Cecil and the Shaman
Nearly half a year had passed since Cecil took up her post as wench of The Bull and Mare Inn. Although it was not yet a landmark, these days the inn was as full as many nights it was empty, which she considered a feat given its attendance was previously less than that of a graveyard at midnight. As word spread more and more guests came. Though most were commoners from the nearby village and from surrounding farms, it was still pleasant.
Cecil spent more time eyeing guests, looking for potential partners to spend the night with, than she did performing her role as wench. Though, when she did pour ale and serve food or count coins, she was as likely to bugger the job as she was to get it right, and the innkeeper Richard often stepped in to avoid mistakes.
For all his hustle and bustle, Richard was looking better than ever. Cecil sighed, knowing his wife had seen the improvement in his appearance, as she often overheard their evening passions. While she was happy hearing the couple had mended since Richard's wife walked in on Cecil naked with Richard and his son Georg, she knew the sounds were a terror for the poor young man.
And yet it wasn't all bad for Georg either - at Cecil's urging, Georg had become quite the bard. Though Cecil had ample opportunity to whisk Georg away for a night or two, she thought better, allowing the young man to find his own way, and make his own way he did. Georg's skill with the recorder attracted more than one fair maiden, who he happily bedded after wooing with this beautiful song.
One quiet night, with just a few regulars eating their stew and banging back mugs of ale, Cecil's thoughts roamed. She dreamed fondly of Gallavan the would-be knight, the elf sorcerer who never said her name, and Jozi and Nuri, the satyrs who she helped recognize a bit more about themselves. She wondered what they all were up to after their lovely encounters. She even spared a moment to think of Anders the tax collector and his cronies, though she proudly believed Richard could pay his taxes in full with the way the inn was improving.
The door flew open, pulling Cecil from her stupor. A dark and brooding man strode in, drawing the attention of all the guests. He turned and gently closed the door, then faced Cecil, his bold expression returned.
The man was easily a head and a half taller than Cecil. A cloak of animal pelts hung from his shoulders, with a mountain lion head and fangs hanging over his face. A trim, wavy beard clung to his jaw, set below round cheeks.
Cecil looked at his deep dark eyes, they... wait a minute, Cecil thought, is he using ash for an eyeliner? Oh please my dear there are many alternatives to ash, that is awful for your skin and is so irritating if you ever get it in your eyes!
His muscular arms were exposed, sticking out from his robe. Fine tattoos covered them, in patterns of runes and sigils and other unintelligible but certainly meaningful patterns. A broad leather belt held up his floor-length kilt. Satchels and bundles of dried herbs crowded the man's waist.
The other guests scowled, but the man marched to the bar, his stoic face showing a distinct lack of care for the rude stares. Cecil couldn't help but wonder if his cock was as pronounced as his biceps as he rested his hands on the bar.
"Welcome to The Bull and Mare Inn! I'm Cecil, resident wench. Might I ask who I'm addressing, and when I can do you... er, what I can do you for?"
The man leaned close and smiled. "I'm Buddy."
Cecil stifled a laugh. "I'm so sorry, I genuinely am. It's just that..."
"Buddy is a name better suited for a pet than a man," Buddy replied. "It's alright, I'm quite used to reactions such as yours. You apologizing is far more than most will do."
Cecil tapped one of Buddy's fingers with hers, and was shocked to find his skin quite smooth and well moisturized - she wondered what oils he used. "How did you come to have such a name?"
"My parents," Buddy said with a sigh. "They always wanted pets, but never did manage to have any before they died. I, however, was a late-life accident, and they decided to name and treat me as if I were the pet they wanted. May the gods fuck them in the ass without lube every day for treating me as such! Oh, might I please have a bowl of stew and a mug of ale, and later a single room for the night?"
Cecil winked as Buddy set a small pouch of coins on the bar. She took a pewter mug to a tapped cask and let the ale flow, though she spilled nearly as much on the floor as made it into the mug. She slammed the mug onto the bar, sloshing much of the contents; Buddy smiled feebly and took the mug of overly frothy ale, while Cecil declined to even begin to clean the mess she had made. Richard sighed as he ladled out stew for Buddy.
Buddy gulped back two mugs of ale before slowing his pace and beginning to chew a bit of stew. Cecil walked around the bar and sat beside him.
"If your parents were less than ideal, have you perhaps found more fortune in recent days?" Cecil asked.
"My past still haunts me," Buddy said, staring into his stew. "My parents never stopped reminding me that because I was there, they couldn't have a pet. I asked if we could just have a cat or a dog or something, but no, they wanted a cockatrice or a basilisk or something exotic, impossible with a child around."
"Sounds exhausting," Cecil said, rubbing Buddy's shoulder. I really need to find a way to ask him about his moisturizing routine that isn't awkward!
"Tell me about it. After they died, I sold off everything they owned and went to study shamanism. I thought that connecting with animals and nature would heal the past, but a few months in I realized I had fucked up horribly, and shamanism is about the elemental side of nature. I should have studied to be a druid."
"If you ever need help tapping into that animalistic side of your nature, I'd be happy to help," Cecil said lasciviously.
"It's too late for that," Buddy said hollowly.
Cecil rubbed his forearm, marveling at the toned muscles. "I can relate. It's not exactly the same, but my former family kicked me out. I ended up as the wench here, but I'm short instead of tall, my tits are small instead of spilling out of my bodice, and my skin is tanned instead of pale. I'm completely out of my... element."
Buddy chuckled at her jab. "Cecil, you look a treat. I can hardly remember the last woman I saw who made my loins twitch with simply a look. And beyond your looks, you have a good soul. I haven't felt comfortable opening up like this with anyone in ages. Don't discredit yourself because you don't fit the mold - fitting the mold is boring."
"You're too kind," Cecil said with a smile. "As for your abilities, can you tell me about your control of the elements?"
"Oh, of course! I've worked so hard at it, it's a bit vain but I'm always happy to demonstrate. Let me see your forearm."
Cecil laid her arm on the bar. Buddy touched her skin with a single finger. At first, she was curious what was meant to happen, then a sudden frigid cold crept across her skin, making hairs rise on end. No sooner had goosebumps rippled across her neck than the spot became warm, a heat like the summer sun spreading through her skin. In a flash shocks of electricity crackled through her skin, a sharp but invigorating sensation.
"Miraculous!" Cecil exclaimed. This could be quite a bit of fun in a tumble... "Is it only your fingers you control?"
Buddy drained the last of his ale, then chuckled. "Quite the opposite! I can change my body at a whim, and through my body affect the world around me. Some lords want shamans for battle, but I prefer to perform at carnivals. Ah, the night grows long. I should retire now."
