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In Shadowed Silence Ch. 01

By: Brasstacks



In Shadowed Silence: Chapter 1

Two bodies writhed intertwined on satin sheets, the soft glow of candles setting their skin aglow. Soft, passionate sounds filled the large bedchamber. The man was pale, a bit soft-looking of body and perhaps a bit past his prime. The woman, by contrast, was fit, lithe and young, with the swarthy skin of the seafaring people of Trigandus. She rolled the nobleman over so that she was on top, her long black hair just brushing his pale chest as her slender hips rolled and gyrated over his. Their eyes were locked together in passion, and she murmured to him urgently, her sotto voice intense with need, as though she could talk him to orgasm. 

Neither lover, thus occupied, noted the odd movement of shadow from the high bedchamber's balcony. The form stopped in its motion just inside the curtains which were gently billowing within the open doors of glass and fine wood in the night breeze. Had the sporting noble chanced to look toward the moon or the graceful edifice of the temple of Thalyssia, with its elegant marble architecture and sprawling, manicured grounds, in the East beyond the balcony outside, the thief would have been plainly outlined in the silvery light. A loud moan escaped the lovely, full lips of the sable-haired woman, and the man beneath her slid his hands and eyes from her hips to sweat-slicked breasts. Just then, neither seemed to have the presence of mind to know anything beyond their own bodies, beyond passion and sensation.

The shadowy thief in question had no idea that he was exposed to sight, as his interest and intentions had been somewhat subverted by other exposed things in those lavish apartments. He caught his breath at the moan, and felt his jaw go slack at the play of candle light upon the gently swaying swell of the foreigner's perfectly formed bosom. Her breasts, with their cream-and-coffee tone, and large, dark nipples, glistened with the sweat of her exertions, the pert nubs rigid with her arousal. He was well and truly mesmerized by the sight of this magnificently formed woman, and were there a hypnotist present to whisper in his ear, he'd have sworn off his life of crime, or any other thing he was asked at that moment.

I love my job, the thief thought to himself. 

The thought alone shocked him back into awareness. He had trained himself in the shadowy arts in the streets of Loria, and silence was his watchword. Becoming distracted could be a life-threatening mistake; one stumble, one misstep could be his last. And woe be it if the Guilds caught wind of his freelancing; the guildmasters would not look kindly upon him encroaching on their territories without paying tribute. They could react... violently.

Compared to what the guilds would do to him, running afoul of the guards and being put in stocks, jailed, or even losing a hand seemed like a pleasant prospect. He'd already been caught with his hand in a wizard's pantry; even a dabbling hedge wizard can be terrifying. He was lucky he didn't do any time as something slimy and unnatural, mindlessly scouring the muck and offal from the bottom of the hole in the wizard's privy. As it was, he'd had to do a couple of months' work gathering items the wizard needed to pay off his 'debt of Karma', as Fend had put it.

He had thus stricken both wizards and the priesthood from his list of marks. Though he'd never tested himself against any temple's defenses, he chalked them off just to be safe; he was possessed of a fine enough imagination for horrid things that he declined to press his luck in that arena. Aulric had a haywain-load of troubles and complications to deal with on a daily basis without making even more enemies than he already had, just by virtue of who and what he was, and what he did to scratch out a living. 

However, it was not often that the thief was treated to this kind of sight. The woman was simply luscious. The line of her arched back, her flawless, dark, exotic skin tone, her long, wild hair framing her angular face, drew the eyes and enticed nicely. Her hips rolled with a boneless grace, the motion causing the thief's breeches to seem suddenly a couple sizes too small. A bead of sweat sparkled in the candle's light, and lazily rolled down the Trigandoi woman's back languidly, catching his eye and holding it. Visions of following that drop of salty perspiration with his fingers, or better, his tongue, filled his mind. 

But that was not his fate. Survival first. This kind of woman was not to be a thief's prize. The uncomfortably stiffening member in his pants knew no such limitations, and was voicing its objections.

Focus, Aulric, he chided himself mentally, and got back to work.

The bedchamber was insanely large and ostentatious, lit by only a few candles near the bed. Luxurious wall hangings covered every inch of wall that was not layered in rich, dark woodwork. Burgundy carpeting stretched from the doors of the balcony to every wall, not an inch of cold stone to meet bare feet. The furnishings were equally rich, in dark mahogany and teak, cushioned chairs near at hand to Aulric's left. Just beyond this sitting area nearest the balcony was the bed, its headboard high and carved with frescoes of hunting scenes and fae-like creatures sporting. It's posts reached to the high ceiling, shrouded in diaphanous, cloudlike lengths of gauzy cloth. 

A wardrobe loomed on the other side of the gigantic bed, a dressing screen mostly blocking the view of the lintel over a great wooden door. Across an expanse of ten feet of carpet opposite the bed was a dressing table, gilt and topped with a huge, crystal-clear mirror. At the room's far corner lay a nook with a writing desk, high-backed chair and bookshelves behind, all sumptuously carven, in exquisite woods and workmanship. Every available nook not occupied by furniture or curios was adorned with potted plants of every description, adding their aromas and a certain vibrant life to the space.

Silver candelabras, decanters, goblets and trinkets of every stripe filled tables and shelves, laying a heavy temptation over the entire room. Silver adorned most of the articles in the chamber, which was hardly surprising, considering the Lord Amburgey had made his fortune in mining rights in the nearby Eyre of Heaven, the mountain range to the north. 

Aulric crept silently onto the thick, luxuriant, burgundy carpet, silent as a shadow and lithe as a cat. Crouching low and moving in a wide-footed stalk, his head barely reached the level of the large bed the noble and tonight's plaything labored upon; he was as good as invisible. He bypassed the dressing table at the wall near the foot of the bed. The noble's jewelry and other fine things were there, but fencing such things within Loria was pure folly. 

He passed as well a silver decanter full of what smelled like fine mead, though the intoxicating and heady scent of sex filling the room distracted his senses. The silver pitcher, while easily transported and fenced, would be missed immediately upon the lovers' need for refreshment. There was a slight temptation for a sip of the sweet honey wine, for what chance would he have to taste anything so fine? But no. His gut told him that tarrying here would be a fatal error, and his instincts had rarely led him astray. 

The shadows in the room shifted strangely as the couple on the bed changed positions and the young thief froze, near a fernlike potted plant on his way to his goal. He shot a glance out of the corner of his eye at the man, now climbing to his knees, mounting the panting woman from behind. Shadow and moonlight and candlelight conspired to make the scene more sinister from this angle; shadows sharpened and loomed. The lovers on the bed might as well been wrestling demons, and the carpet seemed to Aulric a darker, bloody red. He grimaced under his dark grey mask and hood at this omen. 

Something within the thief clenched and shrunk from the sudden dread , but he was a scant five feet from the alcove where the Lord Amburgey kept his strongbox. His reconnoiter some nights before had shown him where he needed to go. The writing desk and high-backed, darkwood and burgundy, leather-upholstered chair blocked his view of most of the bookshelves recessed into the wall behind them. The coffer was nestled into the bottom shelf behind a clever bit of paneling that would swing outward with the manipulation of a hidden catch lever concealed in the scrollwork decorating it. Once satisfied that he would not be discovered, he continued.

As loudly as the woman was moaning and beginning to cry out her passion in her native tongue, the young thief could well have taken an axe to said panel, and Lord Amburgey would not have heard. The rhythmic slapping of the pale flesh of Amburgey's hips against her shapely posterior applied a beat and counterpoint to their debauched dance, and Aulric knew he had to hurry. The time, as they were fond of saying, was drawing nigh. He slipped behind the writing desk and felt for the catch lever at the base of the bookshelves, placing his free hand upon the panel itself to quiet its release and lower it softly. 

The pace of the nobleman's thrusts, by the sound of it, were reaching a speed which the young street thief scarcely thought possible, or healthy for the man at his advancement of age. He quirked a brow and was not just a little impressed. The wild cries of the woman in her own strange tongue, her hissing intake of breath, and the unceasing, wet slap of flesh on flesh drew a sort of bewildered admiration out of Aulric as he felt carefully inside the recess in which the coffer lay. In his mind a clock ticked loudly, telling him that he was out of time, and he was past the point where he could still leave while the Lord and his concubine were occupied. This was going to get sticky... so to speak.

He found the slender wire attached to the back of the strongbox. The wire led to a hook at its end, looped through an eyelet screwed into the coffer's back. He didn't know what this trap would do, and wasn't inclined to find out, whether it be a devilish magical trap or a simple alarm. His mind conjured images of acid spraying from hidden atomizers in the woodwork and melting his flesh from his bones, or a subtler curse that swelled his hands to twice their normal size; countless possibilities, up to and including simply alerting a guard to come and run him through with nothing more than steel and mean strength. He dispelled those images by disengaging the hook from the eyelet and carefully drawing the box from its resting place. 

Aulric hastily unrolled a soft cloth bundle he kept in a hidden pocket in his vest. He laid it out on the carpet before the coffer and took up the crude but serviceable lock pick set he had cobbled together over the nine years since he had turned thievery into his actual profession. The noise in the room was distracting and the smell of sex overwhelming. He tried to will his raging hard-on to give him some slack. 

How can a guy work under these conditions? The stray, wry thought set off a mental giggling that threatened to spill from his lips. He steeled himself against it, but ironic humor set Aulric's lips stretching into a broad grin. 

Huh. I have performance anxiety. Priceless. 

The cacophony from the bed reached a crescendo, and the thief could hear the headboard rattling and the bed squeaking mightily with the frenzy of the islander's orgasm, accompanied by the Lord's grunts and cries of ecstasy. They had climaxed simultaneously... just as the lock popped open. 

It was good for me, too, Aulric thought with a small, avaricious grin.

The couple on the bed gasped and panted loudly, shivering through aftershocks of their orgasms and murmuring to one another between heaving breaths. Aulric carefully swung the lid open on the strongbox, barely silencing the small bell affixed to the inside of the lid in time, muffling it with a finger. He hissed out a startled breath. The simplest traps were always the trickiest.

Inside the box lay his prize, and his survival. There were twelve neat stacks of coins arranged in a tray that ostensibly could be removed from the box. The gold in that tray alone could make Aulric a comfortable young man for a couple of years to come, with even a few excesses indulged. That left alone the likely gems and trade notes that would lie beneath, among other items of value; deeds, writs from other nobles giving the bearer privileges and rights few could boast... But none of it mattered. 

No. The gold would stay. He would take not one trade note, deed, writ or gem. Aulric had never been an idiot, except by design, to mislead others into underestimating him. Walking around Loria with his lack of station, in the areas he haunted, with a purse brimming with gold coins? No. Uncomfortable questions would be asked by all the wrong sort, if he weren't simply murdered for it. 

Aulric took the scant copper coins first, thirteen in all, then five silver coins. These he stacked upon one another and slipped into a leather fist pack from which he had dumped the sand an hour before in one of the myriad darkened alleys of Loria. The copper would buy him food enough to fill the gnawing hole in his belly for a while at least, and the silver would finish paying off the shady, mean-spirited smith from whom he had commissioned a brace of throwing knives. Perhaps enough that he could upgrade to a real dagger from the simple, flimsy shiv he had ground upon a rock until it could serve as a weapon. He regarded the gold longingly, then palmed another four silver, enough to bribe the watchman who had taken an unhealthy interest in the young thief a few days back. 

The fist pack wasn't full yet. Five more coins would do it. The leather roll would jingle as it was, but just five more coins would allow it to cinch tight enough to silence the coins. The Lord and his lover were exclaiming at their intense session, making plans for the next dalliance out of the eyes of Amburgey's shrewish wife. Ah ha. Aulric smirked as five gold coins went into the leather sap, and hoped he'd be able to squirrel them away someplace safe until he needed them, though a bribe in gold would affect the guardsman's memory more effectively than silver. Plus, the new dagger would be a reality rather than a pipe dream. 

Now the hard part: getting back out with both his prize, and hopefully, his body intact. He replaced the strongbox in its hidden shelf, reattaching the hook to the eyelet, then relocked the box with his picks. Closing the hidden compartment was challenging; Aulric could feel the tension in the catch that would undoubtedly bring a click as it snapped into place. He listened to the illicit lovers chuckle and sigh together, the decanter tapping against the first silver goblet, which rang like a bell, clear and low. The thief waited for the second ring to come before pressing the panel and letting the catch spring home. The resulting sound was more quiet than he expected. 

"Are you sure you shouldn't be getting dressed?" Lord Amburgey was clearly dismissing the foreign woman now.

She laughed airily. "She'll be busy in the stables for a while longer, I should think," she replied lightly, a tone in her voice that Aulric thought dangerous. Dead silence answered. 

By the sound of her voice, she had risen and crossed the floor to where her lover stood. "Come, now, my Lord," she chided lightly. "You don't truly think that she would not seek solace in the arms of another when you do not give her a husband's attention, do you?" More silence. She was playing a dangerous game here. 

Aulric wondered what insanity had gripped her. Amburgey was powerful and subtle; not a man to cross lightly. He could, and had, Aulric knew, made more important people than this Trigandoi woman disappear without a trace. Aulric had tripped over the remains of one of those "disappearances" while fleeing guild enforcers. 

To the thief's surprise, Lord Amburgey simply said, "Quite so." His tone was mild and reasonable, though not so reasonable as to make Aulric worry. "It seems, my exotic Thydara," he murmured to her, his voice a soft, intimate baritone, "That I may hardly be jealous when my own faithfulness is... questionable. Though until you, I had been perfectly faithful to milady Ferona."

Thydara laughed. "No difficult feat, though, my Lord, you must admit," she boldly inferred. "Your desires were all but dried as a corpse upon the desert. Before me, that is."

The Lord Amburgey sniffed distastefully. "Have a care, concubine, else I should become insulted, and call for satisfaction."

She only laughed wickedly at the implication. "So soon? It would seem your ailing hungers have recovered miraculously," she mocked lightly. The lord's rolling chuckle joined hers.

Aulric never stirred in his hiding place. His ankles and thighs ached from the crouch he maintained, and his stomach was threatening to growl menacingly as it ravaged his spine in protest of hunger. At least his cock had stopped being a problem. It seemed as though the verbal sparring would go on indefinitely, and Aulric's risk of discovery increased with each second spent here. Aulric prayed fervently for luck, to whatever god might hear him, knowing no proper name to invoke.

Finally the lord's voice drifted toward the door of the bedchamber along with the woman, and Aulric heard the room's heavy door open and close. He seized upon his chance to make good his escape. The young thief crossed the floor of the room, gained the balcony and slipped down the wall and out into the night, unaware that he had been watched. 

In Shadowed Silence Ch. 02



In Shadowed Silence: Chapter 2

"We agreed the price at five, Olus," Aulric said impatiently. 

The smith shrugged, spreading his beefy arms in a gesture of insincere apology. "Markets rise and fall, street rat," Olus retorted with a self-assured, yellow-toothed grin. He wasn't bothering to base this arbitrary price hike upon anything resembling a valid reason, and he didn't care enough to hide it. He had Aulric over a barrel and he knew it. 

Just you wait, you big, ugly son of a bitch, Aulric thought, until I'm holding the cards. But he said only, "Something that doubles the prices of ore? Amburgey's holdings must be falling on hard times." He paused for effect. "Or maybe you are. My heart bleeds for you." His tone implied that the bleeding was barely a trickle. "A deal's a deal, smith." The young thief narrowed his brown eyes at the ogrish man.

Olus stood impassive, relaxed. He would. He stood a head and more taller than the 'street rat' he treated so lightly with, and outweighed him by the better part of a hundred pounds of muscle. There weren't many half-orcs, or even full-blooded orcs, for that matter, who could boast the height or mass that Olus Grogan did, human as he was. There were rumors of giant-blood in his line, and his size, coupled with a well-known brutish temper and greed did nothing to dispel them. His low brows sat just over wide-set piggish grey eyes and his slightly sloped forehead gave way to a head of short, wiry, coal-black hair. He wore thick pants and heavy boots, and stout leather gloves fit loosely over his ham-fists. His torso was bare but for the smith's apron, and it seemed every inch of him was covered in thick, coarse hair. He leaned haughtily against the anvil in his open-sided dockside shop, toying with a stout pair of tongs, casting a cold, dispassionate stare at the thief. 

Aulric tried for a calm, loose stance, like a confident rogue who had not a care in the world, but his crossed arms lent it the lie. He chided himself for his defensive posture, but, really, faced with this wall of a man, who wouldn't be defensive? Well, maybe one of the insane paladins from the temple of Marek... likely the enforcers from the guild... Well, okay, probably a wizard, but you could bet none of them would stand within the giant man's reach. Except for the paladins. Paladins are all crazy. Aulric, for his part was certainly no paladin, and most assuredly not crazy.

"Take it or leave it, simp," Olus drawled in his gravelly basso. 

He could have tried to play the sympathy card, or the long-time customer angle, but Grogan, Aulric knew, was no sentimental, nor was he likely to stop squeezing every coin he could get out of a customer, no matter how many times they let him wring their purses dry with his giant hands. Olus Grogan was a rock; unmovable, uncaring, and hard. And large, let's not forget large.

There were other rumors about the smith. He was very likely, the young thief thought, the most reprehensible person that he had ever heard of in the twelve years he had spent on the streets, since dipping out of the orphanage the Priestesses of Thalyssia ran near the docks. Hells, there were nobles who were less repugnant.

Ten silver coins in all. Even minus the four he had previously scraped together and paid already, that would almost exhaust everything he had left from the Amburgey housebreak he had pulled three days prior. He'd have but two to rub together with the lone copper remaining. He was going to have to dip into his gold for the fighting blade. Damn and blast. He grudgingly paid the remaining six silver of the balance. 

"Help, I'm being mugged," Aulric groused tonelessly. 

"Spare me the tears, jackoff," Olus grated. "Yer lucky I like you." He took off one glove to take the coins and dropped them in a pouch hanging from his wide belt. He then stood there staring at the thief with an odd expression that Aulric couldn't place. The moment stretched on to infinity, and it made him acutely uncomfortable, not leastwise since the crooked smith had his money, and hadn't given him the knives. 

Aulric tilted his head to look up at Olus with a cocked brow, playing off his discomfiture as annoyance. His posture was right this time, for Grogan gave him a wide, crass grin and went to retrieve the brace of blades. 

"Grab me a solid fighting dagger while you're back there, Grogan," he called after the giant man. An grunt was all he got in answer.

He gave the shop a once over while the massive craftsman had his back turned. The smith's tools were arrayed before him, all hanging from pegs driven into the huge stump the great anvil sat upon. The bellows were visible just beyond it, and the forge itself off to Aulric's right. He had positioned himself so that the oil barrel and water trough were between himself and the smith, just in case. 

Not that I'm scared of him, He denied, even to himself, Oh, no. Not at all. Something in him wasn't convinced, even so. 

To his left Aulric swept his eyes over a cramped collection of barrels and racks that held Olus's working stock; bars, sheets and ingots in iron and steel, along with a few a few greenish gold rods of bronze. Further into his shop, past the bottleneck the smithy's workspace formed, against the closed-off two walls of his shop were lined weapons and tools and bins of nails, half finished projects, and even a partly articulated pauldron (or so the thief thought the shoulder portion of plate armor was called). A low, blocky, open topped oven sat in the far corner with the odd tool, buckets of fine sand, and shelving half full of casting forms. Ah. He'd added a small foundry. 

No hard times for Olus, then, huh? Pity.

Between the racks of finished and half-finished product was a door to the inside of the stone house the smith lived in. The door was partly open, and through it, the young thief saw a pair of wide, staring green eyes. He squinted into the gloom. A girl stood in the doorway, a haunted expression on her dirt-smudged face.

She looked to be somewhere between sixteen and nineteen, in an ill-fitting, filthy, ragged tunic of brown wool. Her thin arms were bared, wrapped around her middle as though she were cold, despite the heat of Loria's early summer afternoon. The sagging neckline of her tunic showed an expanse of the pale flesh of her chest, deep cleavage, and most of her right breast. The pink nipple peeked over the rough fabric, doing its level best to draw the eye. 

The hem of the garment looked to have been hacked off with a dull knife, leaving her dirty but shapely legs bare. There was no way to approach decency in that tunic; it had been made too short to not show something off., and she had chosen to pull it low rather than hide what was, incidentally, a very nice breast. She wore no shoes, but had a shackle on one ankle. What he could see of a chain trailed farther into the house.

Gods, she's beautiful! The thought came unbidden, taking Aulric off-guard. Her cleavage had upped Aulric's estimation of her age, and he didn't feel like such a lech ogling her. Her green eyes bored into his, intense and vulnerable, and at once innocent and wizened. Even without the shackle, it was clear to Aulric she was abused. He knew too well that look. Came of being an orphan and being raised by whomever could find a use for you. Almost none of those uses were gentle, and considering who held her now... He tried to look away from those wounded, wide, green eyes and couldn't. Gooseflesh raised on his arms.

"You!" Grogan's voice grated at the girl, "Get inside. Now." Olus was standing a little to the thief's left, mostly facing Aulric. Either he'd noticed the young man's stare, or he had watched the whole creepy exchange. Aulric couldn't tell. 

Dammit, Aulric, he mentally cursed himself, pay attention!

The girl's eyes widened yet more, and she frantically pulled the door closed. The huge man grunted, then rounded on Aulric. "You didn't see nothing," his deep voice rumbled. "Nothing." Olus leaned in closer, across the trough, pushing a thick finger into the wiry thief's chest. "Understand?"

Aulric smoothed his expression to neutrality and shrugged impassively. He held his hand out to receive his merchandise and check the dagger. Olus regarded him through eyes narrowed to slits, then nodded once and handed him the oilcloth-wrapped bundle. 

He checked the throwing knives for edge and balance, and frowned. Each of the three were weighted differently. The fighting blade was nice, as far as he could tell; good weight and heft, and the blade rang nicely when he held it by the pommel and flicked the tip of the blade. 

"Five," Olus stated. He grinned evilly. "Start saving up, street rat. That's gold I'm talking." 

Aulric grimaced and made as if to hand the blade back.

The smith's eyes narrowed in greedy satisfaction. "But," he dithered, taking back the blade, "Since yer such a loyal customer," he began his pitch , "I could see my way to 4..." 

The thief broke in, with a small chuckle. "Why am I getting the feeling that when you say 'loyal customer' you actually mean 'naive rube'?" He shook his head with what looked like amused scorn. "Come off it, man."

Grogan laughed. "This is why I like you, street rat. Yer funny. Yer tellin' me you actually think I'll go down to three." 

"If you wanna make the damned sale," he stated boldly, "Yeah. You will."

"Ha!" Grogan belted out a loud, basso bark of laughter. "Tell you what, street rat. You have the three gold on you, right now, it's a deal."

Aulric smirked and fished a gold coin from his pocket. Olus's eyebrow arched, almost parting in the middle, and becoming the more customary two that most people have, but not quite. While the smith was staring at the first coin with surprise, the young thief produced a second from the money belt with his left hand and added it to the coin on the right. His smile grew wider, while Grogan started to obviously regret his words. Aulric gave it a few moments, until Olus let out a relieved breath.

He rolled the coins on his fingers and with a flourish, offered them upon his palm-- joined by a third glittering gold coin. Grogan's eyes bulged as though someone had walked up and shot him in the balls with a crossbow. That was melodramatic and maybe a little lame, sure, Aulric thought, but watching the ugly bastard's face fall like that? Worth it. 

"A deal's a deal, Olus," Aulric drawled out. "Unless, of course, the market's changed in the last couple of seconds." 

Olus said nothing and wore a dark scowl.

The thief turned to leave, feeling pretty satisfied with himself. His new fighting blade was a comforting weight at his side, and the brace of throwing blades rode the small of his back. All in all, he hadn't come out too badly in this one. He'd gotten practically bent over the anvil a time or two by Olus, with all the blades he'd had to buy in the past, those either ditched or lost. In addition, if he mulled over what he'd seen at the smithy, he might come away with a lever against Olus in the future. Though, trying to lever Olus Grogan might end up with Aulric bent over the anvil, literally. 

There was more than one rumor about smith Grogan...

He suppressed a shudder. He wasn't surprised that Olus would buy a plaything like the wide-eyed girl, but the shape she was in... It dropped the smith another notch in Aulric's already low estimation. He had probably swiped her off the street, or perhaps bought her off an orphanage. The fact that he was so adamant about Aulric not talking suggested something more was at play here. Olus did not want anyone knowing about his little doe-eyed pet. Hmmm.

He was distracted by his thoughts by the time he rounded Olus's blocky stone house, heading northward toward the center of the grime-coated docks district. Before he had taken five steps, one of Grogan's shutters flew open, and missed hitting him square in the face only by virtue of Aulric's quick reflexes and a windmilling stumble off the muddy boardwalk into the equally muddy street. Leaning a bit out the window was the girl. She must have realized the near miss, for she covered a gasp with one hand, and thrust the other out the window, pressing a piece of yellowed parchment upon Aulric. 

He could only stammer, "What the...?"

Words spilled from her mouth in haste. "Take it! Help me kind sir." Her voice was urgent and pitched low. "Please," she pleaded.

He mechanically took the leaf of parchment, and found himself once again pinioned by her eyes and tried to catch his breath. 

She glanced nervously behind her, back into the house. "I've no time. The note explains things." The hypnotic quality of those emerald green eyes was far stronger, being so close. Aulric caught his breath. The young woman flushed slightly as he stared, clutching the neckline of the tunic she wore closed. She was trembling, like a rabbit in a trap. She looked down and away, her long lashes obscuring her eyes, then back into Alric's eyes once, twice more, before quietly closing the shutters tight, leaving Aulric alone on the walk with the paper and his confusion.

A thrill went through the young thief, one he couldn't account for on any conscious level. His knees felt watery. There was something very queer about that girl, dangerous, somehow. His instincts told him the whole situation was complex and murky, and he'd be better off walking away and forgetting he'd ever set eyes upon her, but her voice was still ringing in his ears, sending shivers down his spine. She was lovely even under the patina of grime, and something within him was drawn to her.

A mental image of a bath house unveiled itself in the thief's mind. His own hands cleaned the filth from the green-eyed girl's pale skin. Pitchers of warm water cascaded down her breasts and stomach, beading upon her skin and caught in the thatch of hair over her womanhood... His tongue parting those lips and sampling the sweet nectar--

Aulric shook his head to clear it. He'd never been given to daydreaming before, and that it happened in the open, in broad daylight... He shifted in his trousers, glad for the hem of his tunic. 

Long years of being circumspect had led his hand to unconsciously fold the parchment into his pocket, and as his brain caught up to his reflexive action, he schooled his expression to an out-of-focus sort of inattention. He stepped off the walk to cross the street, to all appearances not having a care in the world. 

Aulric was a thief, always looking for a way to survive in a city that did not care for him, if it were aware of him at all. His days and nights were constant struggles for survival, that left no room for distraction or indulgence. He knew this on a level so deep it had become instinctual. He didn't even have to think anymore to discipline his thoughts. Focus and vigilance were tools for survival.

That said, in Aulric's mind danced images of soft skin and green eyes...



In Shadowed Silence Ch. 03



In Shadowed Silence: Chapter 3

Aulric settled at a table in The Water's Edge, a tavern and inn wedged between the docks proper and the nearby markets. The place was always crowded in the mornings and after dark, but in the late afternoon, there was hardly a soul but the staff. He had done some odd jobs now and again for Retik, the publican and owner of the inn; light maintenance, dishes and scrubbing, mostly. He was diligent and thorough; rare qualities in most of the shiftless scoundrels and shirkers in the docks. His work ethic had earned him some favor amongst the staff and management. When his luck was off, he could almost always get a crust of bread or bowl of stew here. 

The Waterside was typical of the inns here in the docks. It had a dirt floor, strewn with hay and sawdust, thick beams supporting the ceiling and dark, rough wood everywhere. The bar ran the length of the back wall, where the serious drinkers would gather and scowl at one another. The room was barely lit by a handful of oil lamps hanging from hooks over every third table and a single simple wooden wheel with candles moored at the ends of its six spokes, a chandelier hardly worthy of the name. Two small, shuttered windows provided the rest of the room's scant lighting. 

A narrow staircase led to the second storey, where the Waterside's six rooms were located, validating its claim to be an inn, running from near the front of the house to the back , arching over the bar at its landing. Nine heavy tables and their sturdy chairs and benches spread around the small taproom would cater to the more social of those with coin burning holes in their pockets. One of these tables was nestled under the heavy planks of the staircase, where Aulric was seated. The place was a dive, but it was the closest thing to a home the thief had.

There was an empty plate before him that had held the crusty leftovers of a roast and a half mug of stale mead before him. Jenna, one of Retik's serving girls, had brought it to him unbidden. The roast had been a bit on the tough side, but Aulric had eaten far worse in his days. The mead, on the other hand, as good as it was, only brought the memory of Amburgey's silver decanter and its heavenly sweet aroma back to his mind. It was heady and he could almost imagine the fields of wildflowers and clover where the bees had harvested the nectar. This mead, however, was no more than that sensation's decaying corpse. The scent alone had spoiled him! But, complaining was ill luck, and free was free. He had only come for a safe place to look at the note. All the rest was good fortune.

The place was indeed as safe as anywhere Aulric could find in Loria, with fewer questions asked nowhere else. It was there that he examined the note the girl had pushed upon him. Sloppy columns of numbers were scraped over one side of the sheet, with runs and smudges abounding. Probably a ledger or some such. The other side held clean-lined, flourishing calligraphy. It was beautiful and elegant, without a single smudge or scratch on the parchment. 

"The note explains everything, does it?" He muttered wryly to the parchment. "Nice of you to assume I can read worth a damn." 

Aulric wasn't completely illiterate, but the dressing of 'speech' in the note was unfamiliar. For his part, the young thief was clever and had more grasp of language than most of his peers, but he had never had access to formal education, past what the hedge wizard, Elton Fend, had beaten into his skull. Add to his lack of schooling that the characters of the more academic, erudite calligraphy were unrecognizable to him, and he would be forced to see that venerable and slightly unbalanced mystic for a translation. 

He had depended only upon himself for so long, that not being able to accomplish a goal on his own set his teeth to grinding. Aulric rose from his seat, pushing away the plate. He slipped the note once again in his pocket, and finished off the mead. 

Jenna lounged near the bar, propped on one of the thirteen stools. She was staring at Aulric, a small, impish smile playing across her rose-petal lips. He had always wondered if those lips were as soft as they looked. As he brought his eyes to bear on her, the serving girl slowly turned away, one hand idly toying with her long, chestnut hair. Aulric furrowed his brow. This wasn't the first time that very thing had happened, and it confused him every time. Her eyes flashed at him once more, from under her lashes, a quick, sidelong glance. The eye contact went on for an uncomfortably warm second, and she looked away again. 

A tingle went through Aulric that made his breath catch and his step falter. He stood up straight, tilting his head to regard Jenna properly, who only speared him with another sidelong glance. All the while, she twirled that lock of hair. He looked at Retik, who held his face in a wry smirk, leaning against a keg behind the bar. Aulric furrowed his brow in confusion.

Retik chuckled at Aulric, shaking his head, and glanced at Jenna. She spread her arms in a helpless gesture and looked, flabbergasted, at the publican for some reason. 

The young thief felt he was missing something of some import as he shook his head and went for the door. He heard Retik laugh once more.

"Don't take it so hard, Jenna," Aulric heard him say. "He'll figure it out soon enough. It may not look like it now, but he's a bright kid." 

The young thief walked out of the dimness of The Waterside into the bright, slanting rays of late afternoon, blinking, that feeling that he had missed something worrying his brain like a dog with a bone. He trudged along, wondering, until it hit him. His steps slowed to a standstill on the boardwalk.

Was she flirting with me? He bounced the heel of his palm off his forehead in exasperation.

He turned, looking back at the facade of the inn. Retik was leaning out of the doorway, drying his hands on his towel, smiling a knowing smile. He met Aulric's eyes and chuckled. 

"Now he gets it," he called out, loud enough for Aulric to hear. 

This was not by design, and no advantage would be gained from it. Aulric, he groused to himself, you are an idiot, you know that? "And now," he said aloud, "Jenna knows it, too. Well done, simp."

***

Thoughts of Jenna and her soft lips, generous cleavage and impish smiles filled his mind on his way to Elton Fend's cottage near the Markets. His mind conjured images her well-formed calves wrapped around his waist and her long brown hair spread over a pillow. He wondered if she would sigh or moan when he eased himself into her warm moistness; how she would clench and shiver when she came. The conjurer in his head continued to torture him with visions of her body gleaming in firelight under a sheen of sweat, her nails scratching out red trails down his back. 

But, because he was stupid, Aulric was sure, he'd never get the chance to find out. Hell, mostly, if he needed release, he'd paid for it. It was a business proposition, like anything else; something to have done and overwith, so he could concentrate on his next job. He wasn't used to being looked at like that by anyone; but now that he considered it, the cruel wizard began weaving images in his mind's eye of several women having looked at him just like that. Truth be told, Jenna hadn't really been all that subtle about it. And he'd missed it. 

Dammit.

She'd not do it again, not after he was so thick about it. His half-mast cock seemed to still hold out hope. Ever the optimist, eh?

Elton Fend's home was nestled in a gully of sorts at the end of one of Loria's parks, which separated the bustling markets from the residences of the city's working middle class. To Aulric, the place gave the illusion of being far from civilization, which, honestly, is probably where the crazy old hedge wizard belonged, but alas... The yard was littered with oddly shaped stones of all sizes and implements and tools for gardening. The herb garden was around the north side of the house, against the back of the cottage. Just outside the copse of evergreens and young oaks was a hand cart filled with shiny steel milk urns and racks of glass bottles.

As he approached Fend's cottage door, the sounds he heard stopped him in his tracks. A woman was moaning loudly and panting. What?! This had to be some kind of trick. Aulric looked around the small copse of trees, trying to figure out from where the sound was actually coming; how sound was deceiving him.

Aulric moved to one side of the closed door, then the other, but the sound still seemed to be emanating from the cottage. To Aulric's right was an open window, it's porthole shutter hinged at the trestle, propped up with a bit of stick. 

What's a suspicious thief to do? He peeped.

And immediately wished he hadn't. 

There in the old hedge wizard's one-room cottage, on the table nearest this window was the appreciated sight of a pretty milkmaid bent over the kitchen table, her skirts flung up over her back, and the rather disturbing sight of the wizard's pale, scrawny, naked ass pistoning away behind her. The milkmaid's blonde head was thrown back, her young, freckled face ecstatic. Elton's face was, well, even more ecstatic yet. There was a manic grin on his face and an unholy energy to his thrusts which belied his decades. His fringe of wild, white hair swayed wispily around his head, his wrinkly body red with exertion. Each thrust flashed the thief a view of the old man's surprisingly thick, veined dick and his sagging balls swinging obscenely.

Aulric gaped. I am not seeing this, he thought. Even the old man gets laid?! Well, fuck. Apparently so. 

The old man suddenly slowed his pace, lifting his bony hips and angling his cock to impressive effect: the milkmaid's breath caught and she began trembling, a low moan rising into a shuddering, wordless cry, as her orgasm took her. The old guy really knew what he was doing, Aulric certainly could give him that. Elton's breathing was harsh and ragged, his face flushed, and his knees wobbled a bit as he ever so slowly worked his member in and out through her climax. His eyes fluttered closed and his cock sank in to the hilt. His body stiffened and he exhaled heavily, the blood darkening Fend's lined face with his own orgasm. 

Spent, the hedge wizard fell out of her, literally, and crumpled to the wood floor, gasping. Aulric thought that the old fool must have done himself in, but Fend started cackling crazily, wheezing and pounding the floor.

"It worked," he crowed in his raspy voice. "It worked!"

Aulric smirked. Been a long time since, hasn't it, you dirty old bastard? In spite of himself he grinned. 

The milkmaid panted and stared into space, a dumbfounded look on her pretty, lightly freckled face. "Yeah," she stammered in wonder, "It certainly did, didn't it?"

Fend wobbled unsteadily to his feet, still laughing gleefully. "Never dare a wizard, skirt," he blustered. "Ye'll not underestimate one again. Now don't move," he croaked abruptly.

She looked confused but stayed where she was, her pussy dripping with their combined juices. Elton staggered to a shelf and collected a pair of phials, and then back to where the girl was bent over his table. He collected as much of the sloppy mess as he could into the glassware, humming happily to himself as he did. The young woman looked over her shoulder at the hedge wizard with a look that spoke of doubt of the old man's sanity. 

Aulric shook himself and ducked away from the window, retreating from the house into the tree line. Once out of direct sight, he crouched and waited for the girl to leave. No sense in embarrassing her, though, who would believe that she had just had a go with quite possibly the oldest man in Loria?

Soon enough, she exited the cottage, weaving her way back toward her cart. Her large blue eyes were heavy-lidded and her expression slackly satisfied. There was a hitch in her stride, and she was slightly bent at the waist.

Ah, the vaunted 'freshly fucked' walk, Aulric thought with amusement. 

His amusement soured almost immediately. After all, if he hadn't been so dense, he might have had a go with Jenna and walked funny all the way here. Flashes of Jenna's skin, her hair played in his mind's eye, but haunted green eyes stared from the shadows under her bangs. She lay on bloody, rich carpeting at the foot board of a huge bed, graven with images of Fae cavorting with men and elves...

Aulric blinked.  Where the hell did that come from? 

The vision faded as quickly as it had come, Aulric screwing his focus down tight.

Unaware of the thief hidden in the trees scant feet away, the milkmaid stood for a moment more, leaning on the hand cart for support, catching her breath. She cast a wondering gaze in the direction of the cottage.

"Damn, old man, I've not been fucked like that since..." She reconsidered. "No. I've never been fucked like that," she breathed. She shook her head and grinned to herself. Taking up the handle of the cart, she muscled the heavy thing around and began to push it back into the city proper, the wooden wheels creaking up the twin trails worn into the grass of the clearing. Her hips swayed enticingly and she smelled distinctly of sex. Aulric became keenly aware of how long it had been since he had been laid.

He looked down at the bulge in his pants. "You're kidding, right?" It seemed his cock was willing to point in any direction the wind blew, like some sort of demented weathervane for pussy. 

He'd never been this keyed up in his nineteen years. Business had always taken priority. Even sex had just been business. He recalled a whore he visited telling him at one point, that he was not normal. Was she right? And, if this was normal, was being abnormal necessarily a bad thing? Normalcy was distracting as hell, and Aulric couldn't afford these damned distractions. 

He sighed as he headed for Fend's door, "What in the hells is wrong with me?"



In Shadowed Silence Ch. 04



In Shadowed Silence: Chapter 4

Elton Fend had answered his door naked. 

Aulric sat at the very table at which the old man had performed a feat that should have been impossible at his age. The cottage was an awful mess; it looked as though he and the milkmaid had fucked on or against every available surface. The small bed was rumpled, its mattress askew on its frame, one of the doors of the antique armoire was hanging by one hinge, and the contents of several tables, the dresser top, and even a books from an upturned bookcase lay scattered over the floor. 

There was a wet spot on the table before him. This he eyed with great trepidation... and scooted his chair back a bit.

The old wizard had righted the dressing screen, under which he had found his green robe. He whistled merrily as he dressed. The young thief tried to scrub the image of the skinny, bony old man's naked body off his brain. It was useless. Some things you just can't un-see. 

Elton Fend picked his unsteady way over the debris, still grinning like an idiot. "Worked like a charm, didn't it?" At Aulric's blank, but slightly fearful look, he said, "The potion, boy." The old man waited for a reaction, but Aulric wasn't sure what he wanted. 

Fend sighed impatiently. "The potion of vitality," he exclaimed, his frail frame puffing up with pride. "Granted," he admitted, "It was just supposed to give me energy, sharpen my focus, keep me up at night, but..." he broke off, muttering, as he righted a chair to sit upon. He suddenly cackled madly. "It certainly kept me up, didn't it, boy?" His crazed laughter subsided. "Happy accident, and all." The old man grinned. 

It began to dawn on Aulric what the crazy old geezer was talking about.

"So the potion was responsible for..." Aulric gestured around the room, speechless.

The hedge wizard nodded smugly. "Sure was. But mind you," he pointed sternly at the young man, "what the Llyn got?" He jerked his gnarled old thumb back at his chest, pointing to himself. "All me."

Llyn? Ah the milkmaid. "She did seem... thrilled," he replied. He had to laugh, in spite of it all. "You had to have been quite the man in your younger years."

Elton grinned broadly. "You don't know the half of it, sonny. I could tell you stories that'd straighten your shorties, and then curl 'em right back up." He winked and chuckled. 

The old hedge wizard waved it all off. "But never you mind all that. What brings you here today, Aulric? Lessons?" He looked slightly hopeful.

He stood and fished the note from his pocket. Failing to find a clean spot on the table, he sidestepped a fallen chair and handed it directly to his sometimes-mentor. "That. I... I don't read well enough to..." Embarrassed, he waved vaguely at the parchment.

The old man squinted at him, the wrinkles around his bright blue eyes bunching up. He considered the young thief with a pointed gaze. "Ohhh, you don't say?" 

The bastard's making fun of me, Aulric thought.

He spoke before thinking. "Go fuck yourself, old man," and instantly regretted his words, but the elderly wizard seemed unruffled. 

"Oh, I think I'm maybe a bit too tired yet for all that," he quipped, his eyes sparkling with good humor. "But let's see about this lot." He raised the note to the light to better see it, holding it near arm's length. He cast a quick wink in Aulric's direction.

"Well, I'd say it was someone's doctored books," he posed. "Or part of them, at least." He wrinkled his nose at the leaf of parchment. "Atrocious penmanship," he snorted with disgust.

Aulric had put his face in his hand. He made a circling gesture with his free hand, motioning with exasperation for the old man to turn the sheet over, and so didn't see the hedge wizard's sly glance at him, nor his mischievous grin while he turned the parchment over. 

"Ah, well. This side isn't like the other," Elton noted obtusely. "Thought maybe you were finally losing your marbles, skulking about in the dark as you do."

Aulric groaned. "Can we please make this a little less painful," he pleaded. "Get on with it, you kooky old geezer!"

"Bah," the old man scolded. "You're no fun at all, are you, young master Crabbypants?" 

Aulric glared. "If you're going to waste my time..."

Elton interrupted him gently. "It's that important to you, is it?" His bright eyes held Aulric fast.

The young thief fixed a shocked stare upon the venerable hedge wizard.

Son of a bitch. He's doing this on purpose, Aulric realized. He couldn't just write the old man off as just an amusing kind of crazy anymore. Fend was learning every bit as much from Aulric as he had been teaching. It was a sobering revelation. 

Just how much does he know about me that I didn't know he'd learned?, Aulric wondered. He felt more and more uncomfortable with each passing second under the wily old man's gaze.

"You want me to read it to you, boy," he quipped, "or are you going to jump out the window and run?" He arched a bushy, scraggly brow at Aulric. "You look as nervous as a thief in... Wait. No. Bad analogy... How about..." He fell to muttering, something about cats, tails, and rocking chairs. Something of the dotty old fool was returning in his countenance. 

Finally he waved it off, and pointed to the mysterious note brightly. "Shall I?"

Aulric sighed in exasperated defeat. 

* * *

Thydara's full lips wrapped around the thick shaft of Retik's cock. His gasp sounded breathless in the storeroom of The Waterside Inn he had stolen away with her to. She slowly sucked his pulsing member into her mouth, reveling in its strong taste. As she withdrew his length, her cheeks hollowed with the suction and her tongue twirled and writhed like a serpent against the sensitive frenulum and glans. His low whimper of pleasure was music to her ears.

She sank his member into her mouth to the root. She'd had thicker, and longer, but the feeling of absolute power was exactly the same with each. Her lips bottomed out at the base of his cock and she drew back again, varying the suction on each stroke, her tongue doing the lion's share of the work. 

Gods, but he's hard! Against her better judgment, she was actually enjoying this simple, common man's dick. The sounds he made were heavenly, and his thick, calloused fingers tangled in her black hair were arousing in a way she'd not experienced in a long while. She could almost forget her purpose here, as fun as the muscled, well-formed innkeeper was turning out to be. She had only planned on drinking with him, being charming, and milking him for information, but her sopping pussy was having none of that.

He had surprised her, turned her on, and that was just unacceptable; no one was supposed to get the better of a Sister of the Wyrm. He had charmed her instead, and here she was, sucking his dick, and thoroughly enjoying it. How the wyrm has turned, she thought. He'll pay for this. 

Of course, fucking him stupid in his store room hardly qualified as revenge, or did it? Thydara's aching womanhood was lobbying with her rational mind that, yes, indeed, that would show him. Her mind argued that it would accomplish little, but might just loosen his tongue enough that the original purpose of this visit wouldn't be a total wash. Still, she rankled at the idea that he'd played her like a harp. 

And, to show just the publican how angry she was with him, she snarled as she took his rock hard cock back into her mouth, to the root.

Hopeless, she finally admitted to herself. This just isn't going to go my way. Her wet womanhood, however, argued that it was going exactly her way.

So why not have fun with it? She threw caution to the wind and increased her pace, and her pussy leaked more juices down her cream-and-coffee-toned thighs in anticipation of giving up that control. Besides, after the flawless execution with Lord Amburgey, she deserved to indulge herself. Common men were apparently more fun, anyway.

She released his throbbing length from her mouth, taking it in hand. She stroked it while looking up into Retik's smiling face. She felt his cock jump in her hand as she made eye contact with him, and she grinned wickedly, diving upon his reddened, engorged head. She licked and sucked his glans, the strokes of her hand quick, urgent. His breath had quickened, and he threw his head back with another low moan. The innkeeper leaned against the barrels of mead behind him.

"Nine Hells, Kareena," he exclaimed; he wasn't bad with names, she'd introduced herself to him as such. He tried to say something else, she thought, but his words came out as another groan. 

She licked Retik's shaft from base to head, her own breath coming in pants and gasps. Thydara couldn't believe how turned on she was. Desire overtook her, and she forced his length down her throat, starting to whimper with her own need. Her inner thighs were running with her juices, and the heat radiating from her sex was almost unbearable. An electric thrill was running up her spine, from her tailbone to the base of her skull, leaving her scalp tingling and her stomach fluttering. She was close to coming, just from this.

That was it. He was unexpected, unknown... and part of the mystery. She had followed the thief from Amburgey's estates in the high fane, but still did not know his identity. Retik was connected to him though; of that she was certain. 

But how? In what capacity did they work together? Were they guildsmen? Was Retik the thief's mentor, his doyen? If they were indeed in the guild, then Fennen should know of them. And, that being the case, the footpad should never have hit Amburgey's manor in the Fane. 

But what was it about this man? She couldn't sense any sort of magical aura about him; Thydara didn't know why she was so attracted to him. Perhaps it was his own personal magnetism. He was bold and open, and thoroughly unashamed of himself. He had little to hide, by comparison to others she had seduced and conquered in the Lyrran Chain, and nothing to gain by bedding her, other than the pleasure it would bring. That Retik had gotten the better of her, all on his own, surprised her, and that, she supposed, could be draw enough. 

And he felt and tasted so damned good! She licked a glistening drop of precum from the head of his dick, savoring its salty and slightly sweet taste. "Mmmm," she moaned.

Retik bent to raise Thydara to her feet. "Come here," he said in his husky baritone. She rose, obeying a man for the first time in a decade, and he looped a strong arm around her waist. He lifted and swung her around, taking a couple of easy steps to set her down on a stack of linens atop a narrow counter top. She let out a laugh, wild and genuine. 

She'd never been manhandled like this before, and it made her lightheaded with lust, and not just a little afraid. He stepped between her wet thighs, looking her in the eyes with a heated, lusty glare. She thought he would just impale her then on his cock.

He surprised her yet again.

He dragged the head of his cock down through the folds of her pussy, over her clit, bringing stars to her vision a tearing a gasp from her throat. He played about, teasing her pussy, poised at the brink of entering her. Thydara's pussy was on fire. He rubbed her clit with the head of his cock, pressing against her. He ground against her with slow strokes of his cock against her sensitive nub. Then the sweet pressure subsided and his cock dropped away from her sex. 

He kissed her hungrily. Thydara's eyes flew open and she sagged into his kiss, trembling from the intensity of it. The innkeeper made his way down between her breasts, kissing, licking and suckling the skin over her sternum, pulling yet another gasp out of her. His strong hands cupped her breasts gently; he didn't try to rip her tits off, like a lot of men did. 

Refreshing, that, she thought happily.

He nibbled and licked the dark skin of her breasts gently, exploring every inch of skin. Thydara threw her head back and rode the sensations. She jumped as his tongue shot over a nipple, quick and wet, and he chuckled. His tongue twirled over the other nipple and set her nerves on fire. He sucked the nipple into his mouth, swiping his tongue back and forth over the sensitive nub. Her scattered brain registered nothing but sensation, shrouded in a fog of sheer pleasure.

A joyous laugh bubbled in her throat as he continued his ministrations on her breasts. His mouth dipped lower, sampling the flesh of her toned stomach, and drawing a whimper from her throat. His fingers toyed still with her nipples, and he tugged them gently, eliciting a squeal and twitch from her. 

She cut the squeal off in shocked horror. She hadn't squealed like that with a man for... Well, for so long she didn't care to make the accounting.

She could scarcely believe it when his tongue swiped across her hip, down the soft hollow of her pelvis, and along the inside of her thigh. No man she'd been with had done that in literally years. Such was the service she did for her sisters. No noble she'd ever seduced would lower himself to such an act, the fools. Retik licked and sucked the other thigh, groaning out his desire as he cleaned her skin of her juices. Was he going to do it? Her mind and heart raced. Closer his mouth drifted, then back down her thigh, teasing, maddening. She shifted and whimpered, her nectar streaming from her swollen, hungry pussy. She had to have it. It had been so long...

"Gods, Retik! Do it," she moaned. "You're going to drive me mad!"

He chuckled somewhat evilly and continued to tease, but as she was groaning out her frustration, he struck, sliding his tongue from her thigh straight up her labia. She tensed, and his tongue flicked her clit deliberately, once.

She shuddered and came. Messily. Retik's face was splashed with her juices as she sprayed his face. She was instantly embarrassed and shamed, but he only laughed gleefully. She had thought he'd be sickened, like the last man to eat her was. She thought Retik would call her a freak, forsake her. 

He hadn't been trying to get the better of her; he wanted her to enjoy herself, she realized. There was no domination, no points to prove. The publican of this dingy little inn wanted her pleasure as much as she did. It was plain and simple fun. She found herself very grateful to him.

Her orgasm played out in dizzying waves, perhaps intensified by the sincerity of it all, and electric thrills raced over her skin. While her head still spun, her muscles clenching with a toe-curling, mind-bending orgasm, he slid his hard, smooth cock home.

Thydara's senses, already afire, went white-hot, as though someone had taken a bellows to the flame within her. She screamed and bucked against Retik, all sense of reason or place evaporating in the tremulous rush of writhing sinew and tingling skin. Retik fought to hold on, to establish order out of the mess he'd made her, and at first it seemed futile. Somehow, he managed to get purchase around her slick waist and force her convulsing body onto his in something resembling a rhythm.

Thydara's hands sought out Retik's hair, and she caught hold, pulling him into a kiss. The taste of her own juices only heightened her desire, and she licked them from the innkeep's chiseled cheekbones, his jaw. The barest hint of stubble rasped over her tongue, making it tingle pleasantly. 

The wet sound of their bodies colliding brought to mind the ocean's waves breaking upon the shore for the islander woman, and the roaring in her ears reinforced the illusion of surf; she could almost smell the brine, and the sun-on-sand scents of her homeland. 

"So good," she panted. "So godsdamned good! By the Great Wyrm!" 

He yanked roughly on her nipples then, sending pleasurable waves of pain through her, providing a sharp counterpoint to the wracking ecstasy that infused her every fibre. Retik growled as he slammed into her, animalistic as he lost himself in pounding her pussy relentlessly. Thydara hoped it would never end; or that she would die of this torturous rapture. 

"Come for me, come for me, come for me! Great Wyrm, Retik," she babbled, nearly incoherent. "Pur i im galsha theldisig!" Waves of another orgasm shook her, and her thoughts shattered, obliterating her ability to think, or to speak any tongue but her own. That soft noble had nothing on this simple innkeep. Nothing!

Retik responded with a snarl, his body tensing, and his cock twitching inside her as he poured his seed into her. Thydara's eyes flew open once more and she threw her arms around his strong back, her legs wrapping around his waist. She ground her sopping mound against Retik's pelvis, milking him dry. He shivered and staggered under the force of his climax, his eyes squeezed shut and his hands gripping the counter the linens were folded upon almost desperately. The Trigandoi looked into his face with wonder, until an aftershock stole the strength from her legs and she nearly fell.

Retik shakily lowered her to the floor, where the linens had been scattered in their intense coupling. He fell beside her, his chest heaving, and struggled into position to find her lips with his. The kiss was soft and almost reverent. As pillow talk went, that left nothing to be desired. They lay tangled together for a long while, catching their runaway breath and returning to Loria from whatever blissful plane whence they had been.

Retik sighed happily beside her, choosing to look her in the eyes for a long moment instead of speaking. To his credit, probably. Men had the habit of saying the most foolish things after sex. 

Retik, it turned out, was pleasing, then, in all regards.



In Shadowed Silence Ch. 05



In Shadowed Silence: Chapter 5

Olus ducked his head to enter his house. The door frames were annoyingly low; but then, all doorframes were low to him. At nearly seven and a half feet tall, with shoulders broader than the back of a draft horse, doors were the enemy. He couldn't count the times he had concussed himself just trying to get out of a taproom to go home. He scanned the small room grumpily, getting more irritated by the month at his cramped quarters. He shut the night sounds of the docks of Loria out and barred the portal.

By all rights, one with his talents and sheer bodily power should not be made to live in such a hovel. His house was a single, L-shaped room, partitioned into a bedroom, kitchen and a tiny office space where he'd do his books, into which he could barely squeeze his bulk. It was called a 'breakfast nook'. There was a crude joke there, but since his mind plodded along too slowly, he couldn't think just what it was, so he just grinned maliciously at the notion. The Kitchen had the house's fireplace, with ill-used cooking implements, with the exception of the kettle, which was large enough to boil a halfling or dwarf, and had done just that service a time or two. A table just big enough for a plate, tankard and his meaty elbows separated the kitchen are from the bedroom and office. The furniture was heavily reinforced with iron, so much that the average man couldn't lift them with any amount of ease. There was, however, a sense of comfort in the space for him. If just the doors were larger, he could deal with such squalid quarters. 

But, really, He should have long since had a posting at a Lord's keep, at the very least. 

His bed was simply huge, taking up most of the available floor space at the foot of the L shape of the living space. It was patch-worked and lumpy, having been made from a pair of military tents and stuffed with the wool of four dozen mountain sheep. It sat upon a thick wooden frame, strung with springy steel straps. An invention of Olus's own design, they lent the mattress both comfort and support. If he slept upon it carefully, his feet didn't even hang off the end. Under the foot of the bed, he had dug a hole in the flagstone floor, excavating a pit in which to store... illicit items. The bones of former victims littered the bottom of the oubliette, along with its only living resident: a certain green-eyed slip of a girl. 

His house was uncharacteristically clean, however, thanks to same girl. While she didn't serve his tastes exactly, she still had uses. She could clean the house and amuse him in certain ways, even without breaching the restrictions the Patrons put upon his treatment of her. Even so, she was as much a chain on his own ankle; he was trapped here, watching over her, barely able to attend to business. And the damned street rat, Aulric had seen her. Fuck! That boy could be trouble as well, as stupid and weak as he was. The girl had gone all moon-eyed at him, too; he was sure if he just let them be together for a few hours alone, she'd no longer be his problem. He'd as soon sell her, or sell rights to lay with her, but that was strictly forbidden. 

Forbidden! Bah! 

Xarek and his ilk had laid stifling limits on what uses to which he could put her. Why the hell saddle him with this shit detail, when mayhem was always at his fingertips? He was sure the problem lay in their plans for him and his forge. They paid him well, and no mistake, but forbade him to spoil her, in any fashion, so the pastimes he would choose with the girl were out of the question. The also forbade him, likewise, to let others spoil her. She was a virgin, then, but what use was that? Lastly, they forbade him to draw undue attention, lest his 'guest' be discovered.

That part was easy. Olus Grogan enjoyed a great deal of privacy, as the general populace and most of the guardsmen feared him. Crush a watchman's helmet with bare hands, and the message was clear. Crush the same guardsman's helmet while the guard was wearing it, and that was the kind of message the ogrish smith relished sending. His standing retainer on a couple of guard captains pretty much assured his pursuits would remain unhindered, and they would keep the others from asking too many questions. No one was going to be the wiser, except for the street rat having seen her, that is.

The part that wasn't easy was not spoiling her. The temptation was always there; to hear her scream and sob, to force his rod upon her unwilling flesh. To see the inches-thick, foot-long shaft force its way into her virgin cunt...

Olus shivered a little and chuckled at the visual. His balls tingled and his manhood stirred like a beast waking from restless sleep. Her horror and her pain would be delicious. And after...

But there were penalties. Plateaus of agony, of which he had tasted; sampled mountainous wracking tortures that caused even his cruel heart to quail. Xarek had shown him. Talarin had hinted at even loftier peaks of pain. Those two had unearthed positively fiendish secrets of dispensing harm that Olus could scarcely even imagine. Their magics made almost anything possible.

But there were no such limits in other arenas. His cock strained at his leather pants fiercely, even in the face of such fears of retribution; in fact, it was because of those fears his blood quickened. For the giant smith, blood equaled thought, overrode it, supplanted it.

Grogan did not think. He lifted the foot of the bed with one massive paw, and pulled the grate over the girl's prison open with the other. He propped the bed up on the open trapdoor. An eyebolt was set into the floor at the rim of the pit, the chain trailing down from the hardware into the darkness. He took up the links in his fist and rattled them to get his ward's attention. 

A whimper came from the bottom. Olus began pulling up the chain. "Yer coming up, girl. Grab on tight," he was breathless, his growling voice almost painfully deep with his arousal. "Don't want to rip yer foot off, do we?"

Hand over hand he lifted the taut length of chain into the lamplight of his chamber. It swayed with the weight of its burden, not overmuch, but as though he drew in a catch at his favorite fishing spot on the deep, wide Jhalin river, where it wended its way out of Loria's docks district. His grey eyes could just pick out the shape of the girl dangling by her hands from the cold iron links. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but he could almost see her wide, canted emerald eyes shining, verdant in the darkness below.

As she reached the lip of the oubliette, Olus slid his left hand down the chain to just above where she gripped it. Then, with a grunt, he lifted her with just the one hand, holding her at arm's length to regard her with piggish, grey eyes. Dangling from the chain had positioned her arms above her head, which lifted her rough shift so that her hips and milky-white ass was visible. Leering at her, he turned her to see the fine downy hair of her mound, as deep, dark red as that upon her head. 

She smelled of the pit, and Grogan inhaled deeply of the stench; it only served to heighten his arousal. Her suffering was to Olus as a fine wine was to one of the noble Patrons. They wouldn't be able to appreciate it as he did, the fools. He roughly took her chin in his right hand, more or less covering her mouth and nose as he did, the better to see her almost elfin eyes. 

She stared at him. She actually stared at him. Grogan was always giddy, each time she declined to shut her eyes, as though refusing to deny what was about to happen to her. Indeed, her glare from her strange eyes was nearly defiant. She faced the horrors he visited upon her with open eyes, however sadly limited those horrors were. His small, grey orbs bored into her dazzlingly green, and he sneered derisively, but the expression was so loaded with cruel lust, that it couldn't have been mistaken for anything but.

The chain clinked and clattered as it swung, and dragged against the flagstones. The sounds of the city were muted outside the sealed shutters. There was a hiss of air against Olus' palm as she forced her breath past it, and it grew warm and cool in turn as she exhaled and inhaled. The smith's malice and lust shortened his breath, making it shallow and sharp.

"Stand." he commanded, and set the odd girl on her feet, among the loose, coiling chain looping over the floor. 

The girl stared up at him silently, standing only just taller than waist-level to the ogrish man. He cracked his neck and knuckles, scowling down at her. He could feel his blood pumping through his veins, strong and hot. His monstrous cock pulsed almost painfully, trapped in the confines of his leather breeches. 

She said nothing. No pleading. Not any more. She was perfect. Small, defenseless, and beaten... but still, defiant, proud. Not broken, but cracked, just the way Olus liked them.

"Take off the tunic," his voice grated. 'The tunic.' Not 'your.' To say that would give her possession; allow her an identity. Unacceptable. She was his. 

She did not obey immediately, and the smith blew out an annoyed breath through his nose, snorting his disapproval. She exhaled and moved to obey.

She simply tucked one shoulder in, and pulled downward on the rough fabric, drawing the garment down over her shoulders, to catch briefly on the swell of her breasts. The pliant flesh bounced as the girl tugged the tunic down off them, over her stomach and to her slim waist. She then hooked her thumbs in the rough shift's neckline to shimmy it down over the flare of her hips.

The garment pooled around her filthy feet like the chain coiled over itself on the floor. Her angular face was free of expression, as though what Olus was forcing upon her was not actually happening. He allowed himself a small smile at that. 

He gave a short, satisfied grunt, then nodded down to his bulging crotch. 

"Free it."

Again, she did nothing at first, and Olus thought that she was steeling herself for the task ahead. She reached out toward his belt haltingly. Her eyes were taut with some strong emotion.

Ah, he thought. There it is. That's the fear I want. He grinned as she fumbled daintily with the twin buckles on the wide girdle he wore. The constriction of his member in his leathers was excruciating now, its rigidity at odds with its position, pointing nearly straight down his thickly muscled left thigh. 

Once unfastened, she dropped the belt to the floor and set to on the hooks and loops of his breeches. 

"Free. It," Olus repeated tersely.

His prisoner redoubled her efforts with a nervous glance at him. He hid a victorious smile at the apparent crack in her calm, serene veneer, but at the same time, his member felt like it would rupture if she didn't get those pants off now.

Finally, he felt the tension releasing, and sighed when she hauled his breeches far enough down his legs for his cock to spring free. And spring it did, almost slapping her in the face. She flinched away from it, as though it were dangerous. Olus Grogan chuckled darkly.

She stood up straight again, her hands falling to her sides. Her face was smooth and clear, if dirty, and betrayed no expression, but her dulled emerald eyes spoke volumes of the erosion of her pride, and the depth of defeat she felt. Olus' heart jumped, and his long, thick cock throbbed and twitched in time with his heart's steady beats. The girl peered up at him through her tangled curtain of lank red hair. 

"Lick it," he breathed. "Slowly. From balls to head."

She grimaced slightly, and he couldn't keep the malignant, smug smirk off his face. "Do it," he growled. "Hold it in your hand," he added.

She didn't have to bend far to position herself for the task. She took his rod in her slender fingers, and Grogan smiled. She couldn't quite get her fingers all the way around it, but held it pointing straight up, along the smith's body. She leaned in and Olus exhaled as her breath tickled his sac. She placed her tongue under his balls and dragged it, torturously slow, up his wiry-haired scrotum. He heard her choke softly; he hadn't bathed today. He smiled darkly at the top of her head. 

She continued up to the base of his shaft, thick as her forearm, and tingles went down the giant man's spine. Her tongue drew a wet, languid line up the underside of his phallus, and passed between her thumb and fingers, wet with his precum. When she licked up and over his flat, wide head, he shuddered. The young woman sucked in a breath, trying not to choke on the old-sweat-and-leather odor.

"Keep going," he prodded.

She ran her tongue up and down his length, which was rapidly being coated with his precum. His prisoner obediently lathed his member, dutifully mopping his sticky cock with her tongue. She twirled her tongue around the head, and Grogan's vision misted and he saw stars for a moment.

"Suck it," he rasped, palming the back of her head, forcing her mouth wide and onto his waiting lance. "As far as it'll go... Then farther."

The young woman took his head into her mouth; he was amazed at how wide she could open. Her teeth brushed his frenulum, and he twitched. That was all it took to make her gag. He chortled evilly and kept her face planted over his cock, choking her with his thick head for a few seconds. He grabbed a fistful of hair at the back her head and pulled her away. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she wheezed and sucked in air, tears streaming tracks down her filthy face. 

He let her hair go, and spoke softly as he could, "Continue," letting the word become a mocking, desultory, squirming thing that would leech away her self respect and restraint. "You will please me," the smith declared, daring her to deny him. 

She glanced up to him, her wet eyes wounded and desperate, and he almost came in her face right then. He held back, and she put her tongue and mouth back to the task, slathering his member with saliva, which blended to a froth with the precum oozing from his fat dick. She forced her head down onto him, taking his cock farther than she ever had, past the head, her tongue flattened against its underside. 

Olus' cum was boiling up inside him, and his foggy brain sent him a mental image so strong and cruel that he laughed out loud. He gathered her hair up in a fist and began fucking her face, rewarded by involuntary grunts and sloppy sub-vocalizations as she gagged and choked on his massive manhood. Her hands, wrapped around the base of his cock, pushed back reflexively, and by the time he finally stopped humping her face, she hacked and coughed violently, with a few retching sounds. 

Grogan was pleased immensely. "Good." He tilted her face up to see the nearly clean stripes down her tear-streaked face. Her green eyes were rimmed with red and she breathed raggedly. 

He straightened his back and crossed his heavily muscled arms over his keg-like chest. "Lick it. Suck it," he rumbled. There was definite hesitation, and he reached down for her hair again, scowling.

She dove onto his cock again, spurred into action. He murmured, "You think yer little wiry, skinny little pretty boy can give it to you this good," he asked, testing the waters. She hesitated once more, so he barged on. "Aulric. That's the street rat's name," he hazed her. "He won't have the kind of cock you want; not like this one. You think for a second that he can make you squirm like this? Make you choke?" He picked up steam as she seemed to put more effort into giving him head. 

He felt his head bumping against the back of her throat, her speed increasing. "Yeah," he growled. "Those shoulders, those wiry legs..." She whimpered, sending a pleasant little vibration down his shaft. "His deep, brown eyes..." One of the girl's hands went down between her legs.

What the fucking Nine-and-a-half godsdamned Hells? He was shocked that talking about the weak little street rat had worked her up this good. She was getting off on just hearing about him. Hmph. Musta struck a nerve here. Some random thought knocked politely on the door to the rowdy and loud room where he kept his thoughts, and went unheard. It was something about her desires... Ah, he'd get the door later. This was too good to pass up. 

"Oh," he mused, "is this turning you on? Talking about your pretty little street rat?" He grinned as she moaned around his girth. "Tell you what. I won't kill him, no." He gave a mean little chuckle. "Maybe I'll bring him here. You could use a little company, right? You could look all you wanted." He pitched his voice low, a calculating gaze locked on her as she gasped and moaned, sucking his huge member. "Touch him..." he suggested, "all you want."

Her fingers worked a quick rhythm between her legs, and he could smell her sex, musky and sweet. She moaned and the vibrations sent a little shock through him. Olus was getting into her head with this line of bullshit. She was going crazy.

"And that tight, athletic ass of his," he whistled. "Damn, but won't it be fun to watch me," he said, his voice hardening and rising to a growl, "stuff my cock between those cheeks and fuck him on my anvil..." 

She stopped and pulled back from his cock in horror, her eyes wide with panic.

He snarled, "...until he fucking splits in half!" He palmed her face roughly, bending to look her in the face. "I will break his pelvis and ruin his asshole, and I won't stop! I'll grind his ass 'til it splits," His voice dropped to a whisper as tears, real tears, welled in her horrified eyes. "Then I will reach in with my fist and rip his guts out into the coals of my forge."

She whimpered and sobbed, her face crumbling, helpless, utterly without hope. The desperation in her green eyes was too much for him, and Olus came, shooting ropes of cum onto the grieving young woman's face, into her hair, over her breasts. Eight, nine spurts, maybe enough to fill a milk bottle.

"Fuck, yes," he crowed. "Better than you've ever been, bitch!' 

"Impressive," a blithe, nasal voice came from the shop-side door, the very door where Aulric had seen Olus' pet.

The ogrish man spun with a snarl, his still-hard cock pointing straight at the one who spoke.

The thin, tall man leaned impassively on the door frame. His features were narrow and long, and his white-blond hair fell limply around his face, not quite reaching the bottom of his jaw. The moustache and goatee was probably supposed to make him look sinister, Grogan figured, but it just served to make him look like a limp-wristed prick. The cleft in his shapeless chin that his sparse hair failed to hide made it look like nothing so much as a scrotum, which, to the smith's mind, left the thin man with dick going into or coming out of his mouth at all times. 

"Tumaud," Grogan hissed. "You weasely little cocksucker, you ever enter my home without an invitation again and..."

Tumaud tsked. "Oh, that won't do. Greet me as a brother. The Patrons have sent me to check upon their investment."

Olus noted the man's eyes dart a couple of times toward his manhood. He took a step toward the man, stroking his length in one meaty hand. "She's there..." he grinned evilly. "And well-fed."

"The Patrons were clear," he complained, wringing his spidery hands. Fucking cowardly thief. "She is to be unspoiled. And cared for." The Guildsman stared at her nakedness in what Grogan thought was horror. What with her thinness and deeply shadowed eyes, filthy skin, grimy hands and lank hair, the skinny, short woman could have passed as a zombie in any graveyard in the city.

"Shut up, simp," Gogan sneered, gathering the last milkings of cum on his fingers and regarding it. "The Patrons were pretty..." he searched for the word for a moment. "Specific. I ain't given her nothin' they can lash me for."




In Shadowed Silence Ch. 05



"Now see here, Half-Giant. You are my underling..."

Olus growled. Chain of command be damned, this cunt hair does not get to come into my house and throw his pathetic weight around.

"LISTEN TO ME, YOU ASS-WHORE!" Grogan roared at Tumaud, who blanched nicely. "This is my house. My rules. The motherless fucking Patrons can fuck themselves stupid, for all I care. They wanna come in here and lay down the law, they can goddamned well do it themselves. You aren't even worth breaking over my anvil, Tumaud. Not worth fucking. Nor any of yer Guild cocksuckers outside." He gave his thick cock a mocking tug. "You can suck it."

Then he flicked his cum-soaked fingers in Tumaud's direction, spattering the thief's face with his seed. By the lizard-brained flinch, Olus guessed he'd just flipped cum in his eye. Oh, fuck," he thought with hysterical amusement, You can't put a price on that!

"How dare..." Tumaud began.

Olus closed a meaty fist over the effete thief's face, and lifted him in the air, near his low ceiling. "You ain't listening, guild scum. I answer to the Patrons, not to you." He pulled his arm in to bring Tumaud to face level. "Next time you come here, you best be talking business, not getting into my business. Understand?"

"Y... Yes, Olus," the Guildsman stammered, "No sweat. No hard feelings."

"Weakling," Olus spat, and dropped the gangly thief. His utter lack of balls made Olus sick.

Tumaud landed on his feet, but Olus' hand had already closed over the back of his head. The smith gripped his softening member with the other hand, and wiped it on the thief's face, smearing the last remnants of his spunk over his cheeks, eyes, and protesting lips.

"Get. Out."

Tumaud rose and scrambled for the door, but called back, "The Patrons will hear of this outrage!"

"They'll have a good laugh over it, too, I'll wager," the smith retorted. "You wanna do something useful, Guild bitch? Go find Aulric, the street rat. He's the one that hit Amburgey, or I'm a Kobold."

"Wh... What?"

Olus grunted. "Unless it was one of yer men. But I can't buy even yer that fucking stupid. Stealing from a Patron..." He let the end dangle.

"Of course not." he answered, insulted. "We're professionals." He chewed the name over. "This... Aulric, you say? If he did it..."

"Freelancer, stupid." Olus was losing patience. "Kill the frelancer, get a reward." On a whim, he pointed out something to sweeten the pot. "Guildmaster himself might take notice."

Tumaud's light brown eyes sparkled. "I see," he said, and went for the door, but paused. "What exactly does he have to do with the girl?" 

Olus rounded on him in sudden rage. He swung a meaty fist that just clipped the thief's shoulder. Tumaud went spinning to the floor, groaning. The giant smith stalked toward him, raising his huge, bony knuckles, preparing to pummel the stupid, inconvenient man to death. 

Tumaud took the better part of valor and fled, rolling to his feet through the door to the shop.

He stared at his shop-door for long moments, grinding over the possibilities. He decided that this had gone as well as it could have. He got the girl's goat, shamed Tumaud, the prick, and managed to put someone on Aulric, to take care of the one actual infraction that would earn him the wrong side of a torture session. But, that still left the fact that the guildsmen knew about the street rat having seen the girl. 

Fuck it, Olus thought to himself. Not gonna matter in the long run. He's a dead man anyway.

There was a sob from the girl, her face strangely stricken. He couldn't figure out why she was so distraught. After all, she had only seen the street rat once. How could she already feel for him? Maybe it was Olus had said he was going to do to him, and she was weak enough to care. Maybe she just knew Olus better than he thought she did. 

He lowered her back into the pit and closed it, to leave her alone with the echoes of her sorrow, and the company of shadowed silence.