A Tavern Tale Part 1; Art by Nayamiko (Patreon)

The hooded kinling approached the tavern with his fist balled, his teeth clenched, and his jaw set. The cool night air was the only thing keeping his hot temper from exploding out of control. Barely able to contain his strength, he swung open the door, hitting the wall. The wood cracked from the force, sending splinters flying through the air. Despite his dramatic entrance, no one seemed to notice, so full of music and merriment was the full tavern. Scowling from under his cloak, the large feline traveler took a few heavy steps forward; eyes tracing the crowd.

Everyone was in cheer. Drinking and singing a song he’d heard a great many times before. With a sigh he pushed through the congregation, trying to ignore the lyrics.

“Fighting for his fellow kin! Down the valley and back again. Through a hail of arrows with no sunshine. Call forever ‘We hold the line’! Embrace the end with a daring grin, the life of an audacious dalish kin!”

The bar goers sang the song as if it was one of their favorites, but they were far from Dalish lands. The large feline was certain most of these kin had never stepped one foot in the Dales. No, their new found respect for Evandale and it’s kin most likely had something to do with the single dalishkin in their midst. The free folk of the Timberlands were cheering a single man sitting at the bar. A caracal with hair the red of poppy flowers, steel blue eyes, and a boyish face. He swayed back in forth to the tune as two otters sat on his lap, singing along and waving mugs of ale. He was clearly inebriated.

“ENOUGH!” the visitor roared, slamming his foot into the ground. With his shout came a noticeable shift in the air. He’d flared his own aura and his presence filled the room. Even those who could not perceive the arcane were able to feel his aggressive essence. Under his hood, his eyes glowed a curious gold and he sneered at the patrons staring at him.

There were no words for quite a while as the other kinlings just stared. They just didn’t know what to make of him.

“Disperse...” he ordered, gesturing with both hands for the crowd to part. As he shifted, his tail became visible from under his cloak, revealing the fluffy tuft of hair adorning it's end. Now obviously exposed as a lion, the crowd took special notice to the large cat. Noting the fur color of the tuft, half blonde and half burgundy, it was obvious to those in the know that he was an Assyrian Lion; for they tended to have multicolored hair. His combination however, hinted at something interesting.

"Royalty..." some in the crowd whispered in hushed tones.

The village, Alkirk, was very close to the northernmost border of the Assyrian province. As such, they were used to seeing Assyrian Lions passing through or even stopping by to enjoy some of the 'Freedoms' the Timberlands had to offer, but it wasn't very often a lion of this one's stature graced their little podunk town. Of course it wasn't his size that was rare, lions tended to be tall as a rule. No, it was his noble breeding that was of particular note. Despite his cloak and hood, the feline did nothing to hide the crest that kept his cover bound. It displayed his family's sigil.

“He’s an Assyrian noble...” one kin whispered.

“Not just any noble, that’s the seal of the Royal House.” another added.

“Maybe he’s one of the Assyrian Home Guard?” pondered a buxom chipmunk. Her companion, a hare, shook her head, sure that she’d seen the crest before.

“Nah, that’s the Royal Family’s Crest.” she assured her friend.

The traveler heard the bar's speculation about his importance and identity, but he didn't speak up. He would not confirm or deny their suspicions, because he didn't care. He was not there for any of them, and he would not let them distract him from his purpose. Growling low, he again signaled for the free kin to move out of his way. This time they complied; though begrudgingly so.

Looking stern, his disapproving glare found the caracal sitting at the bar. Though the man did not notice him. His glossy eyes were fixed on the two otters in his lap. He snuggled his muzzle into the neck of the one on his right leg, causing her to let out a kind of chittering moan, that left her flushed and embarrassed. Shaking his head, the lion growled low and made a loud ‘ahem’ noise to get the caracal’s attention. When the crimson haired feline didn't respond, the lion repeated the sound louder, causing one of the otters on his lap, the chitterer, to jump.

“Yes, yes, I see you Glendriel...” the caracal slurred. He was more befuddled than the lion had thought. With a big smile the otteress on his right took a big gulp of her mug and then leaned forward to kiss the caracal. Their muzzle fur wettened as the two sloppily exchanged saliva and liquor, kissing in a lewd way. The lutra was a site to behold. She looked to be a cleric, one of the ‘Church of the Goddess’. Her outfit was a perverted approximation of the nun's uniform, but quite a great deal more revealing; and her behavior was anything but puritanical. Her hand moved down to the drunken feline’s crotch as she kissed him. Glen watched incredulously as both her medium length golden locks, and bountiful breast, fell down over his friend as she shifted forward.

The otters body was salacious to say the least. Wide hips, a thick, plump bottom, and almost preposterously huge breasts, you couldn’t have made a more sexual looking being if you casted it from clay yourself. She was a curvaceous, chubby thing, with a short tight muzzle that housed a large nose and pouty lips, colored black. Lips she was using to hungrily kiss and suck at the dalishkin's tongue. Despite his resolve, even Glendriel couldn’t help but stare at the cleric, her audacity almost impressive. For a moment he entertained the idea that she was a tavern wench, enjoying a little dress up; but despite her lack of propriety, Glendriel could sense the depths of her quintessence without trying. She was indeed a powerful cleric. Just not a very modest one.

Though he didn't know it at the time, he would later find that the plump otter was named Xaniya; and her behavior was the manifestation of her goal to rebel against any and all social, spiritual, or cultural limitations placed upon her. Obviously of Keonee blood, Xaniya rejected the carefree tribal lifestyle of the other river otters and abandoned Keeonik the first chance she got. With a deep spirit well and a gift for mana manipulation, it didn't take long for her to be discovered by the Librarium and made a student at the Olcadan in Atrieno. She did well in her training and was shown to be a healer of great skill, but when she reached the 'Age of Estrous', the problems began. The young adept began sleeping around. If it had been limited to her fellow students it might not have been a big deal, but Xaniya had the lust of a succubus inside of her; and was happy to sleep with students, teachers, and visiting lecturers alike.

She'd made quite the name for herself by seventeen and after causing a raucous love triangle with her assigned triad, the Librarium decided to let the Church have a crack at her. Though well liked and productive as a healer of the clergy, she did not affirm any vows and had no compunction about fornicating with those who had. Unable and unwilling to just cast her out as the harlot she was, they instead made her a Ministrata; an unaffirmed agent of the Church. They would then send Xaniya out to remote towns and villages across the Timberlands, where her skills would help the common kin and her predilections would not damage the Church's reputation too badly. She was somewhat of a celebrity there in the south and when the strapping Dalish Knight needed a Cleric to help him complete his little adventure, well, Xaniya was all for that; and the celebration that would come after.

Glendriel coughed a bit, tearing his eyes away from the sexy healer. She'd noticed him staring and had increased her efforts in kind; obviously aroused at the attention. When he blinked, looking ashamed for staring, she winked at him, causing him to stir uncomfortably. Biting down he turned to regard the other otter, who though heavily intoxicated herself, looked sufficiently ashamed to be caught in that state.

“You were ordered to bring Adolyn back home, not get caught up in his shenanigans!” Glen admonished. The chestnut haired otter tried to hide her face a bit in the caracal shoulder, obviously embarrassed, but unable to fully grasp the situation. Her mind was addled. She didn’t seem to be handling her bitters all that well.

“Lord Glendriel! My lord!" she shouted excitedly. Her words fell out her mouth like lead ingots from a pale.

"I’m so sorry, My Lord! There were... circumstances.” she said slurring her words. The other otter cooed in response.

“Damn right!” she shouted.

“Dangerous, exciting... SEXY circumstances...” The lascivious lutra cooed as she crawled over the man’s chest and grabbed the smaller otter by the face.

“C’mere lovely, let me bless you.” she giggled. The two began to kiss.

It was slow at first, as the younger otter seemed to have the presence of mind to try to show some restraint in front of the Assyrian Lord, but the insistent lips of her senior won out and the two began to make out sloppily. The crowd couldn’t help but hoot and cheer as the two otters locked lips.

Glendriel scowled. He was about to say something, but one of the other patrons, a brown skunk spoke up.

“Hey, Lord of Wherever the fuck, you ain’t got no power here. This is the ‘FREE’ Timberlands, and we don’t cater to no stuffy southern nobles here.” He shouted drunkenly. Glen gave the man a stare so withering it could strip the bark from a tree. His eyes shined with arcane power and his jaw clenched as a vein grew so big on his head it could be seen through his fur.

“If you wish to test that theory I welcome you to draw your sword and find out how much power I have here.” Glen threatened. The men around him looked uneasy. Half were offended and the other half were afraid. The Assyrian family's reputation preceded them. No one would willfully take up that challenge. The lion peered around the room waiting for someone, anyone to speak up. When no one did he turned his attention back to the trio sitting at the bar.

The otters were still kissing. They were so into it that he was certain that they may just drop everything and begin their coitous right there in front of everyone. It was a shameful display. Seeing the look on his face Adolyn sighed heavily.

“Come on, Glen. Lighten up! We’re celebrating. I slayed a Xorn! I didn’t think those things still existed, no one has seen them in ages; and the local mine was full of them.” laughed the caracal. Adolyn was animated as he waved his hands and explained the size of the terra elemental monsters. Glen just rolled his eyes, unwilling to get caught up in the man's tale.

After taking a deep breath to calm himself, the lion simply stepped forward and extended his hand.

“Stop this Addy, this isn’t you.” pleaded Glen. His words were earnest and you could see the emotion in his eyes, but his drunk friend just waved away his sincerity.

“If this isn’t me, who am I?” he asked, gesturing to himself dramatically.

“Perhaps I’m not me...” Adolyn then said gravely.

“I could be a doppelganger... or a NEMESIS!” he continued mockingly.

“You got me Glen. I’m not really Adolyn. I’m a twisted simulacrum created by subverted mana! You’ve got such a keen eye.”

Walking forward Glendriel reached out and grabbed the valley cat. The two otters stumbled bag as the large cat accosted his friend. Adolyn tried to slip out of the hold, but was too intoxicated. Instead of slithering his arm deftly around and extricating himself, he instead spun on his heel, got dizzy, and fell into the lion’s arms. Though tall himself, the bushy eared feline was not nearly the height of his lion friend. He looked small in Glen's massive arms. The bar just laughed looking at the two in what looked to be a tinder embrace.

“Well now, this is awkward...” Adolyn giggled. The valley cat went to take a drink from his mug before realizing he didn’t have it. Looking at his hand he began to open and close them. Chuckling he said...

“Fingers... I’m finging.”

Glen’s eyebrows narrowed and he put a massive paw on his friend's face. With two meaty fingers he opened one of Adolyn’s eyes wide. The caracal didn’t protest, he simply stated;

“Damn Glen, you’ve got big ass hands!”

Looking into Adolyn's blue-grey eyes. The pupils were dilated and the mana halo, the ring of light that forms around an adept’s pupils when they are using their arcane attunement, was pulsing. Glen didn’t know what manner of arcana his friend was using, but he was amazed he could maintain it in that state. Adolyn's mana halo tended to be white, but now it was an odd green color.

Looking around, Glendriel was sure the other patrons had not noticed. Many mundane were wary of awoken. They feared being enchanted against their will. A fool's notion that perpetuated among the uneducated. You’d have to be an adept of incredibly subversive power to bewitch a sentient being. Glen didn’t dispute that such maleficarum existed, he’d encountered a few himself, he just knew how rare they actually were.

No, Glen was worried about more practical and realistic things; like maybe his friend unconsciously using some dangerous arcana in his inebriated state. Adolyn’s breath and clothes smelled strongly of Arklaesian Herb, a medicinal plant that grows up on the Arklaesian Mountains. It is commonly used as a curative in the Timberlands. Inexpensive in small quantities, many around Theria abused the herb’s well known side effects. Arklaesian Herb was a potent narcotic, and in small doses was used recreationally. Given how high Adolyn looked, Glen was certain he’d not taken a small dose. A quick glance to the blood stained rents and tears on his gambeson informed Glendriel of just which purpose Adolyn had taken the plant for.

"Could you have not just used your powers on him?" He asked Xaniya, not looking up. Incredulously she responded;

"I'm a gold level Priestess of the Church of the Goddess, honey, trust me. If I've got to supplement my skills with Ark-Weed, you know it wasn’t for shits and giggles." She let the statement hang and Glendriel took her meaning.

"How bad was it?" he asked grimly, running his hand over the stomach of Adolyn's gambeson. The smaller feline snickered and slapped at his hand.

"C'mon bro, I love you, but I don't like you like that..." he teased. Glen looked annoyed and pushed the tizzied caracal back on his barstool.

"Weeee!" he yelled as he sat back down. His hands flailed, and he almost toppled over, but caught himself on the bar. It seemed despite even sloshed, those well honed reflexes of his were still in play. Looking at Xaniya, he realized that she was the only of the trio not completely hammered. Though, just barely.

"Pretty bad..." the younger otter managed to blurt out as she ran a hand down Adolyn's cheek. Almost tearing up, she hugged him and ran her wet nose against his ear.

"He almost died!" she sighed into his ear. Xaniya moved forward, smiling big heartedly, and pulled the lithe little otter from Adolyn. Slowly she kissed her on the forehead and helped her rest in the seat next to him.

"Not your fault kiddo. Even Rangers make mistakes sometimes." she insisted. Turning to Adolyn, she placed a hand on either side of his face and kissed him again. Glen made to speak but Xaniya shushed him. Gingerly her hands traced down Addy’s neck and began to unbutton his padded jacket and unclasp the buckles of his armor. The dalish kin was so distracted by the sensuous kiss, that he barely noticed when she pulled back the last buckle and pulled away, dragging his sleeves down his arms.

“It’s cold now, you should warm me...” the caracal slurred as he moved forward to continue kissing Xaniya. The otter simply returned the gesture with a peck and pulled away. Whining softly like a cub, Adolyn followed her with his face, attempting to continue their embrace, but the healer stepped away, presenting the shirtless Adolyn to the Assyrian Lord.

The crowd whooped and hollered as Adolyn’s top was removed, exposing his bare chest and firm abs to the patrons. Though some, mostly the women, had gasps of appreciation for his fit form, others were surprised by the many fresh bandages that adorned his body. He was a bloody mess.

“The damage was extensive as you can see.” she began.

“ He suffered severe lacerations down the left side of his abdomen; as well as two deep puncture wounds in his chest and in his stomach here. He’d taken two javelins of stone near the end of the battle.” she explained. She then gestured down to the bruising around his side and up his chest, and right arm.

“He had two broken ribs, a cracked sternum, and a dislocated shoulder... I’m certain his heart stopped for a minute there too, but he recovered from that pretty quickly.” Xaniya informed in an intrigued, but clinical sounding tone. Glen looked mortified.

“ Just what in the hell happened?!” demanded the Assyrian noble. Fiercely, he turned his withering gaze to the smaller otter, his teeth bared.

“Maximiliane!” He boomed. His voice echoed like thunder, silencing the room. Taking a step forward, the furious lions face was all indignation and menace. Despite herself, the slender otter jumped. With a sudden squeal, then a loud burp coming from her maw., she tried to speak words that would not come. Utterly drunk, she again tried to hide her shame behind Adolyn’s shoulder.

More abashed than afraid, the otter shook her head, apologizing, but Glendriel's anger would not be sated.

“You are a ‘Ranger of Lioncourt’, how could you let this happen?” he demanded. Max looked stricken and tried to formulate the words for a reply. Her lord’s fury was such that it kept distracting her from her thoughts. Glen scoffed, but took notice. Making a concerted effort to calm himself, he folded his arms and waited patiently for her report.

Whatever had happened, he’d need a good explanation from the lutra. Despite her quivering like a frightened pup , Glen knew she wasn’t as vulnerable or fragile as her size and mannerisms would suggest. Max was one of the Ranger Elite, Academy trained and Ordained as such by the Striders of Harimal. Her reaction to Glen’s admonishments were purely based on their relationship. She was less afraid of him physically and more concerned about letting down her illustrious lord.

Maximiliane, or Max as she preferred, was not of the same ilk as Xaniya. Whereas the busty cleric showed few signs of her Keonee ancestry, from her accent, to her build, blonde hair and immodest personality; Max was every bit a child of Holton. Lioncourt had many like her; descendents of Holton refugees who’d made their home out in the ‘Sun’s Reach’.

Like many furkin Kingdoms of the past, Holton had been destroyed during the Baptism of Fire. The River Kingdom had been located north of Argoria near the Kaurio Delta, but had fallen fairly quickly to the ‘Stone King’s’ armies. Its ruins still stood, though the land was subsumed by the Argorians and the few remaining lutra were now subservient to their gatorkin masters. Max’s ancestors were some of the lucky ones. They’d joined the Queen of Hearts resistance force early and were allowed to settle in Lioncourt after the war.

Max was raised in Enlil, a small fishing town off the Phoenix Gate River, in Assyria’s Chamoun Riverland’s Duchy. Her father having wanted a son, Max was raised to live up to the standard of archery and woodsmanship that her family had been known for. A skill that caught the attention of Glendriel’s mother, Ariella Assyrius, at the Grand Tourney In Neveah. She took third that year in the youth archery competition. A feat that would change her life forever. The Archduchess would decide to sponsor the child’s admission into the Xenobia Academy in Neveah, taking a personal interest in her training. The otter had graduated with honors and squired under one of Ariella’s Home Guard, before her undeniable talents earned her the right to train with the rangers. Max was fully capable of handling just about any escapade Adolyn may have found himself in. Glendriel had a tough time figuring out how such an accomplished warrior could fail so spectacularly.

“Hey, don’t be a bully.” Adolyn grumbled as he turned to nuzzle Max.

“This ones got hawkeyes on her. Saved my life!” he insisted with a burp. When Max’s nose twitched at the smell, Adolyn giggled.

“Sorry love, that was less than charming.” he apologized kissing her. Cautiously, she returned the gesture kissing him softly. But she never took her eyes off of Glendriel. Before Glen could continue his tirade, Xaniya stepped forward and brushed a hand against his chest.

“Why don’t you calm down, M’lord. Have a drink with us and I’ll give you a full accounting of our adventure.” she offered. Glendriel looked down at her hand and then at her face, but his resolve wasn’t strong enough not to linger on her sizable bust. Xaniya giggled and pressed them against him.

“You can trust I’ll give you an honest accounting, m’lord. I am a sister of faith after all.” She promised. Rolling his eyes, Glendriel gestured toward her body and then the bar.

“You don’t seem very pious to me, Sister...” he held the last word, hoping she'd name herself. She did. Naming herself as Sister Xaniya Moos. Leading him by the hand, she explained that not all Priestesses were celibate, only those who were affirmed and had given themselves mind and body to the service of the goddess. She was a Ministrata. She’d let the goddess have her mind, but she enjoyed sharing the body with exciting men; such as the ones who now held her company. Reluctantly, Glen acquiesced, sitting down and letting her order his drink.

The conversation was an interesting one. Adolyn tried to interrupt many times, but couldn’t stay focused on anything for too long. Max tried to keep composure and answer any questions, like the dutiful ranger she was, but even the sobering effect of her Lord’s presence could not keep her from responding to Adolyn’s attentions. He would tickle and prick her when she was not looking, and whisper lewd jokes in her ear to make her laugh. When asked why she did not simply tell the drunken lord to stop, Max looked to Xaniya, unable to properly explain herself.

“Because he’ll stop...” Xaniya answered matter of factly. Taking a swig of his drink, Glendriel rose an eyebrow at her. Bidding her to continue.

“Well for one, he’s got enough Arkweed in his system to blitz a dragon. So I’d like him to be focused on something.” she began. She then sighed and nodded to the pile of weapons behind the counter.

“He also kept trying to go back and find the Xorn Alpha. I figured he’d need a bit of a distraction, and for once my marvelous breasts weren’t able to do the job on their own.” Xaniya grinned swaying her breast back and forth

“He was ignoring my babies before, but he came around.”

Glen chuckled and took another drink.

“Of course, you drugged him up nice and good. I hear Arkweed makes you...” Looking away, Glen couldn’t finish his statement without a smile. Xaniya was more than happy to help. Leaning forward, a hand on his lap; she snickered;

“Hornier than a toad during mating season? It can, but only in large doses.”

Glen could not think of a time when Adolyn had ever been so affected by substance or spell. Adolyn was of the bloodline of Athren the Braver; one of the original Eternians. As his mortal descendant, Adolyn was an Elioudan, like Glendriel himself. They were more than mortal kin and their bodies were sturdier. Perhaps the cleric needed to use so much of the drug to overcome Adolyn’s passive regeneration. It wasn’t as powerful as a spell, or a mana beast with the racial ability, but an Elioudan healed much faster than the average kin and he’d always known that poisons, liquors, and other pollutants had a hard time taking hold in his body. He was sure Adolyn was the same.

It was then that Glen felt something, something pushing against his soul’s defense. It wasn’t an attack, but he was definitely being observed. Someone was pressing their will ever so slightly against his. Possibly using some kind of divination spell, but it was weak. It would not be able to overcome his passive defense.

A kinling’s aura is like a profile of who they are, figuratively speaking. Your energy is an extension of you and for those who can read it, they can determine many things. Hell, if they are good enough your aura can reveal mundane things that are closely tied to your mental identity, such as your name or your occupation, though it is usually used as a gauge of your strength, both physical and arcane.

Glendriel could use the kirlian eye to assess others, but he’d never been strong enough to discern anything more complicated than how powerful of an adept a person was, or what emotions they were feeling. Whomever had just failed to use the arcana on him might have been more knowledgeable.

Turning casually he immediately caught a glimpse of a group of hooded kin on the other side of the tavern. When they caught him looking, they looked away. Casually they got up and shuffled toward the door. Glen did not get up to stop them. He simply sighed and turned to Adolyn.

“Make any new friends in town?” he asked his inebriated friend. Adolyn looked up and shrugged sheepishly.

“Maybe...” he smiled. Glen looked to Max, but she simply shrugged. Again it was Xaniya who shined light on the subject.

“When I got wind of our adorable friend here, he’d already ran away some shadowy figures from the caves. I think it’s why he came. The exploration was an afterthought.” she smiled. Adolyn grinned and giggled;

“Nothing serious, just a few cultists.” Glen groaned.

“Did you know they were watching you?” he asked. Adolyn nodded enthusiastically.

“Thought they’d make a move in the cave... darkness... shadows... accidents can happen. But nope, then I got hurt. Thought THIS IS IT! Nope! Then they watch me drink, I tip my mug to them.

Glendriel groaned and put down his drink.

“So you know we’re gonna be ambushed, right...”

“BINGO BANGO!” Adolyn shouted, throwing up a thumbs up. Glen frowned deeply. He was sure that Adolyn wasn’t faking being drunk and high, so why wasn’t he concerned. Was he so sure of himself that he could do something about it, even in this state.

Before he could even ask the question Adolyn grabbed his face and pulled him close.

“Figured you’d show up eventually. Nothing you can’t handle!” he burped. Incredulous, Glen asked how Adolyn was so sure he’d show up. The caracal just nodded toward Max and shrugged, giggling like an idiot. Even in that state he thought he was so clever.

Sighing, Glen realized that he’d have to operate under the assumption that his friend would be less than no help. Looking at Max, he was sure she wouldn’t be of any assistance either. He sighed and turned his gaze back to the cleric who was entertaining the bartender by flipping coins and letting them drop down on her cleavage. They bounced twice and rolled perfectly between her beautiful bosom.

“Well, there’s that...” he thought watching the sight with a less than enthusiastic expression.

"One more!" he called to the bartender. Glen wouldn't be getting drunk, but if he was going to take on an unknown number of cultist with magical abilities, while babysitting a couple of drunk friends, he'd want to be a little buzzed. Smiling Xaniya leaned forward and pressed against him.

"That's the spirit m'lord, let the good times roll!" she cooed.