Distant Shores

Hello everyone, thanks for looking over my first story. For those of you who are looking for a quick read, this is probably not one for you, since it is lengthy and little slow to start, but there are always lot's of other talented authors on Literotica that can help out!

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between characters herein to people, alive or dead, is purely coincidental. The backdrop of the world is based on an African-esque setting that I made up for an RPG game I run. Whilst this work contains some elements of African tribal life, I do not presume to authenticate its accuracy – it was made simply to present an interesting and exotic backdrop for the story. No offence was meant.

The story is both fantasy

and

interracial

, based around a High Elf who becomes stranded within the setting, and becomes involved with a native tribeswoman.

For those of you who like it or want it improved, please send comments, suggestions and constructive criticism. I apologise to those who do not find it to their liking, since the aim was to please rather than displease.

Enjoy!

1. A Stranger in the Mist

In the dim grey light of the early dawn, before the sunrise, two figures slid swiftly through morning mist that shrouded the dense vegetation of the surrounding jungle. Holding hands, they guided each other over the broken logs and through the entangling undergrowth, giggling girlishly as they went along. Looking about, they found the clearing that they were looking for and raced towards it.

The first to break through the foliage squealed triumphantly, the beads in her hair, around her neck, and on her arms and ankles, clicking softly together as she came to a stop. Other than her beads, a short skirt of goatskin was her only other article of clothing. Her skin was dark, like the fertile earth beneath her bare feet. She breathed in deeply, her proud full breasts swelling.

Moments later her friend, clad as scantily as she, burst through. There was a tribal similarity between them, though they were not related. Though of similar age and slightly taller, the newcomer was not as robust as her friend, though the locks of her hair were longer.

"That was not fair Thema!" she squealed, speaking in their guttural native tongue, smoothed with feminine inflection.

"We do this all the time!" retorted Thema with a jubilant laugh, tossing her matted locks over her bare shoulder. "You should know better! Come, we are almost at the bay!"

They both walked the rest of the way, chatting about their lives, and their dreams for the future. Mostly, they talked about the prince of another tribe, who had asked Thema's father for her hand in marriage, as show of friendship and alliance between the two villages. Then their conversation was abruptly cut short.

Even before they could see the calm waters of the lagoon, Thema knew that something was wrong. There was a scent in the air, which she knew to be blood and smoke. Even Akua knew it, for their peaceful village had seen many raids by rival tribes recently. Their fast pace slowed to a furtive crawl, as they sought out the source.

Akua was the first to see, and she let out a low cry as she clutched at her friend's arm. Thema saw it too – the dark low silhouette of a corsair's galley in the misty waters of the bay. The tribes who lay along the great ocean made a living by raiding along the coastline, and their warriors were some of the most brutal and ferocious in the region. As they got closer, they could see that there were many more of them, but Thema's fear abated and her excitement rose. The source of the smoke was from the pirate's own galley which had burned to the waterline.

As they crept into the bay, the destruction of the pirate's fleet was breathtaking to behold. Not a single ship had survived, nor would they ever be seaworthy again. But the destruction of the pirates had not stopped with their fleet alone – their bodies lay all over the shore of the bay, whilst others floated lifelessly in the blue waters, now turned red. As they passed one of the bodies, Akua scorned it with her foot, for in her younger years her family had not been the only thing that she had lost to these monsters.

Thema felt sympathy for her friend, for she knew the same pain. No man within the tribe wanted a wife who was not a virgin. It was because of these circumstances that the two of them had bonded together so closely, but where Thema thought of life, Akua thought only of revenge.

Thema's sorrow for her friend was momentarily forgotten as she spotted something further up the shoreline. Calling Akua to her, both girls quickly went to investigate, but they quickly came to a halt. Even though the mist obscured it, the vessel that had been beached was clearly not the galley of a corsair, nor was it that of any ship the native people of this continent had ever seen. With some trepidation, Thema and Akua approached.

What lay before them was a ship to dwarf all their previous ideas of ships. It was at least twice as high as any galley, and three times longer. Looking along the side, they could see no oars, but jutting out from the middle of the ship were three enormous sheets of cloth that billowed and snapped in the morning breeze. With the rise of the morning sun, the mist faded and vanished, leaving the vessel completely exposed to them. It was of a sleek and elegant design, and, to Thema's mind, was made from ivory, and bordered with gold, the glint of which she had seen through the mist.

Now that the mist had lifted, they could see that the tribal corsairs were not the only ones to have been slain. There were others to be seen; strangers who wore glittering robes of metal decorated with gold and precious stones, and they were covered so completely that their features could not be seen. Like the corsairs, they carried shields, but they were not made of wicker. Still gripped in their hands, were their weapons – slender rods of metal. They had all been run through with spears, save one, who was bloodied and slumped against the rocks, were the last stand had been made, to judge from the pile of corsairs that lay in a semi-circle about him.

Thema, followed by Akua, approached this solitary figure slowly. When he did not move, Thema knelt next to him. He was dressed like the others with no particular distinction, save the long narrow blue cloth that he gripped in his left hand. His features were obscured by the thing on his head, so she reached out to remove it, pulling at it harder when it did not move. The helmet slipped so suddenly that she was left sprawled on the sand in an indecent manner. She laughed nervously, only to see Akua was not looking at her.

It was a man, at least that much Thema was certain, but his skin was ivory and his hair as black as the night sky. Nor was his hair kinky, like her own or that of her tribesmen, but long, straight and flowing, like some dark tranquil river. His features also differed, for they were not wide and bold, but rather, slender and angular. His ears were a curiosity too, for they were far longer, tapering to points at the end.

Thema reached out to touch his face, though Akua squeaked in protest. The flesh was still warm and vital; he was still alive.

"Akua!" she whispered, for suddenly her strength seemed gone, "Quickly, run to the camp and find help!"

"But..." started Akua.

"Now!"

****

After the discussions and arguments had been made, the stranger was lifted from the beach, and brought back to their camp, where they had packed their belongings and in haste began the four day journey back to their village. The stranger did not stir even once throughout the entire journey. When they had figured how to undress him of his strange garments, the shaman had tended to his wounds and fed him soft foods.

Thema had made it a point to stay as close as possible to what she thought was her charge. But she was not the only one with an interest in the stranger. Whilst the council elders and tribesmen had gathered around, many of the women in the village crowded at the door, eager to catch a glimpse of the 'strange ivory man with funny long ears and flowing night-water hair'. When the stranger was undressed, many necks were stretched, and some even slipped inside – at least until they were chased out squealing. She caught her glimpse; the hard athletic body of a runner, or a young warrior – the shaman's body obscured what lay lower.

When the excitement finally died down, and the dusk became night, Thema went down to a secluded nearby stream over the hills to wash away the dust of travel from her body. Removing the beads and her skirt, she slipped into the shallow stream, its cold embrace sending shivers through her body. Standing in the middle of the stream, with the swift waters lapping at the mound of her sex, she looked to the sky, trying to read the future as foretold in the stars, like the wise men sometimes did.

Her attempt was miserable, for she knew not where even to begin and her mind began to wander. The night sky was as dark and flawless as the stranger's hair. They described his hair as water and so she dipped her fingers into the stream. Since she knew naught of silk, this was closest approximation she could make. She became aware of strange palpations in her stomach, so she took a deep breath and submerged herself beneath the waters, scrubbing her skin with sand from the bottom.

When she emerged again, the satiny curves of her dripping body were cast into bold relief by the light of the full moon, transforming her into an ebony goddess, wild and untamed. She shook her head, sending her locks whipping and water flying. Her skin still tingling from the scrubbing, she sat in a pool in the hollow of a circle of rocks.

The water was cold, making her dark wide nipples harden. Absentmindedly she reached up to tease one with the tip of her nail, whilst looking at her surroundings. If

he

0was there, in the light of the full moon, he would stand out in startling relief against everything else. She sighed deeply as she began to roll the stiff nipple between her fingers.

Thema made a half-hearted attempt to look around – she was submerged to her shoulders – anyone would think she was merely sitting and relaxing. Slowly, she allowed her legs to part, the cold water tickling her as it rushed in-between them, but her mind was only partly there as questions run through her mind:

Where

had he come from?

What

strange lands bred men like him?

Why

had he come here?

Would

he stay with them? She had no answers for any of them; only a rising need that had to be satisfied. Reaching down into the bush between her thighs, she parted the lips to her secret place. Her first touch brought about an involuntary sob from her lips.

Not since before the first raid on her village some years ago had she done this. Why now? The thought of his hard, pale body pressed against her, and his strong hands running over her body, intruded on her thoughts.

An aching spasm brought her out of the water, arching her back, leaning against the smooth rocks behind. Her legs clamped, catching her hand in-between them. With her other hand she caressed the dark globes of her breasts, finding strangely heavy and swollen. Her face was flushed and hot. She splashed back into the cooling waters, splashing her face with water.

The moon was rising, and it was time she got back. Gathering her belongings, Thema walked back to the outskirts of her village where the small hut she shared with Akua was located. It was another mark of her pariah status.

Akua was already within, asleep and breathing softly. Thema affixed the goatskin flap against the night wind and lay down on her mat, thinking of what had just transpired.

****

2. Elrath Awakens

Elrath Vethriel, was a champion for his people, and had spent nearly his whole adult life on the seas defending them from the barbarians of the snowy northern realms, and the pirates of the temperate middle lands. In-between years, he would return home, at the heart of the Elven Realm, back to his childhood sweetheart and their son, where life seemed worthwhile. Inevitably he would return to the seas, the memory of burning cities spurring him to protect.

But this time, a whim of nature had set a ferocious storm upon his ship, and it was all they could do to keep it afloat. For days they struggled against it, and then they reached the eye. There was no way to tell which direction they were headed, the sky was laden with dark angry clouds. Then the struggle for survival began anew. How far they had drifted from their lands, they knew not.

Finally the storm abated and passed them by. The navigator was worried, for from the stars he knew that they had never been this far east or this far south before. They looked over their rations, and the situation was grim. Nor did they know in which direction land was to be found. But finally they did see land, and raced towards it, thanking the fates; though, perhaps, too early.

The galleys came upon them in the early light of dawn, and they had been forced into a secluded lagoon. Once within, the wizards heaped fire upon their enemies, but they were far too many, and once sorcery was exhausted, the swords began to sing.

Their adversaries were human, though they had thought otherwise at first – big men, with wiry hair and ebony skin. They had spears for weapons and wore necklaces of shark's teeth about their necks. Though they were crude, they were strong and fast, for they were raiders first and foremost. Only the superior weapons and armour of the elves had given them any chance at all.

At last he had found himself with his back against the rocks, alone and at bay. But Elrath was the veteran of a hundred battles by sea and by land, and no man in the world was more deeply versed in the lore of swordcraft than he. When it was all done, he slumped against the rocks in exhaustion and despair, before weariness and loss of blood called him into darkness.

When Elrath awoke, he found himself looking at the wooden domed roof of a small hut. He lay upon a straw mat on the dry earth with crude bandages wrapped around his arms and chest. Instantly and instinctively he groped for his sword, alarmed when he couldn't find it. Sitting up, he saw all his gear in pile at the base of his mat. His hands were unbound and the door to his quarters was nothing more than flap of goatskin. He was, at least, not a prisoner.

Light suddenly flooded the room, blinding him, as the goatskin was drawn aside. This person froze at the sight of him up. To his dazzled eyes, the figure was that of a human, and as his eyes cleared he saw that it was a woman; undoubtedly native to this region. Her skin was of the richest dark complexion he had ever seen on any person; her forehead was high and splendid, her eyes dark with mystery and her lips full and dark – making the pink tongue between her parted lips even more vivid.

Elrath's eyes suddenly widened and his face flushed, red with embarrassment when he realised that a loincloth was her only article of clothing – the clicking beads only seemed to accentuate her nudity. He became aware that a rough-spun blanket was the only thing covering him.

Before he could react, she was gone, though not from embarrassment. The last sight he had of her was of her firm round buttocks peeking out from beneath her skirt.

He reached out for his armour, but his chest hurt, and he knew that he would not don it for quite some time. Nevertheless he reached out to take the long blue scarf that was his companion's last gift to him, and wrapped it around his arm, reluctant to part with it for even a moment. His other garments were intact, if somewhat stained and bloodied, and he was already pulling on his tunic when they found him.

****

The early days within the tribe were not easy for him. The brutal sun for one thing. Nor could they speak to him, for his language was utterly different and alien – soft and smooth to their ears – and many marvelled when first heard him speak. Likewise, Elrath found theirs to be the opposite – full of zest and passion – but he knew that he was more likely to learn theirs than they were to learn his, so he applied himself earnestly to the task.

The village itself was little more than a nomadic encampment which had settled for longer than it was due. They were primitive, and wouldn't even approach the level of the northerners, who worked iron, whereas they worked in flint and bone. But they were survivors and their capacity for decadence and deception were non-existent, which Elrath noted with hidden approval. Overall, they were a happier and livelier people than the humans of the north, who brooded and plotted in the cold. Yet Elrath felt sorry for them, for when the women bent over to do their chores, everything was visible, and his face was almost constantly crimson – to the point where even the local shaman accompanied him frequently to make sure he was fine, dabbing at him with foul unguents.

But there were greater problems at hand. These people were hunters and gatherers, not warriors, and their braves suffered high attrition during tribal feuds. Women were far more numerous, since only the men fought, most of those men who remained where either old, or were only just coming of age. He felt sorry for them; it would only take two, maybe three, more raids and they would be gone.

Within the week, he was capable of basic, if not altogether accurate, communication, though not speech. At last he extracted the location of where they had found him and decided he would set out this very evening, for there was supposed to be a festivity of sorts, providing an ideal opportunity to slip out without commotion. What could go wrong?

Elrath frowned slightly as he caught a shadow at the edge of his sight, but did not bother look. A certain girl of the tribe, almost certainly the daughter of the village headsman, was always trailing him. Though not the only one, she was the most persistent. He was certain they thought him some exotic animal of sorts; an object of curiosity, the attraction of which he was certain would wear off in time.

****

3. Celebration of Life

As the evening came on, Thema came up from her stream. She had not finished all that she had wished to, but the sight of the rising bonfire at the centre of the village had told her preparations for the coming night was already underway. Akua and Thema had not been invited, for the ceremony was only for those of marriageable status. But

he

would be there – the elders were intent on showing him their culture and the pride of their hunters and warriors.

Akua had already left, during the early hours of the morning and would not return for some weeks. She had headed towards the mountains where the witch whom everyone feared lived in secluded mystery. Thema often worried for her friend, but Akua protested, claiming she was an apprentice and now learning of medicines.

Thema shook those thoughts from her mind, for there were other things she now wanted. Her skin was still lustrous from the sands of the stream, and she began to put aside her beads, though not those from her hair. Instead she now wore soft bracelets of pure gold on her arms and ankles, and spent time to encase her throat with neck rings of the same, and set two large hoops of gold in her earlobes. She rubbed oil into her skin, but not the red pigments that were the entitlement of marriageable women.

She set a small fire burning, using slow burning wood and tidied her hut. With Akua gone, she gathered her friend's rugs and furs, as well as her own and set them into a comfortable pile in the corner. Gathering her skirt, she paused for a moment before tossing it aside. Instead, she picked up her coarse brown blanket and wrapped it about her body like a cloak. Thema went out to face the night, her heart beating and full of apprehension.