Author's Note: This takes place in the same 'anthro world' as
Of Foxes & Dragons
, but the characters and events are unrelated. This story contains scenes of mild violence, non-mammalian intercourse, and male sodomy.
=====
Tynian loved living in Vafoso. It was literally the crossroads of the world; once a traveler's way station in the middle of nowhere, building up through the centuries into a vast trading junction.
The Vafoso Market comprised a massive seventy percent of the city. It was almost a living entity upon itself, pulsing with activity. The sandy ground–arid in summer, though not enough so to be considered a desert--trembled under the foot falls of thousands. It was not a city in the usual manner, but remained one of the largest social centers on the entire continent.
Virtually all peoples and cultures of furkind were represented here in the goods and services available for trade. The species of inhabitants themselves were a diverse lot. Despite the many languages being used, all spoke the common tongue of commerce.
It was this aspect of Vafoso that Tynian enjoyed the most: the variety. Everything and everyone carried its own unique aroma. The wildly mingling smells of food, sweat, perfume, and smoke was a feast for the sinuses. He could spend an entire day with his muzzle in the air, breathing in the scent of life.
Himself born in the slums which ringed the bustling market proper, he was a mutt in the truest sense of the term. His lineage was muddled and impossible to discern from appearance. Tynian had a snub muzzle, but ears that were sharp and wolf-like, and an atypically long, thin tail. His short coat of molted brown/blond fur bore no distinctive markings and blended well with the sandy soil. Though not unattractive, he was certainly an oddity. Perhaps that's why he felt so at home among the bustling crowds of foreigners.
Most importantly, Tynian was born with a zest for life that was uncommon for a orphaned street urchin. Unwilling to let poverty define and rule his existence, he set out into the market every day, soaking in everything he could. Listening in on heated bartering or the telling of tall tales over a pint of grog, Tynian studied the ways of people, the flow of society.
A great opportunity came upon him one day while eavesdropping on some random business deal in the backroom of a dimly lit pub. Bellar Saam was a jolly old merchant of silks, spices, and other fineries, contrary to his coarse hog nature. Though not particularly adept at the bartering process, he was successful and well-respected.
In this particular deal, Tynian was familiar with the scarcely produced lysirel weed bath oils for which Saam was trading, but the pig-faced merchant was ignorant of the latest crop having been tainted with disease. The oil makers were trying to foist a worthless product on the Saam. To be caught eavesdropping was risking serious punishment, but Tynian couldn't hold down the yelp of warning before it came, alerting the kindly fellow of his impending loss. Impressed by the dogboy's keen mind, Saam took him on as an apprentice, teaching him craft of honest business.
The only thing better than watching the activities of the marketplace was taking part himself, and every day was a joy. Manning the counter of a spice shop created many opportunities for polite conversation. But the real fun came from listening to the stories of traveling peddlers and adventurous collectors, who brought with them tales of the extraordinary that were often more interesting than the goods they carted.
In his fourth year of apprenticeship, Tynian reached that time in every young man's life when he found a new interest in the opposite sex. His peculiar looks didn't hamper the easy nature and healthy work ethic that made him a worthy catch for any lucky lady. A surprising number of customers made a pass at him and he had no qualms with inviting a few into the back for a clandestine tryst. As much as he enjoyed the game, though, the affable canine just couldn't get interested in their romantic advances. No single woman was as exciting to him compared to the market as a whole.
But just as his life had changed in a single day before, it was about to again.
The fact that it was unusually slow may have been why it happened at all. It was a gloomy afternoon, overcast and humid. The spices which would sell like mad on a normal day now created an oppressive musk around the tent, so most shoppers avoided it. Indeed, the entire aisle was all but deserted.
It was during this slow period that Tynian's sensitive nose picked up an unusual scent, exotic even by the Vafoso Market's standards. Imagine if you could a rose blooming in a dank cave, but with a sour note like no flower in the world. He inhaled deeply, drinking the intoxicating scent through his eager nasal passages. And like the fleeting memory of dream, it was gone.
Disappoint gripped his chest. When his eyes opened, he caught a faint glimmer of darkness at the edges of sight. He scanned the aisle and found nothing at first, then noticed a swirl of dust, a flap of black garment. Then into his field of vision stepped the image of a nightmare.
The figure was tall and lean, appearing skeletal beneath the heavy iridescent fabric of its hooded cloak. That in itself was odd, as few furkin wore clothes at all during the hot summer months. But the cloak itself glittered like obsidian, a rough scale-like texture reflecting bands of indigo, violet, emerald, and vermillion. Though eye-catching, such fabric might also make excellent camouflage if used properly.
Its face bore a slight sheen in the shadows of its hood that seemed to hint at doom as it approached, slowly and silently. Tynian tried to put on a brave face; he had an athletic build and could certainly handle himself, but the most virile of men would have been cowed in this creature's presence.
"Well met, neighbor," he greeted in the manner of passing travelers who might otherwise prefer to remain anonymous. "What are you in the business for today?"
The frightening figure stood still for a moment, as if refusing to answer. It twisted slightly, surveying the aisle, then straightened again. "Shelter," the nightmare spoke. Its voice was low and dry, seasoned with a fricative buzz and a feminine lilt.
The dogboy's face fell; there would be no profit made today. "I am spice merchant, er, miss. If it's a place to rest you seek, then a discreet hostel can be found four aisles south and another to the west," he explained, pointing the way.
A hollow chitter echoed from within the hood and Tynian imagined a fleshless skull with gnashing teeth. "Those places will be watched," protested the figure. "This place suits my needs."
"I'm afraid I must refuse again. We don't...um..." The canine's insistence faded as the figure extended a hand.
While the nuggets of pure gold it offered weren't unwelcome, what really caught his attention was the alien hand. The nuggets were held in fingers shaped like a tripod and sheathed in glistening purple carapace. This creature was an insectoid, a rarity among rarities. That it offered to pay so outrageously was an indication of its desperation.
Tynian caught another whiff of that heavenly fragrance and he found himself reconsidering. Could this creature and the scent be connected? He scanned the inside of the tent--unnecessarily, since he already knew Bellar Saam was out, busy with managing his other holdings. "Well, the sky is grim and I do smell rain on the breeze. I suppose it couldn't hurt."
The canine youth raised the hinged wooden counter, little more than a tall bench set up at the front of the tent, and ushered the shadowy figure inside. Most of the interior was occupied by barrels of spice and shelves of measuring instruments. He anxiously guided his guest to the 'backroom' where he had bedded many female suitors, pulling aside a heavy curtain, revealing a modest store of pillows and provisions to enjoy on break.
"Please, make yourself at home." He smiled at her expectantly.
The secretive insectoid did not remove its cloak. He heard that odd chittering again. "Shall privacy cost me additionally?"
Realizing his rudeness, Tynian bowed and withdrew to the front counter. Whatever it was doing in the back, it was very good at staying silent, as nothing could be heard despite the complete lack of ambient noise in his corner of the market. He tried to mind his own business, but without customers, Tynian found himself pondering his guest again. Another brief trace of the sour cave rose convinced him to submit to his curiosity.
Taking care to be as quiet as possible, Tynian crept around the barrels, his sandaled paws padding softly in the sand. As he approached the heavy curtain, he fell to all fours like his ancestors. The scent grew stronger as he stuck his nose to the bottom of the curtain. He smelled other things as well; the tang of blood and acidic solvents.
He cocked his head in the effort of peeking under the curtain. What he saw would stay with him for the rest of his life. Indeed, it was an insectoid, a people who preferred to remain hidden and were thought to be little more than legend, or nightmare itself, by most furkin. More exciting was that Tynian's first guess at the creature being female seemed to be correct. It--or rather she--had distinctly feminine curves, though no overtly female physical traits.
Long limbs, thin and spindly, appeared to hold none of the strength or grace that were evident in her movements. Her body had a waspish shape (no pun intended) and her segmented thorax was curled beneath her legs. Her carapace was lavender in color--with a milky undertone--and shiny, almost as iridescent as the cloak she now sat on.
