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In The Mist Of The Erie Isles

By Mantrid Brizon

Episode Twenty-Three: Duplicity

Putting on his clothes, Steingar slips his three-toed, digitigrade feet into his handmade boots, then pulls his vest over his shoulders, covering his white shirt. He looks back, watching the sleeping Sira. She looks so peaceful as she rolls over in bed. It brings a little smile to his face. Heading for the door, the Helngar warrior is eager to enjoy breakfast, his stomach softly rumbling. He looks down at his abdomen, softly shushing the growling organ. Making his way toward the door, he lifts the latch and steps outside.

As he pulls the door closed, being careful not to make too much noise, he can hear the clicking of yet another latch. Glancing over his shoulder, he turns toward Valan, who also slips quietly out of Tomala’s bedroom. The pair look at each other, standing silently in the middle of the empty hall.

“So... Breakfast?” Valan asks in a whisper.

“You took the words right out of my mouth.” Steingar whispers back.

Heading down the stairs, the duo discovers the dining hall to be relatively crowded; nearly a dozen patrons sit and drink ale or wine, while eating various meals of pork, chicken, eggs and potatoes. The barkeep from the previous night cooks a stew in a large cauldron near the far corner of the room, in a stone fireplace.

“How long do you think we slept?” Steingar turns to Valan.

“Too long...”

Making their way toward the bar, the barkeep is quick to hang his ladle on the crossbar, above the cauldron.

“What’ll it be for you boys on this fine afternoon?” He cheerfully asks.

“Afternoon?!” Valan gasps.

“Well, almost afternoon. The sun’s not quite there yet.” The barkeep corrects himself.

“Huh... Well, when you’re making hay, right?” Steingar smirks, elbowing Valan’s side.

“I suppose... What about our friends? I’m sure they’re up by now.”

“Oh, they’re up. They left!” The barkeep replies.

“What?! When?!” Steingar gasps.

“A few hours ago. So, what did you want?”

“Hey, bar slave! Another round!” An already drunken man exclaims, holding up a mug.

“Be right back.” The barkeep turns and walks away. “Alright, you filthy bastard, stop calling me that or you’ll be wearing that next round!”

Valan turns toward Steingar, leaning against the counter.

“So... This was unexpected!” Valan grins.

“Yeah...”

Steingar sighs, scratching the back of his head as he stares at the floor. He turns his eyes toward Valan, who seems otherwise unaffected by being abandoned by the rest of their crew.

“You’re taking this rather well.”

“Well, I can’t honestly say that I’m surprised. Can you?” Valan retorts.

“Yes, actually, I am rather surprised.” Steingar grumbles.

“Really? As anxious as Irzain was last night?!”

“It’s not that. Irzain might be why we’re here, but he doesn’t run the show like a King. Somehow, I just didn’t think that we’d be left behind like dirty linens. I certainly didn’t think that Kirsta, of all people, would leave us here. She’s a warrior, and warriors like us have a code; no one is left behind.”

“She’s a clan-warrior, not a soldier.” Valan retorts.

“That doesn’t make a difference. All warriors have a code.”

“Unfortunately, my friend, codes can be bent. When push comes to shove, most of them can even be broken. I can’t say that I blame them, all things considered. I probably would’ve left us here, too.”

“I said ‘warriors like us’; Kirsta and I. I never meant you.” Steingar snickers.

“Asshole...”

“Sorry about that!” The barkeep returns. “So, what did you two want? Maybe something to eat? I’m making a stew that’s to die for. Figuratively, of course! Or maybe you’d rather have a drink?”

“Actually, do you happen to know where our friends went?” Valan asks the barkeep.

“I recall them saying something... Hmm... Something about the other town.”

“There’s another town here?” A surprised Steingar turns to him.

“Oh, yes! It’s a newer settlement; mostly huts and the like. It’s a decent hike through the forest; there’re trails leading there.” The barkeep answers.

“Did they say where in that town they’d be going, or for what reason?” Valan inquires.

“I’m sorry. My memory is a little foggy.”

Sighing in frustration, Steingar takes a large, golden vasarik from a coin purse tied to his belt. The barkeep’s eyes grow wide.

“Uh, the stew doesn’t cost that much, although maybe it should...”

“It’s not for the stew, smartass...” Steingar grumbles.

“Then what’s it for?” The barkeep raises a brow.

“What would you call it, Valan?” Steingar glances toward his companion.

“A memory enhancer.” The human smirks.

“Oh! I’m sorry, guys, but I wasn’t trying to extort you.”

“Seriously?!” Steingar curls his fingers around the coin.

“Seriously. I really wasn’t paying much attention to anyone this morning, especially your friends. I was more worried about my supply of eggs; it seems that most of my hens have been on strike. Heh. Anyway, I really don’t know what they were looking for or where they were going. Just that they were heading for the next town over, and that they left hours ago.”

“Damn...” Steingar mutters.

“Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”

“That’s alright. Thanks anyway.” Valan nods.

“So, can I get you two anything?”

“No. We’ll probably be leaving.” Valan replies.

“I’m sorry?” Steingar turns to his companion.

“... To follow them.”

“Uh, says who?!”

“Well, what’s your plan?” Valan asks.

“I say we stay and wait. Besides, I could use some of that stew. It smells delicious!”

“It is! Coming right up!” The barkeep chirps before darting off.

Valan pauses, a look of bewilderment on his face as he scratches his head.

“I’m sorry, but I’m a little confused. How is this a good idea?”

“Okay. I’ll speak slowly.” Steingar smirks. “This island doesn’t have a harbor; we came here by boat, and they went somewhere inland. They’ll be back, and we’ll be here, waiting for them. All we need to do is sit and wait, enjoy some good food and ale... Maybe, uh, ‘relax’ a bit more, if you know what I mean.”

“That good, huh?” Valan raises a brow.

“Haven’t had better in years.”

“I’m not surprised. When you live on a ship, your standards decrease.” Valan chuckles.

“After a few months, they all start to look like women.” Steingar jests.

“Well, you enjoy yourself. I’ll see you later.”

“Woah! Where are you going?!” Steingar reaches out, grabbing Valan’s forearm.

“... To find the others.” Valan glances at Steingar’s hand.

“The hell you are.”

“Look, I get what you’re saying. I do! I just don’t think that it’s a good idea. What if something happens to them without us?” Valan poses.

“Such as?” Steingar raises a brow.

“I mean, Kirsta is a warrior and all, but I’m the best shot here, and you? You’re a bloodforge! They left their two best guys behind. You don’t think that’s even a little bit stupid?”

“It’s certainly a tad impulsive, but this island doesn’t strike me as a pirate’s haven, and I’ve seen my fair share. I think they’ll be fine, and I say we wait.”

“Well, you don’t speak for me.” Valan yanks his arm away.

Walking away from the counter, Steingar hesitates for only a moment before moving away from the bar. He chases after the long-haired human, who makes his way toward the door, and reaching out with his powerful, clawed hand, he takes hold of Valan’s shoulder, gripping tightly to his purple, silk shirt.

“Hey, back off!” Valan growls, whirling around and breaking free of Steingar’s grasp.

“You’re not leaving, damnit!” The Helngar growls.

“You can’t tell me what to do! I’m not one of your soldiers!”

Valan steps backward as several patrons and the barkeep take notice, watching the conflict unfolding before them.

“Don’t you walk away from me, you little asshole!” Steingar points a finger at him. “If you leave then all that’s going to happen is, they’re going to come back safe and sound, find out that you’re gone, probably lost, and we’re going to have to find you and stay on this speck of dirt even longer! Now sit your ass down, eat some stew, and stop being difficult!”

“... And here I thought you were a warrior. It’s a sad day when I have more heart than you.” Valan snickers, slowly stepping backward, toward the front door.

“Damnit! Get over here!”

Reaching out for him, Steingar lurches forward and grabs Valan’s bicep. He grapples onto Valan, who struggles to pull away.

“You’re staying here!”

The six-foot-seven Steingar glares down at the five-foot-eight Valan. With a quick spin, the Helngar swings the human around and heaves him into a table. The patrons scramble away as Valan’s back slams against the furniture. Rolling off the table and falling to his knees, Valan winces. Stepping closer to him, Steingar cracks his knuckles.

“Further fighting only serves to hurt you and annoy me... So? Stand down?”

Looking up at Steingar, Valan seems to pause. He bows his head, appearing to nod very subtly.

“Alright then! Now, how about that stew?”

Stepping closer and holding out a hand, the Helngar offers his human companion a hand. Springing to his feet, Valan tackles Steingar, throwing him off balance. The warrior’s long, tapering, prehensile tail curls around Valan’s waist as he stumbles backward, his powerful hands swiftly grasping onto the human’s shoulders. Planting a foot firmly on the ground, he swirls them around, as if they were dancing. With an added push from his tail, which he uncoils from his target, he tosses Valan to the floor. Kneeling over him and straddling the human’s stomach, Steingar’s glowing, golden eyes narrow, his lips peeling back as he bares his sharp teeth.

“Rrr! Stop it, you bastard! I’m too hungry for this shit!”

“Me too...” Valan groans.

Click. Steingar feels a pressure on his abdomen. He tilts his head downward, silently chuckling as Valan presses the barrel of one of his custom-built pistols into his sternum. The hammer is fully cocked, and his finger caresses the brass trigger. Slowly moving back and climbing off of him, Valan seems to relax. In an instant, however, Steingar pushes against him, grasping his throat with one hand, his side with the other, and his arm with his tail. Click. Using his free arm, the groaning Valan jams the barrel of his second, matching pistol into Steingar’s chin.

Looking into his eyes, Steingar can see Valan’s growing fear; it’s the fear of an animal that’s been cornered. He knows Valan will fire at any second, and quickly backs away. Rising to his feet, Steingar steps back. Coughing, Valan sits up, before scrambling backward. He also rises to his feet, pointing his second firearm at Steingar.

“Don’t test me! ... I don’t want to hurt you, alright?!”

“This is a mistake, Val...” Steingar speaks softly.

“Don’t talk to me like we’re the best of friends! What the hell do you care, anyway?!”

“... I went back for you! Jarae and I both did! We saved your life!”

“And yet you both stopped at the first sight of gold, while I bled out, struggling to breathe...” Valan retorts.

“Sometimes gold has that effect... Look, maybe we’re not friends, but at least we’re companions! I just want to keep us all together!”

“Yet you won’t catch up to them now?! You’re just going to let them wander off without us?! They’re probably only a jog away!”

Steingar doesn’t reply. He stands in the middle of the dining hall, crossing his arms before his chest. Valan steps backward, heading for the door. Reaching the barrier, he holsters a pistol, only to pull the door open and dart off. Sighing in frustration, Steingar looks toward the nearest, empty table and swiftly kicks over a vacant chair.

“Hey, don’t break my stuff.” The barkeep remarks.

“Sorry...” Steingar apologizes, setting the chair upright.

“What was that about?” Sira asks, stepping slowly down the stairs.

Steingar turns toward her, watching the Jaliscan woman as she makes her way into the dining hall. She wears a pretty yet basic dress, fashioned from white fabric, her small, humanesque feet covered with simple, leather shoes.

“Oh, uh... Nothing. Would you like some breakfast?” He asks, smiling warmly at her.

“I would. Thank you.” She smiles back, standing before him and staring up at him with her shimmering, jade green eyes.

Taking seats at the bar, they wait only until the barkeep returns with their food. With two bowls of stew, some fresh bread, lean ham and a pitcher of ale, they find a table in the corner of the dining hall, tucked away from most of the curious onlookers. They talk for some time as they sit and eat together, enjoying the meal that Steingar was more than happy to provide for her. Minutes become an hour, and an hour becomes two. However, it feels like the blink of an eye to Steingar. At first, they merely talk about their lives; Sira is immediately impressed by his status as a bloodforge, and Steingar is amazed to discover that Sira is a tavern girl, as she’d never once mentioned money to him last night, nor does she right now.

On and on they share, and he finds himself confiding in her about his past, revealing some of the horrors he’d seen, and even a few regrets he has. He doesn’t know why he does it, but something about Sira is just so comforting. In turn, Sira reveals how she’d come to be where she is, struggling to get by after escaping an abusive relationship. Steingar had always been told that he was of a superior race, but the more they speak, the more Steingar finds himself drawn to the Jaliscan woman. She isn’t an inferior; how can she be when she feels and struggles, just as he does?

There isn’t nearly the difference that he’d been led to believe, and while he’d pondered that possibility for a long time, voicing it to Irzain weeks earlier, it’s only now, as he sits before this Jaliscan woman, that he begins to truly feel it. He’d never anticipated this when he followed her upstairs. Originally, she was merely a coping mechanism, a way for him to deal with his stress. Now, though, she brings him a level of comfort that he finds refreshing, and he can feel a bond forming between them. He watches her smile and laugh at a simple joke, and in an instant, he wonders if she feels it too.

Just then, however, Sira turns her eyes toward the front door. It swings open, banging loudly against the wall. Steingar looks past her, seeing two humans entering the inn. They’re both male, and share physical features. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say they were related, but admittedly, as a Helngar, most humans of the same gender look alike to him. He focuses his attention back onto Sira, eager to continue their take, but to his surprise, she appears unnerved. She ignores him as he repeatedly tries to speak to her.

“Hello? ... Sira? Are you alright?” He asks in a gentle tone.

“... I didn’t think they’d be back this quick.” She murmurs. “I-I gotta go. I’ll be back sometime. Sorry.”

Rising quickly from her seat, she suddenly takes off, leaving the dumbfounded Steingar where he sits. He slowly rises from his chair as he watches her walking around the room before approaching the two humans, who appear to be looking for someone. They see her and immediately approach. He focuses his superior hearing, trying to listen in. Though more powerful than any human or elf, it’s not on par with the beasts; their words are faint, especially when trying to tune out the sounds of the other patrons who chatter away in the dining hall. Still, though, he can just make them out.

“Hi, boys.” Sira chirps.

“It’s good to see you, Sira.” One man says, a lustful grin on his face.

“Yeah. So... Ready to try again?” The other asks, eying her like a choice cut of meat.

“Already?! You boys are going to go broke keeping this up... Or break me.” Sira coos.

“We’ll be gentle, today.” The second grins.

“I hope so.” She giggles.

“Lead the way.” The first man says, smacking her butt.

Reaching out, Sira takes their hands. She leads them upstairs, a man on either side of her as they make their way toward her room on the second floor. These are obviously regulars, but what is it they’re going to try again? Steingar’s heart sinks, shocking him even more than knowing what she’s about to do with the humans. He walks slowly away from the table, grateful that his hearing isn’t strong enough to discern them from upstairs, through the noise of the dining hall. He approaches the bar, eager to order a drink. He waves the barkeep over to him.

“Sorry about that.” The barkeep begins.

“About what?”

“You two looked like you were having a nice time over there. I guess you came to keep yourself busy, huh?”

“Maybe.” Steingar murmurs.

“Well, it’s going to be a while.”

“... Who are those two guys?”

“Rian and Dian. Two dumbass brothers who’ve lived here waaay too long.” The barkeep begins, producing an empty mug.

“And they come here often?”

“Yeah, but only for her... They, uh... Heh. They don’t think that hybrids are real, and so one day, they come in here for a drink and wound up debating with Sira, who was sitting around, bored. They had words for over an hour, even getting a little heated, before it finally came to her.” The barkeep explains, filling the mug with fortified wine.

“... What came to her?” Steingar sheepishly asks.

“They call it ‘the experiment’... Basically, they’ve made an interesting arrangement: Sira sees them exclusively, and whenever they’re here, her sole job is to try and become pregnant by them, strictly as a test, of course.”

Steingar blinks, his eyes growing as wide as saucers as he listens to the barkeep speak.

“They’ve promised to claim whatever kids she has, and they can certainly afford them, the filthy smugglers that they are. Not too bright though! After that first day, she had me set aside some Silphium just for her, so she won’t run out. Those two have no idea she’s using the tea; she’ll never get pregnant.” He chuckles. “Anyway, they come in here three or four times a week, have their fun, pay up and then leave. In nearly two months, she’s never conceived; I don’t know what she says or does that keeps them coming back, though I can guess. You have to credit her for coming up with a scheme like that! What’s that phrase? ... ‘Elegant in its simplicity’.”

Steingar sits back in his stool, nearly falling out of it. The barkeep’s expression changes, showing a hint of concern for the Helngar. He slides the mug closer to him, brushing it against the black claws that crown his fingertips. Steingar slowly turns his eyes toward the ceiling. His added focus seems to make it easier to drown out the chatter of the patrons around him. Hearing what sounds like grunts and groans, he swiftly shakes his head, grabs the mug and guzzles the fortified wine.

“Easy!” The barkeep warns him.

“Another.”

“... You know what you should probably do? You should just go. Catch up to your friend and don’t think about all of that bullshit I just said. He looked like he could use your backup anyway, as easily as you bested him!” The barkeep remarks.

“... I said ‘another’...” Steingar growls, glaring at him.

“Alright fine, but I bet your buddy would like some company.” The barkeep murmurs as he pours another drink.

“He’s not my friend, and that asshole can take care of himself.” Steingar grumbles before gulping down that drink as well.

“Yeah, because he held you off so easily.” The barkeep laughs. “A guy with two pistols, one shot a piece, still isn’t a match for a Helngar such as yourself. Despite its appearance, Bremen isn’t always such a happy little haven for squatters who want to live away from the Crown... Just sayin’!”

“Well, just don’t... Pour me another.”

Making his way through the forest, along the trail pointed out by a friendly inhabitant, Valan glances over his shoulder one last time. Paranoid that Steingar might be following him, he’s kept a hand on at least one of his pistols throughout the hike. Reaching a clearing, he finds himself looking upon a rather intriguing sight. The town is less a town and more akin to a village. Many huts, most of them quite poor in the quality of their construction, riddle the grounds before him. It’s clear that this is a relatively recent settlement, though it appears to be sprawling. There are easily fifty or sixty huts, alongside some run-down, stone houses, all running through the clearing that is several hundred yards long.

Valan walks around the village for nearly ten minutes, looking for any sign of his friends. However, he has no leads. All he can do is wander aimlessly, looking for any clues to their whereabouts, and possibly call out their names. When he’s about to do just that, he suddenly notices something. Glancing to his left, he can see a cloaked figure watching him. Their brown, canvas cloak is very large, concealing all bodily features and preventing him from guessing their gender. Their hood is pulled up and successfully hides their identity. However, he still notices certain features.

A snout protrudes from behind the edge of the hood, pine green on the upper portion and lime green on the lower portion. Behind them, several inches and the pointy tip of a tail pokes out from beneath their cloak. It’s a mixture of colors; pine green covers the upper portion, lime green on the underside, and a set of thick, golden stripes, one on either side of the pine green portion. The sunlight reflects off of their snout and tail, leaving a glossy sheen; it’s akin to moist skin, not fur. Is that person a Lahnyt? They lift their head, and he feels a shiver run through his spine.

From the shadow of their hood, he can see a mild reflection of light; two, orange eyes stare directly at him. They’re like orange opal stones, shiny, and as vibrant as a campfire. However, it’s not how their eyes looks that bothers him, but the way the being gazes. Something unsettles him. Valan begins to walk, watching the person. The cloaked figure turns their head to one side, looking behind a hut that sits nearby. After making a subtle hand motion, the cloaked figure also begins to walk, catching up to Valan. He clandestinely glances back, catching the cloaked figure with fiery eyes following him at a distance.

He pauses and looks around, still searching for his friends, but now with a sense of subdued panic. They’re nowhere to be found. Luckily, he also doesn’t see anyone else accompanying his stalker. Making his way through the town, he turns a corner and pauses, trying to keep track of his heading. However, he also catches the person moving closer, even as he stands still. Growing increasingly worried, he walks faster. Glancing back at the cloaked figure, however, he discovers that they’re keeping up. Now concerned for his own safety, he pauses, looks to his left, then dashes to his right.

He races past a few huts, then darts to his left and hides. Drawing a pistol, he waits for his stalker to pass him. Footfalls approach. They’re softer in the grass and dirt trails than he’d assumed they’d be. The cloaked figure rushes by him, only a few feet away. They pause, leaning forward and resting their hands on their knees. As the heavy canvas cloak falls over their form, he can make out some of their shape, and it sets his mind at ease. With pistol in-hand, he steps out from his hiding place, directly behind his stalker.

“You know, it’s not polite to follow strangers.” He remarks.

“Ahh! You startled me!” The woman gasps, spinning around and facing him.

“I startled you?!” He chuckles.

“Did you find him?!” Another voice calls out.

Valan sidesteps and raises his pistol, briefly startled as a second figure in an identical cloak pops out from behind a hut.

“Yeah, I did, Indana.” The green woman speaks.

“Oh! ... So you have!” Indana pauses.

She stands roughly five feet and six-inches-tall, staring at him with ruby eyes. Her face is frighteningly white, like the fresh snow of a mountaintop. Reaching up with clawed hands, she pulls her hood back, revealing herself to Valan. Indeed, she is a Lahnyt, and a pureblood at that. With a dense but smooth hide, perpetually glossy in the sunlight, she has a vaguely reptilian appearance. Indana’s flesh is snow-white and ice-blue, with white skin on her broad, blocky snout and cheeks, while the light blue flesh runs from the bridge of her nose and back, covering her head like a cowl.

It’s a traditional two-tone coloration, common to their race, among others; the white flesh certainly runs over her throat, chest, breasts, belly, betwixt her legs and on the underside of her tail, while the rest is likely light-blue. She smiles rather warmly, easing Valan’s frazzled nerves. He lowers the pistol, having never fully-cocked the hammer. He turns his head, looking toward the other woman, whom he’d originally spotted. She reaches up and pulls down her hood. Like Indana, the blue and white Lahnyt, this one shares a similar two-tone pattern, but with the addition of the golden stripes that run from her forehead, along her back and throughout the length of her tail.

Lime green flesh covers her bottom jaw, over her throat, and down her front. Neither woman has humanesque hair or ears of any kind, instead having sound ports on either side of their head. Valan had met a Lahnyt before, but they weren’t a pureblood; hybrid Lahnyt, mixed with either elven or human blood, always have pointy, elven-like ears and flowing, human-like hair. He takes a step back, holstering his pistol as he looks between the women. They smile as they stare, and as he shifts his gaze from one woman to the other, he catches both of them briefly looking him over.

“... So? What’s your story?” He finally asks them, breaking the silence.

“Huh? ... Oh! Erm... Well, we’re friends. I-I’m Indana, and th-this is Cicera.” The blue and white Lahnyt sheepishly points to her companion.

“Hello, Indana and Cicera. I’m Valan.” Valan waves to them.

“H-hi.” Cicera shies away, nervously waving at him with her fingertips.

“What a strong name.” Indana coos.

“... Was there something you lovely ladies needed?” He eventually asks, amused by their downright nervous behavior.

“We, uhm... W-well, that is...” Cicera stammers.

“D-did you maybe... Want some company, Valan?” Indana asks, stepping closer.

“... I’m sorry?” He raises a brow.

“We were taking a walk and we saw you, and... Well...” Indana begins.

“You’re very handsome, Valan!” Cicera blurts out.

“Okay.” He chuckles, feeling himself flushing.

“Would you mind if maybe... We walked with you? I’m sorry if that’s so forward of us!” Cicera exclaims, a worried look on her face.

“I don’t mind. I could use the company. So, you like humans?” He steps closer to Cicera.

“Yes.” She speaks in a hushed voice.

“We both do. No one bothers us about our preferences on Bremen, which is why we’re here.” Indana adds.

He looks back and forth between the pair. Indana moves closer, standing beside her friend, Cicera, who’s only an inch shorter than her. Both women seem strangely giddy about how well he’s handling their unusual approach. Something about it unsettles him, but they look innocent enough and they make no sudden movements for weapons. However, he keeps a distance, if even a small one; he waves the women along, walking between Indana and Cicera, but a foot behind them.

“So, what brings you here?” Cicera asks.

“I’m looking for some friends of mine. I heard they were coming this way, but I overslept.” He answers.

“And they just left you?!” Indana gasps.

“They were in a hurry.” He shrugs.

“Some friends... We’d never do that!” Indana insists.

“I would hope not. If I had friends as pretty as you disappear on me, I’d be far more upset. Luckily, one of them is a man, and the others aren’t very appealing... Well, except for... ... Never mind.”

“Ooh! So you like Lahnyt women?!” Cicera asks with a bizarrely gleeful tone.

“All women; any female born with two legs, halfway decent looks and a good personality can get to know me.” He replies.

“How open minded of you.” Indana grins from cheek to cheek.

“I like having options. You never know who your soulmate will be, after all.”

“I like that.” Cicera coos, stepping closer to him.

They walk along the pathways, with the girls leading him in a circular search pattern. They start on the outskirts of the village, walking around it in ever shrinking circles, all the while sharing idle chatter. As large as the village is, however, they’ve only begun the second, slightly smaller circle after walking for over fifteen minutes. The trio approach a secluded part of town, which they’d already passed once before.

“So... You said you were looking for your friends?” Indana asks, changing the subject.

“I did. A blonde, human woman with a chip on her shoulder, a Jaliscan woman with pink hair and an attitude problem, a Falmun wo-... Child with golden hair, and a middle-aged human guy who looks like he should be teaching young magicians.”

“Sounds like some group you have there!” Cicera exclaims.

“Well, it’s a group.”

“And you’re very close?” Cicera asks.

“Eh... We’re close enough...”

“But not so close for them to wait for you? ... What about look for you? Do you think they care enough to do that?” Indana presses him.

“If push came to shove, I think they would.” Valan answers.

“But you aren’t sure?!” Cicera gasps.

“Can we ever be sure about anything, besides death and taxes?” Valan flashes a little smile.

“I see...” Indana murmurs.

The women glance between each other, sharing little smiles. Valan notices right away, feeling somewhat unnerved. He looks around the village but realizes that much of these houses are the same homes that appeared abandoned earlier. How close is he to anyone else? Suddenly, Indana lifts her canvas cloak. She produces a fairly large, translucent, pink glass bottle, spherical in shape and with a long, slender neck. It’s filled to capacity. She gives the bottle a yank, pulling it from a leather strap that seems to have been tied around the neck of the bottle, hanging it from her waist.

As she retrieves the bottle, however, he notices something else; Indana is nude beneath her closed cloak, her blue and white flesh briefly glistening in the sunlight. Only the belt that held the bottle is beneath her primary garment. Pulling out the cork stopper, Indana takes a swig from the bottle.

“Mmm! That’s better than I thought it’d be!” She exclaims.

“Really?!” Cicera appears shocked.

“Yes! Try some!” Indana passes the bottle to her friend.

“... Ooh! You’re right! What a pleasant surprise!” Cicera chirps.

They share the bottle, passing it back and forth no less than three times, drinking nearly half of the contents in a matter of moments. Cicera glances over her shoulder, looking at Valan with a strange little smile, her orange opal eyes sweeping him from head to toe and back again.

“Mmm, it’s so good.” Cicera coos.

“Yes! This is very delicious!” Indana remarks again, also watching him.

“... What is it?” Valan finally asks, overcome with curiosity.

“It’s a, uh, fruit blend mixed with water!” Indana replies, glancing at Cicera.

“Yes, we’ve made it back home for a long time, but this was the first time using foreign fruits.” Cicera interjects.

“Sounds nice. I used to love fruit drinks, back when I was too young to have wine. Someone in my family was a very talented chef, and made it often.” Valan smiles, reminiscing about his mother.

“Would you care to try?” Cicera asks, passing him the half-empty bottle.

Seeing them drink such a quantity, Valan doesn’t see the harm in having a taste. He reaches out and takes the spherical, pink bottle from the green Lahnyt’s clawed hands. He brushes her skin, finding it to be unusually soft and warm.

“Soft.” He remarks, stroking the back of her hand.

“Y-you think so?!” She asks, her orange eyes wide as she bows her head, glancing up at him.

“I do.” He smiles.

“... Good.” She murmurs.

Bringing the bottle to his lips, he gives the contents a little taste, nervous about trying a fruit drink not mixed by his deceased mother. His eyes widen with surprise as the liquid cascades over his lips and coats his tongue.

“Wow! That’s amazing!” He chirps.

“I’m glad you like it.” Cicera coos.

“I do! You have a real talent for this! I bet you two could sell a hundred of these bottles a day!” He gushes.

“Drink up. We have more.” Indana says with a soft, sensual voice.

He tilts his head back, drinking more of the delicious concoction. Gulp after gulp, he ingests the liquid. He pauses to take a breath, startled by the fact that he’d drunk nearly a quarter of the bottle by himself.

“Oh, I’m sorry! It was just that good!”

“It’s alright.” A grinning Indana says, taking the bottle from him.

“We certainly don’t mind.” Cicera coos.

The women polish off the bottle, sharing the last of it. They walk a little further, when suddenly the women pause. Cicera leans against the nearest hut, arching her back as she glances toward Valan.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

“Just a little tired.” Cicera stretches, arching her back even more.

He cannot help but notice how large her bust is, as she seems to purposefully push it forward. Her cloak drapes over her fairly flat, belly, accentuating her feminine curves. His temperature begins to rise, even as he looks away. Is it becoming hotter outside? He looks toward the sky, but instead he finds a few clouds rolling in, already partially blocking the sun’s warm rays. Why is he so hot all of a sudden?

“I’m tired, too. We’ve been walking for a while on our little feet.” Indana remarks.

She rests a hand against the wall of the same hut, bending over and lifting a foot. Turning her leg to the side, she uses her free hand to remove a hide shoe and rub the sole of her human-like, plantigrade foot. Valan’s eyes land on her foot, but as her tail lifts, they’re drawn upward; he simply cannot help himself. Gazing upon Indana’s buttocks, it appears perfectly formed beneath her cloak. He feels his manhood throbbing, and suddenly Valan can hear a strange noise; his heart beats faster. Cicera smiles and leans over, reaching out and grabbing Indana’s cloak.

With a little pull, she draws up the canvas, giving the human a short flash of Indana’s exposed loins; with the exception of her pink nether lips and clitoris, the flesh betwixt her legs is as white as the driven snow. Straightening out, Indana giggles before very politely scolding her friend. They then turn around, looking back at Valan. Seeing him struggling to maintain control, they smile wider and slowly approach him. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, feeling as though a fog is falling upon him. Why is it suddenly so hard to concentrate?

Indana stands on one side and Cicera the other. Each woman rests their hands upon his shoulders. They guide him toward the hut, which they swiftly but gently force him against, pushing his back into the wall. Leaning in, he can feel one woman kiss his neck, while the other gives him a lick. He tries to shake off the fog that shrouds his brain, but fails.

“Is it working?” Cicera suddenly asks him.

“Wha-?” He gasps for breath.

“The potion. Is it working?” Cicera reiterates.

“It should be taking affect now.” Indana coos.

Valan doesn’t respond. He can’t. All he can do is breathe, and feel the strange, invisible mist that flows over his body.

“We’ve been looking for just the right man, and we’ve been looking for a while... Too long.” Cicera explains.

“We were hoping for a human; we don’t really like the elves, but that’s mostly what’s here, and the few humans we’ve met weren’t nearly as attractive as you. It looks like we did good, holding out for as long as we did.” Indana speaks sweetly, nuzzling and kissing Valan’s neck and cheek.

“Yes. We wanted someone very specific, and you’re a perfect match.” Cicera coos, nuzzling the other side of his neck.

“Do you like his hair?” Indana asks her friend.

“Oh, yes! I think it’s the perfect shade for me!” Cicera answers her.

“Me too, and he has such lovely eyes. I do so love his eyes...” Indana remarks, an air of evil in her voice.

“And this skin. Mmm-is just right!” Cicera chirps, rubbing a hand over the flesh of his forearm.

“Let’s get him inside. Make sure no one sees.” Indana orders her friend.

“Yes, my Zak’Rana!” Cicera chirps, bowing her head.

Indana, with a build stronger and sturdier than Cicera’s, leads Valan into the hut. Cicera, meanwhile, stays outside, looking to the left and to the right. Hearing a puff and a few crunching noises, she turns back. The green and gold Lahnyt’s lips curl around her snout in a sinister smile as Indana drops the human atop a straw mattress. Cicera takes one last look around their surroundings. Thankfully, no one is nearby; none have seen what they’re doing, nor will they be nearby to hear what they’re about to do. With her sinister grin growing, flashing her pearly white teeth, Cicera unties the bow-knots that hold her cloak closed.

Pushing her shoulders back, she allows the garment to drop, catching it with a clawed hand while exposing her naked body to the cool air. Humming a pleasant tune, she turns around and steps into the hut, throwing the cloak aside as she crosses the threshold. No sooner than the tip of her tail slips beyond the doorway, she closes the door, latching it shut. Moments later, the shutter for the only window is also closed and latched.

“You’re ours now, Valan.” Indana coos.

“Ready to begin, my Zak’Rana?” Cicera asks.

“Yes, underling. I’d like to finish the ritual before the potion wears off.”

Sitting on the docks and with his feet in the water, Steingar holds his boots in his hands. The cool liquid distracts him from his troubles as he turns his hand-stitched footwear over. He admires their craftsmanship, running a glossy, black claw over the weaving threads. They remind him of an event from his past, early into his career as a soldier. Back then, he wasn’t a bloodforge, being just another Helngar warrior, one of many. The mighty warrior recalls his time as a nervous soldier, fresh out of boot camp.

Marching through the jungle of an unclaimed, subtropical island, one out of several hundred, he and his detachment were on the hunt. On his very first run as a newly trained soldier, exploring that little island, what should’ve been a tropical paradise, he and his men instead found corpses. Hundreds of bodes, flayed of their flesh and some of them missing their limbs and various bones, hung from the trees like sadistic decorations. They were merely fodder for the pirate Lord who ruled said island. Known only be his nom de guerre, ‘Blood Mason’ was a vicious and sadistic man.

Dozens of Steingar’s men, friends he’d made during boot camp, and nearly Steingar himself, were killed in the fight against the pirates. After two days of sporadic violence, they’d finally captured Blood Mason, finding him hiding in a home thoroughly decorated in the skin and bones of his victims. His chairs and a mattress were upholstered in their skin, the same material that made up the majority of his clothes. An oil lamp, its bowl fashioned from the cap of a Falmun’s skull, was help up by Vizhek femurs and decorated with the bones of human fingers.

Looking over the stitching of his own boots, Steingar realizes just how talented Blood Mason must’ve been. Burning down the ghoulish cabin that the pirate Lord inhabited, and all of his sickening artifacts within it, seemed like an act of purification, but years later, his men would prove to be little better. The horrified screams of violated women, one of the worst sounds one could ever hear, still echoes within his head. Shaking it off and looking away from his boots and along the water’s edge, Steingar watches a pair of children. The pre-teens wade in waist-deep water, shirtless and holding little spears.

They appear to be playing some kind of game, but their partially unclothed forms remind him of yet another incident from his past. Capturing a small gang of pirates as they moored their Sloop on another island, a land as equally unclaimed as Blood Mason’s haven, the pirates emerged from their ship without a stitch of clothing covering their bodies. Prisoners, already beaten, burned and brutalized, were pushed along at the point of the sword and the barrel of the arquebus. Steingar and his men engaged the pirates, who they’d taken completely by surprise. After a short battle, most of the thugs were quick to surrender. Only then did Steingar and his men learn why the pirates were nude.

“Why ruin good clothes with their blood?!” A pirate snickered.

After and impromptu trial, all of them were hung and left dangling from the trees, their corpses serving as both food for the birds and as a warning to other potential pirates who might seek to earn a dishonest vasarik. In many ways, his life was much simpler before. At that time, they only had to worry about patrolling the ocean borders of the Erie Isles, and keeping the waters free of pirates. The orders that his leadership received from the Chief General, Einyr ‘Icefang’, the premier General of then King Euralian and now King Vashalak’s military, only complicated his service and troubled his conscience.

It effectively turned he and his men into pirates, targeting unprotected merchant vessels and their crew for their loot, but in the name of the crown, of course. Steingar glances back at the shimmering water, setting his boots beside his thigh. Swaying his digitigrade feet in the water, he wonders, what made them different from the pirates they used to hunt? Was it their training or uniforms? Was it their quality armor and weapons? Perhaps it was the comradery between them? Surely, the pirates had all of that, too. Was it their honor, then?

Recalling how swiftly his men fell into savagery, gleefully raping the wives and daughters of honest men, who were forced to watch, before the lot of them were so callously murdered, he can’t imagine honor ever being a factor. The only thing that made them different from the pirates was their allegiance; Steingar and his fellow soldiers served the Crown, not themselves. Leaning back on the dock and staring intently at the sky, he finds himself troubled. While not pleasant thoughts, anything seems better to him than dwelling on Sira and her two, human customers.

For several hours he’s reflected on his service, finding bits of amusement mixed in with the pain, sorrow and gore. As he ponders his own history, Steingar wonders to himself... Is he even capable of judging Sira’s actions? After all that he’s seen and done, perhaps she’s the one with cleaner hands? Still, her situation bothers him immensely. It bothered him enough to drive him from the inn; he’s spent the last four hours wandering aimlessly, both in the physical and mental sense. Perhaps rather than pass judgement on her, as he’d found himself doing earlier, maybe instead he can do something good? Perhaps she’ll even be receptive to his help?

With his mind made up, Steingar pulls his feet from the water, dries them with an old rag, and then slips on his boots before heading back to the inn. After wasting over four hours, she’s probably resting, and maybe even waiting for him. The thought brings a smile to his lips.

“Hello, again.” The barkeep chirps, wiping down a mug.

“Where’s Sira?”

“She’s upstairs.” The barkeep motions with his head.

“Thanks!”

“Sure.” The barkeep replies, wiping down another mug.

Turning toward the staircase, Steingar darts off. After a moment, the barkeep’s eye grow wide.

“Wait!”

The barkeep calls out to Steingar, but he’s already gone. Approaching Sira’s door, he’s grateful that he doesn’t hear any noises; the bed doesn’t squeak, the headboard doesn’t thump against the wall, and he can’t make out any grunts or groans. The cacophony of chatter downstairs makes it hard to focus, but it’s been several hours. Perhaps Sira is merely sleeping? Grasping and lifting the latch, he finds that the door is unlocked. Pushing it open, it swings silently. He freezes, his heart stinging as he stares into the room, horrified by the sight before him. There, atop her bed, is Sira... With Rian and Dian.

Lying on her left side and facing the doorway, she lifts her right leg, hanging it over Rian’s right knee and spreading herself. Lying behind her, Rian moans and groans very faintly, pushing his modest manhood in and out of Sira’s thoroughly used loins. The fur on her groin and her inner thighs, near her pelvis, is stained with white ooze, the remnants of the brother’s seed. They’ve clearly finished inside of her several times already, and are merely continuing with ‘the experiment’. With his body at an angle and his head behind Sira’s shoulders, the human doesn’t see Steingar watching them.

The only reason that Sira herself doesn’t see Steingar, is because she can’t; Dian kneels before her, his legs spread wide and his back facing the doorway as she vigorously fellates him. He rests his hand atop her head, petting her as if she were a housecat, her long, tapering, rabbitesque ears visible beyond his side as she bobs her head forward and back. None of them notice Steingar as he stands in the doorway, frozen with shock. Stepping quietly backward, he closes the door and leaves.

Walking slowly down the hall, the Helngar wonders how he hadn’t heard them before. Her groans as Rian thrusts his manhood into her vagina, and the slurping sounds she makes as Dian enjoys her mouth, were certainly audible upon entry. That’s not even mentioning the pleasured sounds the brothers were making. His finely tuned ears can certainly hear them now, as the trio continue to enjoy themselves in Sira’s room.

“Mmm. NnnnrrrRRRR!” A brother grunts loudly as he finishes.

“Ahh! ... Oh! Done already, Rian?!” Sira teases him.

“Ooohhh-yeah!” Rian replies with a gasp.

“Do you think three each is enough?” Dian asks.

“Only three? I took five last time, and that still didn’t work! Maybe you boys are just impotent?” Sira giggles.

“We’ve been enjoying you for hours!” Dian exclaims.

“I meant that maybe your seed is a little weak.” She corrects herself, speaking in a rather harsh tone.

“Grrr... I’ll show you weak! Come here!” Dian snarls.

“Eee!”

“Get her, Dian!”

The mattress squeaks as they briefly struggle atop it.

“... ... NNNGGAAAHHH!” Sira suddenly cries out.

“Rrrr-yeah... Who’s weak now?” Dian lustfully growls.

“Please, ahh, don’t, ahh, be so, ahh, rough! I’m, nngf, sorry, nngf, masters, ahh!”

Flushing with jealousy, Steingar races down the hall, eager to to be away from the trio and their carnal noises. Returning downstairs, he claims a seat at the bar. The barkeep approaches him, an empty mug in-hand and a regretful expression on his face.

“I’m sorry about that. I, uh... I kind of forgot.”

“It’s alright...” Steingar murmurs.

“I’m just not used to her having other men, you know? I-”

“Shut up... Pour.”

“Right...”

After an hour of drinking, alone, Steingar can hear two familiar voices. He glances over his shoulder as the two brothers finally make their way downstairs. By then, it’s mid-afternoon and they’d been with Sira for as long as six hours. Steingar narrows his eyes, focusing his hearing on them as they speak at the bottom of the steps.

“That was great, as always.” Rian sighs, adjusting his trousers.

“Yeah, but I don’t think that fuzz ball knows what she’s talking about.” Dian remarks.

“Even if humans and Jaliscans can’t breed, I don’t care. That smart mouthed whore is a load of fun. I’ve never felt anything so good!”

“True!” Dian chirps. “Sometimes, I can hardly walk home after having her.” He laughs.

“I sometimes have to drink a gallon of water to make up for all I give her.” Rian chuckles.

“In sweat?” Dian asks with a chuckle.

“I drink a second gallon for the sweat.” Rian winks, elbowing his brother’s side.

Both men laugh, making their way toward the front door.

“It’s too bad she’s barely more than an animal... Does that make us freaks?” Rian suddenly asks.

“She can speak, and she can willingly bend over; that’s good enough for me.” Dian retorts, pulling up the front door.

“You’re right. You were always the smart one.”

Steingar’s blood boils. How dare they speak so derisively of her. Do they even know her?! Turning his eyes toward the ceiling, Steingar feels a burning desire. All he wants to do now is save Sira from her life of degradation and debauchery. She deserves better.