[A note to the reader: this story is less erotica and more fantasy with erotic themes. If you're looking for something quick and dirty, I'm sorry to disappoint. If, on the other hand, you desire a story with plot and character development, this might be the thing for you.
I posted this story reluctantly and without the benefit of an editor, having lost all faith in the editor selection process on the site. If you're interested in editing future chapters of this story and you're female, please send me an IM.
As always, comments and criticisms are welcome.
~the stumblebum]
*
In a quiet corner of the realm of Aryven, far from the bustle of the port cities or the intrigue of the capital, lies the sleepy village of Patrin's Hollow. The summers are warm and pleasant, the winters just cold enough to make one relish spring. The soil is good, the spring water clear and cold, and the local monks brew an ale that would make even the most cynical Erijs merchant sigh with pleasure. It is a comfortable, ordinary sort of place where even strangers are made to feel right at home.
One thing, and one thing only, makes this quite little hamlet stand out from all the other quite little hamlets that dot that pleasant countryside. Her name is Tess Keeve.
Tess is the most beautiful girl in all of Aryven, some would say maybe, just maybe, the entire world. She is tall, like her mother was, and has hair the color of summer wheat but eyes like a fall sunset. Despite many a harvest in the fields with her father, her skin is fair with only a light dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks. Her limbs are strong and lithe, her face flawless as spring rain, her smile radiant, her laugh rich and clear. Yet none of this is what makes Tess truly beautiful; her beauty radiates from a heart innocent and pure, free of guile and full of love.
It's no secret that Tess is the apple of every boy's eye in town. Even the local lord, when he first set eyes upon her, got down off his horse and asked her father for her hand. Yet never did Tess allow any of this attention to go to her head; conceit never found purchase in her heart. When wronged, she always gave the benefit of the doubt, and whenever anyone in town was in need, Tess was always there, providing what help she could to her neighbors.
Tess had a happy and satisfying life. She enjoyed working on her father's farm, singing with her sisters and cooking full course meals in the kitchen like her grandmother once did. She longed for the day when she would have a family of her own, when the pitter-patter of bare feet would greet her in the morning, and she secretly hoped that before summer was out, the blacksmith's son would finally work up the courage to propose. Yes, life was good.
That is, until her father Conrad fell ill. It was the start of her nineteenth spring. Now Tess knew how to cook up a good chicken soup to cure the cold, but this was no ordinary sickness. After the first week, she went to see Lora, the village matriarch. There wasn't much old Lora didn't know about curing things that ailed folks, but try as she might, Lora could do no better than Tess with the tenacious illness. In fact, it got worse. By the second week, her father's fever was such that he could hardly get out of bed, and any fluids she got in him came right back up. Tess hardly slept at all, fraught with worry that she would lose her beloved father. Her next recourse was Father Ennar. For three nights he prayed for Conrad, convinced a demon most foul had smitten him. He lined the windows with garlic and circled the bed with salt and prayed until he collapsed on the floor and could only be revived with a pint of ale. But her father's condition did not improve. When Father Ennar left the house, forlorn and defeated, Tess wasted no time in searching out Greta, the local hedge witch who lived in the forest just south of town. She was expensive to employ for healings, but she knew magic, which made her quite the scandal but good for healing things that couldn't be treated by conventional means. Greta came and took down all the garlic and swept up all the salt. Then she filled the house with incense that smelled of lavender and elderberry and cast spells for the curing of body and soul. Yet, as before, Tess' father didn't get better, but grew worse, slipping into a delirious sleep from which he did not wake. Greta left in the same manner as Father Ennar: forlorn and defeated, certain magic was the culprit yet unable to thwart the malevolent sickness.
As Greta left, Tess collapsed into a heap on the steps and sobbed into her apron. Exhausted from weeks with little sleep, overcome with feelings of powerlessness, Tess wept the entire night. In the morning, however, as she doled out porridge to her sisters and tried in vain to put on a courageous face, Tess remembered the one, final recourse left to her. His name was Arimus.
Arimus is the village wizard. Arimus came from the north, showing up one winter morning with the deed to small, long vacant manor just outside town. Once a month, Arimus comes to the village, buys what things he needs, and leaves. Rumors fly of course. Arimus is a battlemage, fleeing the chaos of the north, or perhaps a necromancer, raising the dead and practicing vile experiments in the manor basement. But upon one thing the rumors agree: Arimus is a wizard most powerful. Tess had seen him only once before, watching her from afar has she made her way home from the market.
So, filled with trepidation, Tess left in the morning to seek audience with the wizard, desperate for someone to rescue her father from his terrible wasting sickness. She put on her finest dress, made her hair, her makeup, and polished her shoes before leaving. The walk to the manor seemed to take an eternity. The townsfolk must have sensed her destination for no one approached her as she went; only they stopped and stared, almost as if she were one condemned.
She stood in front of the ill-kept estate for a long time, too afraid to enter. The ivy-covered stone building did not at all look inviting. Offering a quick prayer to the Mother, she opened the wrought iron fence. Gravel crunched under her shoes as she walked the path to the large oak door. She wrapped the iron knocker three times until finally it opened with a creak. When it did, Tess screamed.
Standing in front of her, dressed in butler's attire, was a goblin. Tess had never seen a goblin before, but she had no doubt that was what the creature was. He had skin the color of thick mud, yellow eyes, a round stomach that poked out over his cummerbund, and hairy, dangly arms that would have hung down past his knees if he weren't carrying a pitcher with one and holding the door with the other.
"May I help you, madam?" he asked in a disinterested tone.
"Um...yes," she replied, "I'd like to speak with Master Arimus."
The goblin raised a woolly eyebrow. "Does the lady have an appointment with the Master?"
"No," she admitted.
"Master Arimus is not taking visitors, good day." He turned to shut the door.
Without thinking, Tess stuck her foot in the door and then let out a little yelp when the heavy oak door made contact. "Please!" she said, trying to ignore the throbbing of a newly acquired bruise, "it's a matter of life and death! I positively must speak with Master Arimus."
The goblin let out a sound that might have been a growl, or it might have been a chuckle, Tess wasn't quite sure. But before he could extract the trespassing foot and shut the door, she heard a man's voice from deep inside the manor. "Calohidh, see the young woman to the sitting room and offer her refreshment. I shall attend her shortly."
