Wiced Amusement

So, just what

did

happen in the "elf brothel incident"?

Goblin's Note: The events of this story take place directly after the events of Shifty Characters, and some time before Sea Slimes, Unliving Lust and Evergreen Forest, respectively. That said, each story is meant to stand on its own and in whichever order the reader prefers, so feel free to read on even if you haven't read any of those yet!

Fair warning—this chapter is pretty scant on the sex, and a bit shorter than most as a result. Rest assured, future chapters will be both longer and hopefully a good deal more titillating! Future chapters will contain fey, elves, hypnotism, lesbian sex, teasing, reluctance, nonconsent, femdom, femsub, and possibly a catgirl—I can't confirm or deny anything at this juncture.

~~~~~~~~

"Where the fuck did my rabbit's foot go?"

Larya looked up, blinking eyelids still leaden from recent dreams. Snatch, her adventuring partner as of two days ago, was a ways off from the campfire, digging through his pack. She reached over and used her staff to prod the small campfire she'd built up, turning fresh coals toward fresh morning air. "Wait, that was yours?"

He looked up at her sharply. "What?"

She rubbed her eyes, groaning. "I...

may

have thrown it in the river a little bit."

"

What? Why

?"

"It was lying next to your pillow. That attracts predators, you know. Eagles and things. I bet."

"Do you

know

how much that damn thing's worth?"

"About a tenth of what a whole rabbit is?"

He glowered at her. Larya was beginning to realize that with Snatch, that was the closest he came to admitting a 'yes'. He turned and stalked off towards the river. "It better have snagged on something. Shit's important, druid."

Larya watched him go. She let out a sigh.

She'd thought, after he came around and helped her, Mier and Swish defeat his ex-partner Balabar, that the bounty hunter might become a little bit easier to deal with. But he was as unpleasant as ever. Snatch seemed to be perpetually irritable, resenting any social interaction he had to go through like it was excruciating torture. He was greedy, brooding, and exceedingly sensitive. At the start of the journey, Snatch had made a big deal about how this was going to be the last time they ever adventured together. She was beginning to concur.

She stood up and gave the camp a lookaround. She was getting better at building these. Her tent looked a lot better than his, that was for sure—his was mostly standing in spite of its own best efforts, a sagging, tangled mess that closer resembled a bird's nest than a human dwelling. She'd offered to help him pitch it, but he had refused. By contrast, she thought hers was quite neat.

Her eyes closed. She tapped the staff against the ground and breathed in, smelling the pine needles, the pitch, the nearby river. Oh, this was wonderful. No more dusty old towns. No more dank basements. No more perverted wizards peeking down her blouse at every opportunity.

Birds were tweeting above. She'd identified a few of them—a scrub jay, a meadowlark—but she knew she still had so much to learn. The sounds of winds brushing by branches and knocking twigs loose. Squirrels nibbling pinecones. Animals scuttling across the floor of rotting needles. In her heart, Larya felt something old, something enormous, pressing in on her on all sides. It picked her up like a doll and held her tightly, but not uncomfortably. It felt like being hit by a tidal wave and somehow managing to stand. It was exhilarating. It was overwhelming.

Her eyes opened.

It was like being in the center of a hurricane and pushing back. Like swallowing a river. She stared up at the greens, the browns, the golds of plant life, the blues and silvers of trickling glassy rivers, heard the cooing of a dove, felt the grass beneath her feet, tasted the campfire smoke entering her mouth.

She started to breathe heavily. It felt so good. So perfect, so raw, so

beyond

her. Nature itself was her master, or mistress, or

who cared

, and it was eager for her to do its bidding. Hungry for her to do its bidding. Her legs felt weak, but something else held her up. In the distance, an eagle squawked. Moss was growing rapidly over rotting slats, lichen from ancient timbers, vines covering shiny glass panes.

She felt the power entering her then. The grass all around her was growing taller. Roots were poking out of the earth. A squirrel looked towards her and took a few steps in her direction. This was hers. She was its. Oh, so much

life

. So much life, so much everything, and it felt

so good

, she was being borne away by the tidal wave, hurled into the air by the hurricane, so much...

so much...

She entered a coughing fit.

"Oh,"

*cough*

"fuck—"

*cough*

She fell back on her butt, out of the path of the smoke. Her deep blue eyes were watering.

Subconsciously, she rubbed her legs together. Her eyes weren't the only thing. "Oh, geez," she said to herself. "Did I just..."

She went bright red. She was very glad Snatch hadn't been around to see that.

~~~~

Snatch returned ten minutes later, bearing the rabbit's foot triumphantly. He'd had to fight a bastard eagle to get it, but the good news was, they were having meat in the pot tonight.

Larya was extremely red-faced when he got back. He didn't think it was that hot out, but she

was

sitting close to the fire.

"I got it," he said, holding up the paw. He threw the eagle carcass onto a large patch of tall grass he could've sworn hadn't been growing there before.

"Great!" She grinned widely. "That's great. Uh, hey, so have you checked the map lately?"

"N—why?"

"Uh, well, I just noticed something kind of weird." She turned and pointed a little ways off. Snatch stared in the direction she was pointing. Nothing but bushes and trees. "There's a ranger outpost up there."

"A ranger outpost?" Snatch repeated. He reached into his satchel and pulled out the map. He scowled at it. Maps had never been his forte. "How the fuck can you tell?"

"Um." Larya wasn't meeting his gaze. "I just

can

."

"Huh. Well, let's see." The map was almost colorless. Tan vellum, black scribbles, and a large network of colored dots.

Every cartographer of any real repute always kept four bottles of colored ink with them, each to mark a specific type of ranger outpost. Yellow dots, for Spirit Rangers, the guardians against rogue souls, were generally found near old ruins where undead were more common. Brown dots, for Toxin Rangers, the guardians against diseases and poisons, were more frequent in fey wilds and crowded cities. Green dots for Rift Rangers, warriors against demons, all in very precisely-picked places in areas with no significance Snatch knew of. And blue dots, for Mage Rangers, the rarest ink for the rarest sort, weren't even shown on this map.

Mage slayers who advertized their location to a world full of magic-users didn't tend to live very long.

There were

no

colored dots nearby that Snatch could see. He looked up at Larya, rolling his eyes. "Dragonshit. There ain't any outpost."

"There is," Larya said confidently.

"Well, it ain't on the map."

"Let me see." Larya stood up and took the map from him. As she came closer, he noticed that she smelled a bit sweaty.

When did she find time to tire herself out?

Larya looked at map over with evident ease. He hadn't asked her where she'd learned to read, and she hadn't volunteered the information. He did wonder, though. Snatch knew she was from the southwest lands, judging by her fair skin and accent. People didn't read as much over there, even in their own harsh tongue.

"What's this?" she asked, pointing out a small black dot on the map. It was quite nearby their position, Snatch guessed.

"Dunno." He shrugged. "Maybe an error? I'm glad we have time to criticize some old mapmaker's ink blots. Do you know how little they get paid where I come from? Prob'ly some frail old guy squinting an inch away from the parchment as he draws everything. Paid in biscuits and water, I'll bet."

"Maybe there used to be a ranger's outpost," Larya said, frowning, "and they put the dot over it because it's no longer manned. That would explain what I sensed."

Oh. "Huh." He tilted his head. "So what?"

"So let's go check it out. It's on our way." She grinned. "We'll make camp nearby tonight and walk over."

"No. Too dangerous." Snatch started digging the tent stakes out of the ground. "Too much time."

"There might be stuff there, though! Treasure. That map's dated just a year back—the rangers might not have recovered the outpost's contents yet." She shrugged. "I'm going anyways. I'm just saying, you might want to come with."

Treasure. That got Snatch interested in spite of his best efforts.

He considered it. This job wasn't paying shit. Off to save some people he barely knew, and all strictly nonprofit. Frankly, he didn't know what had possessed him to agree to it. A little loot on the side

would

be nice. "Okay," he said, "sure, we can stop by."

"

Yes!

Treasure hunt." Larya pumped her fists. "It'll be fun!"

"Ugh."

The druidess lowered her arms, aghast. Her patience seemed finally to be as spent as Snatch's. "Did you seriously just 'ugh' the concept of

fun

?"

"I 'ugh'ed

your

concept of 'fun'," he muttered. "Because it's probably gonna kill me."

~~~~

Larya and Snatch looked at the shack and exchanged looks. "This is weird, right?" Larya said.

"Uh-huh."

Larya had expected the ranger outpost to be in ruins. A burnt-out hut, maybe, or a dark building with boarded-up windows. Maybe something covered with ivy and lichen—Larya could have

sworn

she'd sensed vines and moss covering the frame, but there it was.

The ranger outpost was in perfect condition. No, not perfect condition.

Operational

condition. There were cracks in one of the windows. Some of the boards were old and rotting. The door was weatherbeaten and looked squeaky; the decorative weathervane on top of the shack, depicting a streak of flame, was bent and tarnished.

In short, it looked like a place that was still entirely in use. This impression was further supported by the young woman waving to them from inside, a wide smile on her heavily freckled face.

"I say we run," Snatch said. "I don't like the way she's smiling."

Larya frowned. "I don't know." The smile didn't look creepy or anything. It was wide because, Larya could tell, the woman's mouth was a bit larger than average. She seemed genuinely happy to see them. Her eyes were bright and earnest, her long dark hair framing a heart-shaped dusky-skinned face. She had prominent dimples that were in full effect as she waved again.

Then the woman vanished from sight.

"Shit." Snatch was already reaching for his scythe. "She's getting the axe. I just know it."

The door flew open. The woman was there, in the flesh, still grinning ear to ear. She wore a yellow tunic and a pair of brown trousers, along with a cloak that matched her hair so well Larya at first thought her hair went all the way down to her ankles. A brass clasp held the cloak at her chest, depicting a raging bonfire. This woman was a Spirit Ranger.

"

Bueman aña! Habán espaciona demasada disde visitantes—

" She stopped short, appearing to recognize neither of them understood a word she was saying. "

Haad hadashada ku aqooyigo?

"

Larya understood a bit of that. The ranger had switched languages to ask if they spoke Northern. "

No,

" she said, in Northern. Also, Western. And Western Plains. And Southwestern, where she was from. And possibly the Eastern tongues, for all she knew.

"Ugh," the ranger said, in the same universal tongue. "Western okay?"

"Yes," Snatch said, looking relieved.

She brightened. "Ah, good. Wonderful! I needed chance...a chance to brush up on my Western."

"You're from the Northern Isles, right?" Larya asked. "That first language..."

The ranger blushed. "It was my mother tongue, yes. Yes. I, um...I forgot that nobody here speaks it anymore. It used to be very common."

"And then you tried basic Northern."

"Yes!" She beamed. "It's a beautiful tongue. I loved the tongue. Very, uh, reliable?" Larya nodded. "Yes. Western is harder. You break so many rules in your tongue."

"Right?" Larya giggled. "I'm from the Sagebrush. We have to learn Western

and

Southwestern. It's really—"

"Okay, wow, this is really interesting." Snatch started nodding emphatically between the two women in a way that suggested he wished the ranger had come out with an axe instead. "Wow. I'm learning so much about cultural linguistics right now. But if we can learn something gods-damned

useful

—" He pointed at the ranger. "What the hell are you doing out here in the Knifewoods?"

The ranger frowned at him. She performed a slight bow, aimed mostly towards Larya, and gave Larya a little wink that seemed to Larya almost flirtatious. "Back home, I was called Alma Alegrin. Spirit Ranger, at your service. I came here to investigate rumors of daemon seeds infesting the forest."

"Daemon seeds?" Larya blinked.

Alma beckoned. "Come. Come inside. I would show you."

Larya and Snatch exchanged another look. This time, they were in considerably less agreement. Everything in Snatch's eyes was telling Larya that he wanted to be elsewhere. Less out of paranoia, now, and more out of extreme disinterest.

But something about Alma had Larya interested. She wasn't sure if it was the promise of some new knowledge, or—she blushed—Alma's pretty smile. But in the absence of clerics and paladins, in the absence of gods, the rangers had become the one line of stalwart defense for the common people of the continent. Larya and Snatch both knew that if you couldn't trust a ranger, you really couldn't trust anybody.

And besides, Alma seemed so

nice

. Larya really wanted to be able to trust someone like her.

Especially with those hips,

the bad part of her mind whispered—the part that had told her how to lick a succubus to orgasm, the part that had convinced her to give in to Balabar and his nymph pet.

Look at 'em sway. It's like a damn pendulum. I'm betting she wants to be able to 'trust' us, too.

She walked after Alma, Snatch trailing behind her.

The interior of the ranger outpost was almost exactly what Larya had expected in being nothing like what she could have predicted. Cloves of garlic hung all over the walls. Strands of silver beads swung from the rafters. Two desks were strewn in strange tools and weapons. Books lined the walls. One of them bore the holy symbol of Patticus, the god of life, fertility, and easy passings. That probably wasn't cheap. Holy books were basically antiques these days.

A ladder led up to the attic, where Larya was guessing Alma slept. Larya could have sworn Alma glanced at the trapdoor, then back at her, and gave another little wink.

You're imagining things,

she told herself.

And probably making everyone really uncomfortable.

Alma turned and leaned over one of the desks, picking up a small wooden chest. She held it out to Larya, giving that wide, open smile of hers. "Here. Hold this."

Larya stared into those bright, sparkling eyes, and knew she would do whatever Alma asked her to do. Why wouldn't she? She smiled back and accepted the chest. She watched Alma's wide hips sway as she walked back towards the door, which now seemed impossibly far away. Alma was so beautiful, and she walked so sensuously. Larya watched her walk for what felt like ten minutes, her head tilting slightly to the side. She knew she had a big, dumb smile on her face, but nobody saw it. Thank the gods.

Snatch was lingering by the entrance, looking particularly antsy. Alma leaned towards him. "You don't

have

to come in, you know," Larya heard her say, her musical voice full of good-natured mirth.

Snatch frowned. He shook his head. "Uh...I don't have to come in, I know. Don't really

want

to, is the thing." He looked at Larya, and Larya knew he knew what she was hoping for out of this meeting. It was nice of him to let her have it. Or maybe he was just looking for a chance to get rid of her.

Well, screw him. He hadn't been any use so far, anyways. Larya giggled as Alma swung the door shut practically in his face. He looked so befuddled.

No, she'd made up her mind. She knew he'd had enough of her. She'd had enough of him. She found herself grinning as Alma turned that beatific smile back on her. And she hadn't had nearly enough of Alma yet.

Alma sauntered over, eyes darting over to Larya's chest. "So, do we want to see what is inside?"

Larya blinked. "H-huh?"

Alma tapped the chest Larya was holding with one finger, smirking.

"Oh!" Larya went bright red. She nodded, setting the chest down on the desk and opening it.

She blinked. "...Huh."

Inside were five little silver beads. They reminded her of those hanging from the ceiling, but considerably larger, considerably brighter. They glittered in the light, reflecting her blue eyes, reflecting her dark hair.

They were so...glowey. So...pretty. Larya found herself reaching towards one without even thinking about them.

A cool hand touched her own.

Larya gave a start. She turned to Alma, whose smile had turned a little sad for some reason. Almost wistful. "I didn't think you wanted to do that."

"I, uh..." It felt like a fog was lifting. Larya stared at the ranger, her head cocking to the side.

Alma giggled. "Daemon seeds.

Piesas

—pieces? Pieces of lost soul material, inching their way into our world, seeking a body." She patted the side of the chest. "There's a reason I kept them sealed up."

"That's not natural, is it?" Larya's eyes narrowed. She eyed the five glowing balls—each about the size of a small plum—with new suspicion. "What would have happened if I'd touched one?"

"You would want to...well, there's nothing more willful than a piece of unshaped soulstuff seeking a host." Alma shrugged. She pushed the chest against the wall, and seemed about to close it, but hesitated. "Just being around them was dangerous, really. They're like...magnets. Tugging you towards them, pulling you, as inescapable as gravity." She grimaced. "And once a person gets infested by the stuff, that is...that is that. No more." The ranger shrugged. "Poof."

"Is it fatal?"

Alma turned back to her, smiling that sad smile again. "Yes. Many have died to it, and this is where daemons come from. Once a host is taken, the seed latches onto their soul very quickly, pulling it away from its own body and using the energy from its home to create a new form. The body is cast aside, and in its place rises a young daemon in their image. And that daemon is a hole which through...A hole through which come more seeds." She glanced up. "When I came here, it had already taken a doe and her fawn. I put them down and gathered what I could."

"Poor doe."

"Poor me." Alma laughed. She rolled up her tunic, exposing her curvy belly. There was a noticeable scar. Larya stared at it, wincing sympathetically. "The daemon that was in the doe did not die quietly. Daemons want to live. They don't know that they're already dead, I think."

"Geez." Larya walked over and slid some stuff on the other desk away, sitting down on top of it. Her head brushed against the dangling silver beads, and she reflexively flinched. She wasn't sure why. "But that's all the seeds there, right?"

"I gathered every one. I was very sure." Alma nodded. She reached over and started to close the chest, then, again, didn't. She frowned at Larya. "You're a druid."

"You can tell?"

"It's the staff." Alma gestured to Larya's only weapon. "It wasn't cut, was it? Gathered by a druid's magic."