It's good to be an adventurer.
My fur-lined hide boots fell on the muddy cobblestone street with a muffled clomping as my plate armor chafed ever so slightly against my joints. My trusty longbow hung on my back where it's always been, my arrows clacking together in a quiver hung by my hip. The frosty air wisped past my exposed head, nipping at me ears, but I smiled against it; I was in my own element, here in Iceburg. Growing up, I've smiled in the face of weather colder than this. Around me, cackling children played in snow-caked cottages while peasants stayed warm and comfortable under their homemade parkas, shuffling off to do one thing or another.
I smiled whenever I could. It's a nice sort of smile. It, along with my shining cascades of light brown hair and striking cobalt eyes, had caught the eyes of more than a few passing women that day alone. None of them had said anything to me, but that was hardly unusual.
Then, just as I prepared to leave town and continue my meandering journey east, one of them did.
The minute I saw her, I knew she was something special. While the rest of us were content to wear no fewer than two layers of thick, furry hide, she wore a set of delightfully skimpy cloth underclothes beneath a see-through dress that sparkled like newfallen snow in the sun. Her footwear looked like a cross between a sandal and a boot, adorned with a quartet of icy jewels, and a strange, deep blue flower accented her striking blonde hair. A strangely large, chipped jewel hung on a necklace around her neck.
Just looking at her made me cold. Then it made me hot. Yet, striding through the streets at a brisk pace, she seemed completely unaware of the effect her outfit had on half of the bystanders.
Just as I prepared to dismiss her, she spotted me, then dashed for me and slid to a stop.
"Are you Jens Ophthanørth?" she asked, in a voice light with exhaustion.
"That's not actually my surname," I corrected, embarrassed. "I just mentioned it at a party once and it stuck. No one realized that I was just kidding."
The woman tilted her head, not knowing what to think.
"Are you looking for the Jens who helped the knight of Snefolk reclaim the Sword of the Crystalmancers two years ago?"
"Yes, him!" the woman exclaimed.
"Then I'm your man," I affirmed.
On that line, the woman cracked a smile I couldn't decipher.
"What can I do for you?" I prompted.
"I'll explain it along the way," she promised, "but if you can go anywhere northeast, I need you to come with me now."
"Really?" I reacted. "Well, I can go that way. But I'd make better time if I could stop to have lunch first, though."
"Please, do so with all haste," she implored.
"There's a diner right there," I indicated. "I won't be long."
"I shall wait here."
"You don't want to come in?"
"I require no food," she excused.
I gave her a strange stare.
"Please hurry," she added.
Nodding, I jogged into the diner.
Just a few minutes later, I hurried out, my belly full and my muscles ready.
For a few seconds, I didn't see her. Looking around, I found her sitting against the wall of the diner, moving her hands carefully in front of her and chanting something with her eyes closed. When I stepped near her, my hair stood on end.
"I'm ready to go," I reported.
She shot to her feet.
"Excellent. Follow me."
Businesslike, I walked behind the strangely clad woman as she led me out of town, into the savage northeastern tundra.
"Let me tell you how this all began..." she offered.
"Finally," I thought.
* * *
Manya worked in her small shelter of ice perfectly hidden in a snowdrift. While the wind howled and the monsters prowled outside, she very carefully wove cosmic elements together and applied them, one by one, to the special herb that sat in a bowl on her table. All was going well.
Then Manya felt something strange in the air. At first, she dismissed it, then she felt a ringing in her ears. All at once, she put it together- it was a brewing teleportation spell.
With frantic haste, she put away her herb and started the lengthy incantation for a magic dispersion, but, even as she did, she knew it was fruitless. A third of the way through her attempt, her world flashed through a quick medley of colors, and she stumbled.
Manya looked around. She stood in an icy pit, its walls made of stone or perhaps even iron. Aside from a single dead tree in the middle, she was in an empty bowl. Above, there was nothing but cloudless, starry night sky.
Manya knew where she was. Confirming her fear, she saw the wraithlike forms of spirits glide overhead and descend upon her. She spooled up her meager repertoire of combat spells.
Landing in a ring around her, the spirits burrowed into the ground.
Manya stopped. She had never seen this before.
A moment later, a dozen pale, featureless human bodies rose from the ground, shuddered, then wandered toward her.
Before Manya could decide what to do, one of the bodies lunged after her, snagging her wrist and pulling her toward the rim of the pit. As it did, her other arm flung out, only to be seized by another one of her antagonists and pulled with equal force, yanking her taught.
Just as it occurred to her to kick, unbreakable hands clamped around her ankles and pulled her legs apart, her feet sliding on the icy dirt as her spreading legs lifted up her skirt.
Despite her predicament, she could not help but be embarrassed.
All at once, the four human bodies holding her halted, then turned to stone with a crackling noise, the warmth of the hands dissipating in an instant. The rest of the bodies vanished.
Trapped in a macabre stone frame, Manya struggled uselessly for a few moments, then fell limp.
The spirits reappeared. Swirling together in front of her, they coalesced into one spinning, glowing column, then stopped. Where they had vanished stood a man, remarkably tall and with broad shoulders, but with thin limbs and a narrow face. His hair was black and long, tied back in a braid that ended at the small of his back. A subtle, sinister grin permeated his calm face.
Reaching forward, the man effortlessly pulled down her underwear, leaving her helplessly spread womanhood visible through her dress, caressed by the cool air.
For one moment, Manya pulled once more against the stone hands that held her limbs apart, offering her sex to him. Then she felt the warmth of his flesh press against her. Letting out a gasp, she stared into the eyes of the mysterious human form. They gazed calmly back at her over that same predatory smile.
"What?" she gasped. "What are you- oooh... mmmph..."
She felt his fingers apply a smooth pressure on her femininity, and a web of pleasure radiated from his push, causing her to moan softly. Artfully, the man continued to massage her until, inevitably, he felt her moisture on his hand. Pulling it out, he showed it to her, smiling evilly, then licking it suggestively.
"...more..." Manya airily whispered, briefly forgetting herself.
Just as she said this, she felt a smooth, oblong object pushed into her, driving all coherent thought from her mind as pleasure washed through her brain.
Then she felt the object move.
"Wh... what?"
In stunned silence, she felt the thing move on its own up into her body, seeming to melt as it did, deforming into a smooth trickle as it slithered into her deepest recesses.
"Yessssss," the spirit man hissed, seeing her reaction. "The Träldom Jewel. It is in you."
"What's it... what did you do?" she whimpered, panting.
"It will control you," uttered the man, his grin deepening. "You must obey its urges, or it will dominate you."
"I don't understand..."
The man chuckled.
"You will," he sinisterly promised. "Now, I return you to your domain. But first, a reward for your submission."
"Submission? No... I didn't... ohhhhhhhh..."
Before she could make her case, her back arched and she groand rapturously as a forceful orgasm rolled through her body, moistening her dress. Her mind descended into a fog.
When she lifted from the mental obscurity, her limbs were free again, and most of her clothes were on, but her pussy was bare. Looking around, she saw the familiar sight of her den.
"Remember," the voice echoed in her ears, "obey the urges."
Manya sat still, baffled, trying to grasp what she had just experienced, before shaking her head and standing up to continue her research. It occurred to her to cover her vagina, but, for some reason, she did not want to.
Studiously, Manya returned to her spellcrafting, but she could not focus. She was uncomfortably hot. At first, she suspected a malfunction in the spell she had been using to stay warm. Eventually, however, she realized that the heat was coming in rippling waves from within. Without thinking, she brought her hand down to the source.
Half of an hour later, she sat back against the wall of her den, a hot, throbbing, soaked mess, her hand buried in her womanhood. She let out a frustrated moan; after all that, she had had no orgasm. She began to wonder if something was wrong with her.
Reluctantly, she hobbled back up to her feet, then lurched to her desk, where she found her little-used tome of curses. Pulling it out, she flipped frantically to the index.
"What had he called it?" she thought to herself, struggling to maintain coherent thought while her pussy cried out for satiation.
"Yes, that's it," she said aloud, "The Träldom jewel."
With shaking hands, she found that name, then paged to it, quickly scanning through the variety of curses it could impart. Only one of them seemed to match her symptoms.
"Oh dear," she moaned, reading it.
* * *
