Foul water drips from the cold stone ceiling and splashes across the prisoner's face. With a tired groan, he wipes the filth from his scraggly-bearded visage and sits up on the splintered wood board his jailers call a cot. The only other furnishings in the room are a bucket for relieving himself and the chains which bind him to the far wall. Daylight squeezes in through a solitary barred window high on the wall above him.
Rising from his bed, the prisoner stretches briefly in the dim light of the morning suns. Thick cords of muscle bulge under battle-scarred flesh throughout his naked form as he flexes. He steels himself and, with increasing effort, pulls at his chains. A creak and the slightest budge encourage him. He pulls again, matching the strength of the iron links themselves. With a mighty yell that reverberates through the high-ceilinged cell, the base of the chains gives way. They snap off the wall and crash into the ground beside the prisoner, cracking the thick bricks at his feet. He is a man of the Wilds. He will suffer no foolish attempt to cage him.
Cowards had placed him in this cell. They attacked while he slept. More significant numbers than he could handle in his drowsiness had surrounded his camp. He claimed the lives of more than half of those pitiful excuses for men before they could take their prisoner. No man of the kingdom could hope to match his strength or experience. Nor will any be safe once he made his escape. Their women, too, will witness his fury. He will fuck them mad.
Like a panther, he stalks across the room and crouches just beyond the doorway. He listens for the sound of guards approaching to investigate his struggle. Seconds, then minutes, pass in silence. No one approaches.
"Strange," he thinks, "not a single guard?"
He ponders his next move. Typically someone would come to check when he broke free in such a way. That's when he would make his escape then. He pushes his long, knotted brown hair from his eyes and looks up towards the window, towards the open space for which he longs.
"The bars would not be a problem. I would rip them from the wall. Even then, the hole is too small for even a child to slip through."
The prisoner turns toward the solid iron door of the cell. He pushes against it to test its strength. It is sturdy and feels better crafted than the chains from which he so easily escaped. It will not give without great effort. He contemplates ramming the door, but a voice within the cell stops him.
"Jaren," the voice whispers, "you have been chosen."
He turns with a start, scanning the room for some unseen person. The room still appears empty. Nothing is out of place. There's nowhere for anyone to hide. Instinct tells him with certainty that there has to be someone, or something, in the room with him.
"Who dares speak my name?"
"The Goddess has chosen you, Jaren."
Leaping at the source of the voice, Jaren grabs at the space before him. While he doesn't manage to catch his prey, he does feel something soft brush against the back of his hand. He needs to be faster.
"Enough of these tricks! Reveal yourself!"
Jaren crouches low. He closes his eyes to focus his hearing. The unknown person speaks against, just behind him. Jaren pounces towards it again. Instead of air, this time, he feels something alive in his grasp. The effect hiding the creature ends at Jaren's touch. A fairy becomes visible in his hands. It is small enough for him to wrap a single strong hand around its waist at about a foot tall. A translucent white silk gown hangs delicately over its pale blue body, and crystalline wings adorn its back. The prisoner does not take notice of any of this beauty. Instead, all he notices are its jiggling, unproportionate tits and large, perky nipples swaying beneath the gown. He shakes her back and forth. Her firm bust bounces under the dress.
"A fairy! And one with fat tits!" He laughs with a menacing grin. "I can use your magic dust to escape."
With great fear in its emerald eyes, the fairy struggles to get free but fails to move even one finger of the muscular man's iron-clad grip. She can do nothing to stop this menace from ripping the flowing gown off of her slight frame. Tiny hands reach forward in a desperate attempt at modesty, but her short arms can barely get around her chest. Goosebumps pop up along her unblemished skin, and her deep purple nipples poke even further out.
Almost gently, Jaren takes a nipple between his pointer finger and thumb and gives it a pinch. The blue girl squirms, and a bit of magic powder falls into Jaren's rough hand. He reaches down and rubs it into his groin. Immediately, his massive cock swells and points skyward, though the fairy remains unaware of what lay beneath her.
"Please, sir! My mistress has sent me to you! My name is Flit, and I have an important message. The Goddess of Light and Fertility has chosen you to champion Her cause and save the kingdom of Aod. She offers you her blessing."
