady despite her rising nerves.
"Then I need you to disagree," Sydra demanded, stepping closer. "I need your mind to believe that you are every bit in a fair battle. That you always have a chance, and that the limits you put on yourself are not real."
Corina looked confused, her brow furrowed.
"Three times per day, we will congregate here in the Vivarium in this very stall," Sydra announced, using the correct word for the training space known to all as the Stables. "We will wrestle. Until you win, I will milk you mercilessly. I will manhandle you like a slab of ticklish elfish meat. And you will either prevail, or you will be my personal cow until the end of your days here."
Sydra leaned in, her eyes shining with manic glee. "Forget the notion of a gentle milkmaiden whose cows are grateful for her subtle touch. I am merciless. I will make you scream and beg."
"Very well," Corina said, steeling herself. "Let us begin."
Sydra moved with a speed that defied her size, closing the distance in a rush. Her hips aligned perfectly with Corina's, and she grasped the elf's shoulders. Sydra's long, green leg shot forward and swept back, hooking Corina's legs and kicking them out from under her. Corina fell back, and Sydra slammed her into the ground, knocking the air from her lungs.
Corina lay breathless and in shock as Sydra mounted her, pinning her arms and locking her shorter legs with her longer ones. Sydra's large breasts pressed against Corina's smaller ones as the Mistress leaned her head down, whispering next to Corina's ear.
"No resistance. Pathetic," Sydra hissed. Before Corina could gather a retort, Sydra began to softly nibble and rake her teeth along Corina's earlobe and neck.
Corina screamed, the shock of the attack combined with the overwhelming intimacy of the assault forcing a sharp, primal sound from her throat.
She struggled and thrashed, throwing every ounce of her body weight into an escape. Despite the size difference, Sydra had to use both hands and both legs to keep Corina in check.
But Sydra had one distinct advantage, one more weapon she had not yet fully deployed: her tail.
The prehensile tail shot out, the hairy, tufted end finding Corina's ribs and beginning a sharp, incessant assault that bypassed the struggle entirely. Corina gasped, her struggles becoming wild and desperate, fueled now by sheer panic.
Sydra held fast, her voice dropping to a fierce demand.
"I want you to show me what you have. I need to know if you are ready. Are you? Show me!"
The ram-like horns on her head seemed to shimmer with intensity as she pressed her demands. "I am merciless with you because I need to know I have your very best. I need to know you are ready. It is time. Show me you are ready, or be relegated to being a magical battery for real casters."
Corina, panting against the carpet, managed to grind out a reply. "I'm better than half your casters."
Sydra's grip tightened, her focus absolute. "You're more talented than all my casters. I need more. I demand more."
She put her robe back on a turned to face the exhausted Corina before leaving.
"Meet me here later today for the afternoon at third chime," Sydra instructed. "I will promptly deliver more of the same. And if you do not show me what I want to see, I will see you for ninth chime and then in the morning at first chime. You will either excel and show me you are ready, or you will be my cow. For me, I am served both ways. For you, you really have only two options. Prevail or accept your failure.
"Despite what you think, the choice is ultimately yours."
The Mistress of Glee turned and left Corina to her own thoughts.
* * * * * * * * * *
Later, Corina would look back at this time and it would seem like a brief period. It was not. To be tickled relentlessly, three times a day, every single day, was an ordeal few cows were even capable of enduring. Yet Corina was, and she survived session after humiliating session.
It wasn't easy, but after a few days, something began to change. Corina did not suddenly become faster, stronger, or smarter. The true change was simpler: she stubbornly refused to give up. She reached deep inside, past the pain and the fatigue, and worked with the only advantage she had—her unyielding will.
Sydra was merciless. The Mistress of Glee did not hold back her feathery, ticklish assault, nor did she spare Corina the crushing psychological pressure.
"Give up, little elf!" Sydra hissed, the tuft of her tail dancing mercilessly under Corina's armpit. "Yield! Accept your fate as my personal cow, or I will break you! You cannot win! I am the mistress of this domain!"
Corina thrashed, tears of pain and laughter streaming down her face, but her breath came out as a ragged defiance: "I'm not giving up!"
She kicked, straining against Sydra’s locked legs. She tried to bite the hand raking her ribs. "Keep at me! Attack me! I am letting you know now: I will not give up!"
And she did not. The merciless onslaught continued for many days—three times a day in the Vivarium, the sessions stretching until Corina felt her reserves, both magical and physical, were utterly depleted. Sydra did not back down, testing the very limits of Corina's resolve.
Corina became scrappy. She learned to use her smaller size as an advantage, ducking under Sydra's wide-reaching sweeps, pivoting on the smooth, green skin of her hips, and finding where to grip on the thick matting of Sydra's hair. She stopped relying on strength and started relying on desperation, using her elbows, knees, and even her teeth to escape pins.
Then, on the third session of the ninth day, it happened. Sydra momentarily overextended while trying to pin Corina with a high sweep of her leg, exposing a fraction of her flank. Corina saw the gap—a fleeting opportunity. She didn't think; she reacted.
With a grunt of pure effort, Corina twisted beneath Sydra's weight, locking an elbow around the tiefling's leg to disrupt her balance. She used her heels to kick out and drive herself upward, slamming her shoulder into Sydra’s exposed ribcage. The Mistress of Glee gasped in surprise, the breath leaving her lungs in a powerful, whistling rush.
Before Sydra could recover, Corina scrambled over her, using her nimbleness to overcome Sydra’s superior reach. She drove her knees down onto the tiefling's arms and, with a final, desperate surge of adrenaline, pinned her green-skinned mistress to the floor.
Sydra lay stunned, her breath ragged, her vibrant green eyes wide with genuine shock.
Corina, panting and trembling from the exertion, hovered over her. She raised a triumphant hand, and her fingers descended upon Sydra's vulnerable underarm. Corina explored the sensitive hollow with absolute gusto, drinking deep of the victory.
Sydra's reaction was automatic. She bucked violently and laughed heartily with a hint of desperation. She could not resist, and Corina drew deep of her magic until she finally had her fill.
"Yield, Mistress Sydra," Corina demanded, her voice hoarse but firm. "I did not give up. I win."
Sydra, testing the bonds of Corina's pin, laughed—a sharp, genuine, and deeply satisfied sound. "Splendid, Corina of Woodhaven. Absolutely splendid."
She looked up at her apprentice, a proud, sly smile spreading across her green face. "Now, little elf. Come claim your victory."
Corina wasted no time. She released the pin, and as Sydra rose with a satisfied smirk, Corina felt a profound shift. The frustration and pent-up defiance, which had previously fueled a single burst of heat, was now a constant, controllable reservoir in her gut—a source of raw power, not just fleeting emotion.
"Now show me," Sydra commanded, gesturing toward the courtyard. "Show me on the field."
Corina raised her hand. There was no hesitation, no need for strained emotional focus. She spoke the word, and the magic surged—a deep, roaring sound in the air, a scent of ozone and triumph.
Fireball after Fireball erupted from her palm, each one a thunderous explosion that shook the battlements, leaving craters in the target zone. The small, apple-sized flame was gone, replaced by a torrent of destructive power that surpassed the spells of all around her.
Sydra watched, her smile widening into a predatory grin.
"You are ready," she announced, her voice booming over the sound of the explosions. "You will be my prized weapon. You will land on the field of battle and you will lay down fire upon the enemy, and you will bring the end to this war which is long overdue."
She leaned in, her tiefling horns almost touching Corina's forehead, her voice now a triumphant hiss. "Woe to they who stand in your path. Woe to they who dare defy. Fire and brimstone. Bring such terror upon them that surrender will be their only recourse."
Corina shuddered at the sudden, immense violence she was now capable of unleashing.
She did not know what was coming, but she was ready.
To be continued...
