Note: I'm back in fantasy, my favorite genre! This new series will (again) be a longer term series, plenty of story, lots of kinky smut, and casual hypersexuality which I always enjoy. Be prepared for non sexual chapters. As normal, expect thiccness and massive dicks, as well as a hot harem ;)
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The story began on a simple summer evening. The night sky had descended onto the kingdom like a shadowy curtain, yet the uncomfortable heat was relentlessly causing people to have a glaze of shining sweat across their brows.
The town of Framton was a rather small, yet dense community of humans. Bakers, butchers and sweet makers were the common profession, and they were always named the best across the southern dominances across the kingdom. In this town was an inn called The Kneeling Kneader. Like Framton, it was small but could pack more than most inns, and like most nights the tavern area was bustling with those who were coated with ingredients and stank of their respective professions.
The grizzled young man sat in the corner of the inn, as the job he received ordered him to. On the opposite side of him, sandwiching the small circular table which the man had made his home on, was one other seat.
His bright hazel eyes cut through the shroud which his hood created over his handsome features, he was observing. From left to right he darted quickly from patron to patron, some drunk, others high on some kind of recreational drug that spread around town. He noticed some drinkers, men in particular, watched him with scepticism. The young man assumed they saw him as a trespasser, or perhaps a danger to their daughters innocences given his light leather plated armor and longsword that rested beside him at all times made him seem mysterious, and rugged.
Or perhaps they were looks of jealousy. The young man noticed the frequent waitresses clad in their loose uniforms pass over him, trying to strike up conversation; any kind of meaningless topic which the man needn't bother himself with. Still, some of them were pretty; the one with the dusty blonde hair tied into a braid looked like one of those women who would be an animal in bed. In his experiences, the ones that looked from afar and kept quiet were always the most eager to give pleasure, and the most thankful to receive it.
A warm bead of sweat pushed its way down the man's forehead, tickling his sun kissed skin on its journey from the pores of his temple down toward the time grown stubble he wore. It was a sign to drink. With a hard sigh the man grasped his large pint glass of iced water and took a long gulp, taking in a small shaving of ice between his lips to cool the insides of his cheeks. He spat it out back into the condensated glass once the chill had worked its magic.
"Late." he muttered to himself as the hustle and bustle of the night's festivities began to enter the rowdy stage of drunkenness. The job request specifically instructed to meet at the Kneeling Kneader when the moon had met its highest point; yet here the man was, alone, thinking about the cute blonde who smiled at him again, rather than the client he was set to meet.
The job paper was laid out in front of him beside the pint glass. A simple job. Escort duty. Work he hated. His forte was monster hunting, merc work, security for weddings and the like. This was far away from any sort of job he would usually do.
Yet he felt drawn to the job, there was a mystery to it all. It wasn't often he had that feeling; but every time he did, the young man always walked away better off. That meant he had to take it. But he disliked late comers, to him, it meant the client really wasn't in desperate need, otherwise they would be around early. He eventually met an ultimatum, by the end of the glass, if his client, this 'Trysh' had not appeared, then he would move to that braided blonde and finally answer the question across the back of his mind: Would she spit or swallow?
A short time passed before the hooded figure slipped into the inn quietly, like a cat through an open window. The figure was short, no taller than five foot four. Which, to the young man, meant his client was either a feminine male with a girly name, or a woman. Wrapped tightly around her was a deep green cloak that she tugged at to surround whatever she was wearing underneath.
It was hard to make out her features, the hood that she kept over her head ensured that, but there were still some things of note which the man kept in his mind. The first being how the hood opened out around the ears, like something long poked at the sides of the rough looking fabric. The eyes were second, as even from across the flame lit inn he could see how they glowed with a brilliant sapphire blue.
Those same eyes darted across every space they could find. Until they met his. A small nod from him was the only signal she needed to approach with quick steps, her cloak and the slithers of pure white underneath the covering dragged and dusted against the floor until she stood over the table. She sat, shifting the seat forward and assumed perfect posture, hands flat against her lap as she gave a quick look over the man.
"Hello. Aro I hope? Apologies to keep you waiting. I ran into some trouble at the markets earlier and needed to meditate a little. Have you been waiting long? Do you think you can escort me tonight? I have been spending far too much time in Framton and I would like to see the back of it..." She shifted with discomfort, which allowed a slither of bleached blonde hair to escape the hood and dangle down over one brilliant sapphire eye.
She spoke quickly, tones sweet as sugar and soft as honey. She almost sounded frantic to Aro, nervous too. He noticed how she would only look into his hazel eyes for mere seconds before falling away and blushing under her darkened hood.
Aro hummed softly, giving one last look to the dusty blonde before removing his own hood to formally engage with the meeting. "I am he. And you are Trysh?"
"Trysh'alia. My friends call me Trysh."
