Erection of the Runelords Bk 1 Ch 1-2 (Patreon)

The following chapters are the VERY FIRST in a new Sword & Sorcery Fantasy series. For those of you who may not know, I am a very big fan of Tabletop Role Playing Games,  and I very much love the lore and worlds that have developed out of some of the longstanding games.

This new series is my attempt to live through a TTRPG campaign I feel like I'll never get the chance to properly play in real life - EotRL will be my erotic narrative "play through" of the Rise of the Runelords Adventure Path, originally produced by Paizo for their game Pathfinder. It is a classic RPG adventure with some fun twists and turns, and I'm looking forward to putting my Erotica spin on it for all of you!

EotRL is a multi-viewpoint Action-Adventure that will eventually develop some of my usual themes of romance and some harem-like relationships, but you can expect some more free-wheeling encounters before those relationships really start to form. If you enjoy these first two chapters, make sure to let me know! These two chapters together are about 21k words, or 45 pages. They will eventually make it up onto Literotica and other sites. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------

++BOOK ONE - BURNT OFFERINGS ++

***---***---*** CHAPTER ONE ***---***---***

The Wizard

Knives, Colt decided, were not his specialty.

"I'm going to cut ye' good an' dead, warlock," growled the man who had just stabbed the rather imposing hunting blade into the hay mattress of the inn bed. He was big, with half the look of a tanned Shoanti tribesman and the other half blonde Ulfen raider, but while Colt could understand why the invader of his inn room was justifiably angry, there were lines.

“Hey! I am a wizard, and an actor. Not some filthy warlock,” Colt said, scrambling backwards across the mattress and away from the stabbing blade.

"It wasn't my fault, Grigor. He- he bewitched me, he did! With his magics," cried the brunette woman who, up until the highly rude interruption by her apparent husband, had been sharing the bed with Colt. He wasn’t even sure of her name. At least she had the common decency to shrug and mouth ‘I’m sorry’ from behind Grigor after throwing all the guilt for the current circumstances onto Colt.

Colt couldn’t blame her really - old Grigor seemed like one part lumberjack, one part rampaging bull. Based on his size and very aggressive manner, Colt wouldn't have willingly chosen to get on this man's bad side either. Unfortunately that choice had been removed when the woman had inconveniently forgotten to mention she was married.

"Look, friend," Colt said, wriggling backwards across the bed and dropping to the floor opposite Grigor, away from the flashing steel. "I'm sure we can figure this out."

"I ain’t yer friend, runt. C’mere!"

So not much of a conversationalist then, Colt grimaced. Only one thing to do. Colt dropped and scrambled under the bed, barely managing to dodge the leap of the bigger man. The underside of the cot was pleasantly tidy - apparently the owner of the White Deer Inn was a diligent fellow when it came to dust and clutter - and Colt was able to squirm his way to the other side in a quick wriggle. He felt the big man climbing over the bed to chase him, and then trying to grab Colt’s bare and kicking feet as he scrambled. The one benefit to being completely naked in a bedroom brawl was that there were less things to grab on to. Well, less clothes. Let’s hope he doesn’t get his mitts on other grab-able bits.

Colt clawed at the top of the bedside table from the floor, and felt his fingers wrap around the cool metal handle of his own preferred implement of defense. Some men, like the angry specimen who was rising up like a swamp lurker on the other side of the bed, preferred knives. Others swords, or axes.

There was only one implement of chaos for Colt Caudex.

Colt thrust the shiny silver chalice in the direction of the knifeman, and Grigor flinched back away from it, raising his hands to block the incoming liquid... of which there was none. He lowered his hands, clearly confused as if he'd been expecting acid, or at least some alcohol intended to blind him. He had good instincts, really, which made Colt even more worried about the man’s skill with a knife. But that's when Colt spoke the words.

Magic was a funny thing. Everyone in the know said it had to come from somewhere. Some people and creatures had it in their blood, other's made deals or paid homage to powerful beings, slaving themselves to creed or omen. Some pulled it from the land, or enigmatic artifacts. Colt Caudex did none of these things.

"Personam Leporem."

The words rattled thick off of Colt's tongue. The chalice grew warm, as if filled with a hot, spiced rum. The fingers of his free hand made the arcane gestures for the spell, burning a hot, bright sigil in the air for a moment. And for that moment the knife-wielder hesitated, and his eyes fluttered.

Colt spoke magic out of thin air. He was a Wizard, schooled not just to harness arcane power, but to create it from nothing. It was... well, it was magic.

"Friend, this seems like a big misunderstanding..." Colt said as Grigor’s eye began to focus after crossing as the magic washed over him.

"I- uh- Yes, it must be," Grigor stammered. He looked from Colt over to the woman, who was hurriedly trying to slip back into her skirts, her chest bare and wobbling as she moved. "Lichelle? Wife, what- why?"

Ah, Lichelle. Right, that was her name, Colt thought.

"Grigor-" Lichelle said, but Colt coughed to interrupt her.

"We were planning a surprise for you, Grigor," Colt said. "I'm a friend of Lichelle, and she was telling me about your, ah... recent decline in husband and wife time. She suggested bringing a new adventure to the bedroom, we just hadn't had a chance to invite you up here yet."

Lichelle looked wide eyed back and forth between Colt and her husband. Colt gave her a 'Go with it' look, and she started nodding.

"It's true, Griggy," she stammered. "I wanted to... try something... new?"

Grigor was stunned. "I- I never knew. This is something you want?"

Lichelle blushed, something Colt had yet to have seen her do even through the last half hour they had spent together 'talking' in his room. And it had been quite the vigorous 'conversation.' "I mean, it might be fun?" she said.

During the couple's discussion, Colt had begun quietly trying to gather his clothes, but let his pants drop back to the floor. This was coming back around to being interesting instead of dangerous. He had about an hour before the spell wore off on poor Grigor's peanut of a mind, and Colt definitely had to get out of there before that happened. Once the magic faded, poor Grigor would be free to realize he'd been ensorcelled.

Still, Lichelle had that wonderfully thick sort of body that came from rural living. And the way she was biting her bottom lip as she looked from her husband to Colt and back was quite comely.

"Well, Grigor," Colt said. "What do you think? How about we go ahead and take an adventure together and make some memories?"

Grigor, knife forgotten, started peeling off his shirt as Lichelle dropped her skirts again, revealing herself to both men. 'Oh my gods,' she mouthed to Colt while her husband wasn't looking.

Colt just winked.

Fifty-five minutes. This shouldn't last more than thirty, maybe?

The irony was that Colt hadn't ensorcelled the woman at all. She'd watched him performing down in the inn common room, playing both parts in the bawdy two-man play A Tale of Tieflings. She'd come on to him throughout the entire performance from the audience, licking her lips and unbuttoning her blouse to let her cleavage deepen. The common room was packed with the festival starting in the morning, and she’d been alone. He’d let her approach him after his performance. She laughed at his jokes. Whispered in his ear. Put her hand on his thigh, which was almost as forward as he was likely to find in a town like this. Then she’d suggested that she was a fan of the theater, and would love a private performance.

Everyone knew what that meant, even out here in the provincial hinterlands. Fuck, Sandpoint had a theater of it's own for gods sake. If anything, the woman had been ensorcelled by his charisma and talent. And he likely hadn't been the first to do that, judging by how quickly she'd jumped into bed. The brunette fox had known exactly what she wanted.

Colt grabbed his cock and started stroking himself hard again while he set down his chalice and then fixed his hair with the other hand. "Lichelle, princess, ever handled two swords at once? I hear it's quite the experience."

Fifty-four minutes.

The housewife smirked and shook her head. “No, not as of yet,” she said. She crawled up on the bed and grasped her heaving bosom, squeezing her hefty tits.

“Well Grigor, my friend,” Colt said. “She’s your wife, do you want to choose which end you start on, or do you want to flip a coin? Heads or tails?”

***---***---***---***

The Ranger

There were things the bard's stories didn't tell you about - and an entire category of those things could be summed up under the title 'Aches of the Road.' All the tales talked about heroic fights, deep romances, and dastardly villains. They rarely talked about little bits of gravel in boots, hungry mosquitos in late summer, or the down-to-your-bones exhaustion of an entire day of constant hiking.

Grail wriggled awkwardly, sliding her sweaty, clammy body out of her coat of scale mail, swearing to herself again that at the first opportunity she was going to buy a new one that was easier to take off.

"Agh, for fucks sake," she grumbled, letting the heavy coat of metal fall to the grassy patch she'd chosen for her campsite. It was well sheltered in a copse of trees, and the little fire she'd set was diffusing it's smoke in the lush, full branches above. Summer had already turned, but here on the Varisian coast it seemed to be hanging on into the harvest season. That didn't stop the gentle night wind brushing against her sweaty body from stinging with chill. The big trees of the local forests were thick trunked and spread wide from each other, with plenty of low shrubbery between, but they weren’t dense enough to cut the breeze.

"Fucking fuck it," Grail sighed, and tossed another, thicker branch onto the fire. It quickly caught and the warmth spreading across her body was a comfort. Her undershirt was soaked through, and her thick little nipples tightened in complaint against the cold, standing out as she tried to get herself dry. Soon enough she turned so that the warmth of the fire could also spread across her back and dry out those sweat rings as well. Looking away from the fire, she let her eyes quickly adjust to the dark, gazing out into the dark of the small woods.

This region, the hinterlands around Sandpoint, was known as being relatively peaceful. Idyllic, compared to the wilds up north, the marshes to the south and the ever present threat of the Orcs of Belkzen far in the east. Not to mention the fucking giants. Still, even here, there were threats. Bandits, goblins, wild beasts. Supposedly there was even a local monster nicknamed the Sandpoint Devil, though the rumours she’d caught from the local farmers she’d talked to tended towards ridiculous.

Nothing moved out there in the woods, though. Insects chirruped, the fire crackled. All was still and quiet.

Grail rolled her thick neck and groaned, and stretched her arms out wide. Then, all at once, she dove for her heavy crossbow, rolled with it and came up onto one knee, string pulled back and armed as she pointed it at the figure looming out of the shadows. It moved silently, it's impossibly thick frame blending in amid the trees. It shouldn’t have been able to do that, being the size of a fucking bear, except for one key fact.

"What are you tryin' to do, fuckin' fight me or something?" Grail demanded, raising her crossbow and shaking it at the Treant. The big, humanoid-shaped tree man was easily a head taller than a human, which meant it towered over her dwarven stature. It's face was stern, it's head crowned with oak leaves, and it stepped forward further into the light of the fire.

It opened it's mouth and groaned, the sound of it's speech like heavy wind shifting the big redwood trees. It gestured at the fire with a frown, and continued the gesture out to the dark of the woods.

"Oh, calm down. I didn't cut anything down, it's all natural fallings," Grail said.

The Treant puffed itself up a bit, putting it's big, gnarled hands on it's hips, and moaned it's wordless language.

"Let me guess," Grail said, lowering her crossbow and propping it against the rock. "This is your woods, and you don't like me being here."

The Treant nodded it’s head.

"Well, it’s been a long fucking day and I'm here now. Deal with it," she said. "I haven't done nothin' wrong. Not by no laws of the road or of nature."

The craggy face of the Treant frowned deeper at being rebuffed, and it stared at Grail for a long moment. Then, slowly, it's face turned inquisitive.

"Oh, no, I know that look," Grail said, putting her hands up.

The Treant reached down and a smooth, nobby branch began growing out of it's vaguely crotch-like lower torso. It stroked the wooden cock with a lascivious grin.

Grail eyed it, considering her options, then rolled her eyes. "Fine. Fair is fair," she said. She pulled her shirt over her head, revealing her hefty tits and freckled chest. Her nipples were a dark pink, almost as ruddy as her hair, and now that they were completely free she could feel them hardening further.

"Just once, though," she said, unbuckling her belt and starting to unbutton her pants. "And don't try any of that sap stuff, you Treants always think I'll like it and it never goes the way you think it will."

I should have just stopped at one of the farmsteads, Grail thought as she stripped off her boots and pants, revealing the dark red muff that matched her wild, deep red hair. Well, at least I'll know I'm not going to get murdered in the night by some bandit. They'll have to go through Treedick to get to me, first.

“Come on then, closer to the fire. I don’t feel like freezing my tits off,” she said.

The Treant trundled forward, and Grail found she didn’t even need to get down on her knees for it’s pole to be at a comfortable sucking height. It had produced a nine-inch rod, smooth as a well-handled axe haft but lumpy and nobbed on the end in the approximation of a cock head. She wrapped one hand around it, finding it as rigid as a pole of wood was expected to be, and sighed.

“You better enjoy this, Treedick,” she said, then licked the nobby head. It had barely any taste other than slightly earthy. “Now, let’s get you nice a slobbery. I’m not taking this fuckstick anywhere else until I know you’re going to slide in all smooth like. And no sap, got it?”

The Treant groaned, and reached down to paw at her tits as Grail wrapped her lips around it’s rod. There were worse ways to spend your evening than trading favours with a Treant. At least it wasn’t a tribe of leshy’s - those little plantfolk never did pick up on the fact that they were made of weeds that could prick and itch.

***---***---***---***

The Paladin

The fire was roaring bright, just the way that Shaka preferred it. Bright, in an open area. Able to be seen from the road, possibly for half a mile or more in either direction. The hilltop was perfectly situated for the purpose, and he’d used it for such two years ago the last time he’d been this far south.

It was a campsite begging to be visited. Over the last few years that had become an open invitation to the bandits lurking out in the hills and forests of the northern hinterlands. A fire like this was screaming out into the darkness 'Come, villains. Rob me.'

It was an invitation Shaka Shale was more than happy to put out into the world.

He was not out in the wilds, cold and alone, surrounded by the coldhearted bandits who preyed upon merchants and travellers. They were out here with him. In the wilds, the half-giant was the true predator. By Old Deadeye, I will water this hilltop with brigand blood.

That being said, Shaka was also ferociously hungry after a day on the road. The Swallowtail Festival was set to begin the next morning down in Sandpoint, and he'd needed to push himself hard to make it so far south and out of his usual territory. Another early morning was still waiting for him if he wanted to arrive in time. So, even though the roaring bonfire was the wrong type to cook over, a half dozen skewers with rabbit and squirrel were crackling and oozing juices, filling the air with the smell of cooking meat.

"Lord Erastil," Shaka intoned, his voice quiet and gravelly as he uttered his prayer. "I give thanks for these gifts from your menagerie. I ask your continued protection of my home, and these pathways through your domain. May your blessings be swift and true."

Thankfully, the god of the Wild, whose domain called to Hunters and Farmers, was not a god who demanded long speeches. Shaka threw back his cloak and plucked one of the skewers from the fireside, giving it a sniff.

Not quite done, he thought, and put it back. He looked up at the moon, large in the sky on a clear night, and breathed deeply. He had time.

***---***

The Monk

Sometimes the best way was the most direct way, and yet somehow Anjella had let herself be convinced to take one of the winding Old Roads.

"Don't ignore tradition, she says," Anjella muttered to herself sarcastically. "It will get you in touch with your roots, she says." The route had been dotted with ancient campsites used by untold generations of Varisians, the travelling folk who had shared the lands with the Shoanti for millennia before the Chelaxians sent their armies north to explore, conquer and settle new cities. While Anjella had certainly enjoyed the nights where she happened across one of the travelling bands and families sharing such sites, there had been many more days of long walking and lonely nights. If she had taken a riverboat from Janderhoff or Melfesh, she could have ridden the Yondabakari River all the way to Magnimar and been in Sandpoint days ago, if not weeks.

Instead, here she was, marching along under a moonlit sky. By her best estimate, she was getting close to Sandpoint, but she wasn't quite sure what day it was anymore. She'd lost count in the third week of walking, and it had only gotten worse from there.

At first Anjella hoped the light that appeared ahead was a sign of the town, and that she might finally get to rest in a gods’ damned bed for the first time in a month, but as she picked up her pace she quickly realised it was a campfire of some sort, big enough for an entire group of travellers. She hadn't seen any of the hidden signs that pointed towards the secret campsites of her people, so Anjella pressed forward. She became more cautious when, as she mounted the base of the hill, she didn't hear any noise or see any movement up at the camp.

They can't all be asleep already with a fire burning that high, she thought.

All at once, Anjella's hopefulness over the chance at some conversation and food was buried beneath a feeling of danger. Lowering herself to the ground, she crept her way up the hill, trying to use the sparse bits of brush and small dips in the hillside to cover her approach. The problem was, despite a month and a half of travel and her mother being one of the travelling folk, Anjella was well and truly a city girl. Korvosa may have been a lot of things, but it wasn't a hilltop in the wilds, and Anjella felt like every stone she nudged or leaf she stepped on was echoing on the wind.

Nearly at the top, with the cusp of the hill between her and the fire, Anjella still didn't hear any noise. She put a hand on the hilt of her shortsword, then hesitated, before steeling herself and pulling the blade. Better to be prepared, she decided. The sword had been a gift from the family she had set off on her journey with - they had shown her how to use it, and she’d practised with another band she had at a camp site weeks later. The sight of someone willing to protect themselves could scare off most threats, they said. Brigands didn’t expect resistance from the travelling folk, so seeing it made them falter.

Sword in hand, she made a one-handed gesture symbolising the Eye of Aroden, but she didn't bother muttering a prayer. Her god was dead, after all. What was the point?

Over the rise, Anjella kept low with her sword held off to one side as she crept up on the fire. No one was there, but the smell hit her - cooked meat. Her stomach grumbled at the promise of food. Moving fully into the light, Anjella managed to stop herself from immediately jumping for the skewers of cooking meat. Someone had obviously been here; fires and food didn't just appear out of no where, but as she looked around-

The strike knocked the sword out of Anjella's hand, the arrow crashing into the blade with such force that she could still hear the metal clang ringing in her ears. Thankfully her reactions were faster than her thoughts, and she was already throwing herself to the side around the blazing campfire as her mind caught up to her movements.

She rolled as she landed, and rolled again to get herself away from the light, but collided with a tree.

There were no trees at the top of this hill.

Fuck.

Anjella looked up, and up, at the biggest man she had ever seen. He was pale in the firelight, with a thick brow and jaw. He was bald, his black beard trimmed short, and he was wearing a thick furred cloak over a hauberk of darkened chain mail.

All of this would have been an upsetting turn of events, whether in the wilds or in an alley back home, but Anjella found one more thing that topped it all. The immense greataxe the man was bringing down in an overhand strike that would cleave her skull in two.

***---***

The Paladin

The woman who approached the fire wasn't nearly as good at sneaking as she thought she was. Shaka shook his head and stayed low where he was, just around the hill, using a dip to hide his form from her and the light of the fire. He was impossibly still, imagining himself like a boulder unmoved for an age. The woman shifted like an animal, sniffing away at the food, her sword out like a bared fang.

Shaka stood silently and lifted his arrow to cheek, his longbow straining for a moment under his heavy pull before he loosed.

He'd been aiming for her hand or arm, but the clang as the sword went spinning away was surprisingly satisfying. With a grunt, Shaka dropped the bow and pulled his great axe from it's loop on his back. The woman was already diving and rolling towards him, closing the distance quickly. How did she spot me so fast?

Shaka raised his axe and was already swinging down at the thief as she came to a stop and looked directly up at him from between his legs. He decided, in a split second, not to cleave her in two and to just scare the shit out of her instead. He wasn't sure why he decided that - but he did. Maybe because she was still young and didn’t have the look of feral desperation that meant she was capable of anything. He'd bury the axe in the dirt next to her head and scare the absolute-

Everything stopped for a moment as the pain blossomed in his head, rode every path it could through his body and down to his groin, and then exploded.

She'd kicked him right in the dick.

"FUUUuhuuuuuck!" Shaka roared.

His axe bit and buried into the ground, but not on purpose as he faltered wide and went down to one knee. The woman rolled away, springing to her feet more nimbly than he could track through the haze of sharp pain. She threw another kick, this time at his head, but Shaka got a hand up and caught her foot in one of his big hands. He deflected it away, and again she tucked and rolled with the force, springing back up to her feet.

With a wordless grunt Shaka pulled his axe from the dirt and stood and squared off with the woman. She raised her fists, taking on a fighting stance. This woman seemed more than willing to face down a man more than half again her size with nothing but her knuckles.

"Fucking cheater," Shaka said, taking a chance and saying it in Varisian. The girl looked at least half-Varisian, with the right kind of hair but the wrong shade, and the warm tan of someone who had spent time travelling the open road. "You kicked me in the dick."

"You shot an arrow at me from the dark," the girl replied in the same language. It was musical on her tongue, making his own use of it sound coarse. "And tried to cut me in half."

They eyed each other, weighing their options.

With her long coat now dangling loosely, Shaka could see the girl was physically capable despite her size. She was wearing a loose, colourful red shirt unlaced under the coat and even in the dark he could tell she was surprisingly muscled. Even without a weapon she was looking confident, if wary of fighting him.

"My eyes are up here, you giant boar," the girl said.

Shaka hadn't been staring at her bared cleavage, at least not intentionally. "That medallion," he said, pointing at the golden icon hanging from a leather cord around her neck. "Who did you steal that from?"

She clutched the amulet protectively. "Fuck you, this is mine. I'm no thief."

"Then why are you sneaking up on my camp with a blade out?"

She scoffed. "Why are you hiding in the dark, waiting to ambush people coming to your fire?"

Shaka buried the head of his axe in the ground again, keeping it upright and within reach as he shifted his cloak. It was old and worn, but the elk antlers sigil of Erastil burned into the back was still discernible. "Because Old Deadeye hates bandits, so I make sure to welcome them appropriately to my camp."

The girl narrowed her eyes as she slowly lowered her fists. "You serve the Stag God?"

Shaka nodded. "And you serve the Last Azlanti?"

"Not much to serve," she said. "Dead gods don't ask much of their servants."

"You follow his creeds, though?"

She shrugged uncomfortably. "As much as there are any left."

Shaka sighed and nodded, his mind made up. Aroden had not been the most popular god among the Varisians, they not caring so much for the spread of civilization, but those that did worship the now-dead god had focused on his lesser calling - fulfilment of prophecies. "Fine then," Shaka said. "Come share the fire. You'll take first watch, and you can have some of my food."

After a long moment she nodded. "Good enough," she said. "I'm Anjella Pallaseri."

"Shaka Shale. Be welcome."

***---***

The Monk

Anjella looked across the now smouldering fire at the immense form of the Erastilian warrior. It had been a tense half hour, and they'd barely traded any more words. He told her they were only a few hours from Sandpoint, shared half of his food without complaint, and after fetching his bow from the dark he promptly rolled over and went to sleep. Now he was silent, his huge chest slowly rising and falling, wrapped in his worn cloak with only his travelling bag for a pillow.

Shaka Shale was gloomy, and huge, and dangerous. Anjella felt like she was sharing a fire with a grumpy, wild bear. He was nothing like anyone she had ever met, and the streets of Korvosa had been relatively diverse in sights and travelling folk.

The worst part of it all was that for some reason she couldn’t discern, Anjella was feeling antsy. There was something so wild about this giant of a man that she couldn't let it go. He was a predator of a kind she didn't know how to deal with. She didn't like it. Didn't like feeling like this man was bigger than her in more ways than size.

Anjella fell back on what she knew. Restless, and needing to stay awake for her watch, she got down on her hands and began doing pushups. The exercise, thankfully different than the monotony of walking, pumped her blood through her veins and gave her a new ache to focus on. A distraction to stop her thinking about the beast across the fire.

There were many hours to morning still, but the way the mountain of a man had made it sound, he was planning on being up and out early. If he knew the way, then she was going to follow him for the last, short stretch.

The exercise pushed Anjella, unknotting some of the tension in her limbs. Diffusing her worry as she focused on the push and pull of her arms and the blades of grass directly under her nose. At Sandpoint she could split off and leave Shaka Shale to his work for Erastil, whatever that was, and she could find her cousin and get off of her feet for a gods’ damned day.

All I need to do first is sleep next to a cave bear and trust he doesn’t get hungry.

***---***---***---*** CHAPTER TWO ***---***---***---***

The Ranger

The fog rose in the earliest parts of the morning as the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, but Grail Hillfire was already up and on the move. She'd left the Treant behind at the camp site, his gnobby rod still erect as he sat leaning against the largest redwood in the copse. The thing about wooden cocks was that they didn't go soft.

The Treant had, despite her warnings, tried to 'sap' her and she was still feeling sticky because of it. "Fuckin' trees," she grumbled, adjusting her pants again as she strode along the edge of the farmer's field. It was nearly harvest time and the cornstalks were looming over her.

Grail had been traveling Varisia for her entire life, but had never been so close to the coast before - the morning fog was thick here, cloaking the low parts of the terrain as rolling hills and scattered copses of trees broke Grail's sight lines. The easiest way to travel, without a road, was keeping the large shadow of the nearby limestone escarpment to her right. The directions she had received yesterday from a local farmer had told her that the Devil's Platter shielded the little peninsula that Sandpoint was built on.

Never mind that it's just a normal thing to call an escarpment the Devil's Platter around here! Grail shook her head and glanced up at the ominously named shadow in the half light of early dawn. Varisia, from the mountainous Storval Plateau in the north down to the Mushfens in the south, was scattered with big tors and bluffs, but this Platter was the largest single formation she'd seen short of the cliffs of the Storval Rise. It was like a true and proper mountain had gotten sheared off at the base, leaving behind a rocky stump.

That was silly though, right? Where was the rest of the mountain, then?

The hills grew steeper, and Grail was forced to circle a few in the fog rather than climb. Then, all at once, she topped a hill and was treated to a vista the likes of which she had never seen before in all her travels. The water glimmered like an opal in the morning sun. The Ocean.

It was stunning. Immense. Beautiful. Terrible.

"Too much water," Grail finally decided, shaking her head. The base of the hill she was on sloped down to a road dotted with carts and travellers heading north. She descended and joined the sparse flow of travel, walking alone for another twenty minutes before there was a soft descent as the road made a turn, and Sandpoint was spread out before her.

A small bay and a river bordered the southern side, the town accessible by a wooden bridge. The bay had been turned into a small harbour where several little ships (or big boats? Grail wasn't quite sure of the difference) were docked and being unloaded. The town rose slowly from the docks on a gradual rise, the one and two story buildings mostly combined brick and wood structures, all with pleasant panelled facings and wooden slat roofs. There were other, larger buildings scattered throughout the town, but the two most dominant structures sat across at the north end. One was huge compared to the rest of the town, with three low domes on top and well constructed stone arches.

Pretty good, for human work, she thought. It was obviously the newly constructed Sandpoint Cathedral. Word of the major effort had swept through the Varisian for years, along with the story of their last chapel burning down around the heads of the Priest and his adopted daughter. A blessed Aasimar girl touched by the divine.

The other looming building was little more than a ruin but stood at the highest point in town, looking over everything around and out to sea. Grail could tell at one time, in the ancient past, it would have been some sort of immense tower. Now only a single portion of the wall still stood, circular and cupping the highest point of the town in a peaked shadow.

Grail followed the road along with the merchants and locals walking it, down the final slope to a wide, squat wooden bridge. It was the only real barrier, crossing a short river that fed into the bay that served Sandpoint so well as a port. An offshoot trail of the road followed the bank of the river up towards what looked like a small community built on the bluff opposite the bay and docks, but everyone was headed for the bridge, so that was where she followed.

A sign, rough and rustic, was planted prominently beside the well maintained wooden structure.

Welcome to SANDPOINT
Please stop to See Yourself As We See You

A polished mirror hung in the centre of the sign, reflecting Grail's face back at her. She was dirty, face smudged with the dirt of travel, her hair a mess after her toss and tousle with the Treant. Still, she thought, at least I'm cute.

The dwarf sighed and didn’t step onto the bridge, instead heading down the bank to the river edge and the smooth, crystal clear water. She cupped her hands and splashed some over her face, the bite of it cool and refreshing this early in the day. Then she did it again, and started to scrub her hands clean before moving on to her face and fixing her hair.

It was a Festival Day, after all. I can’t just go about looking like a wild person, she thought to herself as she cleaned. Especially if I want my warnings taken seriously. These people need to know that doom is coming for them. If not today, then some tomorrow, the giants are going to march to war.

***---***---***---***---***

The Monk

"What are you, anyways?" Anjella asked her huge companion, despite the rudeness of it. In the light of day, Shaka's size seemed even more apparent, as if the dark had hidden his true proportions. He would easily stand head and shoulders over the tallest men Anjella had ever seen.

He was quiet for a moment and eyed her was a questioning look. "There are different names for my kind," Shaka said. They had swapped to common from the more regional Varisian they had been speaking before. Shaka was fluent, but not a native speaker, of the Traveller’s Tongue and while Anjella had gotten plenty of practice lately, she really was a city girl. "The easiest to understand would be half-giant."

"Fuck," Anjella shook her head. She could believe it, even if it sounded ridiculous. Well, not so ridiculous. Half Elves and Half Orcs weren't so uncommon, let alone the rare folk who bore the mark of the heavens and hells, or the elements. Why not a half-giant? How would that work, though? She wondered. It would have had to have been a giant mother and a something-else father, right?

"Mmm," Shaka muttered something, and Angella didn't ask him to clarify. She'd woken him halfway through the night for his watch shift, and he'd nearly killed her again. His massive fist had grabbed her by the throat in that moment between sleep and wakefulness, and she'd clapped his ears hard to get him to let her go.

At least he apologized once he was actually awake. Well, it had still been a little more terse than she was owed. It had been just enough for her to feel safe to go to sleep.

There hadn’t been any banter between them in the morning. He'd woken her before the sun had even begun to glimmer on the horizon, and they had packed up their bedrolls and few belongings before quickly hitting the road. No breakfast, just a sour swig from their waterskins.

The road was quiet in the pre-dawn, and slowly wound between big redwood forests. They were headed west and south, away from the sun, and the thick fog of the region slowly burned away. Now to the south a big limestone bluff blocked the horizon - the last landmark Anjella had been told to look for. They were close.

Close, and she still had questions. Her half-giant companion continued to move like a predator, his eyes darting to the edges of woods that had been cut back more than fifty yards to either side of the road. He turned to check behind them often.

"Expecting trouble?" Anjella asked.

He looked to her and seemed to consider before answering. "Yes," he finally said. "The past few years, banditry has been on the rise in the entire region."

"That's why you set up your little ambush last night," Anjella said, and he nodded. "You hunt them."

"I do," he said.

"I didn't come across anyone like that on my travels," she said. "I walked the width of Varisia without being accosted once."

"You took the ways of your people though," Shaka said. "This isn't one of your hidden roads. This is the Lost Coast Road, the only land route from Magnimar all the way up to Riddleport. There aren't enough folk living in the region to draw the number of bandits I've been dealing with, which means they've been pushed or sent here to target the merchants and cause trouble."

"Hmm," Anjella grunted. If he was right, that was a problem that Magnimar should have been taking care of. The City of Monuments claimed these lands as part of their holdings and under their protection, but yet again they proved themselves incapable of following through on their promises. Everyone from Korvosa knew that Magnimar was a disaster waiting to happen, sucking resources and trade away from the true capital of Varisia.

Shaka didn't ask any questions in return, and Anjella didn't offer chatter. He wants to be the strong, silent type? Fine. Good with me. I like the silence.

She walked along with the mountain-on-legs and found herself keeping an eye out for danger as well.

Not that she hadn't been doing that before, but now it felt more intentional.

Damn it, she thought. She hated feeling like she was doing what this asshole was telling her.

The road squeezed closer to the coast, and as soon as the sun began to release from the horizon and lift into the sky, the fog was burned away and the cloudless sky had a bright, turquoise glow and the waters of the Varisian Bay were as deep a blue as the much smaller Conqueror’s Bay back home. The sea went as far as her eyes could see. Far out on the north east horizon she thought she could see the telltale shadow of an island, but otherwise it was clear water. The water wasn't awe-inspiring for her, she'd grown up in a harbour city after all, but Anjella had to admit it was particularly pretty.

At some point Anjella noticed that Shaka was walking slowly next to her, matching the pace of her relatively shorter stature. This realisation just aggravated Anjella all the more. The big fucking lummox! She picked up her pace, and he matched it after a glance down at her.

Around a short bend through the forests, a town wall appeared. It was lower than the walls of Korvosa, but then she also had to assume there was less here to protect than there was in the greatest city of Varisia. The wall stretched from the coastal bluff that lead down to the waters below, across the road and into the forest bordering the road to the south. A gate, standing wide open, was being manned by two guards, and through the gate was a riot of colour that could only mean that it was Market or Festival day.

Is it really that time already? The Swallowtail Festival wasn’t a very popular one in Korvosa, except among the Travelling Folk who had made the city their home. It was dedicated to the goddess Desna, the Great Dreamer; her impracticality didn’t lend itself so much to grand religious services or zealous followers. Among her people however, Desna was seen as the patron of travellers and explorers, and her festival days were never missed.

The guards at the gate were lax, leaning in the shade of the gatehouse and chatting between themselves as they watched Anjella and Shaka approach up the road. One had a crown of flowers sat on top of his pot helm, while the other didn’t even both picking up his shield from where it was resting on the ground.

A sign, mounted to the outside of the wall, caught Anjella's attention.

Welcome to SANDPOINT
Please stop to See Yourself As We See You

"What kind of provincial crap is that?" Anjella muttered to herself.

Shaka chuckled, just once, and Anjella hated the fact that she felt a twinge of satisfaction making him break his stern demeanour.

"Welcome, y'all," the guard with the flowers on his helmet said with a grin. "Y' here for the Festival?"

"For the dedication," Shaka said.

The guard smiled and nodded, looking to Anjella. "I was on my way here no matter what. I honestly thought I’d missed the festival altogether.” She couldn't help letting a small grin slip onto her lips as she looked at the riotous colours of the crowd through the gate. It seemed like little Sandpoint took to Desna’s day lot more than Korvosa did.

"Well, come on in folks," the other guard said. "Just remember to mind y’selves. No roughhousing, this is a family atmosphere, yeah?"

"Understood," Shaka said. His eyes had already drifted to the crowds ahead, and he began to move.

Anjella watched him go. Now, able to see him next to the guards and other people, she was taken again by just how fucking big he was. His hands could probably wrap most of the way around a man’s head. Half-giant, indeed. I wonder if- She cut that thought off, not liking where it was going.

She turned back to the guards. "I'm sure the Festival means everyone is out and about," she said. "But maybe you can help point me to my cousin. He's supposed to help me settle in here and maybe find some work."

"Sure, little lady," said the guard with the flowers. "Sandpoint's busy today, lots of visitors, but if he's local we probably know him. Town ain't that large. What's his name?"

"Jubrayl Vhiski," Anjella said.

The guards glanced at each other, their looks darkening slightly. "You're a Vhiski?" the one without the flowers asked.

Shit. Mother, what have you gotten me in to?

"Well, no. Cousins by marriage."

"Mm," the guard said. "Well, you seem like a nice enough young lady. A friendly word of warning, yeah? Your cousin is trouble. Careful what you let him get you into."

The look in their eyes. The cudgels hanging from their belts. Their armor, studded leather hauberks and pot helms. Anjella flashed back to the last time she'd had a run in with the Korvosan Guard. They were bigger, meaner and scarier than these two by a country mile, but she still felt that pinch deep in her gut.

"Understood, sir," Anjella said, nodding.

The silence between them lengthened.

"Well," the flowered guard said. "Go on, then. Enjoy the Festival, and stay safe, y'here?"

"Thank you," Anjella said. She squeezed her fists behind her back tight enough that she felt one of her knuckles pop. She walked away from the guards, hoping to disappear in the crowd.

If she had any luck, they would get drunk at some point and her talk with them would become just a hazy thought in a day of celebration. She certainly did not need the town guard keeping a special eye on her.

Not if she was going to figure out how to survive in exile.

***---***---***---***---***

The Wizard

"Hey, wake up."

Colt grumbled and rolled to the side. The resulting feeling of free fall was the way he really woke up - just in time to hit a hard, wooden floor. "Ow," he groaned.

"Y'know, usually I make folks pay for a bed if they fall asleep in my common room," the woman continued.

"Wha-?" Colt grumbled, rolling over and looking up. The tavern mistress was a beautiful woman not too much older than Colt himself, but with a look in her eyes that spoke of a worldliness that Colt couldn't guess at. She was slim, wearing a thick apron pulled tight around her feminine body, but her most striking features were her golden tan skin and her large, almond shaped eyes. Her looks were exotic compared to the usual mixes of Varisian and Chelish blood - if Colt was correct, he had to guess she was one of those few second or third generation migrants from Tian, that land of mystery across the world. They had settled in Magnimar shortly after it’s founding, and had been a rare sighting ever since.

"I said I should charge you for falling asleep in my inn, whether you used a room or not," she said.

"You have a lovely voice," Colt said, shaking the daze of the fall from his head before scampering to his feet. He began brushing himself down, pawing off the filthy sawdust from the floor that was used to sop up spills and dirt. "I'm sorry, I'm an actor. I just noticed-"

"Stow it, kid," the innkeeper said. It was a little off putting to be called kid by someone so close to his own age. "You stumbled in here last night and told half the tavern about how you'd just spitroasted a woman with her husband, who had moments before caught you cuckolding him."

Colt had the sense of decency to blush. "That is not how I usually conduct myself, Miss. I apologise profusely."

"No need," the woman said, turning and heading towards the kitchens. "Wasn't me you were talking about. I'd be careful walking around the Festival today though, rumours spread quickly in small towns like this."

"Fuck," Colt grumbled, quickly running his hand through his hair to straighten it. Then he gave chase, following the woman to the kitchen. When he entered, she had a butcher's knife in hand and chopped the head off of a large salmon with a single, heavy thonk. He gulped. "Look, Miss...?"

She glanced over at him with a cocked eyebrow. "You can call me Ameiko. This is my inn, kid, and I've got a shitload of work to do."

"Ameiko, that's a lovely name," Colt said, and flashed his patented grin. It faltered after a moment when she glanced up, registered it, and went back to her work. "Please, let me start again. Is there anything I could possibly do to thank you for your generous hospitality? Perhaps a performance this evening? I am a skilled entertainer and actor, I-"

"I've got two travelling bards and a half dozen locals vying for spots in the common room already," Ameiko said. She bodily lifted another salmon, seemingly fresh caught that morning, out of a barrel and slammed it onto the heavy wooden counter.

"Well then, perhaps another time? I'd be happy to provide you a sample, I'll be staying in the area for some time after the Festival today and-"

She slammed the butcher's knife down again, and another fish head spun away and slopped into a bucket. Thonk.

"Look, kid-" she started.

"Please, Colt Caudex."

"Right. Well, Colt, you don't need to apologise, I'm not looking for a performer, and," she glanced him over again, "To be honest, you're just not my type." She walked towards him, her presence forcing Colt to step back. "Now, as I said, I've got a shitload of work to do. You're welcome back at the Rusty Dragon whenever you'd like for a drink, a meal or a room. Just not in my kitchen."

Colt hadn't even realised he'd let her back him out of the room until she slammed the door in his face.

"Well, shit," he mumbled. He turned and took in the common room of the inn for the first time while sober. It was a large establishment, as rural inns went at least, with over a dozen tables and booths and a simple raised platform for a stage. Stairs wound up to a second floor where he presumed the rentable rooms were, and two big hearths had soft glows of embers to dull the cool of an autumn morning. The only other people around were a pair of miserly looking old men in a back corner grumbling to each other over bowls of porridge, and one dowdy looking merchant who looked tired enough to fall face first into his own bowl.

Colt checked his belt, finding his pouch still thankfully contained his coin, and then fetched his satchel from where it was tied to the leg of the stool he had been sleeping on. His silver chalice, the focus he had trained to use for his magic, was inside along with the few other possessions he had brought along with him. Including, thank heavens, his spellbook. Why Master Nivlandis decided sending him out to Sandpoint was a good idea was totally lost on him.

Now, now, he thought to himself as he hefted his satchel and headed towards the door. There's no point in lying to myself. Nivlandis was tired of father's complaints that the coin spent on my education wasn't being put to use. Studying ancient Thassilonian ruins back in the city had been alright - Colt could spend an afternoon sketching some vague carvings from walls of the Irespan, the immense and ancient bridge piling that Magnimar was built around, and then pay some scholar to look up the significances while he attended the latest play to open in the playhouses of the Naos district.

Out here though? Sure, Sandpoint had it's rural theatre. But it was still mostly filled with-

"Who is that?" Colt muttered to himself. He had just stepped out of the Rusty Dragon Inn and onto the cobbled street, eyes winced in the bright morning light, and caught sight of a bright red, thick mane of hair sauntering down the street. The dwarf woman's hair was like the deepest reds of a fire, swept back from a cute face with a button nose and smattered with peach freckles. Her travelling clothes were worn, but hugged her form, showing off an astounding cleavage. Colt watched her pass by, not even paying him a glance, and he blinked as he saw her firm, wide hips and thick dwarven ass.

The tough, warrior-type wasn't usually his favoured pursuit, but somehow the bundle of armour hanging from her pack and the heavy crossbow slung over one shoulder just added to her effect.

"Gods be praised for Festival day," Colt murmured, and he joined the flowing street crowd to trail after the beauty. As he walked, he tried to think of ways he should approach the dwarf woman - to be honest, most of the time this sort of thing was easy for Colt. Meet at a bar, say something impressive about the latest play, maybe give a little spark of display magic, and someone was usually interested. He didn't really just... approach women in the street. That would be strange, right?

A cart pulled off of a sidestreet and stopped in front of Colt. He tried shifting around it, but a family of five... no, six. Seven? How many kids do these people have!? Country people, UGH! A large family was in his way. By the time the street cleared and he wound through the town and up the rise to 'Uptown' near the Cathedral, Colt had lost the dwarf woman.

"Damn," he muttered, casting about the crowd of townfolk and visitors, all dressed in their best and brightest. "What are the chances I never see her again? It can't be that high, this isn't such a big- Holy shit!"

Big was the optimal word for the man who strode by and practically trod right over him. The man had to have been eight, maybe nine feet tall, and had a face like it was carved from stone. The crowd naturally parted around the half-giant, and he reacted as if it were perfectly natural - then again, crowds parted around carts for the same reason. They didn't want to get squashed. Unlike most of the festival goers, the man was dressed in the heavy browns and furs of a woodsman or wilderness guide or something, and his heavy cloak had the antlered symbol of Erastil burned into it, though it had faded and was covered in the dust of the road.

"No wonder he's so sour," Colt said with a smirk. Erastileans preferred their homegrown, community fairs and such. Even this provincial little festival is probably too much for the big galoot.

A boom rattled the nearby eaves of the buildings, like thunder despite the clear morning sky. The crowd quieted quickly, and Colt found himself one of many looking over towards the front steps of the Cathedral where a platform had been erected. A man of Varisian descent, middle-aged and heavily tanned and wearing bright blue ceremonial robes, had his hands up to draw attention. "My friends," he boomed, his voice carrying to the furthest stretches of the packed town square. "Your attention, please. To open this Swallowtail Festival, I invite our Mayor to the stage."

Thus began, for Colt, a string of highly provincial and utterly boring speeches. The Mayor, a perfectly reasonable seeming woman named Deverin, at least tried to open up with a couple of jokes. She wasn't particularly funny, though there were chuckles from the local rubes. Then came a big, bald man with the darker tanned skin of the northern Shoanti, whose dour frown would have marked him out as the local Law even if he hadn't been introduced as the Sheriff. Warnings about drunkenness and such came from him, and then a moment of silence to remember those that had died when the last church had burned down or something. What an absolute buzzkill, Colt quietly sighed to himself.

The next speaker, to Colt's surprise, was Cyrdak Drokkus - a man once infamous on the stages of Magnimar. Colt had heard rumours that the old patron and performer had moved somewhere, but hadn't ever connected that that might have been Sandpoint. This, he thought, just became a much more interesting place to be. Judging by his storytelling, recounting for the locals the trials and tribulations of getting the new Cathedral built, he still had a knack for the stage. If he had a hand in the local theatre, maybe a stint in Sandpoint wasn't going to be so boring after all.

Cyrdak handed the stage back to the clergyman in blue, Father Zantus, and the crowd was practically humming with energy again. Even before the priest had finished declaring the Festival open, the crowd chatter was booming and the festivities were under way.

***---***---***---***---***

The Monk

Anjella decided it was probably in her best interest, at least for now, to avoid the main square. She'd spotted at least a half dozen of the town guard scattered throughout the crowd during the opening speeches and if any of them were stopping by that main gate into Sandpoint then word might spread quickly about her arrival and relations.

Based on the reactions of the guards at the gate, Anjella had a pretty good idea what sort of 'trouble' her cousin was likely in around town, and so she started circling the outside of the festival as it spread out down side streets and into smaller open spaces between the little neighbourhoods. All of Sandpoint could have fit inside just one district of Korvosa, maybe twice over, but still it took time to figure out the tangle of streets and paths off of the main roads. She was looking for gatherings of Varisians, sitting away from the main crowds, likely looking like absolute layabouts and ne'erdowells.

Mostly because that's exactly what the Sczarni were.

The gang, which is what the uninitiated in Varisian culture thought of it as, was widespread among the Varisian families, spreading along every Old Road and each pocket where the travelling folk found places of refuge. Most Varisians either acted like they didn't exist, or were more than happy to chew off the ears of anyone who seemed like a member, letting the thieves, thugs and smugglers know exactly how they betrayed the good will of their people. Some, though fewer, understood exactly why the Sczarni were who they were and did what they did - they were opportunists with little qualms about taking advantage of the folks who had encroached on Varisian lands.

Anjella's mother had always been the sort who would be more than happy to take a wooden spoon to the hide of a young Varisian making jokes about joining the Sczarni. Anjella, on the other hand, had had her dealings with them back in Korvosa. As she walked the Festival streets, browsing the various wares of travelling merchants and stopping to watch a game of tug of war between two bands of children, Anjella unconsciously cracked her knuckles thinking about Korvosa. Thinking about home.

Clearly mother had no idea what Jubrayl was up to, she thought. There's no way she would have suggested Sandpoint for my new home if she had known.

The whistle, shrill and taunting, came from nearby under the low eaves of a building. The alley was shadowed, but Anjella could easily make out the two lads lounging at it's entrance. They were barely more than boys, really, sporting the fresh wisps of a beard far to sparse to be worth anything and wearing colourful vests with daggers stuck in their wide belts. Each had a mop of shaggy, dark hair and the tanned skin of the People. One, sitting atop a barrel, had a gold hoop in his ear while the other standing next to him wore a patterned bandana about his neck.

"Hey, pretty bird," called the one with the earing in Varisian when she looked over. "Looks like you've just fluttered into town, neh? Come join us over here."

Anjella cocked an eyebrow, looking the two boys up and down as they chuckled to themselves.

"Come on, mama," the boy with the bandana said, swaggering slightly as he postured. "Why don't you come see what the kings of town can do for you, neh?" He winked and grabbed the crotch of his pants luridly. Several folks nearby scowled at him but kept walking. Likely the only one who had actually understood their Varisian catcalls had been a tall man who sneered in their direction but said nothing, instead crossing to walk up the opposite side of the street.

Anjella shook her head and let a besmirched smile slide onto her lips. If these two weren't actually young recruits of the Sczarni, they would likely at least know where she could find one. She took a breath and then walked over to the boys - something they clearly hadn't been expecting as their eyes got big. "Boys," Anjella replied in Varisian, "You’d catch more flies with real honey. Maybe you should be trying out your charms on girls your own age."

"What?" Gold Earring scoffed. "You're only a few years older than us, slag."

"Yeah. How about you show some respect, neh? We're not to be messed with. You should apologise," Bandana sneered.

Anjella frowned. It was surprising how fast these boys came back around. Maybe they actually were in the Sczarni... at the bottom...

"Call me that again and I'll box your ears, piglet," Anjella said to Gold Earring, then turned on Bandana. "And I don't apologise to snivelling little boys who don't know their cock from their pinkies."

"You bitch slag," Bandana said, grabbing at the dagger in his waistband. He yanked it out and managed to slash himself lightly across his bare stomach, his blue vest quickly staining with blood. "Fuck! Look what you made me do."

Anjella just barked a laugh.

"Pitivo," Gold Earring said cautiously, "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to cut this slag," Bandana said. "No one talks to us that way."

He stepped forward, brandishing his dagger, and Anjella punched him right in the centre of his chest. His breath left him all at once in one audible, "Yop!" His eyes were wide as he choked for air, and while he was more concerned with breathing Anjella clapped a hand on either side of his head. Pitivo's eyes rolled up and he dropped, stunned into unconsciousness.

"You- you-" Gold Earring stammered, jumping up from the barrel. He had one hand on his own dagger, but didn't pull it.

Anjella pointed at him warningly. "He'll be fine," she said. "You know Jubrayl Vhiski?"

Gold Earring nodded and nervously licked his lips.

"Good," Anjella said. "Go find him. Your friend will stay with me."

***---***---***

When they came, Anjella was sitting on the barrel while Pitivo sat in front of her, his back to her seat with his hands tied behind him with his own vest. He was scowling, but his anger was the burn of embarrassment. Anjella was sitting with one foot resting on his shoulder to keep him sitting in place.

Gold Earring returned, followed quickly by a trio of Varisian men who certainly looked much more like the Sczarni Anjella was used to. Long black hair tied back, mustachios and goatees, with slick leathers and fancy boots. And certainly more than one dagger per person. The front one, a musclebound man with a shaved head and great curled mustachios, was clutching a knobby cudgel down by his side, while the other shorter man had a shortsword.

"This is her. Look, she stabbed Pitivo!"

The third man eyed Anjella and her captive, and gave a snort. He was of middling height, with a handsome face and well kept mustachio, and the hint of yesterdays stubble still on his cheeks. His dark hair was kept short on top, but long in the back, and he wore the finest coat of the three. More than anything though, Anjella could see he had the same eyes as her mother.

"Well, isn't this quite the sight," Jubrayl Vhiski said. "Unless I'm starting to slip, this looks like a message. Now who, young cousin, might the message be from, neh?"

Anjella shrugged, "Just trying to find you, cousin." She said it more pointedly, not in the way that Varisians sometimes greeted each other as one large family.

Jubrayl pouted his lips for a moment in thought, his brow creasing. His eyes trailed over her again, taking her in more completely, then focused on her face. "Many try and call me that," he said, eyes narrowing. "It's usually not true."

"Usually," Anjella said. She kicked Pitivo forward away from her, and he sprawled on the ground. "Things must be hard in this little town, cousin, if you all let boys run around calling themselves part of the family."

"Boss," the bald one with the cudgel grunted as he fingered his weapon. "You want me to teach this twig a lesson?"

Jubrayl sucked on his teeth, still deep in thought. Suddenly he snapped and pointed at Anjella. "Pallaseri! A lesson won't be needed, Nicul. This is my mother's cousin's girl, from out in Korvosa. What was it? Hold on, don't tell me... Anjella, neh?"

Anjella stood, "That's right. Anjella Pallaseri."

Jubrayl leapt forward and swept Anjella up in a surprisingly firm hug, pulling her away from the barrel and spinning her around once. "Haha! Cousin. Welcome, little Pallaseri." He set her down and took her by the shoulders, looking her up and down again. "It's been ages since I was out Korvosa way. And from what I remember, you were little more than a swaddled babe at the time."

"That's the way I heard it," Anjella said. "I got into a bit of trouble in Korvosa and mother sent me out here to find you."

"She did not," Jubrayl scoffed. "Your mother? She damn near took my head off when she found out her brother and I had joined the family."

"Wait, Uncle Ionel was in the family? I never knew that."

"Of course he was! He and I came up together, right up until he got religious, at least." Jubrayl looked around at the other men. "Anjella here is under my protection, neh? Spread the word to the family, anyone mistreats her and they'll answer to me."

"You got it, boss," Nicul, the big one, nodded. The shorter one with the shortsword just fingered a wad of chewing tobacco out of a small pouch and stuffed it behind his lip.

"But- but she stabbed me," Pitivo whined. Gold Earring had helped him up and they were standing off to the side.

"Looks to me like you cut yourself, you little squid," Jubrayl said. "Kept your knife in your belt again, didn't you? Gods and devils, go get yourself patched up, then go talk to Gressel. You'll be helping him for the rest of the day."

"But-" Pitivo started.

"Enough!" Jubrayl said, and made a cutting gesture with his hand. "Go, before I have Nicul teach you a lesson."

The two boys scampered off down the street away from the festival grounds. Jubrayl watched them go and sighed, then turned to his man with the shortsword. "Besnik, go make sure they actually get that cut treated. Then for fuck's sake, teach them how to pull a knife without cutting themselves. It's damned embarrassing."

"Mmm," the swordsman grunted, and set off.

"Well, cousin," Jubrayl said, turning back to Anjella with a smile. "My sincerest apologies for this less than auspicious welcome. You have come a long way."

"I have," Anjella said. "I took the Old Roads up and around."

"Alone?" Jubrayl cocked an eyebrow.

"Is that a problem?"

"No, of course not," he shook his head. As he did so he slid an arm through hers amiably and started walking them back towards the festival proper. "I've just been hearing things. Rumours, mostly. The Roads can be dangerous these days, especially for those who travel alone."

"I didn't have any troubles," Anjella shrugged. "Other than boredom, that is."

"Hah! Well, cousin, you've definitely spent too much time in cities if that's the case," Jubrayl said. "Come. Let's find us something to drink, and you can regale Nicul and I with your journey, and why exactly your mother sent you all this way."

***---***---***---***---***

The Paladin

Shaka had left the woman at the gates. She was... something. He wasn't quite sure what to think of his run-in with her. He had met all sorts of different people along the Lost Coast Road before - merchants and caravan workers, pilgrims, simple folk seeking to homestead, or travelling to visit family. Thieves and bandits. A circus, that one time. He'd even met clergy of every faith he knew, from lands he had never heard of before, as they travelled and took up residence at Windsong Abbey in the north.

He had never met a Varisian, or a woman for that matter, quite like Anjella.

And to be honest, Shaka didn't really feel the need to meet her or anyone like her ever again. She had all the worst qualities of someone from the city - looking down their nose at anything they thought wasn't modern enough. Sandpoint's welcoming spirit might have been quaint, but it was also earnest. The town was barely forty years old but had swollen in great strides as people had found their homes here. Erastil had certainly blessed Sandpoint with fair harvests and strong ties of friendship.

Shaka also didn't like the fact that despite his decision not to like her, somehow she could still push something in him to make him chuckle. She was too like his sister, maybe. Irika was still in their home village, managing the farm on the slopes of the Fogscar Mountains, and had always had a knack for both getting Shaka into trouble, and making him alright with it.

The speeches of the town leaders had been well done - Mayor Deverin, who he had only met once before, could have been a little more serious to his liking, but the Sheriff and the thespian Drokus, and Father Zantus, had all performed admirably. And now, with the speeches over and the crowd boiling over into the frivolities of a festival day, Shaka was waiting patiently at the steps of the new Cathedral.

It had been almost two full years since the last time Shaka had allowed his patrols of the northern section of the Lost Coast Road to bring him as far south as Sandpoint, and much had been accomplished on the grand new building. It had three wings, each braced by soaring decorative arches on the outside and topped by soft domes; simple gargoyles and angels mounted near the roof overhang. The front entryway had broad, shallow stone steps leading up to a pair of big, iron-studded oak doors that currently stood wide open, allowing members of the crowd to enter and peruse the interior at will.

It was all a bit much for Shaka, even having been trained at Windsong Abbey - the Abbey was a marvel of engineering, it's hollow walls acting like a pipe organ and funnelling the winds of the northern coast into beautiful song, but it was meant as a holy place of meditation, reflection and collegiality between clergy of all the faiths. The Sandpoint Cathedral was a working church, and for the worship of Erastil... Well, it could be worse. But a timber longhall would suit the Staglord just fine.

Still, Shaka waited, hands clenched behind his back as he watched the milling crowd. Merchant stalls were set up around the perimeter of the town square, selling everything from sweet treats to knives, rare spices to homespun crafts. The centre, where the crowd had initially gathered, was filling with a variety of games, while sitting areas to either side of the Cathedral entryway on the lawns were littered with tables and chairs where folks could drink, gamble and spin tales of their travels and fables. Further down the side streets, more merchants and games were echoing with laughter.

Good, thought Shaka, nodding as he watched locals and foreigners alike merging and bonding together. This is how things should be.

Father Zantus shook hands with the couple he had been speaking with, and lacking anyone else waiting for him, turned back towards the Cathedral entrance and immediately set his eyes on Shaka. With a determined look, the tan Varisian man stalked towards Shaka and raised a finger, wagging it deliberately. "If I didn't know any better, Shaka Shale, I would say you and I have a reckoning coming."

"That we do," Shaka said, then let his big lips pull into a grin and he clasped Zantus's forearm in his big hand, while the older man shook Shaka's with both of his own. "It's good to see you, Abstalar."

"You as well, my friend. You as well. How fares the Abbey?"

Shaka shrugged. "It still stands, as far as I know. I haven't been back since the winter. Lady Krail passed, last Abadius. That's the only change I can think of."

"Ah, yes. I had heard about old Krail, Pharasma bless and judge her well," Zantus nodded. "But what of you, neh? Any news of change for you, my friend? You have marched those roads for five years, perhaps it's time for something new for you."

Shaka sighed and shook his head. "Five years, and little good it's done. Still there are bandits, and other things, plaguing the road and the people who rely on it the most."

"You know, my friend," Zantus leaned in and whispered, "Perhaps it's your presence that stops the need for better patrols. It may be a cold thing to say, but when the travelling Justices hear you are still hunting bandits, they think there is no need to send up patrols from Magnimar."

"They wouldn't," Shaka scoffed, then reconsidered. There was a reason he sneered at the word politics.

"They would, and you know it, my friend," Zantus said.

"I- That is something for me to think about," Shaka said. "For now, why don't you show me your new Cathedral? A grand monument, rival to any chapel in Magnimar, yes?"

"I wouldn't go so far," Zantus smiled. "But yes, a monument. You should see the cathedrals in Magnimar though my friend, the Spire of Desna is a true sight to behold. But you're right, come. Let me give you a tour."

Shaka followed his old friend up the steps and into the cool interior of the new church. The main building was one large, cavernous space. The central portion, where the entryway opened up, was lined with a series of niches with small shrines to various Empyreal Lords favoured by the Varisians, along with several small shrines that looked fit for the worship of traditional Shoanti elders. This space was brief, however, and gave way to the true centre of the building - it's vaulted ceiling easily twenty-five feet above or more and topped by a circular skylight open to the bright air. That light fell down in a beam onto a circle of grass in the centre of the otherwise stone-floored building, where an ancient circle of standing stones rested where they had for millenia. The old shrine at the centre stood in the light of the sun, or at night the light of the moon. It was said that those stones had been used for untold generations by the Varisian folk to pass on worship to both Desna, the lady of Dreams, and to the Empyreal Lords up in the heavens. Out of respect it had not only been left standing, but made the central focus of the new cathedral.

Each wing of the grand building was split in two down the centre, and each side held rows of pews and ended with altars to the primary gods followed in the town, and backed by beautiful stained glass windows donated by the Glassworks around which Sandpoint seemed to have been built.

"You know, my friend, that I have done all that I can for this shrine," Zantus said, as he led Shaka down a row of pews in middle wing. "But we simply do not have an acolyte or clergyman of Erastil here at the Cathedral. And we have many who would certainly appreciate someone to tend to the Stag Lord's flock. Farmers, trappers and hunters, even-"

Shaka placed a hand lightly on Zantus's shoulder. "I get it, Father. I get it."

"Right, well, as long as you know you could do some good here," Zantus grinned. "Here it is, the best I could muster from my recollections of the lessons at Windsong."

"It is... enough," Shaka said, eyeing the display with something akin to pride, though not quite. Erastil's places of worship were meant to be used, and useful. Functional, like the people who relied on him. Despite Zantus's efforts, this was more like a play at worship, rather than taking worship to task. The Shrine itself was centred around a simple stone altar sat before a wooden carving half again the height of an average human man. The freestanding wooden statue was of Old Deadeye himself, stag headed with carefully carved antlers, carrying a longbow and gazing down at the altar before him. Several brass serving bowls and other instruments were to hand for performing rituals, and they seemed to be used but well maintained.

"Perhaps-" Zantus said, cutting himself off with a grin and a waggle of his eyebrows.

"Perhaps," Shaka sighed. “I will consider considering what you say.”

It had been the same the last time he had visited two years ago. Then, Zantus had still had a full head of hair instead of the widow's peak that now adorned his head, and he had been running himself ragged attempting to provide service to almost every faith represented in town. His studies at Windsong Abbey years before had prepared the Varisian priest him somewhat, but the man had still been reading deep into the night of the various primer texts of the pantheon of faiths, just so he could perform the correct ceremonies the next morning. He'd only had two acolytes, one down from Windsong and another up from Magnimar, at the time to help him. He'd practically begged Shaka to stay on, but there had been word of a gang moving north intending to pray upon the merchants moving by caravan up to Riddleport.

The hunt had seemed so important at the time...

"Perhaps," Shaka nodded again.

Zantus smirked, and patted his large friend's arm. "Come," he said. "We've prepared a special event, and it's coming on noon by now. You can help me move the cart into place."

***---***---***

Thankfully, the cart had been surprisingly light and Shaka had been able to wheel it out himself with just a bit of directing from Zantus. The rustling and shifting from within the covered tarp had sounded like a wild animal of some sort to Shaka, but he hadn't asked questions. Zantus had a flair for the dramatic at times, and loved his surprises.

As the sun rose to its zenith, Zantus mounted the small platform stage and held up his hands to get the attention of the crowd. When that didn't work, he fumbled in his belt pouch and pulled out what looked like a rock. Carefully picking a spot, he called for the only man nearby to move aside and then threw it. When the rock hit the ground there was a brief, dull flash of magic and an echoing boom thundered out. So, that's how he did it, Shaka nodded. Thunderstones weren't necessarily rare, but also weren't really all that useful as more than a prank usually.

"My friends," Zantus called out, raising his hands again. "My dear friends. As we approach noon, I would like to tell you the reason for our festivities - not of this year, but every year. You see, my friends, the Swallowtail Festival dates back to an age forgotten. At that time, Desna had found herself embattled by the servants of darkness. The vile demon-goddess Lamashtu, Mistress of Monsters-" The crowd hissed at the name, and Shaka hissed good naturedly along with them. "Yes, that bringer of doom, she had entered into battle with the Desna, the great Sphere of Songs. Following one of these fights, an Avatar of our blessed Dreamer was struck and fell down unto the world. As she fell, seeking a place to rest, she found a bright soul and alighted down into the arms of a child. And not just any child, but a young, blind orphan girl with little more to her name than the shirt on her back."

"Despite her lack of wealth, or goods, or family, despite not even knowing that she cared for a goddess, this little girl took it upon herself to care for Desna's injured form. She fed and brought water to the goddess, and wrapped her wounds in bandages purchased with her beggar coin, and she sang to the goddess as she rested. That night, as the stars rose in the sky and Desna recovered, she whispered her thanks to the little, blind orphan girl, and asked if she would like to explore the world with her. The little girl giggled, and said it was her dream to see the wonders of the world, and the stars, and all there was. And so Desna took her up, and transformed her small, frail body into the great, winged form of an immortal butterfly so that they might fly through the heavens and explore together."

At this apex of the story, Zantus motioned to Shaka and he heaved on the canvas tarp covering the wagon. The sound was like the thrumming drum of a herd of dear rushing down a hill - purple and white and silver wings battered in a torrent as what seemed like a thousand swallowtail butterflies poured out of the top of the cart. Each was easily the size of a grown man's hand, some reaching even the size of Shaka's, and though the story and the festival was not for his own Staglord, Shaka was overtaken by the sight and watched with a warm smile at the small wonder.

The crowd gasped in delight as the butterflies swarmed out into the sky above the town square, then spread out like snow and began to descend, swooping this way and that. Laughter and cries filled the air as the butterflies alighted here and there, touching on a forehead or shoulder, dancing among children.

"Thus do we celebrate," Zantus cried over the commotion. "We celebrate the Dreamer's kindness, and the kindness of even the least of us. We set our eyes to the wonders of the world, both large and small. And now, thanks to the generous Taverns of Sandpoint, I would like to offer you all a free lunch!"

More cries of happiness went up as the swarm of butterflies continued to disperse, and folks began to move towards three large stalls around the square. The Rusty Dragon, the White Deer Inn and the Hagfish all seemed to be putting on a spread, handing out portions on wooden discs cut from logs. The air filled with mercurial and mouth watering scents as the three tavern owners all cracked open pots and pans filled with steaming food.

"Well? How did I do?" Zantus asked, grinning broadly as he stepped down from the platform.

"It was beautiful, my friend," Shaka nodded. "I don't think I could manage to tell a parable of Erastil quite so eloquently."

"Oh, nonsense," Zantus laughed. "You have the speaking voice of a mountain, and the gravitas of an old bull who has seen his share of the world. No one could ignore it, if you stopped long enough to teach."

It's been a long time since I did that, Shaka thought. I wouldn't know where to begin.

"Come, come," Zantus tugged on his arm. "I understand Miss Ameiko has prepared a curry-spiced salmon, and paired it with a winterdrop mead. Or the White Deer is serving up peppercorn venison, if you're needing something heftier."

"It all smells wonderful," Shaka said, thinking of his last meal of roast squirrel the night before.

"Then we'll sample them each one! It's a festival, after all. Let us feast!"

***---***---***---***---***

The Ranger

Grail polished off another pint, slurping up the foam from the bottom of the clay mug as it slowly oozed it's way down the interior, before slamming it down on the table. "And then she says, an' I'm not jokin' you, she says, ''m sorry miss, bu' I'm jus’ a little busy right now.' Th' feckin' mayor tells me that. Your mayor!"

The man she was talking to gave a bit of a wheeze and cough, then slowly blinked. He was entirely drunk past the point of proper conversation at this point, but Grail's own state of inebriation made it so she didn't really care all that much.

"Hey," Grail said, waving towards the nearby ale cart. "We need another round over here!"

They were sitting in one of the green spaces crowded around the big Cathedral wings, where tables and chairs had been set out for festival goers to kick back in the sun and rest their feet, or have a place to eat the various fair foods that were being hoc'd up and down the avenues. With the free lunch now winding down, most of the families were starting to filter back out into the festival events, while the adults less tied down to children were setting up for the long haul of afternoon drinking. That was how Grail had ended up in the drink-for-drink competition with... whatever his name was.

"It's really no' that long a message even," Grail grumbled. "Jus' wanna tell yer mayor tha' y'all need t' beware all th' fuckin' ogres n' giants from up north. Ain't tha' hard to listen to, isn't it!?"

Grail hiccuped and realised she'd started shouting around the time that the man wearing the pothelm and clad in a little blue tabard came up with his hands on his hips. "Uh, ma'am? Er, miss? I'm going to have to ask you to take a breath and maybe a break from the ale. You're starting to alarm folks."

"What? Good!" Grail said. "They should be 'larmed. Ogres an' giants!" Grail hiccuped again and blinked a few times to clear his thoughts. "Who th' hell are you t' tell me what to do, anyways?"

The man frowned and ran a thumb across his nose in a consternated gesture. "I'm one of the Town Guard, miss."

"What? Y'are?" Grail demanded, standing up. She still only came to a height just a head over his waist. "Then take me to your leader, Guard Guy. Th' Sherf, or whatever 'is name was."

"You want me to take you to Sheriff Hemlock?"

"Yeah, that guy."

Grail followed the man - well, he guided her with a hand on her shoulder - and managed to take a few deep breaths on the way to stabilise herself. The ale here on the coast was surprisingly potent for human stuff.

They circled the town square until finally they found the Sheriff, a bald man with the deep tan skin of a warrior of the northern Shoanti tribes. He was speaking with a few of the village folk, all dolled up in their festival finery, and he made eye contact with her guard and gestured for them to wait a moment as he finished his conversation.

"Tha's him, yeah?" Grail asked her guard.

"Yes," the guard said, clearly wishing he'd decided to patrol in a different direction than the sitting area.

Grail sucked in another breath through her nose and let it out slowly, trying to focus her thoughts. Gorum, how many brews had she downed? It had been a long while since she'd tucked in to a drink like that. That's what happened when you were out in the wilds ranging, you ran out of beer.

"Pardon?" the guard asked.

"What?" Grail asked back.

"You were saying something about drinking rangers out of beer?"

"What, no I wasn't," Grail said. Had she been mumbling out loud?

"Yes, you-"

"Phillip," Sheriff Hemlock interrupted. "What seems to be the matter?"

Grail looked up at the man who towered over her. It was the usual case of human-to-dwarf height conflict. She focused on the cleft in his chin that looked like abutt to keep herself on point. "Sheriff Hem'ock, ah'm here t' bring dire warnin'!"

"Are you drunk?" the Sheriff asked pointedly. He had stern, dark brown eyes that made Grail feel small. She hated feeling small.

"Yesh, but that's not the point," Grail said. "There's danger. Up north. Like, way north, but it's getting bigger. No, wait, the giants aren't getting bigger, but the danger is getting bigger. See, that's the thing. And they'll come here probably some day. But ignoring it is not good, so that's the way it is."

Grail nodded to emphasise her point.

The Sheriff and Phillip the guard glanced to each other.

"Right..." the Sheriff said. "So, you're here to deliver a message of danger. Is the danger imminent?"

"Not right now," Grail said. "But-"

"Miss dwarf, I would be happy to meet with you tomorrow," the Sheriff said, holding up a hand to stop her. "Perhaps in the afternoon, after you have fully slept off your current... state. And all of the festivities have ended and the town has returned to normal. Yes?"

"S'meetings importan' then," Grail huffed.

"I promise that we will meet tomorrow," the Sheriff nodded. "Come by the Garrison shortly after noon. We'll make it official."

"S'good," Grail said.

The Sheriff nodded and leaned in to the guard and whispered something, then stepped away.

"Wha' did he say to you?" Grail demanded.

Phillip looked left and right, and then flashed her an innocent smile. "What? I don't know what you mean."

"He just whispered somethin' t' you. Wha' did he whisper?"

"Miss, do you have a room in town? Maybe somewhere you could go lie down?"

"Pffft, ah'm fine," Grail snorted. "This is just warmups. S'been a while, gotta find my stride."

"Right, how about-"

"Look, this'll fix me," Grail said, and she walked over to one of the nearby food vendors who were packing up after serving lunch. "'Scuse me, is this water?" she asked a thin woman with honey coloured skin, while gesturing to an open topped keg of liquid.

"It is, right from the river," the woman said, raising an eyebrow. "Let me guess - need a quick wake up?"

Grail thumbed over her shoulder at Phillip. "'E’s givin' me grief."

"Let me help," the woman said. She lifted the keg up, her arms flexing to show off surprising muscles despite her slender form. "Up and over we go," the woman said, and dumped the water right in Grail's face.

"Phaw!" Grail spluttered, letting the water splash across her as she resisted the shock of cold. It sparked inside her head as she felt it trying to push up her nose and open her eyelids with the brief moment of force. The pour was over as quickly as it started, and she blew water from her lips and wiped it from her eyes before slicking back her now soaked red hair. "Thanks, missy."

"Any time. I know how it is," the woman said. "Come on down to the Rusty Dragon tonight. You seem like you would fit in."

"Might just do that," Grail grinned, then nodded her thanks again and turned back to Phillip and stalked over to him. "There, I'm fully awake and the buzz is down to a low hum. Still going to babysit me?"

Phillip just pursed his lips. "I've got my orders."

"Pah," Grail grumbled, looking around the festival grounds. Her eyes settled on one of the ongoing games being run, and she grinned. "What if I can prove I'm sober enough?"

"Sure," he said with an exaggerated shrug. "But I don't know-"

"I know exactly how," Grail said, and hustled towards the game.

The stand was built into an alley between two businesses, and was a 20 ft little shooting gallery. Someone had made little whicker scarecrows that moved around as the man running the game pulled on a pair of ropes. At the far end of the little dancing scarecrow gallery was a large wooden disc painted with target circles. As she was making her was through the crowd, Grail saw a kid pay a couple copper pennies to the man, and he handed the lad a little crossbow barely big enough to fire a blunt bolt the size of a cigar. The kid raised the toy crossbow, sighted down the length of it, and loosed with a squeeze. Pang! He struck on of the dancing scarecrows, which apparently had a large head backed by metal plates.

"Nice shot, Jesup," the man running the game said, leaning over and messing up the kid's hair as he took the crossbow back.

"My turn," Grail said, stepping forward and pressing a pair of copper coins at the man.

"Um, this is supposed to be for-"

"Just let her do it, Francis," Phillip sighed, stepping up behind Grail. "This should be quick."

"Alright, sure," Francis said, and started pulling on the ropes again to make the scarecrows dance.

Grail hefted the little crossbow - it wasn't even really large enough for her to hold in two hands. She pulled back the string and loaded one of the blunt bolts, then held it out and squinted an eye. "I bullseye this, and you leave me alone, right?" she asked out of the side of her mouth.

"Sure, sure," Phillip said.

With a breath out, Grail steadied her hand and pulled the lever. Twang! The tension of the string released, and the bolt didn't go anywhere.

The string had snapped. Misfire.

"Gorum's bald pate," Grail growled. She thrust the toy crossbow at Francis the game runner, and in one smooth motion she unlimbered her own crossbow from where it hung on the side of her backpack, strung it while placeing a bolt, lifted, and fired.

SCHWACK!

"Bullseye," Grail smirked.

"Gods damn it," Francis said.

The big wooden disc hanging at the end of the alley cracked down the centre, right along the impact point of her bolt, and then split as both halves dangled from strings tied to opposite roofs of the alley. Her bolt clattered to the cobbles.

"Whoops," Grail said, then turned to the piercing frowns of Phillip and Francis. "What? That counts!"

***---***---***---***---***

The Wizard

"Now, my young apprentice," Colt said with a theatrical flick of his wrist, brandishing his silver chalice. The eyes of the fifteen or so kids watching him went wide, along with more than a few parents and other adults who were paying attention. Colt set the Chalice down on a short table he had commandeered for his impromptu performance, and repositioned the little eight year old girl who had volunteered for his trick so that she was standing right between him and the table. "I need you to hold your hand over the Magic Chalice of Kat-man-di. Yes, just like that. Now hold the other one one your forehead, palm out. No, the other side- perfect."

Colt looked out as he audience. It had grown slightly, more adults stopping their shopping and market browsing to see the culmination of the trick. A beautiful redheaded town girl was watching with rapt attention, and when he met her eyes Colt gave her his rakish grin and a wink. She blushed wonderfully under her freckles and bit her lip. Good, I haven’t lost it, he though, thinking back to how that innkeeper had shrugged him off.

"Now, my powerful apprentice," Colt continued. "Repeat after me, can you do that?"

"Yes!" said the little blonde girl.

"Good. Say it just like me. Mecka-lecka Hi, Mecka-hiney Ho!"

The little girl cleared her throat and shouted, "Mecka-lecka Hi, Mecka-hiney Ho!"

"Again," Colt urged her.

"Mecka-lecka Hi, Mecka-hiney Ho!"

"She needs more power!" Colt said to the crowd. "Her little body can't control it all. You all need to help her! Mecka-lecka Hi, Mecka-hiney Ho."

The crowd, and the little girl, repeated the words three more times, chanting the absolute gibberish in a rally of positive energy.

"Parva Magia," Colt said beneath the sound of the crowd chanting, turning his hands over and waving in a quick circle at his chalice. "Here it comes!" Colt shouted.

A burst of sparks, completely harmless except for a small warmth, began to burst out of the top of the chalice in a fountain, dancing around the little girls hand as she screamed in delight. The spray of sparks grew for a few moments, then in a final swollen burst they burnt themselves out.

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, and the little girl spun around and hugged herself tightly to Colt. "That was so cool! I want to be a sorcerer when I grow up, now!"

"Oh," Colt said in surprise as he was hugged, then patted her head delicately. "Well, uh, sorcerers are born. Wizards are trained. If you study very hard, you might be able to find someone to start you down the path."

"I will, and then you can train me," the little blonde girl said, beaming up at him.

"Ah, uh..." Colt stumbled over his own words, not wanting to make promises he couldn't keep. He looked out at the crowd that was quickly dispersing. "Can someone please come claim this little apprentice, please?"

Thankfully a parent, a very comely townswoman with a generous smile and the same golden locks as her daughter, came to collect the girl and provided him with a kiss on the cheek to boot. As they departed, Colt snatched up his chalice and stowed it in his belt pouch, then stood back up and found himself confronted by the beautiful redhead he had winked at during the show.

"That was very sweet of you," the redhead said, stepping close. Her hair was a wonderful copper orange, lightly curling to cascade over her shoulders and end just above the swell of her breasts. She had a cute face, and a playful smile, and Colt could immediately tell this girl was Trouble with a capital T. Just the way I like them, he thought.

"Oh, it was nothing. All for the kids," he said, giving her another flash of his special grin.

"Just for the kids?" the little mink asked, moving closer. She put a hand on his upper arm, squeezing lightly as she practically breathed out her words. "I was hoping for another, more private, adult show."

"I do have a few more tricks up my sleeve," Colt said. "Of course, I’ve heard the best magic rituals are performed in the dead of night, without a stitch of clothing."

"Interesting. Not a stitch?" the redhead said. She bit her lower lip in another smile, and Colt felt his heart (or maybe it was his cock) flutter. "That sounds like it might get a little chilly. You'd need to warm me up."

"Oh, I would take care of every nee-"

"Shayliss!" A man barked, and the woman stepped away quickly, hands dropping behind her back as she stood properly. A man was crossing the marketplace, and the crowd was parting before him. He was big, though thankfully not as big as that absolute giant Colt had seen earlier in the day, with a broad head and a barrel chest that spoke of a life of hard, heavy work. He had a coppery strap of a beard, leaving his upper lip bare and open to snarl at the sight of Colt standing next to the woman.

"Yes, Papa?" Shayliss said. "Did you get to see the magic show? It was wonderful, the children from the Turandarok Academy loved it."

The man stopped, planting himself like a tree, arms across his chest disapprovingly. "No, I certainly did not. And my daughter shouldn't be wasting her time with..." He eyed Colt up and down, and looked like he was trying to come up with either the most polite, or filthiest, insult he could.

Colt decided to strike first. He stepped forward, stuck out his hand to the man, and smiled widely. "Colt Caudex, sir. You've got a wonderful town here, and a delightful daughter. May I ask, sir, where do you get that comely beard done? You might have the closest shave I've ever seen. You have got to tell me the barber you use."

The compliments and the weird personal question did their trick, the man clearly reeling from conversational whiplash. "Ah, uhm, my wife does it. Thank you. Shayliss, it's time to go, we need you at the store."

The shopkeeper took his daughter by the arm and started moving her away. Shayliss looked back over her shoulder, tossing her hair out of the way with a flick, and winked at Colt. Then licked her upper lip suggestively.

Colt sighed as the pair disappeared in the crowd, trying to decide whether tracking down Miss Shayliss later on would be the smart or stupid thing to do.

"Little of both," he muttered, and shook his head. "This town just gives, and gives. Let's hope my luck holds out."

***---***---***---***---***

The Monk

"Are you really sure about this, cousin?" Jubrayl asked. "This guy is an animal. He doesn't care you've got a pretty face or nothing, neh? Once that bell rings, he doesn't stop."

Anjella eyed the man across the roped-off ring from her. He was a big shoanti, black hair cut into a pair of crests that he pulled back into a thick warrior braid. He was already bare chested, old and fading tattoos intermingled with several nasty looking scars. He was sweaty and glistening, and he snarled when he saw her eyeing him up.

"Oh, I'm sure, cousin," Anjella said, and slipped off the outer cloak of her black robe. This left her in the baggy, flowing pants favoured by Varisians, also in black, and her loose red vest with the high collar. Taking off the outer cloak revealed the thread of gold stitched decorations on the back of her vest, which culminated in a winged eye crest over her heart, and another larger one between her shoulder blades, flying in thread of gold flames. Beneath the vest all she had on were simple cloth bindings to keep her tits covered and in order. Her torso bare, Anjella’s defined abs and the corded muscles of her arms became much more obvious.

Jubrayl eyed the back of her vest with a raised eyebrow. "You aren't planning on a dead god stepping in, are you?"

Anjella smiled. "No." She cracked her knuckles, then kicked off her boots so that she could feel the dirt of the arena beneath her feet, leaving her in just ankle wraps.

"Do you mind if I bet against you, cousin? Because I mean no offence, but I have seen Cougar Firepelt fight several times."

"Bet how you want," Anjella said as she stared down her opponent. "It's your coin. Now leave me be."

Jubrayl moved back, leaving Anjella with her thoughts as the crowd around the ring got louder. The ring itself was just a simple square made from thick ship's rope, strung between the corners of four buildings down near the docks. One of those buildings was the Fatman's Feedbag, a scummy bar which her cousin had assured her was 'a place for friends and family.' Anjella knew what that meant - it was the headquarters of the local Sczarni.

In the short time they had been connecting during the afternoon, Anjella had learned a lot about her cousin Jubrayl. Not only was he a member of the Sczarni family, but he was the leader of the local branch. He had at least a couple dozen members in and around town, plus other contacts. He must have had his finger in every dirty and criminal venture in  the surrounding hinterlands, and he ran a tight ship - the law, and the sheriff, had never come close to touching him.

The problem was that Anjella didn't want to find a place for herself in the world based on her relations. She wanted to know, and wanted everyone else to know, that she'd earned it. That's how it had been on the streets of Korovsa for her. That's how she would do it here.

A big, heavyset Varisian man with mustachios so large they curled and drooped down to his jowls stepped under the ring rope and held up his hands, quietening the spectators. "Alright. Straight pugilism today. Keep it clean - no grabbing, no kicking, and definitely no biting. You got it?" Anjella nodded. "You hear me, Cougar?" The Shoanti man grunted. "Alright, the fight ends at knock out or yield. Start on the bell."

The referee retreated back behind the rope, and a pretty Varisian woman with wavy black hair cascading down to her waist held up a brass bell and hit it with a hammer.

Cougar came forward, snarling like his namesake, charging with his fists up.

Anjella darted forward as well, skipping on the balls of her feet instead of powering, and she nimbly ducked under the first huge haymaker fist of her opponent, punching him with a hard one-two combo to his muscled side as she slid under his strike and turned to see his back as he rushed past.

The crowd cheered at the first strikes, calling back and forth as they continued to offer bets.

Cougar didn't seem to lose any momentum as he wheeled and came back at Anjella, charging again but with a slightly less reckless gate. This time Anjella danced backwards, keeping her distance as he tried to close with her, turning them in circles. She reversed her footwork twice, changing the direction of the spin at the same time, and watched Cougars eyes as he watched her feet and hands.

On the third reverse, Cougar jumped forward with a confident snarl, only to find nothing but air - Anjella had reversed footwork as before, following the pattern, but had backpedalled instead of turning. She hammered her right fist down on Cougar's outstretched bicep, followed it with a heavy uppercut to the ribs with her left, then cracked him across the jaw with her right before skipping away.

Cougar spit blood from his split lip, but otherwise seemed unaffected. He danced forward, and then the real fight started. Despite his ferocity and recklessness, Cougar really did know what he was doing. He was quick for a man so big, and the glancing blows he landed were heavy, while the more solid blows Anjella could pummel into his ribs seemed to barely do anything to the muscled Shoanti warrior.

The thing was, Cougar could only land glancing blows. For all his quickness, Anjella was just a step quicker. She danced in and out of his guard almost at will, spinning away and changing her footing, putting him off balance and allowing her to make her annoying strikes. The frustration was palpable as Cougar turned another missed punch into a wild backhand that had little power, but managed to solidly connect with Anjella's cheek. He took advantage of her going off balance at the surprise strike and grabbed her by the shoulder, spinning her and pulling her in to a heavy punch.

Anjella wriggled out of his grip at the last moment, taking the heavy punch to her upper left clavicle and rolling backwards with it away from Cougar. She came up on her feet and glanced at the referee. The heavyset man just pursed his lips in flat judgement.

Cougar came on, and they traded a few more light blows, then the big man managed to grab Anjella again, this time by the back of her vest. He brought his opposite forearm across, intending to savagely clothesline her, but she raised her arms and dropped out of the vest and rolled away, leaving her bare chested except for her wraps.

The crowd whistled and hooted. Bets had stopped flying and the men and women were all cheering for whoever they had placed money on.

Anjella stood and pointed across the ring at Cougar, as he clutched her vest in one hand and then threw it to the ground with a bark of laughter. "Grab me again and the rules are out the window," Anjella said.

"What rules?" Cougar laughed. He punched the air twice, and then opened his fists and came at Anjella with open, clawing hands.

Anjella backpedalled, faked right, then spun and kicked high in a roundhouse. Cougar ducked her flying foot and took a step forward, right into the path of her other foot as she quickly spun her torso and brought the back of her opposite heel into a hard blow right on the side of the man's head.

Cougar spun away onto the ground, and Anjella kipped up from her back to standing again.

The crowd was cheering. People were pulling their hair in exasperation at their losses, while others crowed their winnings - the odds had not been set in her favour.

Anjella walked over to her vest and picked it up from the dusty ground, brushing it off, while several younger lads from the crowd rushed forward to take care of the unconscious Cougar.

"Some people are going to say you cheated," Jubrayl said over the din, leaning close to Anjella over the ring rope.

She shrugged. "He cheated first. Are all fights in Sandpoint so cavalier with rules?"

He grinned and shrugged back. "Everyone around here knows Cougar doesn't follow rules." His smile deepened at Anjella's scowl. "I did warn you, neh?"

Anjella shook her head and looked down at her vest again. It was filthy.

"I'll get it cleaned, don't you worry, cousin," Jubrayl said. "I'll even pay for it out of my winnings."

"I thought you were going to bet on me losing," Anjella said.

"Nah," Jubrayl said, swiping his hand through the air as if to ward off a fly. "I bet neither of you would win. And you both disqualified yourselves!"

Anjella shook her head in wonder at her older cousin. "I'll want a drink, and a cold steak to put on my cheek. That backhand was a bitch hit, but he still caught me with his knuckles."

"Done, and done, cousin," Jubrayl said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he pulled her to his side. He started walking them towards the Fatman's Feedbag, scooping her black cloak from the arms of one of his men. "And over that drink, you can tell me again how you got sent away from Korvosa. I have a feeling it is much more interesting than I thought it would be."

***---***---***---***---***

The Ranger

Even though the festival was still going on, the sun was lowering on the horizon. Lanterns and torches were popping up across Sandpoint, and while Merchants were starting to pack up their wares, food vendors were rolling out new treats and dinner options while new games and competitions were getting started. Not to mention the bonfires being prepared at the various neighbourhood intersections.

Sandpoint was ready to fest well into the evening.

Grail Hillfire, on the other hand, was feeling worn out.

If the festivities were going to keep going, she felt like she should probably find a quiet corner to take a quick breather. Following the... 'incident' with the crossbow, Grail had promised to lay off of the alcohol for a couple of hours and Phillip had grudgingly left her to her own devices. She'd explored the market areas, spent a couple of silver on various foods and a fine new leather vambrace embossed with a woodland glade scene. She'd also eyed a new hunting knife - it supposedly had a handle made from the finger of a stone giant - but had decided she should keep her funds available for necessities. Her current knife had served her well so far, there was no need to go replacing it now.

Grail walked deeper into lowtown, towards the quieter areas under the short escarpment that the Cathedral sat atop. Here there were several small neighbourhoods of heartily made residences. Built for large, or generational, families, they were mostly dark in the late of the day. The families were still out in the festival, and those few folk who were too curmudgeonly to partake were also too miserly to light a candle while there was still sun in the sky, no matter how low. With the din of the crowds faded to a dull roar in the background, Grail followed a small footpath between two homes and found an open square of grass nestled behind a block of houses. It was only about thirty feet across, and had the worn look of a well used space for housework and family time, and at the centre was a squat little well.

The shadows from the two-story homes were running long, and in the partial-darkness Grail looked up and down the various houses. They were all dark from the rear as well, doors closed and windows covered or dark. It was amazing how each home, however rustic or whatever size, had glass windows here in Sandpoint. Having a glassworks in town certainly made things feel richer than out in the countryside.

Grail crossed to the well and sat down on the edge, looking down. The cool water was only a handful of feet down, and a pair of buckets were sat beside the well, tied with rope for lowering and lifting. Dropping a bucket in, she drew it back and took a deep drought of the cold, sweet water.

"Gods, that's good," she mumbled, and took another drink before splashing her face with more. Other than her quick rub down prior to entering town, and then the bucket that the innkeeper woman had splashed on her earlier, Grail hadn't had a proper cleaning in weeks.

Another glance around the dark buildings made the decision for her, and she settled her pack down next to the well and started stripping off her clothes. She wasn't going to take long, obviously - standing about stark naked by a neighbourhood well sounded like a great way to gain the attention of the town guard again. But a little risk of some nudity was worth the cleaning.

Her shirt came first, and she shook out her mane of dark red hair, running her fingers through it to work out any large knots, before kicking off her boots, dropping her leather breeches and then her underwear.

Naked as the day she was born, Grail sighed loudly as she stretched and felt the muscles of her back and shoulders tense and release. She bent to her bucket, cupped water and splashed it over her bare chest. Immediately her tits felt the chill, and her thick nipples tensed up pleasantly. She rubbed more water over them, palming her heavy breasts and hefting them, tweaking her nipples for a moment with a smirk before running her wet hands underneath to wash away some of the sweat of the hot autumn day.

"If I'm gonna do this, I might as well do this," she muttered, running her hands down her sides. Grail turned to fetch her bar of soap from her bag, and found herself looking down at a beady pair of black eyes.

Not just one pair, but five. And the points of several junky, savagely serrated blades.

"Nig chauk kot chakakik," garbled the largest of the goblins in their native tongue. They all had wide, rounded heads with pointy, broad nubbed ears and scrappy, wiry tufts of hair on top if they had any at all. Their skin ranged in colour from the dark green of forest underbrush to the washed out brown of a muddy puddle, and they were wearing clothing made out of what looked like the scraps of leather one might find in a tannery trash heap. Even the largest one couldn’t reach her chin in height, putting them all at eye level with her tits.

"I don't know what you said," Grail said, holding up her hands to show she was unarmed and not a threat. Her eyes darted to her pack and clothes, where her crossbow and hunting knife were just out of reach, then back to the goblins. "But I don't think it was very friendly."

One of the other goblins garbled something at the big one, who jabbered back. One laughed and made a stabbing motion, but then one in the back gnashed it's teeth and licked it's lips. That one, she decided, sounds like he thinks too much.

"What is it you want?" Grail asked slowly, hoping that maybe they'd picked up enough common that at least one of them could answer. Goblins were almost considered vermin in most places - more chaotic than kobolds and more courageous (in the most cowardly ways) than mites. A single goblin wasn't much of a problem, but very rarely did a farmer or townsperson run across a single goblin. They travelled in pack, lived in tribes that seemed to multiply and grow despite themselves, and with enough numbers they could threaten to overwhelm entire towns.

Five of them, armed and prowling inside Sandpoint, made for a strange encounter. But then, with everyone so busy with the festival, maybe it was the perfect time for the little blighters to have snuck in for some thieving and other mischief.

The big one seemed to consider her, looking her up and down. The smart one in the back garbled something, and made the universal gesture for 'big honkers' in front of his chest. The others hissed laughter.

Grail, starting to feel a little exposed finally, covered her tits with one arm and hand, and all of the goblins hissed again, this time in anger. "Okay, okay," she said, raising both hands. "So you're enjoying looking. Don't get mad."

The big one came to some sort of a decision, and jabbered at the others. They all started nodding.

"You little guys wanna fill me in on what's going on?" Grail asked.

She got her answer when the biggest one stuck his knife point-first in the ground, then started pulling off his leather scraps. It all came off in one pile, leaving his little green body on full display. His chest was surprisingly muscled for his small size, as were his arms and legs, without an ounce of fat showing on them. It all seemed to have gathered in his little pot belly gut, which hung over his two inch prick. A prick that he reached down and fondled, and quickly came erect to a grand length of two and a half inches.

"Oh," Grail said. Then the other goblins started disrobing as well. "Oh."

They were between her and her weapons. Grail licked her lips, calculating, but by the time she decided she might have some sort of a chance if she moved while they were disrobing, the chance was gone. She could scream and shout, but likely whoever came to check on the noise would be much too late and she'd be a pincushion of serrated kitchen knives and sharpened armour scraps.

"Well," she said. "Only one thing for it I guess."

The biggest goblin came forward and grabbed her tits, one little green claw on each, and shook them. Her breasts wobbled and bounced, much to the little buggers delight, and Grail felt her nipples rubbing against his rough palms. The other goblins rushed forward, starting to paw at her themselves, as the big one took her nipples between his greedy little fingers and pinched hard.

"Augh, fuck," Grail groaned, biting her lip. That felt too good.

The big one leaned his face forward while he pulled her nipple out, and then latched on and started sucking. Another one mimicked it's leader, and soon she had both tits getting sucked like a cow feeding it's calf. Another one of the goblins was pawing at her ass, smacking it lightly and watching it jiggle, while a fourth was grabbing her hand and pulling it towards it's little cock. She felt the hardness in her hand and immediately began squeezing and rubbing, trying to find the best way to play the little thing.

Whatever she was doing was working, because the goblin cooed and purred almost like a cat.

The last goblin, the smart one, had gotten decided on more ingenuity and crawled between the tit-suckers on his hands and knees, going right for Grail's pussy. She sucked in another breath and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as the little fucker grabbed her tuft of wiry red pubic hair and pulled on it, then shoved one of her legs further open and began pawing at her pussy while he kept yanking on her pubes.

"Oh, you little fuckers have hands everywhere," Grail groaned. The one behind her was sticking his face between her asscheeks now, and she felt a tongue starting to pass over her hole. "Oh, no you don't," Grail said, reaching back with her free hand and pulling that one to her side. It hissed in anger, but that frustration abated as she started fondling it's cock like the one in her other hand, which was now humping itself between her fingers.

The big one popped off of her tit with a loud smack and shoved the one pawing between her legs away. That one had just managed to start working two long fingers into her cunt, incidentally bumping her clit on the way, and Grail growled in annoyance.

"Gaka choo kabiki tzalik," the big one garbled to the others, and the other one sucking her tit released it's hold on her.

"Gods damned better not leave any hickeys," Grail grumbled, then found herself getting pushed by the big goblin. After a few moves pushes and angry gestures, she realised he wanted her to lay on the ground.

"Alright, alright," she said, laying back on her ass. Almost immediately the goblins were on her, scrambling to find whatever fun they could. All of the hands grabbing and stroking and clapping against her, and the sucking on her tits, the pawing at her pussy - hell, even the tongue against her ass and the little cocks in her hands - had gotten Grail horny as hell. And there was something about them fighting over how they wanted to fuck her that touched something primal in her horny brain.

The big one, inevitably, took what Grail would have figured was the place of pride. He slapped her thick thighs apart, which she at this point willingly spread, and leaned down to spit on her cunt. He missed, dribbling it into the matt of her red pubic hair, but didn't really seem to care. He used one thumb to roughly pull aside one of her swollen cunt lips, concentrated hard to aim his little dick, then slid into her.

It was... small. Grail definitely felt it inside her, but it wasn't exactly the stimulation she was hoping for. It was like one finger, teasing her before a proper session of jilling off.

As the big one started humping away like a little jackrabbit, slapping her taught lower abdomen and thighs haphazardly as he went, another one mounted her chest and slid his little cock between her heaving tits. It absolutely disappeared between them, and the goblin hugged her tits to itself as it started humping away as well. Something jerked at her left foot, and she looked around the one on her chest to see the smart one holding her foot. His tongue was out the corner of his mouth as he seemed to consider it, then he carefully spread her big toe from the next one over, and slid his little cock between them.

A goblin with a god damn foot fetish, Grail thought, and laughed.

Her laugh cut off as another goblin pulled her face to the side and shoved his dick into her mouth. It’s dick played a little bit of tonsil hockey with her, and the humping motion the goblin immediately started was a little rough on her face, but she was easily able to take the whole thing in her mouth. And surprisingly, it wasn't the worst tasting cock she'd ever sucked. The final goblin grabbed one of her free hands and guided it to his dick, and Grail started fondling it.

The humping really didn't last that long. At best, Grail was getting small bumps of pleasure as the one fucking her cunt occasionally, and definitely accidentally, smacked against her clit, and the one fucking her tits slobbered on her nipples. The big one was the first to go off, and she felt three little piddles of spurt release just inside her before the goblin staggered back. The next one was the foot goblin, who came all over her ankle with a slightly more powerful orgasm, followed by the one in her mouth when she stopped it from thrusting with a hand on it's hip, then sucked hard. Two little dribbles, not even a mouthful, as it vibrated through it's orgasm. The goblin staggered back she spit the semen out - it was a weird, pale green colour.

There were only two left fucking her now - the one on her chest had apparently lost his footing and didn't really care. It's head was propped up on top of her tits as he held on for dear life, his humping motion never stopping as his cock slipped further and further away from her tits, down her sternum and stomach until it caught in her belly button and he just went to town fucking that dimple of a non-hole.

The other one, seeing her pussy open for business, pulled away from humping at her hand and lept at the opportunity. It got in position, down on it's knees between her legs, and she sucked in a breath waiting for the entry... and felt it's little prick rub between her ass cheeks. The humping started immediately as the goblin drove it's cock in and out of her butt cheeks as they pressed together against the ground.

"You have got to be kidding me," Grail groaned. These little fuckers had gotten her horny as hell, and they couldn't even fuck properly!

The one fucking her belly button went off, the squelch of it's semen on her stomach slowly coming to a stop as it wore it's humping out. It rolled off of her to the side, giving her a clear look at the one that was fucking her ass cheeks. His eyes were rolled up as it looked to the sky. He was clearly enjoying himself immensely.

The other goblins were slowly picking themselves up from where they had collapsed, lightly jabbering at each other and fondling their little cocks. Maybe I'm going to get a round two, Grail thought hopefully.

A boom of thunder pealed across the sky from somewhere in the direction of the Cathedral. During the brief fucking, the sun had lowered almost to the edge of the horizon and the green well area was entirely in shadows now. The biggest goblin, and the smart one, both perked up at the thunder sound and started jabbering at the others. They all rushed to start getting dressed.

The big one came over, one arm still not inside it's leathers, and punched the last one that was fucking Grail. It jabbered again, and the fucker whined and disengaged from Grail's ass cheeks, rushed around her body and presented it's cock to her face.

"Oh, fine," Grail mumbled, and sucked the little thing several times before it groaned, pulled out and came four meagre spurts across her face. "You little fucker," Grail said, wiping at the green, slimy cum on her. The goblin backed away with a tricksy grin and ran, grabbing its clothes and trying to hop into them as it followed the other four goblins as they scrambled north out of the well area.

Grail was left alone, laying naked on her ass, goblin cum plastering her face, belly, ankle and pussy. She sat their for a long moment, flushed with arousal and embarrassment and frustration. She'd just gotten gangbanged by five goblins - goblins! - and hadn't even gotten off for the trouble.

"What the fuck was that?" she yelled.

Then she heard the screams start.

"Fuck," she said, diving for the bucket and splashing water over herself.

She hadn’t considered that those might not have been the only goblins in town.