Wulf: The Red and the Green 1/4 (erotic sword and sorcery, mf, ff, mfffffff)

[mara...@spiritone.com]

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The Red and the Green
A Wulf Tale

Historians claim that the so-called Great War between the goblins and
the elven isles was a clash of mighty empires, a struggle to the death
between green-skinned barbarians and pale, noble warriors of an
ancient and decadent civilization. It is said that the gods themselves
watched over the conflict, as the fate of entire races hung in the
balance.
Well, I saw a good portion of the conflict, and I'm here to
tell you that the historians are full of troll dung. The Great War was
a huge joke, the result of goblinish stupidity on one hand, and
arrogant elven intransigence on the other. In the middle were
thousands of innocent civilians who never gave a foul fuck who ran the
show, but who got to bear the brunt of the territorial ambitions of a
bunch of goblin and orc warlords, and the stupid pride and rigid
traditionalism of the elf-lords.
Exactly how I, a knockabout human freelance thief, got
involved in this particular spat, is a long and somewhat involved
story. Suffice to say that I was trying to get back to civilized --
that is, human -- territory after participating in an ill-advised
White Empire assault on the Veldt Lands. Sole survivor of the army of
idiots and misfits which had been put out of its misery by the local
tribesmen known as the Sholanti, I managed to make my way to Xesh, by
way of a lusty Sholanti amazon, a vampiric daemoness, and a perverse
Xeshite noblewoman. Oh, yes -- most of this time I was in the form of
a lion-man, the result of a bad joke played on me by a Sholanti
sorcerer. In my varied and acrobatic tussels with the aforementioned
Xeshite woman (actually with her masochistic and relatively insatiable
female slave, but that's a long story), and in the palace coup which
had nearly killed her, I'd managed to regain my human form, and was as
a result cut loose with a full purse and nowhere to go.
Xesh is one of the oldest human nations, with the possible
exception of the White Empire, which has gone through so many changes
and permutations that no one knows what the hell it is, and is
isolated from the other human islands. Between there and the relative
safety of Litharna, Stoneburg, the Empire, and various other human
nations, lie the Dragon Isles, various renegade demon realms, Jarrek
territories, wolfen colonies, Kaitian city-states, rocky lands
inhabited by dwarves and similar vermin, and, of course, the Elven
Empire.
Perhaps a few words about elves are in order here. Physically,
they resemble humans, though they are somewhat taller and more
slender, but remain as strong or stronger than the human average. They
are enormously long-lived (some appear to be immortal, while others
number their life-spans in milennia). As a rule, elves are both
beautiful and graceful -- and they know it, too, which is my major
problem with the manky little gits.
The fact is that most elves are arrogant snots. Elves are
long-lived, beautiful, intelligent, skilled in magic, capable of
producing amazing works of art and astonishing architecture,
terrifying in war, and -- as most outsiders note immediately upon
meeting them -- deeply and sincerely convinced that all non-elves are
pond scum. Humans are short-lived, vulgar little monkeys; dwarves are
short, ugly, dirt-grubbers; wolfen are animals; orcs and goblins are
lower than cockroaches, and just as deserving of quick extermination;
kaitians are pretty but stupid; centaurs are freaks, though they can
be useful as allies; nymen, throgs, ogres, jarreks, and all the other
races are hulking mutants, cursed by the gods, and living in utter
misery since they can't be just like the elves.
After all, who wouldn't want to be an elf, possessed of
endless capacity for joy and sorrow, graced with etherial beauty, and
beloved of the great gods themselves? An elf is (at least in his own
opinion) the living embodiment of beauty, grace, intelligence, and
mystical knowledge. All other races are at best only pale shadows, and
at worst, enemies to be crushed, conquered or exterminated.
Not that the elves were especially united against the nasty
creatures of the world. Though they supposedly controlled an empire,
under the undying rulership of their queen, the Silver Lady, their
realm was periodically fractured by petty rivalries, intrigue, and
outright wars between their various lords, who fought each other on
the thinnest of pretexts. I think, in fact, that they enjoyed fighting
each other more than they enjoyed fighting humans, dwarves, orcs,
nymen, and all the others. Although the elves generally considered
themselves at war with the world, their most insidious and dangerous
foe was themselves.
Gods, those bastards annoyed me. And, little did I know, I was
on a collision course with the pointy-eared little twerps.
Upon departure from Countess Xylara's estate, she'd provided
me with a bag of coins and a small one-man felucca, which we'd
christened "Alrynna" for Xylara's most submissive little
slave-cupcake. She was in good condition, and after saying quiet (and
depressingly non-carnal) goodbyes to Alrynna, Xylara, and her sister
Nineh (hot piece, that -- see my previous memoir), I shoved off into
the crystal-blue waters of the Ylambrian Gulf..
I wasn't sorry to see Xesh vanish off my stern as a stiff
breeze propelled me due east. The Veldt Lands had been difficult, but
at least the dangers I faced were concrete and real. Xesh, on the
other hand, was an old nation, where no one was what they seemed, and
new conspiracies lurked around every ornate, carved alabaster corner.
It might have been a good place for me to hide under other
circumstances, but I was weary of intrigue and conspiracy, and just
wanted to get back to a pleasant little pallet over a bustling tavern,
sleep all day, roam all night, make passes at women, and try to teach
the roaches a few rudimentary dance steps. Gods -- maybe three weeks
away. I could almost taste the ale.
Once more, however, nothing went the way I hoped. If it did, I
suppose I wouldn't have much of a story to tell you, so from the
reader's vantage point, all my misfortune and misery is for the best.
Hope you enjoy it.

* * * *

For the first ten days, things went well. The weather was
generally good, though I had to weather a squall about four days out
of Xesh, lashed to Alrynna by a new rope (I wasn't about to stake my
life on a spliced line), feeling the small vessel pitch and roll,
climbing sickeningly up one swell then plunging down another.
I was getting thoroughly tired of fish, though in this area
they were kind enough to actually fling themselves into the boat, thus
saving me the tedious task of actually catching them. I was determined
to maintain some vestige of gracious living, and grilled my fish each
morning and evening on a small brazier, lit with a minor cantrip, one
of the few I'd managed to retain before washing out of the Magic
Academy several years previously, and husbanded a small stock of
radishes, carrots, oranges and chup-fruit, consuming enough to spruce
up my dull meals, and to ward off scurvy.
Sharks followed me constantly, and I made deals with them to
the effect that if I threw them enough scraps, they wouldn't bother
eating me if I ever fell in. I frankly didn't believe their assurances
of agreement, and suspected they were trying to lull me into a false
sense of security.
There was a bad moment when a massive creature with a
back-pattern like an elves-and-dragons board scraped along just
beneath the surface, scratching itself on my keel. It didn't seem
terribly hostile, but its affections threatened to inadvertently swamp
me. I was grateful when the big lummox chose to move along.
I'd also had the presence of mind to purchase a set of
up-to-date nautical charts, and had debated whether or not to skirt
the elven isles. Though the elves weren't known for their hospitality
toward lone travelers, it was probably safer than the various goblin
realms which lay to the south, or the chaos-lands which clustered in
ever-changing patterns north of the elf-kingdoms. I was still debating
exactly what course to take when it happened.
For several days I'd been experiencing thick morning sea-fogs.
They actually proved quite pleasant, sealing me in a humid blanket,
turning the sun into a pale disk, and making me feel as if I wasn't
really alone amid trackless ocean. It was cold, but I'd brought
oilskins, furs and blankets treated with water-repellent magic, so I
remained bundled up during the morning hours, listening to the creak
of the rigging and the gentle slap of the water. So long as a fog was
up, I was also assured that the weather wouldn't be turning inclement,
so it provided me with additional security.
This morning proved no exception. I sat amidships, swaddled in
blankets, waiting for the fog to dissipate so that I could take a
sun-sighting, and possibly make breakfast (a dozen more of those
stupid winged fish had managed to strand themselves on the boat the
night before). As I listened idly to the familiar sounds of my vessel,
I realized that I heard something else. Off in the distance, muffled
by the fog, but still plain, sounded the creak of another vessel's
rigging, and the rhythmic splash of oars. And they were getting
steadily louder.
I leaped out of my cocoon of furs and blankets just in time to
see a dark shape bearing down on me out of the fog. I flung myself
against the rudder, sending Alrynna veering off to port, heeling
heavily to one side, nearly capsizing, then surging up and down in the
bow-wash of the gigantic vessel which now slid ponderously past me,
oars moving like the legs of a giant spider. One of them came down
heavily across Alrynna's bow, and she broke deep, water pouring over
her gunwales.
I pulled away, shaking with relief as the bow popped up above
the waves, only to feel the entire vessel lurch sideways yet again as
the wake struck me. This time, poor Alrynna wasn't equal to the task,
and the ungracefully turned turtle, spilling me, my meager collection
of fruits and vegetables, my blankets and furs, the little brazier,
and the dozen or so dead flying fish into the foaming water.
I struggled to retain my composure as I watched my boat slip
beneath the waves, then bob up only to be stove in by another
descending oar. With a curse, I saw one of the oars coming down like a
sweeping scythe, smashing down upon me before I could splash out of
the way. Gods, you've done it to me again, I thought as I slipped
beneath the cold waves...
* * * *
My first thought upon waking was wonderment at still being
alive. Then I opened my eyes and wished that I wasn't. I was on the
quarterdeck of a ship, black sails billowing overhead, was being held
roughly upright, sagging in the grip of two grim-looking individuals
in black leather armor, and was the object of attention for a small
crowd of similar beings. Outwardly, they looked human enough, save for
their wicked-looking armor and distant, somewhat cold expressions. It
was their skin which I noticed first, then their hair.
They were all jet-black. Not meaning negroid, like the
Veldtlanders, mind you -- I mean actually black, the color of polished
obsidian. Their hair was silver, in shining contrast, kept in long
braids, elaborate coifs, or hanging loose below their shoulders. There
were both males and females, staring at me with dark blue, violet or
black eyes. The ears were the final piece of the puzzle -- pointed as
a Necrotian obelisk.
Dark elves. I'd fallen in with the bright elves' ebon-skinned
cousins, a pack of deviants just as evil and perverse as their
blonde-haired relatives were arrogant and obnoxious.
"Uhhh," I began, but was interrupted by one of the male elves
stalking forward, grabbing my hair and yanking my head back roughly.
"Speak only when spoken to, grubber," he hissed, using a
common pejorative for humans. "Or you will die much, much sooner."
With that kind of incentive, I was only too happy to obey. I
kept my mouth shut and listened sullenly as the dark elf began to
speak, pacing back and forth in front of me. He was a particularly
cruel-looking specimen, face disfigured by a long, ugly scar, his
dark-eyed glare further emphasized by the black dragon-helm which
crouched on his brow. His armor was studded with brass discs, bearing
various runes and icons, and a curved sword, bristling with barbs and
spikes, rode at his belt.
"Tell us what you are doing here, human," he said at last.
"And tell the truth, or it will go badly for you."
"I'm a traveler bound for Litharna or Stoneburg," I said. "I
just happened to run into your ship --"
"LIAR!" he bellowed, slapping me across the face. He hit
pretty hard, too -- for an elf, anyway. "You're a spy in the pay of
the Silver Lady, sent to count our ships and spy on us! Admit it!"
"No!" I replied, seeing visions of my skin being removed, an
inch at a time, while the dark elves laughed and roasted lizards on my
funeral pyre. "I was sailing from Xesh --"
"LIAR!" the elf repeated, pulling out his sword and holding it
to my throat. "I know a spy when I see one! Admit it, grubber! You're
here to spy on our invasion fleet!"
I looked at him mildly. "Oh, you have an invasion fleet?"
I thought he was going to explode at that, eyes bugging, ebon
face actually taking on a little bit of color. He drew the sword back
with an incoherent shriek. Gods, I thought, this is it...
"Stop, captain," said a mild, obviously feminine voice from
nearby, and my would-be killer dropped his sword and fell to one knee
as if he'd been sapped by a gnome kneebiter, instantly followed by the
rest of the crew..
The crowd of dark elves parted, and a tall figure glided
smoothly through them. It was swathed in a dark purple cloak, hooded,
face lost in shadows and obscured by an embroidered black veil. Two
eyes, lambent violet, all that was visible through the mask, regarded
me with interest.
"Admiral!" barked the captain, eyes averted. "We captured this
spy --"
"I'll be the judge of whether he's a spy or not," the admiral
replied, standing before me like a graveyard specter, face invisible,
body hidden in dark purple folds. "Clap him in irons and bring him to
my quarters. I will interrogate him."
The captain sprang to his feet, crossed his hands across his
chest. "I obey," he said, and motioned at the two dark elf guards who
still held me. "You heard the admiral! Chain him and get him to her
quarters. Be quick about it!"
As the guards manacled my wrists, then hustled me off the
deck, back toward the aft cabins, I realized that I'd been saved once
more, by a hairsbreadth. Of course, what awaited me might be much
worse, since I had always heard that dark elf females are far more
creative and sadistic than their male counterparts.
We passed close to the railing, and I risked a peek over the
side to see if, by some miracle, we were close to land, and I got
another unpleasant shock. We were in the midst of a great armada of
black- or red-hulled vessels. They were built in a variety of styles
-- most were goblin battle-praus, but there was a scattering of other
vessels as well -- human corsair sloops, dark elf slave-galleys like
the one I was on, Slaerthist droges towed behind squirming teams of
sea-wyrms, and several others I didn't recognize. They all bore dark
banners or sails embroidered with evil images, and several bustled
with activity -- not everyone in this armada disliked the open sun. I
ducked back down, my heart racing.
What did they intend? From the look of them, they weren't
planning on attending a Saint Orlan's Day picnic with the local
Kyborist temple -- this was an invasion fleet or I was a Nymen
lint-merchant.
And it was no internecine squabble between goblin chieftains,
either. With this kind of assemblage, including the unpredictable but
deadly followers of Slaerth, human reavers, orcs and goblins, it was
obviously a major undertaking, and it was plain as a pikestaff where
they were headed. The presence of the dark elf vessels was the
clincher -- they wouldn't participate in anything unless it involved
taking vengeance upon their arrogant cousins, the white elves. In my
indecision about sailing through elven waters I'd managed to land
smack in the middle of an invading goblin horde and their various
perverse allies.
And here I was in the clutches of the dark elf admiral.
Fucked again.
* * * *
Her cabin was a roomy chamber at the stern of the vessel, one
entire wall crafted of what appeared to be smoked glass, giving a
panoramic view of the ocean behind us. The sun was up, but the glass
cut its glare, keeping the room in the perpetual shadow that the dark
elves favored. The remainder of the cabin was done up in sombre shades
-- purple, black, midnight blue, dark red. A long table covered in
charts and parchment documents occupied one side , while her massive,
round bed, surrounded by cut glass lamps emitting dark blue light,
occupied the other, with comfortable padded chairs scattered in
various locations.
She had the guards wait outside, and ushered me in, all
politeness and friendship (enough to make me damned nervous, let me
tell you).
"Sit." She indicated a padded chair, and I situated myself in
it as comfortably as my chained hands would allow.
She sat in a chair facing me, and threw back her hood,
unleashing a cascade of silver-white hair, smooth and plentiful. Her
mask remained on, concealing everything save her eyes, which gazed at
me coolly, like the White Emperor regarding one of the caged creatures
in his menagerie.
"I am Admiral Thae'lynn N'Quy," she said, "Keeper of the Black
Ring, Duchess of Darkoak Hill, and Mistress of the Thirty-three
Secrets."
I cleared my throat. "My name's Wulf, now-penniless traveler
with no impressive titles to speak of. I don't suppose you'd be
willing to divulge any of those thirty-three secrets, would you?"
A muffled chuckle. "Perhaps if you're fortunate, human. Now,
as my captain so was so crudely trying to extract from you, why are
you here?"
I sighed. "I'll tell you what I told him. I'm a traveler,
bound from Xesh to the White Empire, or possibly Stoneburg. Maybe even
Litharna, assuming I suddenly develop a taste for wearing doublet and
hose. The fact that my boat was crushed by your damned leviathan is no
fault of mine. I didn't know I was going to run into your armada on
the way to the Elven Isles --"
"Ah!" she interrupted me, raising a hand from the folds of her
cloak. It was long and graceful, covered with an embroidered black
glove. "So you know where we're going, do you?"
Damn my stupid intuition... I tried to recover. "It doesn't
take a grand wizard to figure out where you're going. The Elven Isles
are the only target for an armada this big, and if your kind are
involved in anything, it must involve doing mischief to your
goody-goody cousins."
The eyes hardened. "My kind? What do you mean?"
"I mean da--" I bit off my reply, and racked my memory. "I
mean," I said at last, "the Zhalha'sarr'im." This was the dark elves'
name for themselves -- the common term was considered a pejorative,
and would probably have landed me in the water, in small pieces.
"Hm." The harsh look softened, but did not vanish entirely.
"You sound sincere, mortal one."
Now, THAT was a pejorative for humans, referring to the fact
that we're relatively short-lived; mind you, dark elves are not, in
contrast, immortal, but they do live a mucking long time. I've always
wondered why elves, both light and dark, have such long lives, but
continue to have so little sense. It puzzles me to this day.
Thae'lynn slowly pulled off one of her gloves, revealing a jet
black hand with sharp, silvered nails.
"I'm going to make sure you're telling the truth, Wulf," she
said. "Now don't move, or I'll have my guards kill you."
That was always a great motivator for me -- I sat stock-still
as her ungloved hand reached out, fingers gently brushing my forehead.
They say that dark elves enjoy inflicting pain. If that is the
case, the admiral must have enjoyed my torment immensely, for a
network of magical energy lanced through my body, followed instantly
by searing, hot pain, as if my very being had been packed with hot
coals. Despite her admonition, I jerked back, crying out in agony, and
fell to the floor, panting heavily as the pain receded, and the robed,
masked dark elf gazed mildly down at me.
"Hm," she repeated, and again I'd swear she gazed at me as if
I were a monkey in a cage. "Your thoughts are interesting. Primitive
but interesting. You've had quite a time of it, haven't you?"
I cast a black glance up at her. "What the hell are you asking
for?" I spat. "You obviously just saw it." I felt as if she'd just
turned me inside-out and gazed at my insides.
She nodded. "Quite a life, human. Of course, I only scanned
most of it, but I think I managed to get a good notion of what makes
you tick. Washed-out sorcerer, sneak-thief, mercenary, shape-changer,
slave... My goodness, but your time as a lion-man must have been
stimulating." Her tone dropped an octave or so on this last word, as
if she found the whole notion incredibly exciting.
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, struggling back into the chair, my
heart slowly returning to its normal pace. "So can I go now?"
"Oh, dear," she said in mock-distress. "I'm afraid not, Wulf.
You have seen our fleet, after all, and you do know where we're bound.
I'm certain you've surmised that I command the naval end of the
goblins' little enterprise. You're a human, and by definition rather
dull, but you must know that our lovely, golden-haired cousins would
probably reward you richly if you told them about us."
The fact is that the notion hadn't even crossed my mind -- I
was more interested in getting home, but as I was discovering, once an
elf decides on something, it is virtually impossible to get her (or
him, for that matter) to change course.
"So what's going to happen to me?" I asked, fearful of the
reply.
"Hm." There was that sound again. "I'll consider that in more
detail later. We're certainly always short of galley slaves, and if
you row well you might earn yourself a promotion to house slave."
I'd had more than enough of being a slave lately, thanks very
much, but I bit my tongue and looked sullen.
"Oh, poor thing..." She sounded about as solicitous as an ogre
sitting down to a meal of live dwarf. "Well, perhaps there are
alternatives."
With that she rose, and turned to face the stern windows. Her
back was to me, silver hair set against the dark purple of her robe.
Off in the distance I saw a goblin battle-barge trundling along like a
great, mutated turtle.
"As you may have noted, Wulf," Thae'lynn began, "the males of
my species are a particularly tiresome lot. In terms of physical
companionship, they're as apt to prefer each other's company to those
of their own women, and when they do deign to join us in our beds they
are rarely worth the effort."
She spread her arms, holding out the dark cloak like wings,
then turned to face me.
"So, do you like what you see?" she asked.
I gaped. A response was probably unnecessary. Beneath the
cloak, she was naked, save for a long, black loincloth hanging from a
bangled belt which rode above her hips. I suppose "naked" isn't
entirely accurate, since she was dressed in a number of items, not the
least of which was her mask, which still concealed her features. Her
body was slender and lean, but still clearly feminine, a statue carved
of pure jet. An elaborate necklace encircled her neck, hung with
bright silver spangles and black and purple gems. Her breasts were
small, with prominent, knobbed, dark purple nipples, each of which was
pierced by a straight silver bar, with a tiny ball on each end. A
small silver ring was set in her navel, like a tiny star in the midst
of the flat black expanse of her abdomen.
"Enjoy the view, human," she whispered. "Not many are
privileged enough to see what you are about to see."
With that, she let the robe fall to the floor, and removed her
mask with her one still-gloved hand. Her face was delicate and oval,
lips silvery-purple, cheeks rounded and soft-looking. That wasn't
really what I noticed, however -- her face bore a number of other
small rings, set in her flesh at various locations. Her eyebrows were
the same white as her hair, but each was studded with a dozen ring.
Five more decorated her nose -- two in each nostril, and one large one
in the center, and her mouth bore three more, a single ring at one
corner, and two at the other.
"Uhh," I said, dumbly. "You're -- uhhh -- beautiful... Looks
kind of painful, though."
She laughed, purple-black lips stretching into a rictus of
mirth. "Humans," she said, half endearment, half contempt. "You can be
such foolish animals."
She glided smoothly toward me, reaching out her gloved hand to
touch my cheek.
"As I said," she continued, "I find the males of my own kind
tiresome. Of course, there are always the women, who are willing to
oblige me in whatever debaucheries I can imagine, but I fear that I'm
hopelessly fond of the diversions males provide."
"Seems like a sad dilemma," I agreed, uncomfortably trying to
avoid sexual excitement, and failing miserably. Like most other men,
my organ seemed to have a mind of its own (albeit a very small,
one-tracked one) and was growing rigid.
Thae'lynn nodded. She stroked herself with her ungloved hand,
pricking at her nipple with a sharp forefinger. "So what is a
noblewoman to do? I've found that though males give me what I desire,
they need not be males of my own species."
Uh-oh, I thought, a bloody Xenophile.
"I've shared moments with males of many different kinds --
orcs, ogres, wolfen, kaitians... even some of the more intelligent
male animals -- wolves, tigers, shazzim... My, my, they are so varied.
I like an occasional human, as well. You have such... mmm... primitive
enthusiasm, especially when you're well motivated."
"You mean motivated as in 'trying to keep themselves alive or
out of the mines'?" I asked.
"And such a quaint sense of humor," she continued, dropping to
her knees before me. "I sometimes think that you humans are actually
animals yourselves. Perhaps an especially clever species of monkey.
Maybe that's why you excite me so."
Ha. In the clutches of a perverted dark elf admiral who's
turned on by animals. I wondered if grunting a little would help. As
it turned out, it didn't matter.
She tugged at my breeches and yanked them down, spilling me
onto the floor in the process. I landed heavily on my chained wrists
and yelped in pain.
"Ah, yes," she said, lying between my knees, holding my erect
cock in her gloved hand, stroking beneath it with a sharp silver nail.
"This is so lovely. It could use a ring or two, however."
Why my erection didn't collapse in fear at that point, I can't
say. Perhaps it was the fact that the delicate touch of her fingers
drove out any thought save the most basic sensation -- the slick
silken touch of her glove, coupled with the sharp, nearly painful
scoring of her fingernail.
"So nice," she said, pouting purple lips set with gleaming
silver rings only an inch or so from my straining, rapidly heating
flesh. "It takes so much to get our males to respond. You humans
spring into action without so much as a look... I find it so
captivating."
A dark purple tongue slithered out from between rows of sharp
white teeth and flicked against my glans, tracing its outline, sliding
slowly down the back of my cock. I jumped slightly when I saw that it,
too, was pierced, with a long silver barbel, but my apprehension
melted as I felt it run along the underside of my prick, sensation
arcing outward.
Underneath me I felt my hands tingle, probably due to the fact
that most of my blood was needed elsewhere. I barely suppressed a moan
-- Gods dammit, this woman was contemplating sending me to die in the
slave galleys, and I was letting her fuck me like an animal...
At that point I realized my irrational (that is to say,
sex-crazy) mind had pretty much taken over, and I didn't care if the
woman licking my cock was the Devil-Empress Yilish herself -- I wanted
her all the same, and wasn't concerned about the consequences.
"You probably wonder why I have all the rings and bars in my
flesh," she said, conversationally, licking and slurping at my cock,
pausing periodically to slide it into her wet, blue-black mouth. "I
suppose it's all psychological. Perhaps I do it to punish myself for
denying my own kind's males, turning instead to animals and inferior
races. It's like dream-smoke, you know -- it's an addiction. When I
got my first one, I just wanted more." She took a hearty swallow at
that, and the entirety of my cock vanished between her lips. She held
it for several long seconds, running her tongue up and down,
alternately sucking and biting down gently.
"It was my nipple," she continued, letting me go and stroking
with her hands again. "My friends Yawesha'ae got one, and I had to get
one, too. It was all the rage among my friends, you know." She
increased the pressure, squeezing hard until it was almost painful.
"Oh, you like that? You must be popular with the ladies." She squeezed
again, and I moaned. "I like it when males do that. It makes
everything seem so basic and savage, as if you're overcome by instinct
and can't help yourself. Such an animal you are, Wulf. Such an
animal."
She toyed with me for several minutes, stroking me with firm
fingers, then suckling with increasing enthusiasm, and continued her
narrative.
"We all got our nipples pierced, you see. It drove our parents
crazy. Such doctrinaire old fools they were. They just didn't
understand that our desire to pierce our bodies and inflict pain on
ourselves was simply a reflection of the pain and hopelessness we felt
in our bleak underground world, where no one cared, and life was a
long, endless series of mindless drudgeries."
Yeah, right, I thought. Poor, misbegotten dark elves. Forced
to live in endless luxury, waited on by slaves, their every whim
satisfied. No wonder elves acted like spoiled children of noblemen.
Oh, well, her life of pain and suffering had provided her with
sufficient skills...
"Yawesha'ae and I had a contest going, you see," she went on,
still alternating between masturbating and fellating me. "We wanted to
see who could get the most piercings. We'd get together every week or
so, and show each other our new ones." She ran an enthusiastic,
dripping tongue down my cock one last time, and then held it before
her like a stick of candy. "Oh, my, I think you're ready for the next
stage, aren't you?"
She moved astride me. I couldn't even feel my hands anymore,
so the pain didn't really matter.
"Want to know who won the contest?" she asked, fumbling with
the belt that held up her long black loincloth. She found the catch
and pulled it aside, now completely naked save for her single black
glove. "Look."
I looked, and was suddenly torn between nausea and deep, deep
lust. Her cunt was entirely free of pubic hair -- whether this was by
choice or by nature, I didn't know. Soft, purplish lips protruded,
distended between her thighs, and they were set with another set of
rings, at least a dozen each side. Above them, where her clitoris
nestled like a black pearl, was another, large ring, bearing another
round, silver ball.
My eyes must have widened, for she laughed again, silver hair
shaking.
"I won," she said, musical laughter ringing in my ears. "Poor
Yawesh' couldn't bear to have anyone touch her pure little cunt. Me, I
loved it. It was wonderful. So much pain, so much pleasure. I love my
rings, little human. I love them so, and you'll find out why."
I'd been expecting this. I was well beyond replying in words,
and my bound hands prevented me from doing much besides what she
allowed me to do, so I simply waited, panting, heart hammering, for
her to make the next move.
She didn't wait long, moving up my chest, squeezing me with
her thighs, bending down and presenting her small breasts before me,
tiny metal barbels gleaming in dim blue light.
"Bite!" she whispered. "Bite hard! Pull on it, human!"
I complied, sinking my teeth into the soft, tender flesh,
feeling the bar between my teeth, grasped it and tugged, tossing my
head.
"Oh!" Thae'lynn went incoherent, but only for a moment. "I've
found..." she managed, between clenched teeth, as I alternated from
breast to breast, licking, sucking, biting and tugging, "...I've found
that the... Ohhhh... sensations can be so much more... intense... Oh,
yessss... Ohhh... Yawesh' simply couldn't understand... I think she
did it... because everyone else was doing it... Ahhhhh... Ohhhh... I
did it... Ahhh... because I wanted to..."
This went on for a few minutes, with her continuing to tell me
about her life and her stupid dark elf friends, and me continuing to
give her nipples the rough treatment. He thighs clenched me tighter
and tighter, and I felt heat radiating from her cunt where it touched
me, rings shining, moistness gleaming.
Eventually, she had had enough, and practically leapt forward,
moving astride my head, thighs on either side of my face, ring-studded
cunt just out of reach.
"Oh, you fucking animal," she growled, more than a touch of
the bestial in her own words. "You hot, fucking animal. You want to
suck this?"
"Yes," I replied (I can be very straightforward when I need to
be).
"Then suck it. Bite it." She plunged forward, trapping my head
between her legs and frantically humping herself against my face. I
struggled to maintain composure (I wasn't able to breathe at first),
then managed to get my tongue out and started licking, feeling the
hard surfaces of the rings next to the soft and slippery flesh of her
lips.
"Oh, yes. Fuck me," she gasped, proving once more that,
although we are of many races and many species, and we may all look
different, we all want basically the same thing. "Fuck me with your
hot animal mouth."
Gods... The things some people say in the heat of passion... I
ignored her banter and licked harder, at last finding the
ring-and-ball arrangement at her clit. I slipped my tongue into the
ring and pulled, feeling her tense and cry out, then bit down, holding
the tiny ball between my teeth and pulling harder.
"Oh, pull it..." She was lost in passion, now, and didn't seem
interested in relating any more details of her social life. "Suck my
clit... Yes, you animal, make me... make me..."
I had a pretty good idea what the next word was going to be,
but she had a hard time getting it out, so I continued to work on her,
struggling to breathe all the while, but still determined to push her
over the top.
She didn't quite reach the summit, but instead pulled back.
"No," she said, panting and heaving, nipples swelling and
straining against their silver piercings. "No, not yet. I want you
inside me."
Thae'lynn positioned herself astride my hips, taking my cock
in her hands and stroking her cunt-juices up and down its length.
"Get it all wet, my little animal," she whispered. "Get this
nice animal cock all wet, and let it fuck me... Yesss..."
I was largely beyond participation by now, and began to feel
as if I was being used for my body, rather than my mind and
personality.
Damn, but I felt so cheap...
At last, she slipped down, my cock sliding between the
pouting, ring-set purplish cunt-lips, and into what a Litharnan
romance writer would probably call her "uttermost depths."
And she began to pump up and down, plunging me in and out of
her. Her conversation continued in a most interesting manner.
"Ohhh... Trigon claimed... Yessss... claimed that sex was the
one hundredth transformational... oh, fuck me... one hundredth
transformational modality... Are you familiar with Trigon's... Ahhh...
Trigon's works on the ninety-nine transformational modalities... Oh...
by any chance? No, of course not, you're a hairless... ape... Ahhh..."
At that point, I didn't give a damn who Trigon was, or what
the hell she meant by "transformational modalities" (it sounded
familiar, though, from my days in the Magic Academy), so in lieu of
responding, I pounded away harder, rising up with her as she continued
to buck and writhe atop me.
This suited her fine, for her moans and sighs grew in
intensity, and she abandoned her impromptu discussion of obscure dark
elf philosophers, but instead repeatedly urged, "fuck me like an
animal..." and eventually -- at least to the best of my knowledge --
coming to a heavy, numbing orgasm. She kept going, though racked by
deep contractions, jaws locked, teeth clenched, still screaming, only
barely comprehensibly, about how much of a fucking animal I was. I
came, too, a moment later, hips rising from the floor, exploding
hotly, body arcing (and wrenching my shoulders in the process, might I
add), grunting like the animal Thae'lynn seemed to want.
She lay against me, panting, for a few minutes, my cock still
inside her, then sat up and disengaged, stroking my collapsed cock and
squeezing the last bit of semen from its tip. She licked it away with
that bizarre, blue-black, studded tongue, then stood up.
"You're very sweet," she said, slipping on a black satin robe
and putting her mask back on. "You'd make the loveliest pet." She
turned toward the cabin door. "But I fear we have a war to fight, and
I can't afford to keep a pet. Sergeant!"
As the door opened and three dark elf warriors barreled
through, I struggled to my feet.
"Wait a minute!" I cried. "You said you'd let me go!"
"Poor little pet," she replied. "I said that there might be
alternatives. This is one of them." She addressed the lead elf-thug.
"Take the prisoner and throw him over the side. He seems far too
willful to be a rower."
I was far too weak and confused to put up much of a fight;
besides, my arms were numb and useless. I evaded the guards for a few
moments, but they eventually chased me down, and dragged me from the
cabin.
"Farewell, little Wulf," Thae'lynn said, waving jauntily. "At
least be thankful that your last moments were pleasant."
"Fuck you," I spat back.
"Too late." She laughed, musically. "We already did."
"At least unchain me... give me a weapon... Gods, please...!"
"Oh, don't make such a fuss, Wulf," I heard Thae'lynn's voice
fade as she returned to her cabin. "It simply isn't becoming..."
They dragged me off to the laughter of other crew members,
despite my bellowed threats, pleas and dire threats, and
unceremoniously tossed me over the stern railing.
The smoked glass windows of Thae'lynn's cabin flashed past,
and an instant later I plunged beneath the waves, struggling futilely
against the chains which still held my wrists, feeling them drag me
down, and watching the warm sunlight above me recede into cloudy
shafts of bright water, then finally vanish into darkness.
I held my breath as long as I could; gods only know why -- I
knew that nothing could possibly save me, and when my lungs could
stand it no longer and I finally surrendered the last of my air into
shining, silvery bubbles, it was almost a relief.
Over at last, I thought. Unnoticed and unmourned. Over at
last...
* * * *
Of course, it wasn't over, unless I'm dictating this story via
table-rapping. I have only the vaguest recollections of what followed,
unfortunately -- dark shadows sliding around me, cold water washing
over my limp body, strong arms encircling me...
A moment later, I felt my body spasm as my battered lungs
abruptly began working again, sucking in a deep breath of...
Air...?
No, it wasn't air. It was thick as Murvane stout, and filled
my lungs uncomfortably, but I could breathe it. I was alive...
I opened my eyes. Once more, I was assailed by the alien, the
inexplicable, the impossible, the unlikely...
Well, let's just say what I saw was unusual, okay?
My chains were gone, and I rested on a sandy seabed,
surrounded by waving sea-grass. The sun was little more than a tiny
golden coin far overhead, separated from me by fathoms of blue-green
water. Rocky walls rose around me, and a school of silvery fish darted
past, several feet away.
By Phaedra's Supple Breasts (I made that one up; like it?), I
was still underwater. But I was alive... Gods, could this be the
Aquarium of the Damned?
Before I could follow that thought much further, a motion
nearby riveted my attention. The sea-grass in front of me parted,
revealing a creature which up to that time I'd only read about.
It was a living, breathing, honest-to-Shalama mermaid.
I could easily understand why lonely mariners fall in love
with such creatures -- this one had the sort of face and body which I
had dreamed of as I sailed from Xesh. She gazed at me with light,
sea-green eyes, peering from a gentle, pale-skinned face, surrounded
by a cloud of black hair which hung still in the water.
Otherwise, she was much like the traditional mermaid. Her
torso was that of a naked woman, with slender white arms, full
breasts, pale nipples, and a flat belly, subtly shading to a
green-scaled fish tail. She wore only a necklace of seashells.
Looking down, I saw that I, too wore a similar necklace, and I
felt a faint pulse of magic radiating from it. I'm not completely dim,
and I did actually sit through one or two classes at the Magic Academy
-- it was obvious that the necklace was the only thing keeping me
alive. I looked up in surprise, an inquiring look on my face.
"Don't worry, two-legs," she said, mildly. She didn't exactly
speak, however -- it wasn't really the kind of mind-speech which the
snake-daemoness had used in the Alabaster Temple, it was more of a
vibrating modulation of the water around me, possibly translated from
her native language by the seashell amulet.
"You're alive," she continued, floating closer to me. "I saw
the greenskins throw you overboard. I decided that any enemy of that
group might be worth saving."
"Thanks," I said. I spoke carefully, feeling my words vibrate
through the water in the same manner as the mermaid's. "It wasn't the
goblins who threw me over, it was the dark elves."
"Even worse," she replied. "I saw you floating down, and put
the amulet on you. That's what allows you to breathe down here."
"I thought so," I said. "I'm Wulf, and thanks again."
She smiled. "Pearl."
"Good name for a mermaid."
"Glad you approve. So why did the dark ones try to kill you?
Were you an uppity slave or something similar?"
"Afraid not. Just an unlucky mariner whose boat got swamped by
that dark elf tub. Their admiral decided I wouldn't make a good slave
rower, so over I went."
Pearl floated up and took my arm. "Come with me," she said.
"It's safer up the cliff."
I swam along clumsily. I had lost pretty much all my clothing,
save my breeches, which were still down around my ankles. I belatedly
pulled them up and laced them, then swam, with clumsy human strokes,
after Pearl, as she propelled herself gracefully toward the cliffs
with powerful sweeps of her tail.
"What's going on up there?" she asked, looking back at me as I
bounded from rock to rock, trying to remember how to breast stroke.
"I've never seen so many ships in one place."
"Invasion fleet," I replied, panting (and panting water is
quite a chore, let me tell you). "They're planning to attack the Elven
Isles."
That alarmed her. "Great Sea Mother!" she exclaimed. "Do the
elves know?"
I shrugged. "If they don't now, they will soon. That armada
isn't something they can ignore."
She reached the dark opening of a cave, and ushered me
through.
"It will be too late by then," she said, urgently. "The elves
have to be warned."
I sighed. "Why bother? Those gobs won't last five minutes on
elvish soil, even with the dark elves and the Slaerthists aiding
them."
She made a foul noise, then turned back to me, a couple of raw
fish in her hands.
"Here," she said, "eat these. You'll need your strength."
I looked askance at the fish, but then realized I was
ravenously hungry, and took large mouthfuls out of them. Perhaps the
magical amulet had changed my palate as well, for they actually tasted
fine.
"Need my strength?" I asked. "For what?"
(I know what you're expecting, by the way... I was
half-expecting it myself, but it was not to be.)
"You've got to go warn the elves," she said. "They're my
people's allies, but there's no way I can get onto land and tell them,
and it would take days to find one of their ships. You've got to go
and warn them of the invasion."
I balked at this. "Sorry, sister," I said, "but the elves
probably wouldn't make much distinction between me and those green
skinned freaks up there. You know how much the elves hate people whose
ears aren't pointy."
Pearl shook her head at that, sending her hair up in a
billowing black cloud, and I saw that she, herself, had graceful,
pointed ears.
"Oops," I said. "Present company excepted, of course. No
wonder you people are friends with them. You look kind of like an elf
with a fish-tail."
"If that's flattery, it's accepted," Pearl replied. "In any
event, I think that since I rescued you from a watery grave, as you
people would say, you at least owe me that. We have an obligation to
help the elves. While you go warn them, I'll rally my own people, and
we'll try and raise some havoc with that fleet. Please, Wulf. I'm not
demanding, I'm asking."
I was lost, of course. Rogue, thief, deserter, coward -- I may
be all those things, but deep down inside I think I retain a small
sense of honor and just behavior, and Pearl was right. She had saved
me. I owed her. And if my task was to go warn the pointy-boys that the
greenies were coming to kick their asses, it was incumbent upon me to
do so with good grace.
I nodded. "You're right. I'd better get going."
She smiled at that, and kissed me gently on the cheek.
"There's not time for more, Wulf," she said. "My friends tell
me I'm a good judge of character. You're a better man than you think
you are, Wulf. Perhaps we can both find out together someday."
I had to smile at that. "Unlikely," I replied, "but a nice
thing to think about on lonely nights."
She ushered me to the cave entrance, then emitted a strange,
warbling whistle. To my surprise, out of the gloom, a great grey
finned shape appeared, long and streamlined, a great dorsal fin rising
from its back, a bestial face sporting blank black eyes and wicked
triangular teeth. I started back in fear; it was the biggest damned
shark I had ever seen.
"Don't worry," Pearl said. "This is Karl. He'll take you to
the elven isles."
I grimaced. "He looks more like he's considering me as an
appetizer."
"Don't be silly. You wouldn't hurt this nice man, would you
Karl?"
Karl looked at her with what I can only describe as the
adoration of a beloved dog, then nuzzled me with his sharp snout.
"See? He likes you!"
I didn't have much choice to concur, and so positioned myself
gingerly behind Karl's massive dorsal fin, and held on against the
rough, gritty skin.
"There," Pearl said, then addressed Karl, who listened
attentively. "Now take this nice man to the big island. Let him off in
the shallows. Don't stop to eat seals or chase fish, and be a good
boy, right?"
Karl undulated with apparent delight.
"Good bye, Wulf," Pearl said, and kissed me briefly on the
lips. "I hope we meet again."
"Good bye," I replied. "I do t-- Waaaaaahhhhhh...!"
This last was uttered as Karl took off at a high rate of
speed, racing through the water like an arrow from an elvish longbow.

* * * *
Disappointed that I didn't have sex with the mermaid? Well,
sorry, friends -- contrary to popular belief, I do NOT have sex with
every female I meet. Besides, after being fished out of the raging
sea, practically raped by a dark elf admiral with two pounds of metal
stuck through her, thrown overboard and practically drowned, I
probably wouldn't have been able to get it up if my life depended on
it. I wasn't unaware of Pearl's beauty and grace, however, and
wouldn't have thrown her out of bed for eating sardines -- I still
wasn't sure how mermaids even HAD sex, or, for that matter, whether
they had it at all, so I wasn't terribly concerned. Actually, Pearl
did manage to show up again, later in my career, and answered a few of
the preceding questions, but that's another story entirely, and I need
to get back to my current narrative.
The seascape flew by, murky blue or cloudy green. Below me,
sea-palms waved, rocky crags soared, and flashing, darting schools of
fish floated magically. Here and there I saw stranger things -- a pair
of merfolk towing a net, spearing fish with tridents, a scaly humanoid
riding in a chariot towed behind twin porpoises; an imposing pod of
gigantic whales, suspended in the water, emitting eerie cries; a
creature which might have been a manta ray, but for its enormous size
-- bigger than a Xeshite dreadnaught, it seemed to me -- and its
glowing red eyes, which watched me and my toothy mount swim past with
an inscrutable, but undeniably intelligent gaze.
There were other things -- distant towers which might have
been cities, the broken hulks of ships, toppled ruins made eons ago by
gods-know-who -- but I had little time to look closely. Karl was
indefatigable, however, carrying me on steadily, stopping neither to
eat, rest or sightsee. Eventually, far overhead, the sun vanished and
all grew dark. I could barely see the black bulks of ships, oars and
tow-beasts churning the water. Once or twice we came close to the
surface, and I saw it pitted with rain and tossed by wind.
Thae'lynn was taking a terrible risk -- using a storm to mask
the armada's approach to the elven isles. Even as we passed beneath
that dreadful assemblage of vessels, I saw an ungainly goblin warship
break deep and slip beneath the waves, timbers twisting and
splintering, dozens of black figures slipping down, struggling against
the pull of the water, finally giving up their struggle and vanishing
into the chill darkness. Gods only knew how many of the armada had
perished in this manner -- damned goblin vessels are about as
seaworthy as large rocks once the water gets choppy. All the same,
there were so blasted many, even the losses caused by the storm would
scarcely scratch the surface.
Karl sped on. Despite Thae'lynn's audacity, her tactics had
slowed the armada to a crawl, and we passed them by easily.
Unfortunately, we made landfall less than an hour later, indicating
that the invaders were on their final approach to the isles. When Karl
finally broke the surface in about six feet of water, I moved from one
world to another, and he sent me on my way with a quick buffet of his
tail. As I struggled toward shallower water, he rose up one last time,
cast a single black eye in my direction, then was gone in a rush of
water.
He hadn't left me in a terribly comfortable position. As soon
as it hit the air, Pearl's amulet disintegrated into chalky fragments,
immediately washed away by the heaving waters around me. With the
magic gone, my lungs (not surprisingly) immediately rebelled at being
full of water, and I immediately heaved, spitting up great mouthfuls
of brine, all the while struggling to keep afloat. Still heaving and
choking, I caught a breaker, and rode it in toward shore, fighting
against the pull as the tide tugged at me, trying to drag me back into
the surf. At last I fell to my knees, crawling, vomiting water, and
finally heaving myself up on a vast, white sand beach, the last
remnants of the crashing, foamy breakers lapping feebly around me.
Though I felt as if I'd just been chained up, thrown off a
ship, nearly drowned, and then carried at breakneck pace to shore by a
giant shark, I was vaguely aware of my surroundings.
The slate-grey sky overhead gave forth an icy drizzle, and a
brisk wind blew foam up and down the beach. Beyond the sand rose stand
after stand of shaggy green conifers, dark and ancient-looking, cold
and uninviting. The breeze howled in my ears, and I shivered, feeling
my extremities growing numb and blue.
Gods, this was it -- the Elven Isles, where the Silver Lady
ruled and humans were decidedly unwelcome. All it looked like was a
cold, lonely beach and a cold, unfriendly forest.
I glanced back out to see and got a whack of rain in my face
as a reward, but dashing the water from my eyes, I strained to look
out across the tossing grey and white expanse, looking for some sign
of the invaders.
I took a breath and shivered. No sign yet. I might still be
able to warn someone. I staggered to my feet, making for the trees,
desperate for some shelter from the wind. My first problem was how to
avoid death by exposure, my second to find someone who might listen to
me, rather than gut me because my ears were round and I was destined
to live less than 1,000 years or so.
The trees closed in around me like a dark blanket; soft sand
underfoot became loamy soil, strewn with pine needles, uncomfortable
without shoes. Virtually at random I chose a direction, moving through
the trees parallel to the beach, sheltered from the wind, but with the
sea still in sight.
I didn't even know what time it was. The gathering gloom might
be from the storm, which increased in intensity as I went on, great
cold drops of rain splashing down through the trees, or cutting at me,
driven on the lances of wind which slipped between the great shaggy
boles, or it might be from oncoming dusk. After an hour or so, I came
to the inescapable conclusion that night was falling, and I would
either have to find shelter soon or spend a night out in the open. My
wilderness skills were minimal, and I doubted whether I could start a
fire without flint. Dying of exposure in the heart of the elven realms
was not a fate I looked forward to.
I was about to give in to despair when I caught a glimpse of
warm lights ahead, twinkling through the close-growing trees. I
stumbled forward, closer and closer, as more lights came out, lit in
the oncoming light. At last I emerged from the trees along the banks
of a river, black in the gloom. A gleaming white bridge spanned the
rushing waters, and on the far end rose a wondrous structure. A
harmonious collection of round towers, some tall and slender, some
short and squat, some elaborately decorated in shallow relief, wound
about with vines and abstract latticework patterns, others plain and
seamless. All were the same white as the bridge, shining in the dusk,
as if reflecting pure moonlight. Torches on walls, in towers, or along
walkways, and here and there white-clad figures moved with calm
serenity.
I approached, staring in awe, only to discover that not
everyone at this place was calmly serene.
"Chae'qua!" barked a voice from the darkness. "Vlichana et vu
kammna!"
A pair of armored guards hustled over the bridge toward me. I
instantly knew I'd come to the right place -- they were classical
elves -- tall, blonde, clad in long, silver scaled armor, and wore
high, conical helms emblazoned with golden suns at the brow. They
carried long, wicked spears with red shafts, and broadswords at their
belts. Making them angry seemed like a very poor idea.
"Chae'qua!" repeated the first, thrusting his spear at me
aggressively. "Huvah chanima'a!"
The second looked at me curiously. "Umani?" he asked his
companion, holding his spear in one hand and pointing at me.
The first frowned, then nodded. "Umani!" he barked. "Come!
Now!"
I came forward, hands raised, and allowed them to urge me over
the bridge with none-too-subtle shoves of their spears. My mastery of
elvish was limited, which is to say non-existent -- I was expelled
from the academy before I progressed beyond the basic human languages.
I did surmise, however, that "Umani" was elvish for "dirty human," and
allowed them to goad me along without protest.
The immediate vicinity of the palace was much better lit, by
warm yellow torches and lanterns. The ground was flagged with slate,
cut into intricate geometric shapes and fitted painstakingly together.
A slightly lighter path led to a great, dark wood gate, its portals
writhing with carved dragons and unicorns. The gate opened to my
guards pounding, and I was ushered inside.
I won't bore you with a long description of what I saw inside;
I wasn't really in much of a mood to look in any event, as hungry,
tired, cold and nearly dead as I was, but what I did see was
remarkable. Great, wide corridors made up of endless gothic arches,
vaulted ceilings, fluted columns of white, black, red and green
marble, floors inlaid with complex knot-patterns and magical sigils
(my minimal magical skills detected some highly potent protective
spells active in the palace), foliated murals, hanging lanterns which
emitted magical light, ornately carved doors, cloisters, colonnades,
pergola, and numerous other things which I don't know the words for.
There were elves there, as well -- all male, as far as I could
see, and most in some form of military gear. There were a few elves in
white robes going about various maintenance and artistic tasks, but
the others were clad variously in coats of mail like my escort or in
pieces of white leather armor. They carried red-shafted spears, white
lacquered longbows, iron-headed axes, or grim-looking broadswords, and
all looked at me as if I were something which they scraped off the
bottom of their pointy little elf-shoes (well, they actually wore high
leather boots, but I couldn't resist the image).
Our destination was a roomy marble chamber, where several
other elves, all looking rather self-important and annoyed at being
disturbed, sat at a long table, delicately eating various
exotic-looking elven dishes from gleaming white tableware.
My lead guard stepped forward and babbled in elvish for
several minutes, to skeptical stares from the assembled elven
notables, until at last the elf at the head of the table stood,
staring directly at me. They were plainly very old (elves get thin and
weak-looking as they age), and all wore elaborate robes in many
different colors. Once more, they were all males.
He was a dangerous-looking character, clad in long blue robes
embroidered with stars and moons, trimmed with a bright band of yellow
and red. He was lean, almost skeletal, his skin pale even for an elf,
his eyes sunken in his head, but bright and alert. His blonde hair was
slightly thin on top, but hung down below his shoulders, and around
his neck he wore a simple crescent of silver metal on a black chain.
He spoke in elvish, a deep and vibrant tone, surprising from
one so frail. I strained to even recognize a single word, but was
unable to, and stared uncomprehendingly.
An annoyed expression flickered across the old elf's features;
he waved a hand and muttered some strange syllables.
My ears suddenly rang, and I felt a wave of dizziness. I
staggered backward a step, earning a poke from one of my guard's
spears.
"Watch it, ear-boy," I snapped, steadying myself.
"Shut up, human," the guard replied in what sounded to me like
perfect Imperial Common. "Consider yourself lucky we didn't gut you on
sight."
"Silence, Imral," said the old elf, and the guard lapsed into
contrite silence.
"Nice spell, venerable one," I said, using the honorific we
most often replied to elven instructors at the academy. "It's good to
be understood."
"I would curb the insolence, mortal," the old one replied. "My
impetuous guardsman speaks correctly, if somewhat gracelessly."
"I'm sorry, my lord," I said, bowing my head. "I simply don't
respond well to being threatened when I come bearing important news
for your queen and your people."
"I see," the old one said. "I am Lord Thavaen, by the way --
High Commander of the White Guard and Master of Chalice Citadel."
I bowed again. "Wulf," I said. "No titles -- only Wulf. I am a
man and no more."
It seemed to impress him, and for a long moment it looked as
if he might crack a smile. Finally, he spoke.
"Tell me your news, Wulf. It must be grave news indeed for you
to risk your life by setting foot on elven soil, which we have sworn
on our lives and souls would never feel the tread of an invader."
"I'm no invader," I said, "but I bring word that an invader is
coming." Briefly I told him my story, leaving out the frenzied sex
with Miss Cunt-Ring the dark elf. "I'm not certain how large the
armada was, Lord Thavaen, but I saw at least a dozen orcish warships,
and several others. The goblins appear to have brought together all
the powers who lust after your riches, or seek vengeance against your
race."
The room was instantly in tumult, all the varied elves
standing, shouting, imploring, condemning, cursing, gesturing,
demanding. Some denounced me as a liar, a spy or a madman, and called
for my death. Others insisted that the Silver Lady be notified, while
still others counseled caution and suggested a scouting mission to
check out my story.
I tried to raise my own voice in all this, to tell them that
they didn't have the luxury of argument, since I estimated the fleet
was probably making landfall even as we spoke, but Imral prodded me
with his spear again, shouting at me to hold my tongue.
I'd had enough. I turned on Imral and grabbed his spear.
"Dammit, you stupid elf bastard!" I shouted. "Those fucking
goblins and their slimy allies are probably landing on your beaches
right now, and if you don't --"
I really didn't get much of a chance to finish, as a look of
utter rage passed over Imral's face, and he butt-stroked me with his
spear, connecting solidly with my jaw, and sending me crashing to the
marble floor. I struggled to rise, and he struck me again, savagely on
the back of the head, and I collapsed, falling into cold darkness.
[End of Part 1] [In part 1, Wulf the Freelance was captured by the
dark elf admiral, Thae'lynn N'Quy, part of a joint orc/human/dark elf
invasion fleet, and forced to perform for her, then thrown
unceremoniously over the side. Rescued by the mermaid, Pearl, Wulf
makes his way to the elven isles, where he tries to warn the elves of
the oncoming invasion fleet, but is koshed over the head by a stupid
elf asshole named Imral for his trouble.]
I dreamed that I was back in Xesh, and that Xylara and
Ushandra were fighting a duel over me, armed with custard tarts
instead of swords. Alrynna, Nineh, the lion-women, and various other
ex-lovers were in the audience, along with some of my favorite
enemies, such as snake-woman, Thorvaz, Chuk the slave-taker, Malkoth
the Necromancer, and company. It ended with both women completely
slathered in custard, falling into each other's arms, ignoring me
completely, and starting to lick each other --
"You fool, Wulf!" shouted Malkoth. "Don't you realize that all
thoughts are relative, and that life is but an illusion?"
"Don't listen to him!" Chuk screamed. "Life is pleasure, and
the avoidance of discomfort! That alone makes it all worthwhile."
I was about to respond, when the entire messy affair was
interrupted.
"Wake up, human!" The words rang in my skull like the sound of
a dwarven timekeeper hammering on the hour-gongs at Iron Mountain.
I sat suddenly rigidly upright, my delicious imaginings
dissolving into harsh light and the images of a half-dozen elven
guardsman standing around me, as I lay on a small cot. The speaker was
none other than my favorite elf, Imral.
Memory returned in a sudden flood, and I launched myself at
him, hand seeking his scrawny little throat.
"You fucking elvish homunculus!" I roared. "I come here trying
to help and you fucking cold-cock me? I'll fucking kill you --"
The other elves dragged me off and held me down; I struggled
against them, but it was to no avail.
Imral looked at me coldly, with an expression similar to
Thae'lynn's when she regarded me like a monkey in a menagerie.
"Lord Thavaen has told me to apologize to you, human," he
said, lips tight, voice carefully modulated. "Your information has
proved correct -- our scouts report a landing in force by a large
number of goblins, orcs, humans, and dark ones. We have been ordered
to engage in a reconnaissance in force, and you are to accompany us."
"You got me out of bed to tell me that?" I asked, but the joke
was lost on Mister Personality, who continued to regard me with
distant, blue eyes. "Whatever. Your apology is accepted in the same
spirit in which it is given."
Imral relaxed. "You're to be issued weapons and armor," he
told me. "It is a great honor, human."
"One which I can well do without," I told him. I was fully
awake now. My hosts had dressed me in a white tunic, but I still felt
miserable; the pounding in my head simply made it worse. "My task was
to warn you. I've fulfilled it. I brought warning of an invasion and
was treated like some kind of sneak thief." Mind you, that's what I
truly was, but I wasn't about to tell them that. "Arrested, insulted,
attacked. As far as I'm concerned, the goblins can have you." I
started to stride out of the room, but Imral stepped in front of me.
"I have been ordered to bring you with us, human," he said in
a low, deadly voice. "And, by all my ancestors, and by all the gods,
you will come with us. You've fouled this place enough with your very
presence, now don't foul it farther with your cowardice. If you try to
leave human, orders or no orders, I swear I will kill you where you
stand."
"Killing an unarmed human, Imral?" I asked, trying to quiet my
pounding heart. "Very brave, noble elf. Very brave."
His calling me a coward didn't bother me especially. I've
survived more scraps through creative cowardice than I can count, so
calls to honor rarely distress me. It was his damned elvish arrogance
which made my blood boil -- the notion that simply because I was a
human, I profaned his precious palace.
Our gazes remained locked for several long moments. I knew I
was bound to lose a stare-down with an elf -- living for centuries
gives them enormous patience. I finally backed away, maintaining eye
contact.
"I'll wear your filthy armor, elf," I said at last. "If you
don't think my very presence will profane it."
Imral didn't reply. I was outfitted in elven scale and given a
sword. It was a second-line model, I suspected; all the same, it was a
far superior weapon to any human blade I'd ever carried -- holding it
in my bare hand, I felt a faint vibration of magical energy.
We left the palace, accompanied by a company of archers,
dressed in mottled green, carrying longbows as tall as they were. It
was night, and the storm still lashed the land, blowing rain, mixed
with razor-sharp sleet, into our faces.
"Stay close, human," Imral said over the roar of wind. "I also
have orders to kill you should you attempt to escape or aid our
enemies."
"And I'll do the same to you," I shot back.
Again, Imral glowered in silence.
We followed the archers through the darkness, down one of the
slate-paved roads which led along the river, back toward the beach.
Eventually, we moved off the main road and followed a narrow forest
trail for nearly an hour, until one of the archers motioned for quiet.
We crept forward as quietly as we could in our armor (though the howl
of the wind masked most of the noise we made), and as we approached
the beach, we heard a cacophony of voices, clashing metal, animal
noises and heavy footfalls, carried toward us on the breeze.
We peered toward the beach and the elven road which ended
there. The elves around me gaped in amazement, but I was forced to
strain to see through the gloom, and in the face of the whipping wind.
Dozens of prows rose from the surf, and I could see the shadowy bulks
of dozens more out to sea. The beach, which should have been a pale
strip, even under the fitful light of the cloud-hung moons, was thick
with bodies. Skittering forms of goblins ran this way and that, and
the more ponderous and bulky forms of orcs in dark-colored armor moved
slowly from their vessels. There were humans, too -- rough and ready
types in varied armor, carrying a motley assortment of weapons,
illuminating their way with hooded lanterns, unable to see in the
dark, as the orcs and the goblins did.
Horses, riding lizards, and other, less familiar mounts
crowded the beach, snorting or hissing, occasionally slashing or
biting at each other despite the best efforts of their handlers. The
towering forms of ogres unloaded great crates of supplies from the
ships, and everywhere sergeants and officers issued weapons and
bellowed orders.
Of the dark elves there was no sign -- I assumed that
Thae'lynn was content to let the humans and orcs take the brunt of the
initial assault, then land her forces at leisure. Not that the landing
force had much to worry about; they'd reached elven shores undetected,
and now prepared for the march inland. I didn't see any Slaerthists in
their fanciful armor, either, but I knew they were there.
Other creatures also waded ashore -- this was truly a
disparate assembly of evil forces. Griffins and wyverns, griping and
snarling at being forced to wade through the surf, and unable to fly
because of the raging winds, were goaded ashore and chained up by
harried tenders. I saw minotaurs, throgs, and a handful of wolfen
(renegades or outcasts, I supposed, serving for loot and the joy of
pillaging), as well as other creatures unfamiliar or indistinguishable
in the darkness.
"At least ten thousand on the beach," I hissed to Imral.
"Looks like at least another ten thousand at sea. I think Lord Thavaen
had better send for help."
He looked at me contemptuously. "We do not need help," he
spat. "We are the Guardians of the Chalice. We will fight these
ourselves."
I suppressed a curse. Damn all elves and their arrogant pride,
anyway. The palace had little in the way of real defenses that I'd
seen, and there were easily enough ill-tempered creatures here to wipe
it off the map in a matter of hours.
"Then withdraw," I said. "Fall back. That palace won't hold
them."
"We will not abandon the Chalice," Imral hissed cryptically.
"It stays in the citadel."
Gods...
I would have argued further, but I was interrupted by a hiss,
a fleshy "thunk" and a cry of pain from one of the armored elves, who
fell, an arrow sprouting from his neck.
I spun, drawing my weapon, to see at least a dozen orcs, all
in black leather armor, wet and shiny from the rain, racing through
the forest at us, yelling at the tops of their lungs. I ducked just as
one particularly nasty specimen, his eyes glowing red in the darkness,
loosed an arrow at me, then threw his bow aside and charged, drawing a
crooked, wickedly barbed sword.
We were screwed, of course. The orcs had slipped in behind us,
so that we had to either go through them or retreat back to the beach,
into the heart of the enemy army. The elves realized this, and charged
forward to engage. The archers scattered into the woods, evading the
clumsy, armored orcs, and taking opportunity shots from their longbows
-- hazardous at best in a dark, storm-tossed forest.
My orc took a slash at me, and I was only barely able to
parry. I attacked back; he ignored it, taking a slash on the shoulder
and counter-attacking. Only the elven armor saved me, for his blow
bruised and nearly stunned me, but it did not penetrate the shining
silver scales.
I'd had enough. Orcs were nasty customers in close combat, so
the only way to deal with them is to fight the same way they do. That
is to say, fight dirty.
I grabbed a handful of loam and threw it deliberately into my
opponent's face. He spat and sputtered, trying to clear his eyes, and
I ran him through, giving his body a few extra slashes, since orcs
also tend to get up again after the most grievous injuries, and ask
you why you didn't do it right the first time.
The rest of our force was faring relatively well. Two or three
elves lay dead, but twice that number of orcs had bought it. We
pressed forward through them, our mission largely forgotten. We'd
managed to accomplish what we'd come here for, that is to get some
idea of the force which faced Lord Thavaen and his suicidal Guardsmen,
and now we had to get that information back to him.
I managed to kill another orc, taking numerous hits which
would have killed me had I not been wearing the armor, then prepared
to make a break for the road and head back toward the palace. Then I
saw Imral.
He was on the bad end of a large, black-skinned orc with twin
scimitars. He parried skillfully, but the orc's second weapon knocked
his sword away, and the great brute leaped onto his chest, overbearing
him, drawing back his weapons for a killing blow...
Yes, he was an asshole, and yes, I could have left him. But I
didn't. I hurried forward and jabbed my sword into the back of the
orc's neck.
He turned around at that, flinging himself on me in a fury. I
was only barely able to hack him apart (and hope to Phaedra that the
pieces didn't come after me), then help Imral to his feet.
"You owe me one, dickweed," I said, staring straight at him.
"Now let's get the hell out of here."
We ran back along the road, as fast as our heavy armor would
allow. The surviving archers covered our retreat, but no one really
bothered to pursue. Imral nursed a bad cut at the side of his head,
and alternated casting miserable glances at me, and looking shamefully
down at the road.
We reached the citadel an hour or so later, and Imral led us
back to the presence of Lord Thavaen.
The old elf sat in a carved hardwood chair in a vaulted
chamber hung with dozens of colorful banners. He was now clad in
silvery scale armor much like ours, and sat with a scabbarded sword
across his knees. He listened gravely.
"The human spoke the truth, my lord," Imral said (give the
point-eared bastard credit for honesty, at least). "Countless orcs,
goblins and humans have come ashore near the mouth of the Lirandir.
They attacked us as we watched them. Talvan, Mulhanrir and Shael died;
six more are wounded."
"Including yourself, I see," Thavaen said. "You should have
that wound seen to."
"I am shamed, my lord," Imral replied. "The human saved me
from death. I do not deserve to live."
I glared, and could stay silent no longer. "You mean because
you got yourself wounded, or because you were saved by a dirty human?"
I addressed Lord Thavaen. "When will your people realize that other
races have honor, too? I'm no hero, lord, but I will help a companion,
even if he has expressed nothing but hatred and contempt for me."
Thavaen waved a gauntleted hand. "Enough of this bickering,
both of you. How long do we have before the enemy attacks?"
I shrugged. "They didn't seem well organized. It took us over
an hour to get here from the beach, and they didn't seem to be
pursuing. At best I imagine that by dawn you'll have orcs all over
your walls. This place won't stand an hour against them, Lord Thavaen,
unless you have some hefty magical defenses I don't know about. You'll
have to call for reinforcements or abandon this position."
Imral looked at me angrily. "The White Guard needs no aid, and
we will never leave this place."
"What is he talking about, Lord?" I demanded. "This place is
no strongpoint! You don't even have walls! If you stay all you'll
accomplish is get your entire command wiped out."
Thavaen looked at me contemplatively. "It is probably
difficult for those of your race to understand," he said. "No insult
is intended. I am simply saying that the elven race is different from
yours. We of the guard have taken an oath never to abandon this place,
and to defend it with our lives."
"And we need no aid to defend it!" Imral declared. "We are the
White Guard! We are invincible!"
Thavaen's mouth bent into a thin smile, the first I'd seen
from him. "Powerful and brave my warriors are, Imral, yourself
included. But scarcely invincible. We will alert the Silver Lady to
our plight, and send to the Winged Ones for aid. Perhaps if the muster
goes quickly and the Dragon Kings forget their petty squabbles for a
time we can stop this invasion before it has begun." He fixed me with
another one of his deadly gazes. "You will come with me, human. You've
done well, and you at least deserve an explanation."
Imral looked distraught. "You can't mean to take him to see
the Chalice!" he cried. "My Lord, I must protest..."
"You will protest, young Imral," Thavaen said in a voice low
and deadly enough to break a poleaxe in half, "when you have earned
the right to do so. You, too, have fought bravely, but you have
treated this man with ill grace and unseemly insults. He may well have
saved our land from untold tragedy. If you cannot extend him respect
for that, at least hold your tongue and do nothing more to stain our
nation's honor."
Imral cringed like a flower in a furnace. "My Lord, I request
reassignment for duty," he said at last, voice distant and hollow.
"Granted," Thavaen said. "Now go with my thanks."
Imral departed quickly, leaving us alone.
"Now," Thavaen said, "come with me, and perhaps you will
understand."