A World of Womencraft Story
Kris leaned back against the tree and casually watched his archons graze on the lowland plains. The Hinterlands were known in the area as a harsh, unforgiving terrain, but near the Blasted Mountains, there were sprawling highlands and lowlands rife with long grass. Raising archons was time consuming work. Six months out of the year, Kris would graze his archons on the Infinite Plains and up into the The Hinterlands, fattening them up for market and letting them breed openly. Archons were the prize livestock of Patriam, and many historians would agree Patriam wouldn't even exist without the domestication of archons.
Archons were massive beasts standing six feet high from the tip of their hooves to the crown of horns on their heads. They came in a variety of colors from the common and shaggy mud-hairs to the downy and rare snow-hairs and everything in between. This season, one of his matrons gave birth to a gorgeous snow-hair he named Anjel. The snow-hair would fetch a massive sum, especially if he could drive it to Trinity's market. Kris could earn more money for an adult snow-hair, but the risk of theft, disease, or predator was simply too high when he could count on a sale of a snow-hair calf worth five times the amount of an adult mud-hair.
Since he was six years old, Kris's life was spent raising his father's archons. He and his two brothers were responsible for grazing the 120 odd crown of archons among themselves, spreading to the far reaches of the plains in search of fodder. Kris could go for months at a time without seeing another human being. On the rare occasion, a hunter or traveler would approach him for directions or for a sale which Kris was forbidden from selling by his father. It was a life of solitude that Kris grew up in. His only company was his thoughts and the archons.
The life wasn't tremendously difficult though. Predators regularly roamed the plains and hinterlands, but they rarely troubled the archon herd. Archons were sweet, passive creatures which had taken to humes as if the Devs intended it. But an agitated archon was a fearsome beast. At the occasional inn or respite, Kris had hear stories from guildies proclaiming the fierceness of archons being ridden into battle. Kris couldn't imagine his passive lambs being used for warfare. Since the Age of Lords had drawn to a close, archons were chiefly used for travel, farm work, or fur, meat, and bone.
With little else to do besides watching the sky, Kris took his cock into his hand. There had never been a time when masturbating outdoors felt strange to him. For four years he grazed archons in solitude. Stroking was one of the few pleasures left to him, and he thanked the Devs for his brothers showing him how it was done. Kris closed his eyes and imagined mounting his mother and sisters like the archons mount—taking them from behind and rutting into them until he was spent. He imagined their breasts swaying like udders as he fucked them. In seconds, Kris's cock pulsed with ecstasy, and white cum covered his knuckles. He casually wiped the cum in the grass and gripped his cock again, still hard with need.
Before he could begin again with thoughts of his female family members (or his brothers on those special nights together) a wide, ominous shadow swept over the valley. The archons bellowed to each other, alerting everyone in the herd of a potential predator. They curled into a tight cluster, horns out, ready to defend as the shadow slipped across the valley in the blazing light of midday. Kris darted to his feet and grabbed his herding stick. The stick was a warped, bent branch of ironwood taller than his unimpressive stature by a good two feet. At the end were strings of nuts and dried gourds filled with pebbles that made aggressive, unpleasant noises when shaken. Kris hurried to Plainsrider, his very own archon, and leapt on.
For all he knew, the shadow was simply a hawk searching for food, but it could easily be a roc or a wendigo. Kris had yet to see a predator large enough to steal away one of his archons, but that wouldn't stop a predator from trying to make a meal of one. He circled the herd, making sure everyone was accounted for. Thirty-one were accounted for, including Plainsrider. The shadow darted across the plains, and that was when Kris remembered Anjel made thirty-two.
Kris urged Plainsrider on with a shout and a whap of his stick, following the shadow over a rise in the terrain. Clearing the elevation, he found Anjel carelessly grazing on a patch of heather just as the shadow approached him. Though the archons were too large to be carried away, a newborn would be easy pickings for a roc. Kris urged his archon on, making a mad scramble for Anjel. Though archons were impressive beasts, they could easily outrun a hume at full charge. That being said, roc's were much, much faster. The shadow slipped along the plains, right at Anjel. Kris held his breath, realizing he was about to lose the most valuable crown in his herd. Just as the shadow reached Anjel...nothing happened. The shadow slipped by, ignoring the calf. Kris looked up and shielded his eyes, trying to see what was happening. A broad set of wings were clearly silhouetted against the brilliant sun.
Kris continued, coming to a stop next to Anjel just in case the predator tried another approach, but it didn't. The creature veered towards Ur, plummeting as if shot out of the sky. Kris watched the descent, and witnessed a winged hume crash into the ground on the other side of the rise. With a length of rope on his hip, he tied Anjel's tiny horns to Plainsrider's and sent the two back to the herd before rushing off to find the hume. Outside the shade of the tree where he had been resting, Kris found a broad set of dark, tan wings wider than two archons snout to snout.
Without due care, he ran to the figure in case they were in need of aid. The wings stirred and folded on themselves, revealing a tall figure writhing on the ground. Immediately, Kris noticed an arrow sticking out of the figure. He ran to the tree and grabbed his knapsack filled with tinctures, ointments, and other supplies—mostly designed for the care of archons, then ran back to the winged figure. Now closer, Kris realized it was a woman. The first thing he notice was how tall she was. She must have been a good foot taller than him, though Kris believed he still had a lot of growing to do. She had long, dark hair tied behind her head, and was wearing scraps of fabric and armor to cover her arms, legs, face, breasts, and groin. Her exposed skin was cut and bruised. Only then did Kris realize the obvious; she was an anjel like the ones out of legend.
Some on Patriam held it common knowledge that anjels existed and lived among the clouds over the countryside. They were almost never seen in public, and seemed to avoid interacting with humes altogether. On occasion, a farmer or herder might report seeing one sail through the sky but were never taken seriously. And who would believe Kris if he told them an anjel crash-landed while he was out grazing?
As he unpacked his medicines, Kris took in the beauty of the creature before him. Her face was fierce and lovely, though her eyes were closed. Her body was thin and hard, just like his, and her skin was sun-scorched, golden-brown. Her left fist clenched a ragged blade, rusty, covered in blood, cracked and pitted. She must have come from a nearby battle.
Kris took his cleanest rag and dumped some tincture into it which was supposed to stave off infections. All his medicines were really only for archons, but he had to do something for her. Hesitantly, he moved his hand towards the gorgeous woman and treated the first wound he saw. The anjel gasped and hissed in pain as he touched the medicated rag to a gash on her hip. To be sure he treated the entire wound, he delicately slid her codpiece down.
Powerful sexual thoughts surged through he mind, touching a woman for the first time and seeing her bare skin exposed. Not to mention the sounds she made which could be mistaken for sexual ecstasy. Though fully erect, Kris continued his duties, treating every wound he found on her body and using up all his rags to the point he tore up his blanket to use as bandages. The only thing now was the black arrow jutting from her lower back. Throughout his treatment, the anjel spoke no words, only moaning in pain as he sterilized and bandaged her wounds. The arrow needed to be removed, and it would hurt a lot.
