[b][u][center]A Study of Connections Part 2 For a-lycotonum By Draconicon[/center][/u][/b] Hazel slept in fits and bursts through the night, wakened regularly from sexual dreams and the physical manifestations of such frustrations. More than once, she woke up and simply stared down at the wet spot in her blankets, giving it the harshest glare that she could muster up before falling back into her blankets in frustration. She had masturbated once – once – and that had been the hardest thing that she had done in years. After all, it was the holy temple, and she wasn’t supposed to go that far without someone else there to…help her along, so to speak. [i]I never realized how annoying that rule was,[/i] she thought as she got up the next morning, barely rested and more than slightly annoyed at the way that her sex continued to slicken up through the process. [i]Either chastity or being with someone…that should have been the easy part…[/i] Yet here she was, sexually frustrated and beyond needy. She dabbed her sex several times before she pulled a fresh dress on, trying to ignore the slight scent that still filled the air despite her best efforts. She wanted to ignore the way that her pussy was constantly pushing for attention, but… Well, it was going to be one of those days. It wasn’t like she could invite the average person back to her bed when she had a dog pussy between her legs, now, was it? And it wasn’t like she was going to be able to do anything about it for a while. The Grand Festival was starting today, and that meant that everyone that wasn’t already attached to someone, that wasn’t building up a family, would be busy trying to find a partner for that. The great ritual of Erastil filled the air with love and need, and encouraged people to find their partners, their future family, and that… That meant that most people would be ‘busy’ for a while. Once they found someone, they’d be too eager to keep going to really pay attention to anyone that didn’t have a partner. She would be completely out of luck when it came to getting any relief. Hazel would have been okay with that, but there was something about the animal anatomy that continued to beg for attention, continued to push for it at all times. No matter how many times she had satisfied it on the road, she had never quite managed to make it stop pulsing, throbbing, begging for something more. She wanted to give in right now and just rub it, finger it, but duties distracted her and reminded her of what was expected now that she was back at the Grand Temple. Nothing that she wanted to do, everything that she had to do. Hazel forced the dress down, sliding her sandals on before leaving her tiny quarters. She made her way into the wood-walled, curved hallways that were the norm in the Grand Temple. There were no straight lines, as the trees that had formed the walls had none. There were natural bends and breaks, random curves, sweeping, sliding hallways that seemed to run in one direction before suddenly going in another one, and it was completely out of control and beyond reason. It was only through long-term dwelling here that anyone managed to remember what hallway went where and the fastest way to get there. Even she, with her memories, still failed when she found a few new hallways and corridors that hadn’t been there when she had been living and learning in the temple. She got turned around and had to take several different routes than she remembered to return to the Grand Chamber, where High Priest Drust was waiting for her. Him…and a hobgoblin. Hazel did her best not to stumble when she entered the room and saw the tall creature. She had seen goblins before, but hobgoblins were more rare in her experience, creatures that were less common in the world due to their strange way of coming about. He had red-orange flesh, much different from the goblins that she was used to seeing, and he had far more muscles than they did. Oddly enough, he also had a bit of a flattened nose, almost like it was pushed in and squished, and the nostrils were…oddly rounded, making him look even more bestial than the hobgoblin needed to. “Sister Hazel,” Tristan said, nodding and bowing his head to her. “This is Warlord Vakrozad, leader of the hobgoblins that have come for the Festival.” “Mmmph. First time for everything,” Vakrozad said. “Your High Priest promises that it’ll be worth the time.” “I’m sure that it will be,” Hazel said. “I’m surprised that you were willing to come, considering the difficulties that we’ve all had in the past.” “Heh, you mean the raids?” “That is one way of putting it.” “Yeah, wasn’t my clan. We’ve been busy with other shit, other stuff. Why do ya think that your High Priest even let us across the border?” [i]That’s what I’m wondering…[/i] She glanced out of the corner of her eye at Tristan, but he didn’t meet her gaze. She hadn’t forgotten what he’d said in the library. It wasn’t elves or humans that had pushed him to become the High Priest of the temple, and that meant that there was someone else that had awoken the ambition or the reason to take the reins. She just needed to figure out who and what. Regardless, she stepped forward and curtsied, lifting her head to meet the hobgoblin’s stare. He looked at her with a bit of interest, then greater curiosity, almost like he had seen something on the second look that demanded that he pay more attention. She only hoped that it was something aside from the possible smell that was coming from under her skirt. Hoping to shift that attention, she cleared her throat. “I’m to be assigned to you and your band as a guide for the Festival,” she said. “A guide? Drust, what the hell is going on?” “It’s merely to keep you safe,” the High Priest said, bowing his head. “There are many that aren’t ready for the presence of your people here, no matter what I do to try and open their minds. I have assigned Hazel to you as a way for you to negotiate these situations without causing any violent altercations on the part of the villagers.” “…Not on our part?” “I trust you,” Tristan said. “I know that this isn’t what you want, but there are those that will believe nothing but the worst of you. So, I am placing Hazel in your care and in your trust, so that you can have someone that can deescalate the situation if it begins.” “…So long as you still trust us, Drust. We came here because we trust you, not because we trust the rest of your people.” Hazel found the exchange somewhat fascinating despite herself. She had seen that there was much care in the teachings of Erastil for most of the different creatures in the world – at least, those of the civilized persuasion – but this was the first time that she had seen a High Priest, or any priest, reach out to someone that traditionally had been an enemy and offer them comfort and safety instead. She had to admit, it was a mark in the High Priest’s favor, in her opinion. There were plenty of people that would disagree, particularly in the higher echelons of the temple, but in her mind, Tristan had gone up a few notches. The hobgoblin turned to her again, adjusting some of his leather armor and the metal straps that ran between them. He was a tall figure, standing almost seven feet tall, and he clearly had some sort of condition beyond merely being a hobgoblin with that nose and some of the other features that she could see. He was hairier than the average goblin, and there were other things that made her curious. Vakrozad cleared his throat. “Then, Hazel. Come with me.” “We are going back to your camp?” “Yes. Seems like it’s the right time.” “You won’t be needed to cast the ritual tonight, Hazel,” Tristan said, giving her a nod. “You have the blessing of Erastil to go with him.” She didn’t miss the difference in the language. There was the blessing of Erastil there, but not necessarily of the church. The half-elf nodded, putting that in the back of her head with all the other things that she had to keep in mind for this assignment. The fact that the hobgoblins had been worshipers of Melchiresa, the fact that she was doing this somewhat off the books, the fact that Tristan was interested in this but for his own reasons: they were all put into the same little file in the back of her head, and stored up for later. Taking the hobgoblin’s hand, she allowed herself to be led from the Grand Chamber, and soon, they were outside again, walking through the streets of the village around the temple. “Where did you and your clan come from?” Hazel asked as they walked beside one another. “The west,” Vakrozad said. “We were one of the supreme clans out there, before Drust came to see us.” “What happened after that?” “Perceived weakness,” he said with a shrug and grunt. “You deal with humans once, then everyone thinks that they can start taking what you got. They think that if you’re not eating them, then you aren’t interested in being strong.” “I thought you were supreme?” “We were, but that’s because we only had to beat down a few different clans at a time. When word got out about Tristan’s visit, we had to fight more than ten different clans.” She winced. The idea that they had been under that level of siege just because they had listened to someone from outside their own species was a monstrous thing. Then again, hobgoblins were meant to be monstrous folk. Perhaps there was something of a germ of truth to the stereotype after all. “Anyway, Drust invited us to come out here. We came.” “Just because of him?” “Heh. Does it matter?” “So, no?” “…Fucking smarties.” He gave her a shove that, while playful, was still more than enough to knock her right off her feet. She grunted as she hit the ground, and he blinked as he looked down at her. “Damn.” “What? You were the one that pushed me.” “Yeah, but – you know what, never mind.” He reached down, picking her up, but Hazel’s mind was already puzzling it together just from that short exchange. He had looked surprised, and that brief exchange meant that he had expected something other than her going over. She cocked her head to the side, looking up at him. “What?” he asked. “You expected me to stay standing.” “Well, yeah.” “Why would I be able to take a push from a hobgoblin, particularly one as strong as you?” “Your smell.” She stiffened at that, her eyes widening slightly. Vakrozad’s eyes widened a little bit too, and he slapped his forehead. “Ah, fuck.” “You…you know?” “Kinda fucking obvious, you know, least with my nose.” “Don’t…don’t tell anyone.” “Does Drust know?” “He knows,” she lied. Or at least, half-lied. He had to know some of it, but there was no way that he knew all of it. “Well, if Drust doesn’t care that you’re a werewolf, neither do I.” Werewolf. Hazel had to put everything into not collapsing into a puddle of relief right then and there when he said that, and it was like her heart actually started again after being petrified with fear. A werewolf; he just thought that she was a werewolf, and that was why she smelled of dog and lust. That was a relief. That was a huge relief. He didn’t know the truth, didn’t know what had happened to her. She forced a smile, and didn’t have to work hard to make it a nervous one. “He doesn’t exactly ‘care.’ It’s more like he finds it useful.” “Heh, like my clan finds my shifting useful.” “Shifting?” She blinked. “What kind –” “Wereboar.” “…That explains the nose,” Hazel admitted. It was surprising how easy it was to talk to the hobgoblin. She had expected this to be much worse, much harder to do, but instead, she found herself rather interested in seeing how he would react to things. That, and the way that he just took to her despite both halves of her heritage having been his enemies for so long, meant that she just felt like she had to do something to be as good as he was. There was a strange sort of need to prove herself right then and there. But she felt that she was doing okay. Not great, but okay. The villagers were staring at them, though, particularly as they were still chatting right there in the open. She looked around at some of them, at the baker’s children that were running the place now and how they looked at her with wariness rather than welcome. She looked at the archer that walked the streets, how he had gone from looking at her with welcome to looking at her with judgment. The difference between the day before and today was palpable, and it showed her, once more, that there were things that could be improved, even with the church of the god of family. “Let’s keep moving,” she muttered. “Yeah. They got the dagger eyes right now.” “You get that a lot?” “Yeah. Come on.” # It turned out that the hobgoblin encampment was quite close to the village, probably closer than any of the villagers would have liked. Less than five minutes out, in the forest on the western side of the village, was where the clan had set up camp, and though the fires were carefully banked and hidden, she could still make them out as soon as they were in the forest proper. The smell of smoke was hard to miss. The camp itself, though, was something that felt oddly welcoming. There were no separate tents or huts. Instead, there was one long ring of cloth that surrounded the campsite, with a single opening facing towards the village that was probably meant for a gateway. Vakrozad led her in, and the campfires were revealed, half-buried in the ground and with shelters around them to keep the lights from being seen. Hobgoblins were abundant around them, ranging from pure orange in color to pure red, and they went from people her height to one or two even taller than the warlord. The only unifying factor between them was the leather and metal that they wore. Despite everything, they were still dressed for fighting, and considering the glares that they had been getting in the village, she couldn’t blame them. [i]The monsters might not always fight for the sake of fighting. They might just be fighting because there’s nothing else that they can expect to do,[/i] she thought. [i]If we didn’t take that choice away…[/i] But there was nothing that she could do on her lonesome. That said, she planned on having a long talk with Tristan to see what she could do in the church to make his work with the hobgoblins go smoother and quicker. He led her to one of the fires, sitting down by a cooking leg of venison. It looked like it was mostly done, and she wondered if they were going to be serving dinner before long. There were two other hobgoblins around the fire, and they chuckled at the warlord’s approach. “Hey, Vak. What’s the news?” “We’re welcome for the Festival. And they gave us a guard dog,” the warlord said, gesturing at her with his thumb. “Heh, doesn’t look like a guard dog.” “Yeah, looks more like a lapdog.” “Well, I’m hardly sitting on anyone’s lap these days,” Hazel said, almost before she realized what had come out of her mouth. Rather than offending the hobgoblins, though, the quip actually got them howling. The two of them threw their heads back and laughed, and even Vakrozad smirked slightly at the comment. The one that had started the conversation recovered first, shaking his head and wiping his eyes. “Ah, fuck, fuck, Vak, you didn’t tell me that you got one with a mouth on her!” Hazel blushed slightly, finding it odd that the monsters were actually [i]enjoying[/i] the backtalk. She was so used to seeing people – even human men – getting angry when one was sarcastic or joking back with them. The fact that the hobgoblins didn’t even know her and immediately turned it into a good thing was beyond expectations. [i]I guess Tristan really did have the right idea.[/i] Vakrozad sprawled out, kicking off his boots and putting his feet by the fire. The rest of the hobgoblins were just as relaxed, gradually turning the meat here and there, and she was quiet as they started talking to each other. It was time to listen, time to study. Right from the start, they confirmed that they were more or less a martial sort of society. The warlord, despite his relaxed nature, never went long before his rank was recognized or pointed out, and the other two were talked to by their ranks – lieutenant and sergeant respectively – as much as they were by their names. Scouts, soldiers, patrols: all that was part of the conversation long before they got to the topic of the town. Varkozad made it clear that he wanted at least half the warriors with the camp at any given time, and that the only weapons that they were to bring into the village were daggers or shortswords, nothing bigger. He didn’t want spears, longswords, bows, or anything else that’d get the locals pissed off. It was a good way of handling things without being stupid, and having most of his warriors kept at the camp was a good way to keep everyone else safe while not intimidating the rest of the village. She had to give him credit for intelligence. She wouldn’t have guessed that he was willing to take the defensive side. She must have shown some of her surprise on her face, because he eventually turned to her, chuckling. “What’s got you so shocked, guard dog?” he teased. “What are you talking about?” “You’re staring. And your mouth’s open.” “…Barely,” she said, deliberately pulling it shut with a click. “Hehehe.” “Just…not used to seeing this. I expected something worse.” “Because we’re hobgoblins?” “That, and…who you used to worship.” The lieutenant and sergeant flicked their heads up with a sharp stare, but the warlord gestured for them to go back to cooking. Hazel, however, didn’t miss their expressions. Something was a bit off there. “Vakrozad? What’s going on?” “What’d Drust tell you?” the wereboar asked. “He said that he’d convinced you to worship Erastil instead of Melchiresa.” “Heh. Ambitious fuck, that man. Nah, not really.” “Then…you actually…” “Worship the Demon Lord?” He laughed. “We worship her, and we worship him.” “…” If her mouth had been slightly hanging open before, now it was gaping open. Her jaw was dropped, her eyes were wide, and she had every possible look of shock on her face that one could imagine. She slowly shook her head, looking at him, then at the other hobgoblins. They shrugged, confirming it. “How? How can you…” “Eh, it just feels right,” he said with a shrug. “Something about the both of them feels right to us. They both got something that the other doesn’t.” They both had something that the other didn’t. Despite herself, her eyes went a bit wide. She remembered feeling that when she had been in her hellhound shape, and she remembered how it had felt to compare the two of them. They should have been completely incompatible, what with one being a god and the other being a Demon Lord, but instead, it felt like she had been weighing two different, similar things, ones that were meant to work together rather than against each other. Everyone on the Erastil side of things, apart from Tristan, would have accused her of heresy on the feeling alone. Yet, here, the hobgoblins just flat-out admitted that they were worshiping both at the same time. It was bizarre, yet, at the same time, an opportunity that could not be passed up. She could find out things that no other could have told her, in a place that was at least halfway safe. Halfway, because she knew that there was a chance of the hobgoblins lying to her and Tristan. There was a possibility of that, despite everything that had happened so far. She could not allow comfort to get in the way of common sense. Leaning back a bit, allowing her sandaled feet to stick out past the edge of her dress, she looked down at the ground. How did she approach something like this? What was the best way to bring up what she wanted to learn? Well, from everything that she had seen so far, directness was appreciated. “What was it like, worshiping a Demon Lord?” “Eh, not that different from a god. More sacrifices, though,” he said, chuckling. “That bitch has a lot of hunger.” “Well, she is the mistress of the hunt.” “Heh, you know her?” “There’s…been occasion to study her before,” Hazel admitted. “Well, then. You’d better talk to the shaman later. She’ll have plenty of stuff to tell you.” “Shaman?” she asked. “You have one of those?” “Yeah. Ol’ Mol, the Seer. She’s been working with me to keep this clan in shape for years.” “Decades, Warlord,” the lieutenant said with a chuckle. “You calling me that old, soldier?” “Nah, she’s that old, you just got started young.” There was a half-surge of anger and pride at the same time from the hobgoblin, and Haze had to admit, it was almost…cute, in a way. He actually looked both proud and offended at the same time, and it was such a childish, overblown emotion that she couldn’t help but giggle up her sleeve at the sight of it. Yet, at the same time, she could see the bit of monster stuff under the surface. The way that the hobgoblins laughed so easily was mirrored in how quickly Vakrozad got angry. They were mercurial creatures, not yet so in charge of their emotions as the rest of the civilized folk that she knew and understood better. She could see that they were trying, that they were doing their best, but at the same time, they weren’t quite there yet. They were still struggling to pull themselves up from their base instincts and make a go at it. And that meant that there wasn’t complete safety here. Hazel took a deep breath, reminding herself that she had been invited here, and despite it all, the hobgoblins did seem to be genuine in their wish to be here. She rubbed the back of her neck as she looked down at the fire, making herself be comfortable. It wasn’t as good as being comfortable was, but it was better than nothing. As the day wore on and she learned a bit more about the people in camp, she could feel the tingles of the ritual beginning. Some of the hobgoblins started getting antsy, and she saw some of the warriors tugging at their hands, pulling at their breeches here and there. There were even some of them that started disappearing into the ringed tent, males and females tugging each other along, and sometimes even two men at the same time. She was surprised at that. She had never really seen two men go off to have that sort of fun together with Erastil’s holy Festival, but she supposed that…well, it was possible. It just wasn’t something that she’d seen before – [i]Oh gods…[/i] Or two women that were interested in each other, too. She watched as several hobgoblin females disappeared into a tent, groping at each other’s asses before disappearing. Hazel covered her eyes and her reddening cheeks as she realized just how much this was going to embarrass her, and how quickly. Vakrozad noticed, nodding his head towards the disappearing couples. “The fuck’s going on, guard dog?” “That’s, um, the beginning of the ritual,” she admitted. “The beginning of the Festival.” “You better explain that, girl, and fast.” “Erastil is all about family, and you can’t have a family without two parents,” she said, trying to go through it as quickly as she could. “And if you need parents, the fastest way to get them to start making kids is to…well…” “Fuck?” “That’s not quite the word I was going for, but yes.” “So, you guys do some sort of god-magic that makes everyone horny for each other?” “Well, no. It’s more loving than that, but there is…there is a side effect of…” The way that he stared at her, she wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling. She knew that there was more than a little bit of arousal in that stare, and if he was a wereboar, she could only imagine what that might do to him if he let it get out of control. Yet, at the same time, she could see curiosity, annoyance, and more emotions there, all bubbling and fighting for supremacy inside of him. Considering his emotional nature earlier, that conflict between emotions was probably the main reason why he wasn’t actually storming about right then and there. “There, um, there is a side effect of being attracted to people, and wanting to, um, how you might say…seal the deal,” she said, feeling her own flustered feelings just below the surface. “And that tends to make people more willing to…to do things that they might otherwise avoid…” “You feeling it, too?” “It affects everyone in the area,” she said. “There’s no getting away from it.” “Hey, uh, Warlord?” the sergeant said. “Yeah?” “Isn’t ol’ Mol single?” “…” “…” “…” “EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF!” Vakrozad shouted, and just like that, the campfire was abandoned, only returned to for a moment as the lieutenant yoinked the venison off the fire. Hazel was left alone, and her eyes were just a bit wide as she realized how she had just sparked a very different sort of panic with the hobgoblins. Still, she didn’t mind being a bit alone. It allowed her to have a moment’s peace with the slow throbbing that was starting to build between her legs. The way that her canine sex was starting to clench and squeeze was very different to the wild heats that she had been feeling while she was on the way to the temple. No less strong, of course, but there was something different to them. Something…symbiotic, in a way. As the magic of Erastil filled the air, she felt both the hunger to be filled, and the hunger to contain. The need to be rutted, and the need to hold someone close after. The latter came from the temple and the ritual, she knew, but the fact that it fit with the way that she felt all the time now was… Was surprisingly good. She hugged herself around the middle, the half-elf suddenly acutely aware of what she was missing. There had been something of what she needed with Vitus, but she had cut herself off from him by doing this. He could have filled this ache, could have been there for her, but he wasn’t. Nobody that would understand was. Nobody… Nobody but the hobgoblins, but they weren’t really an option…were they? [i]Ugh. Why would I even think that? There’s nothing going on between me and Vakrozad, nothing between me and the other hobgoblins. The only thing happening is the ritual.[/i] But they would understand, she knew. They were former followers of Melchiresa, and possibly still followers to a degree, based on what Vakrozad had said. The warlord said that they worshiped god and demon at the same level, that to them, they were meant to be together. That was something that was worth looking into…and it was supported with how she was feeling right then and there. She still felt guilty with what she had done on the road, but there was something to this odd melding of feelings that took some of that away. It told her that she was looking for something that she could not get from anyone at that time, so she got the nearest substitute instead. And if she needed that again, then it was only right to pursue it. And from the warmth between her legs, she knew that she was going to need it. [i]…I’m not in the temple…but I am not going to just get off at the fire.[/i] Hazel got to her feet, slowly walking out of the encampment and making her way into the woods. Nobody followed her, nobody questioned her. The half-elf made her way to one of the bigger, taller trees, and took up a spot behind it, making sure that nobody could sneak up on her without her knowing. Then, finally, she hiked up her dress, pushed her underwear off to the side, and started touching herself. “Ooooh…” She needed it more than she realized. The canine, twisted folds down there were soaked with her juices, and it felt hotter than ever. On fire, almost, feeling like it would burn her fingers if she wasn’t careful. Hazel slowly slipped her fingers down and in, and her toes curled in her sandals, and she gritted her teeth. The worst part was, as she started touching herself, as she started fingering herself, she almost swore she heard a ghostly, feminine voice whispering ‘[i]good dog[/i]’ to her. [b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b] Summary: Hazel meets with the hobgoblins and finds out that they’re not so bad, and that they actually will have quite a bit to offer her. Yet, they are still monsters, and she needs to be smart about this. Tags: F/solo, human, hobgoblin, half-elf, fantasy, D&D, magic, masturbation, wet, heat, ritual, coupling, humor, corruption, embarrassment, series,