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In The Mist Of The Erie Isles

By Mantrid Brizon

Episode Fifty-Two: The Worst...

“Long ago, the Seraphs came from the heavens, emerging from the vastness of the black sky, which is their eternal home. Finding a lifeless rock in the emptiness of the dark, they gathered together and formed the sun. Seeing the rock in the light, they saw the potential and crafted the world as it exists. They spread on the surface the whole of the oceans, then formed lands from stardust, to float upon the oceans and give homes to their creations. Each of the many Seraphs claimed portions of the world for themselves, to mold new life as they saw fit. Of the land known at Lanos, a very small continent kept away from the other lands, the mother goddess crafted her ideal creature.

They were bipedal mammals, formed in kind with those of the other Seraphs’ creations, but hers were different. Her creations had scales and walked on large, powerful feet which bore claws liked curved blades. Some had manes of feathers, while others had spikes and quills which ran the length of their spines and tails. All had hides of bright colors, with feathers and quills to compliment them. Her creations were as at home in the sea as they were on the land. Only their mortal limits, muscles which grew weary and bellies needing food and water, prevented them from leaving Lanos and spreading across the whole of the world. It was a relief to the other Seraphs, who were both jealous and fearful of the mother goddess’s creation.

One day, many millennia after they were formed, the mother goddess’s children were fated to change. Another Seraph saw fit to destroy a ship - a construction of the more intelligent races - which had ventured too close to Lanos. However, the Seraph kept alive a sole survivor, a young man from the land of the humans and Falmun, the smaller of the two races of elves. He washed onto the beaches of Lanos unscathed. The human was met by the startled beasts, who had no language at that time, or any knowledge of the other Seraph’s children. Their guttural cries at the stranger were as frightening to him as his shriek of terror was to the beasts. He ran and hid himself inside of a cave until he was certain that the beasts had left him.

Days passed, and an exceptionally curious beast, a young female of birthing age, who’d noticed the warning totems placed by the elders, ventured onto the beach. There she found the young man, building a shelter of reeds and palm fronds. As an offering of peace, he gave her fruit, plucked from a nearby tree. In exchange, she gifted him a fish, caught with the powerful jaws of her own maw. She was very pleased to see that his form was somewhat familiar to her, as noted by a bulge betwixt his legs. She was not alone in this. The young man took great care to watch her as she swam so gracefully through the water, her smooth, colorful scales glistening beneath the waves.

The human took delight in her splendor, which the beasts did not cover. Her breasts and womanhood were on full display, and much like his own kin, though she was of greater appeal, due to her exotic nature and foreign features. Their curiosity was too strong, and the pair soon found themselves mating in the stranger’s hut. They mated with great vigor, for as long as the day held out. The mother goddess tried to intervene, but the other Seraphs prevented her. They’d conspired against her; it was their will to foil the greatness of the mother goddess’s creation.

When the young lovers had finished, the female of birthing age returned home. Time passed, and the beasts left the stranger alone; his only visitor was the curious beast woman, who returned to him many times in the coming weeks. However, she was soon with child, as the other Seraphs had hoped. To the shock and horror of the other beasts, the young female gave birth to an entirely new creature. The scales had softened and the feet had changed, losing the second ankle, but retaining the powerful shape, large toes and vicious claws. Two hands with four digits, one more finger than they had, reached for the sky. At first, the beasts considered destroying the abomination, but the mother goddess stopped them.

To the horror of the other Seraphs, she was very pleased by this new creature; the mother goddess had changed her mind. She spoke directly to the hearts of the beast women, and the females obeyed their goddess. They returned to the beach, captured the human and dragged the young man back to their village. At first, the males protested his presence, but as the smaller and weaker of the sexes, they were no match for their females. The females sacrificed every male to the mother goddess, sparing not the elders nor the infants. They left none alive, except for the human. His fate was sealed.

Every other day, with a day of rest in between, the human lived in a cage. He was brought out only to mate with and seed a female or two, before being returned to his prison. The beast women gave birth to hundreds of offspring that were like the first, and this pleased the mother goddess. The beasts obeyed the will of the mother goddess, cutting their infant sons so that they may never conceive children, while leaving them alive to serve the females as gatherers; every female would only be fertilized by the captive human. After many years of captivity, when the human had reached thirty-two years of age, he was given a new task.

The daughters of his many brides had recently come of age, and the mother goddess wanted to continue the experiment. She’d overpowered the other Seraphs and safeguarded Lanos. She demanded that the new generation breed, and so the human seeded his own daughters. Again, the male children were cut so that they could not impregnate any females, while the females were raised until they were ready to conceive. They’d know only the lone human as a partner. This generation was even less like the mother goddess’s original creation, having changed even more from the generation before them.

Now capable of speech, and with feet and hands that matched their human father, their scales were very soft but still present. Some had manes of feathers, or spines of quills and spikes, but many more did not. Once again, the human was made to fertilize the females, copulating with all of them and giving each woman multitudes of children. Eventually, the children of his children came of age, and the cycle continued once more. This did not stop until the children of his children’s children were born, having seeded every female several times over and given them each no less than a handful of offspring. By this point, the human had reached the final stages of his natural life.

The mother goddess was pleased to see what had been spawned, a creature with the intelligence of the humans and elves, but with the beauty and capabilities of her original creation. No longer did they sport manes of feathers, or bear quills and spikes, and no longer did their bodies wear scales; all had a smooth but dense hide of vibrant and often bright colors, and with a glossy sheen. All were hairless, on their heads and on their bodies. They’d imitated the shape of their human father, with hands, feet and bodies easily recognizable to a human or elf, but with the addition of their blocky snouts, long, tapering tails, and a lack of ears, still having only hearing ports.

The females became exceedingly beautiful, sporting elegant curves, shapely hips, long and toned legs, plump buttocks and lovely, perky, often large breasts. Meanwhile, the males became exceptionally handsome, being well-built, strong, and often quite endowed, as their father was. The other Seraphs saw what the mother goddess had done and lamented their defeat. The mother goddess had foiled their plan, and birthed the race that she would call “Lahnyt”, a most powerful and beautiful race. With his purpose now fulfilled, the old man of seventy-years-old was sacrificed by the females who’d used him for generations for his seed.

The last of his many thousands of offspring were left intact. No more would the males be cut to prevent their reproduction. The Lahnyt would remain the mother goddess’s race, her chosen people, and as thanks to her faithful, she blessed the females, her assistants in their own creation. They were richly rewarded, never needing to work the fields, slaughter the livestock or catch their own fish. They exist only for the mother goddess’s glory, and the glory of their race, partaking in the males as they see fit, who now serve no other purpose but to care for and entertain the mother goddess’s daughters, and seed them whenever their women so desire...”

Jarae’s hands slowly lower the parchment, her shimmering, pink eyes as wide as saucers. Having read aloud the words, her training in literacy now complete, she blinks and glances toward her lover, Valan.

“Wow... And this is Lutala’s scroll?!” She asks.

“Yeah. It’s supposedly the story of the first faith and their origins.” He replies, sitting up in bed and watching his beloved.

“And this is what she believes?!”

“Oh, no!” He chuckles. “That’s the first faith. The Yashuvanites subscribe to an entirely different faith. It’s just required reading for Yashuvanite initiates.”

“Oh...”

“I spoke to her about the contents of that scroll, and according to her, Lanos isn’t even the origin of her people; it’s just a large island near the coast of Zekora, their true homeland. She’s convinced that entire history is a fabrication, but they had no writing for centuries, so no one can be certain.” He continues.

“I see... So, why do you have it?”

“Well, Sal has taken his new faith to heart.”

“... But why do you have it.” She reiterates.

“I don’t know. I suppose to feel closer to him...”

“You miss him?” Jarae scoots closer, sitting beside her lover in their bed.

Valan nods his head, and so the Jaliscan slips a slender, furry arm around her partner, her clawed hand resting on his side as she gives him a comforting tug.

“Still, though, this is a very specific scroll.” She remarks, glancing over the parchment. “What made you choose it over Lutala’s holy tome?”

“I was curious. I wanted to understand.”

“Understand what?”

Valan turns his head and stares silently at his lover, whose shimmering, pink eyes wait so expectantly. He turns his eyes away as his mind briefly drifts to Indana and Cicera, the Lahnyt women who’d drugged, imprisoned and raped him on the island of Bremen. For weeks afterward he’d suffered from nightmares, visits from the cultists and their perverse desire for his blood, hair and seed. He’d long wondered what their motivations were, borrowing the scroll as soon as Salman finished studying it. With all of the drama unfolding around them, and the stress of their new mission, neither he nor Lutala remembered the scroll. It wasn’t until Jarae, having finished her final lessons, found it among his belongings, hoping to read it aloud as a test of her new skillset.

“Is this because of them? Those two wenches who? ...” She pauses.

“Perhaps...” He speaks in a near whisper.

“If I ever see them, I’ll kill them for you.” She coos, lifting a hand and brushing his cheek with the backs of her fingers.

“The Yashuvanites believe in forgiveness. Maybe that’s the best way to handle it?” He asks with a little sigh.

“We can’t all be saints, Val.” Her clawed hand lovingly stroking his cheek. “And besides, you’re mine now. I need to make sure everyone knows that.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He flashes a little smile. “So long as you never forget who you belong to.”

Slipping a hand beneath the covers, he finds her furry buttocks and gives her plump cheek a little smack, then a hard squeeze.

“Oh!” She flashes a toothy grin, her eyes narrowing with lust. “I don’t want anyone else, Val. You know that. I love you, far more than I can ever express into words.”

“And I love you, too, Jarae. You have me until my dying breath.” He replies.

“With any luck, we’ll share that moment.” She coos, resting her head on his shoulder and nuzzling his neck with her short, cat-like snout.

“Hopefully. We should probably get up though, my darling. If we don’t have breakfast soon, Steingar and Mairlynn will eat it all, again.” He softly chuckles, kissing her cheek so tenderly.

“Right. For as small as she is, that elf has quite the appetite.” Jarae giggles.

After climbing out of bed and putting on their clothes, the couple walk hand-in-hand down the hall, passing the closed cabin doors of their compatriots. Walking by the door closest to the lounge, Irzain hears their footfalls. He opens his eyes, wincing as he stretches and yawns. Sitting up in bed, the light from the morning sun trickles in through the porthole. As he pulls the covers away from his body, he throws a leg over the edge of his bed, immediately noticing something peculiar.

“Huh... I’m not as sore as usual. Perhaps I’m adjusting?” He thinks aloud.

Noting how stuffy his room feels, he walks toward his cabin door and cracks it open, eager to feel even the gentlest of breezes. Heading toward the far corner, a stool sits with his clothes neatly folded atop it. Above it is a somewhat large, polished brass mirror, hanging from a hook at the top, and with the bottom nailed to the ship’s wall. He stops when he looks at his own reflection. The otherwise average looking Scribe, with a neatly trimmed beard and medium length hair, both with a salt and pepper appearance, has slimmed down during his arduous two weeks of training. As he looks closely, he can vaguely see muscles protruding from beneath his flesh, where there was once a modest amount of fat. He pokes his pectoral muscles, which now have a firmness to them.

“Huh... This is new!” He remarks to himself.

“You’re starting to look like a warrior.” A familiar voice interjects.

Whirling around, Irzain finds his cabin door pushed further open. Mairlynn stands just inside of his room, watching him. Her spindly arms are crossed beneath her breasts, and she wears a cloak that was given to her by Valan, when they first met. Wearing it like a nightgown, her bare legs and feet protrude from beneath the long garment, which is tied closed at the front. She smiles at him, and though it’s tainted with her usual lust, it also contains a certain warmth.

“You really think so?!” He asks.

“Mhm! You’re even more handsome than before.” She speaks softly, stepping even further inside.

“Thank you.” He cannot help but flush at what sounds like a genuine compliment.

As the four-foot-nine elf approaches him, Irzain’s eyes impulsively scan her form. They fixate upon her breasts. Though covered by her cloak, they don’t look as small and underdeveloped as they usually do. The ever watchful Mairlynn immediately notices this. She tilts her head and glances down, looking upon her own breasts. Her grin curls even further, becoming more sinister.

“You, uhm... You look more feminine than you used too... For some reason...” He nervously remarks.

Why does he suddenly feel nervous?! With her head still bowed forward, she shifts her ruby eyes upward, turning them towards the Scribe.

“Is that so?” She asks in an innocent tone.

“Yes... I-I’m sorry! I just couldn’t help but notice!” He swiftly replies.

Reaching up with her dainty hands, she grabs at the edges of her closed cloak, shifts her body so that it directly faces him and pulls apart the upper portions. His face turns red as she exposes her breasts. The overly-sexed little elf’s behavior is not a surprise - she’s done things like this many times before - but something else shocks the Scribe. He cannot look away. In fact, he’s quite taken by her form! His brow raises in surprise, from the perfect shape and size of her bosom. Mairlynn notes this as well, and takes a step closer.

“Well?” She asks in a sweet and soft voice.

“Those are actually... Very nice!” He replies.

“Yeah?!”

“Have they, uhm... Have they grown bigger?”

“Mhm!” She nods her head and steps even closer. “See for yourself!”

Standing within arms-reach, Irzain cannot help himself. He stretches out a hand and cups her breast from underneath. Mairlynn, of all people, flushes, her cheeks taking on aa rosy hue. She wasn’t actually expecting him to touch her, but she’s certainly glad that he did.

“Oh, my... They’re plump!” He remarks.

“Careful. They’re a little tender. Perhaps from their sudden growth?” She speaks in a shy tone, her lightly tanned cheeks now as red as beets.

“Sorry.” He swiftly pulls his hand away.

Clearing his throat, Irzain turns his head away. He can feel the rush of blood to his loins, filling his member. It throbs with eager anticipation. Mairlynn stands before him, her head tilted slightly back and looking up at him. Noting his awkward expression and shifted gaze, she turns her ruby eyes down. They grow wide as she spies his manhood swelling in his trousers. The silent gesture is the best compliment she could’ve ever hoped to receive. Her lips curl into an even bigger grin, peeling back and flashing her teeth. The nervous Irzain clears his throat again as he struggles to speak. Mairlynn’s grin fades. She knows better than to pursue him right now. Maybe later.

“So, uhm... See you at breakfast?” She asks, closing her robe and concealing her breasts.

“Yeah.” He quietly replies.

“Good. I’ll make sure those pigs save you a plate.”

“Thanks, Mair.” He finally returns his gaze to the little Falmun.

“Of course.” She coos, waving her slender fingers as she walks out of his cabin.

Sighing and leaning against the nearest object, the wall near the porthole, the Scribe lets out a long sigh.

“That... Was different. Clearly, it’s been too long since I was with a woman.” He murmurs to himself.

Quickly gathering his clothes and boots and dressing himself, Irzain heads into the hallway and toward the lounge, where he finds the rest of the crew. Taking a seat beside Mairlynn, who kept her word and saved him a place and a plate, he enjoys a meal with the others.

“I think when we arrive, we should pick those of us least likely to be recognized to go ashore.” Steingar begins, attempting to lay out a plan of action.

“Aren’t you thinking ahead.” Jarae smirks.

“It’s good to be prepared!” Steingar retorts.

“I could always do some scouting for you!” Trellan’s hologram exclaims from the obsidian plate mounted in the corner.

“That’s a good idea! No one would expect a ghost!” Valan chimes in.

“I'm being serious!” Steingar whines. “We have one week left before we reach him, and we need a game plan! I think we should pick teams and-OOF!”

Steingar winces and turns his head. Kirsta pushes at his side, having claimed a seat in the corner of the booth when they first entered.

“Hey, what’re you doing?!” He growls.

“Move it! I need to get up!” She snarls back.

“Alright! Alright!”

Sliding out of his seat, Kirsta scrambles away from the booth, to the confusion of the others. Reaching the edge of the bench, however, she bends over, lying across her own legs and bracing herself on her knees as she suddenly vomits on the floor.

“Oh, damn!” Steingar jumps back.

“Okay, that’s not good!” Valan rises to his feet.

“Kirsta?!” Mairlynn asks with a whimper.

“That’s alright. Let it out.” Steingar kneels beside the busty human, reaching out with a clawed hand and holding back her long blonde hair. “Had I known you were ill, I’d have moved faster.”

“Shut up...” Kirsta gasps, between expulsions.

“Let me take a look at you.” Lutala steps closer.

“No... I’m fine.” Kirsta wipes her mouth with a cloth taken from the table. “I-I think I just ate too much.”

“But you hardly ate at all!” Jarae exclaims.

“Yes, that vomit is a little...Thin.” Steingar remarks.

“Who asked you?!” She snaps.

Rising to her feet and pushing past the crew, Kirsta abruptly leaves the lounge.

“Wait! ... Who’s cleaning this up?!” Steingar shouts to her.

Lutala walks toward the archway, stopping and standing half inside and half outside of the lounge. With a hand on the frame, she watches Kirsta darting into her room, a hand clutching her stomach. Her expression is strange. Is she in pain, or merely worried about her condition? The human sniffles. Is she crying?!

“Should we check on her?” Irzain asks the others.

“Give her some time. She’s a strong woman. When she’s ready, and if she feels the need, she’ll come to us.” Steingar replies, stepping over the vomit and reclaiming his seat.

“Even strong people sometimes need help.” Lutala murmurs.

“You look concerned.” Jarae turns to the Lahnyt.

“I’m just... Worried.” Lutala says with a sigh.

“About?”

“I’m hoping that whatever was ailing Mair hasn’t begun affecting Kirsta as well.”

With her back against the door, Kirsta stands alone in her cabin. She takes a few deep breaths, just to calm her nerves.

“Please, no... I don’t need this right now.” She speaks to herself.

Glancing down at her chest, she gently touches her breasts through her blouse. She winces from their tenderness. Removing her hand, she then rests it upon her toned belly, which is also somewhat sore.

“By the Seraphs in Heaven, please don’t let it be so...”

A knock at the door makes her gasp and jump nearly out of her boots.

“Who is it?!”

“Lutala. May I speak to you? I’m alone.”

“Uhm...”

“Please! It’ll be in confidence! I’m worried for you!” Lutala begs.

Sighing from both fear and frustration, Kirsta reluctantly opens the door. The human warrior finds the Lahnyt priestess standing alone, as she’d said. Without speaking a word, Kirsta takes a step back and waves a hand behind her, presenting her cabin to the blue-skinned woman. No sooner than the tip of her long and tapering tail enters the room, Kirsta swiftly closes the door, bracing herself against it. Lutala politely asks to examine Kirsta, but as the nausea returns, she merely shakes her head. Lutala asks again, but Kirsta only moves away from the door and sits atop a stool, near her empty chamber pot. Growing frustrated, Lutala takes a seat at the edge of Kirsta’s bed.

“Why are you being so stubborn?!” She yells with surprising volume, startling Kirsta. “Is it pride?! Are warriors of your clan not allowed to ask for help from healers?! Is it that you enjoy suffering?! Do you like putting other’s health at risk, should you be sick?!”

“I’m not endangering anyone else.” Kirsta softly replies as her nausea subsides.

“If you know what troubles you, then let me help you! What is it?!”

“It’s...”

“... Well? What’s troubling you?”

“... It’s Salman.” Kirsta finally answers.

The pair share a gaze, and Lutala furls her orange brow in confusion. After a moment, however, it softens and her expression changes. With her cheeks darkening, she straightens her back and bows her head, her clawed hands squeezing her kneecaps. Kirsta can see the Lahynt’s claws digging into the modest brown robes that she wears.

“I’m sorry...”

With a quivering bottom lip, Lutala turns her head away. She looks toward the porthole and stares at the morning sky. The pair listen to the quiet of the ship, which barely shifts in the stillness of the ocean.

“You look sad.” Kirsta suddenly remarks.

“I... I miss him.” Lutala admits, speaking in a hushed voice.

Moving away from the stool, Kirsta joins Lutala, sitting beside her atop the bed. She rests a hand on the priestess’s shoulder and gives her a gentle squeeze. Lutala sniffles, lifting up a hand to wipe away a single tear.

“Don’t worry...” The typically hardened and stern human speaks with a remarkable softness. “I’m sure he’s alright.”

Marching feet accompany the sound of clanking chains, echoing down a long, dank corridor. Two men in chainmail armor stand on either side of their prisoner, each gripping tightly to a bicep. Pushing the man along, they shove him into a wooden door, chuckling as the wind is knocked out of their victim’s lungs.

“Come on, you! Move it!” A guard demands.

Dragging him inside of the room, a Helngar wearing plate armor sits in a chair near a simple desk, his glowing blue eyes staring toward a crackling fire.

“Well, well...” He smirks, shifting his gaze toward the chained prisoner. “Lord Salman Donogew, I presume?”

“Yes...” Salman bows his head to the commander. “And you are?”

“Heh... Considering you’re a treasonous dog, I’m surprised you’re being so... Formal!”

Rising to his feet, the Helngar waves his guards away. They release Salman’s arms and step back, but remain in the room, ever watchful. Approaching his captive, the Helngar chuckles in a deep, throaty voice. He never answers Salman. The commander paces back and forth, his head permanently locked onto the human, his eyes staring coldly at the calm and silent Lord.

“You know why you’re here, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“For treason!” The commander boasts.

“Yes, I’m aware of my own actions.”

“Don’t sass me! You’re accused of leading a rebellion against our Great King, Vashalak! You stand before me in chains for what you’ve done! Are you ready to face your punishment?”

“Aren’t I entitled to a trial?” Salman raises a brow.

The Helngar commander chuckles, the elven guards joining in their leader’s revelry.

“A trial, he says! No...”

The commander grabs the back of Salman’s neck and yanks him closer. The Helngar leans forward to meet the shorter human, their noses touching as the commander glares at him with pure and unbridled hatred.

“You, inferior filth, do not deserve a trial. Once I decide how you’re going to die, then I’ll carry it out... Take him to the smallest, dirtiest cell we have.” The commander glances toward his men.

“Yes, sir!” They chirp.

Obeying their orders, they find a suitably awful cell for Salman, removing his shackles before shoving him inside. Taking a seat on a wooden bench, which stinks of rot, his mind begins to wander. For as much as he wishes to be freed, Salman cannot help but worry, dwelling on those he cares for. Nazir, his elderly manservant, Naemen, and the rest of his people all come to mind. As he leans against a wall, the human sees a glint of light trickling through the nearly covered window. A crack in the wood, stuffed between the rusty iron bars, lets in the faintest of light, and reveals the serenity of the morning sky. A little smile curls around the Lord’s lips as his thoughts shift.

“Lutala...” He whispers to himself. “I do so hope to see you again, in this life or the next... I miss you.”

A single tear trickles down his cheek.