Diary of an Ooze Witch (Joseph de Steel) (2.1-2.10) (Patreon)

2.1

As I watched Father sign his name to the last of the paperwork, I pondered how we had gotten to this point. Here I was, about to assume the role of liaison to Placedo, as primary heir to the Steel Family Fortune. By any metric, I should have been overjoyed that he would trust me with such responsibilities in service of the family. It was to be a mark of my Father’s great expectations for me and the future that I would be seizing. And while I have no intentions of disappointing him in the matter, the events that had led us here still weigh heavily on my mind. Had it not been for my Brother’s madness, I would still be a kept Son, with no more freedom to move around than my own Sister could attest to. It is only by this tragedy that I am allowed to succeed, and the irony could not be more apparent to me.

My Father and his colleagues offer me praise and encouragement for my advancement, but I’ve become all too aware of how hollow and empty they are. Had William not fallen to his mania, had he stayed his charming self and continued to act on behalf of the Family in Placedo, they would not be lauding me as they were now. I understand quite clearly that my station was given not out of merit but necessity, and the notion stalks my being every waking moment. I feel the charlatan, an impostor among men of actual achievement. Their accolades mean nothing to me because I know I have earned nothing.

My self loathing is interrupted by my Father as he voices his intentions on expanding toward the western cities of Widegard. It is in the aftermath of the skirmish with the Remian Union that calls for reconstruction are reaching our ears, alerting us to potential for growth within our operations. I hold my tongue and tacitly accept his renewed interest in the region. I had known that the territory was ripe for picking ages ago, but even still, lording it over him now would only threaten to put me out of Father’s favor, as tainted as that favor may be. Instead, I nod at his assessment and smile softly as he tells me his plans to curry influence with them. All I can do is nod and listen as he regales me with his plans, a soft resentment building beneath the surface all the while.

When he finally tires of hearing his own voice, Father dismisses me from his chambers as I am allowed to begin making arrangements for travel to my new post in Placedo. I lick my lips in anticipation as I make headway toward my other objective. While I by all means intend to handle business in the city, my passion, my drive has been made clear: To get to the bottom of this tragedy that befell William. As proof of my intention, I must comb over any and all of his previous dealings in the city. Surely, there would be a clue as to whom this harlot could have been, that someone had seen this woman of impeccable and heart rending beauty. If my maddened Brother is to be believed, it would be impossible to hide a woman of such voluptuousness and the trail of broken hearts in her wake.

And as I make my way to the tavern, I know just the man to enlist in my crusade. Jeru, despite his less than virtuous demeanor, possesses a darker wisdom about him that makes him easily qualified to sniff out any rumor or morsel of information about my target. Years of tavern crawls and pub dives, his reputation and stature as a drunk is more of a boon than a hindrance to me in this manner. Jeru’s eyes and ears can gather more information than I could alone, not to mention his loyalty is unerring. All he truly asked for to help me in my mission was to cover his tabs for any and all pubs and taverns he would be attending. While I have no doubt he will cost a pretty Milan in coin, I foresee it as a worthwhile investment: I fund his debauchery, he provides me with desperately needed information. Jeru seems happy to oblige me, seeming rather glib about the endeavor and slightly excited to attend pubs outside of Steelbane.

As my preparations come to an end, I think back to the strand of hair I keep stored away in a locket. Retrieving the item from my pocket, I snap the cover open and gaze upon its flaxen beauty, curled inside of the compartment for storage. It takes some effort on my part to pull myself away from its image as I click the cover back over its contents. How could something so small, so insignificant, become the object of such desire. I remind myself again of my Brother’s grotesque painting, how it had oozed off of the canvas, smelling of rot and decay. It is fortunate I had ordered its destruction, as there is no telling what damage it could have held for the Family as a whole.

I shake my head and look back to the vanity. Focusing myself on the task at hand, I intend to use this opportunity to bring the harlot to justice.

---

2.2

I pay respect to my Family as they wish me well on my journey to Placedo, capital city of the Ventigiore Province. Arissa promises me that she will take care of Mother in light of recent events while Father offers me a hand to shake before I leave. Part of me is surprised by this gesture, as if he is attempting to kindle his newfound respect for my endeavor. However, I stay guarded, not assured of my own place in the business and still harboring the guilt of my Brother’s madness upon my shoulders. I return the favor and pray for Father’s success as he grips my hand tightly, clenching firmly to my own. It is a strength I am unable to return to him, as he only stops when a faint expression of pain can be seen on my face. Without any further exchange, Father releases my hand and nods to me solemnly. I try best to mimic him, only succeeding to increase the tension of my departure.

Leading a caravan eastward, Jeru and I mark the Iron Pass as our quickest route to Placedo. A trip that would normally take us three days provided there was no trouble along the way and if weather was on our side. Jeru is in good spirits and regards the start of our journey to be positive. It is during sundown of the first night, when we are resting our laurels, that Jeru points out that we could probably make better time if we sold some of our wares in the town of Hasbeck. While it was true that we could reach there before the next nightfall, taking the hit to our finances by underselling on our iron reserves seems irresponsible to me.

It was then that Jeru pointed out that we could probably make better time if we sold some of our iron reserves at Hasbeck instead of Placedo. Word had it that the markets further north were becoming more competitive due to my Brother’s tenuous grip on the Family’s financial connections to the city. Even if we sold some of our iron reserves in Hasbeck at a discount, we could bring in a better return investment than lugging it all the way north, where prices were becoming more volatile.

Loath as I am to admit it, Jeru has a point on both fronts. While it’s no secret that Placedo has been a hotbed of cutthroats in recent years, a fact that transfers very easily to the business world, the market is in flux. By selling in Hasbeck, we could potentially cut out some of that instability and instead receive a lighter load for our troubles, making the logistics of the whole ordeal easier. I agreed with him then and there, a smile creeping on his face.

We should be able to make it to Hasbeck, weather permitting, by tomorrow.

---

2.3

We arrived in Hasbeck a little before sundown and reserved a room at the local inn. Jeru immediately took to the nearest tavern like the lush he is to “gather information.” I saw no reason to dissuade him from his frivolity as I had other business to handle that would benefit from his absence. Talking with the local merchants in town, I found that Hasbeck had recently surveyed an iron ore deposit in the mountains north of them, driving down the price of our own iron and hampering our goals. Fortunately, I was able to get in touch with a blacksmith in the vicinity who recognized my family’s crest and sought to bargain for a portion of our iron. He confessed that he had dealings with our family in the past and that our iron was some of the best he had the opportunity to work with. Grateful for the chance to unload some of our stock, I cut a deal with the blacksmith to purchase a fifth of our stock for a premium. Not the plan that I had hoped for, but still better than nothing.

With my business concluded, I sought out Jeru at the local tavern, “The Swollen Clam.” When I arrived, he was already three sheets to the wind, singing a tavern song with some fast friends he had made. It was fascinating how quickly he could inebriate himself so readily, as if he were trying his damnedest to drink himself into oblivion. While I waited for a chance to pull him away from his frivolities, I sat at the bar and ordered something light from the bartender. As he poured me a beer, I asked him if he had seen anything unusual in recent times. He responded with a shrug as he served me my beer. Pulling a Gold Milan Coin from my purse, I offered it with an additional question of if he had seen any particularly comely women enter his establishment. Understanding what I was getting at, the Barkeep smirked and palmed the coin in his large, meaty palm. He told me that comely women come through Hasbeck fairly often, but he knew I wasn’t looking for just any beauty. There had been a woman passing through the town about a week ago who refused to leave his mind. The Barkeep seemed wistful as he recalled that the woman had dark hair and lips, her skin pale and eyes bewitching. But it was her figure that gave him pause: svelte and voluptuous were the words he used to describe her, a beauty with only the most womanly of curves. My attention hung on those words as I bid him to speak further. With her ample bosom and devious charm, she had apparently been the toast of the tavern. While it did not completely match the description of my Brother’s muse, it still felt like a lead to go off of. I asked the Barkeep if he knew which way she was traveling, to which he made mention of her heading back to Ventigiore through the Iron Pass.

I thanked him for his information as I scanned back around for Jeru, finding him debauched and playing parlor games with his new friends. When I felt the moment was right, I pulled him away from his entertainment and chastised him for getting so drunk that he was barely able to stand up. Throwing one of his arms over my shoulder, I allowed him to lean on me as we made our way back to the inn. Once in a bed, Jeru fell instantly into a slumber, one that I intend to follow him into as I finish this entry.

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2.4

The trip to the Iron Pass was rather uneventful. The sale of a fifth of our iron stock had made travel slightly easier for us, but only marginally so. Jeru suffered from his night of drinking as we trekked forward, something I delighted in teasing him over. He balked at my attempts to jeer him and tried to change the subject several times before electing to stay silent.

Upon reaching the Iron Pass, we were approach by several Templar Knights. They inquired the purpose of our travels. Having nothing to hide, I told the truth to them and stated that Placedo had been my destination. One of the knights recognized my family crest and took that as proof enough of my trustworthiness, expediting the inspection of our caravan. When the inspection was over, they allowed us through without any further incident.

When we were out of earshot, Jeru wondered out loud what gave the Templars the right to patrol the Iron Pass. It was a fair question and one I was inclined to entertain him on. I explained that at one point, the Iron Pass was hotly contested by both the nations of Ventigiore and Scinok as a valuable trade route. Before unification, the two sides would contest ownership of the pass, often times coming to blows over it. When the nations were unified under the Kingdom of Wide, King Veidhardt met with Baron Van Scipio of Steelbane and Baron Cleral of Placedo to make an arrangement that both sides could be amenable to. As neither side trusted the other to allow soldiers to patrol the Iron Pass, a compromise was made as King Veidhardt tapped the Order of Midas Knights Templar, a neutral order in the conflict, as the sole faction allowed sway in the pass. They would be its caretakers and mediate any disruptions between the two sides.

My verbose explanation only drew Jeru’s ire as he gave me a look of derision. While I do admit that my tongue may have gotten away from me, I relish the idea of lording my education over Jeru from time to time. Perhaps I am too prideful in the matter, but seeing the look on his face brings a smugness to my smile as I savor a small victory in this matter.

Regardless, we continued into the pass without incident. Aside from some fellow merchants and the occasional Templar, our trek proved rather uneventful. By the time nightfall hit, we were able to make it to the halfway point of the Iron Pass, where our diligence was rewarded with the sighting of an unnamed Inn. Despite Jeru’s grumblings of there not being any proper accommodations here, I found the dwelling to be a bit rustic but ultimately a welcome reprieve. It would appear that Jeru would have to find other means to whet his appetite for drink. Even as I write this, Jeru is wandering nearby, looking for some form of alcohol from any of the nearby travelers. I fear his search may be hopeless in this regard.

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2.5

We continued our trek through the Iron Pass in spite of Jeru’s protestations to the contrary. There was a light rain passing overhead and Jeru contended that something was not settling right with him while here, something I had dismissed as a hangover that continued to plague him in his waking hours. Even if he had been suffering something untoward, I believed it more prudent to get ourselves past the Iron Pass within the next day if we were going to arrive in Placedo on time. Jeru disagreed with me on this, but my mind was made up on this. He eventually stopped his protests and helped clean up camp, albeit at a slower rate than he normally does. That probably should have been my first real warning.

As we traveled several hours, I watched Jeru remain more silent than he normally is in my company. We were nearing the afternoon hours and the rain had still not stopped pouring down atop us. Jeru’s health seemed to dwindle before my eyes as his ailments lasted longer than any meager hangover could. It became obvious that the weather was not agreeing with his constitution, that he may have eaten something rotten. I felt shame well up inside of me as I realized my error in judgment. Keen on fixing things, I had pulled the wagon over and reevaluated my travel plans as I presided over my ailing friend.

Keeping him warm, I swaddled him in heavy blankets to preserve his body heat. My Mother had taught me some home remedies in my youth, remedies that I endeavored to use on Jeru to address his maladies. Unfortunately, most of them proved to be largely ineffective and failed to make a lasting impact on his health. Save for one remedy, that of heated chicken broth that showed some signs of helping Jeru’s upset stomach. It soon became evident that if we were to not aggravate his condition any further, further travel would have to be suspended for the time being. While I am averse to losing precious time in our travels, I would be at more of a loss if I was the cause of further complicating my friend’s condition.

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2.6

Spending another day camped out in the Iron Pass, I took care of Jeru’s health. Some needed bed rest was apparently enough to start to see the color return to his face. As his condition improved, so too did his need to talk. I humored him as I prepared some more chicken broth for him and found that he had already been looking into some things on my behalf. While we were at the “Swollen Clam,” he recounted some of their tales and rumors. While most of it was tripe and superstition, there was at least one yarn that he spun that caught my attention. While he was getting drunk at the tavern, he noticed one of the patrons seemed to guard one of their hands carefully. At first, Jeru thought that the patron was nursing an injury of some kind, but as the night carried on and he was able to get a clearer look at what the patron was keeping hidden, Jeru saw it: A lock of hair, wrapped neatly around the man’s knuckle. At first glance, it appeared innocuous enough, something almost beneath notice. But it was the way the patron guarded it, stealing brief moments to caress the lock when he had thought no one was looking at it that had given rise to Jeru’s suspicions. He attempted to question the patron on it, remarking on how withdrawn the man had been that he was now idly playing with someone’s hair instead of engaging the tavern in conversation.

The patron seemed scandalized by this, recoiling and almost hissing at my friend to stay away before retreating to a far corner of the tavern. At the time, Jeru thought nothing more of the man aside from his being some random lunatic. However, as he saw my attention hung on his words, he soon knew that it was of dire importance to me. I asked him if he knew anything more about this lunatic, but alas, what he had informed me was about the extent of his knowledge on the subject. Jeru apologized to me for not bringing it up earlier, that if he had known the lock of hair was something worth knowing about, he would have pressed the patron further. I waved him off, assuaging his concerns in the matter. While the information might have proven useful at the time, there was no need to regret what couldn’t have been helped. He still seemed contrite but also understanding. Regardless, I told him that what information he did procure actually proved beneficial. It gave more weight to my Brother’s madness not being simple chance but the work of something more insidious.

As I write this, the patter of light rain can be heard outside of my tent. As I stay with Jeru through the night, the sounds of light showers bring me back to nights spent in Steelbane as a child, with my Mother. She often sang to me on particularly stormy nights to soothe me to sleep. Even now, the drone of rain droplets cause me to drift toward sleep. Still, I make a point to stay with Jeru until he falls asleep. When he finally does so, I am free to make my plans for the rest of the trip. We should be able to make it out of the Iron Pass tomorrow, which gives us another day’s journey before we can make it to Placedo.

I am at once filled with anticipation and dread.

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2.7

We’ve finally made our way out of the Iron Pass and started the final stretch to Placedo. Already, the vegetation of the Ventigiore Province is more prevalent than on the other side of the pass. Rumor has it that its lush flora can be owed back to its rather torrid past of bloodshed. Once upon a time, it had been a nation that knew only war, hotly contested by the Ancient Kingdoms of Casperia and Ullah. Battles were fought and blood spilled for the land that would be Ventigiore with no clear victor. The people of the land suffered as famine struck the fields giving rise to strife and misery.

It would continue until the Great Hero Venetia rose from the turmoil and put an end to the conflict. A warlord’s daughter, Venetia despised how the kingdoms fought over her homeland and sought out allies with whom She could fend off the forces attempting to control them. Legend has it that at the height of the calamity, Venetia struck a deal with the land itself to be free of the interlopers… In exchange for her life, her soul would be woven into the very land, turning the tide of war in favor of her allies. With this good fortune, Venetia’s allies soon drove both the nations of Casperia and Ullah from their borders. In honor of Venetia’s sacrifice, the people of her homeland named their nation Ventigiore, which in the eatern dialect roughly translates to “Venetia’s Blood.”

And just like that, Casperia and Ullah ceased their campaigns, calling the lands of Ventigiore too cursed and haunted to conquer for themselves. As peace settled in, the other nations would eventually succumb to their own troubles. Casperia was absorbed by the Remian Union while Ullah would see several bloody revolutions that ended with the formation of the theocratic nation of Ulqorra. Meanwhile, Ventigiore would see their own fortunes grow as their people grew plentiful from the bounty of the land.

And as I stand upon its firmament, I can see at least that part of the legend holds true.

Jeru’s condition continues to improve as he regains the color in his cheeks and the mirth he normally possesses. Part of me thinks it’s due to the weather improving, but a more superstitious mind can’t help but think the land may have something to do with his speedy recovery. Of course, I can’t prove any of this, so I choose to stay silent on the matter and be grateful my friend is in better spirits.

Night fell before we arrived at an inn. It was a rather homely establishment off the beaten path. I suppose I should be more discerning with my choices, but after two nights spent sleeping in the rocky pass, I was willing to take a chance if it meant sleeping in a bed. The innkeeper was an older woman in a conservative blouse and shirt, her hair done up in a perfectly coiffed bun with only a few gray hairs betraying her true age… Well, that and the spectacles adorning the bridge of her nose. It didn’t stop Jeru from talking her up, trying to charm her with his special blend of wit and as he would put it, “weather beaten good looks.” It was heartening to see his need for social interaction improve with his health, even if the innkeeper turned him down gently. Her professionalism was quite refreshing.

Over the night, she treated us to a supper of stewed potatoes and beef in a thick gravy, a welcome warm meal after the miserable cold of the nights in the pass. Jeru, not one to give up, asked her about the inn itself, where the innkeeper explained that it was left to her by her husband. She went on to explain that he had died due to a plague years ago, leaving no children behind. Now alone, the innkeeper had to make ends meet in different ways. She appeared tight lipped about what those ways were, but I suspected something of a seedier nature. Regardless, Jeru and I didn’t attempt to pry as we changed the conversation and finished our meals. She remained hospitable, guiding us to our rooms in the inn. We thanked her for her generosity and told her that we would be gone by the morning.

After being shown to our room, I took stock in our situation. Jeru’s illness lost us some time, but not enough to become a problem. The offloading of some of our iron reserves would be enough to make the rest of the trip a more brisk affair. To think that we are closing in on our destination of Placedo, a city I had only heard of from my Brother’s tales. I am at once anticipating and dreading reaching there as his words painted it as both a city of wondrous industry and a den of one’s darkest desires. His exploits there could fill books worth of erotica, but I digress. I am not going there to sate my desires, but to find answers.

Perhaps I shall write more later, but I fear that sleep is calling to me. The fight to keep my eyes open is a losing battle I fear, and I should carry myself to bed before I pass out on the desk here.

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2.8

With our spirits rested and our stomachs full, Jeru and I continued our trek to the city of Placedo. The innkeeper was nice enough to offer us some freshly baked bread as thanks for keeping her company, something that we appreciated and thanked her for. It wasn’t long before we made our way back on our path toward the city with renewed vigor. The closer we got back to civilization, the more the road ways appeared maintained and stable.

It wasn’t long before we came upon other fellow travelers on our way to the city. A colorful bunch, they professed that they were a minstrel troupe looking to perform for a larger audience in Placedo. They possessed an abundance of mirth and whimsy, but I could not shake the feeling something was off about them. Jeru, always the extrovert, made fast friends with the band of musicians and entertained himself with their company, in spite of my misgivings. We decided to travel together for this leg of our journey, a decision that I would soon regret. Perhaps it was due to my naturally introverted nature, but their endless chatter drove me to distraction, grating on me as they wore their merriment on their sleeve. Jeru had no problem keeping up with their antics, enjoying their company much as he would enjoy a good tavern. I, however, was forced to bite my tongue in the matter. It didn’t dawn on me what my problems with them were until I caught one of their younger members say something in their native tongue, the Usuran tongue.

Immediately, my guard was raised as I could feel every muscle in my body tense as I recognized the language. They were Usurans, one and all. I had heard tales from my Father about his dealings and failings with their people. Hailing from the kingdom of Usura, the Usurans had a reputation as confidence men and thieves. Rumor has it that a large portion of their people was exiled from their lands by their king for some slight done upon him and the land, turning their numbers into a nomadic people overnight. A phrase used by my Father to warn me was “When an Usuran is about, check often the coins in your purse and the sanctity of your women.” Crass as it might be, his perspective was often colored by the often poor dealings he had with them, always coming away from any arrangements with them less fortunate than before.

I had no personal experience with them, but I could not help but be on high alert. The tales my Father told me had already colored my perceptions and while these travelers had done me no wrong as of yet, I could not as easily let of my suspicions. Regardless, I decided to keep to myself, trying best not to show any outward resentment, something that I could not easily hide from my friend, Jeru. Upon seeing my irritation, he decided to pull me to the side and inquire what was the root of my prickliness. At first, I attempted to wave him off and downplay my disdain, trying to attribute it to some food that might not have agreed with me. Jeru, however, knew me too well and pried at my reasoning. After some persistence from him, I eventually told him as simply as I could, “They are Usuran.”

In an instant, Jeru understood my stance; however, he did not agree with it. He called me out for being so judgmental of a people I had only just met. While Jeru could not force me to get along with them, he urged me to keep an open mind. I told him that I would try to get along with them, a lie that Jeru seems to have accepted, for better or worse. He may have nothing to lose by treating them charitably, but I had more to lose and thus, kept my reservations about me, silently keeping vigilant.

Despite our additional company, we made good time toward our goal and managed to get within sight of the city by sundown. A part of me wanted to push our luck and keep going until we were in Placedo proper, but Jeru convinced me otherwise, pointing out that there was an increase in bandit attacks lately surrounding the city and that it was more prudent to go in the morning. When asked how he came across this information, he told me that he picked it up from our traveling companions. I was doubtful about this info, owing to my earlier prejudices over the Usurans’ reputation for lying. Perhaps it was Jeru’s influence on me to give them a chance or my own cautious nature in not taking risks with our cargo, but I acquiesced to his suggestion, believing that it was not worth arguing over. His face lit up as I gave my permission for us to stay for the night, whether that was because he thought his words were getting through to me or that he wanted to get to know these minstrels more, I cannot say for certain.

We set up camp for the night and lit the campfire for the night. The minstrel troupe also set up camp and shared with us some of their wine, a comfort Jeru quickly took them up on. They grew raucous as the drink in their blood spurred them forward to make merry and play their instruments well into the night. At first, it was all well and good, but as they carried on, I found my spirits growing more annoyed by their insistence in playing into the dead of the night. Had they no sense of decency? Eventually, it became too much for me and I took refuge upon on a small hill overlooking the city, away from the endless festivities that roared in the background. As I looked at the city in the distance, wondering what awaited us there, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. Unlike Jeru, I found sanctity away from others, enjoying the peace and quiet of a long, dark night. It would be this insistence on self contemplation that I would meet her.

At first, I did not notice her presence until she was practically hovering over me. Startled, I rolled to the ready and only then, by the light of the moon and distant campfire, I saw her fully. A winsome woman with swarthy features, her hair was a mass of dark chestnut curls, luscious and shiny as they draped over her back. Her skin was flawless as she wore exotic silks of crimson and gold trim that wrapped delicately around her comely form. To say that I was enraptured by her would be an understatement. Whatever sorcery she wove, it was enough to wrap me around her dainty finger as I could only leer fondly.

This was a dangerous woman.

Her lips moved as my ears prickled at the sound of her voice: An almost angelic whisper, the kind that would make one a believer. It sounded like butter slowly melted, smooth and rich. She spoke again, breaking me of my reverie as I finally registered her words. She had been asking me if she could join me on the hillside. Being the starstruck fool that I was, I gave in to her request, patting the grass beside me, enamored enough by her beauty that I forgot my earlier reservations. The woman smiled warmly at me as she sat beside me, batting her eyelashes at me in a way that stirred the deepest parts of my loins. I asked her how long she had been a part of the troupe, a question that brought a titter from her lips, as if I had made a joke to her. She didn’t bother answering, only running her hand down my arm, feeling the hardness of what muscles I had possessed. So distracting was she, I didn’t even mind her not answering my question.

Here was a woman who knew not only her worth, but how to use her wiles to make men weak. Weak in the knees, weak in the heart, weak in the mind… Weak for her. The curve of her lips, as if she were crafted from the clay of a master sculpter, were just plump enough to entice. Words slipped out as they moved with such serene grace that it ached in my heart in spite of my brain’s inability to understand them. Her lilting laughter sent shivers down my spine as I shook from my stupor and registered her words. She was making light conversation, attempts to break the ice between us. Even her words were like honeyed needles, sweet and velvety as they stung my brain a thousand times, numbing it until I was but an idiot beholden to her every whim. But it was the smile that was most devious of all, with that knowing look and a mischievous grin, it was enough to melt what was left of my mind, becoming a puddle in my head.

This was a dangerous woman.

Before I knew it, she had pressed her body against mine, leaning against my chest with all the softness a woman’s flesh could muster. I felt her hands clasp around my wrist, guiding it to her chest. My breath quickened as I could feel my heart stabbing outward, railing from within and screaming like a prisoner for escape. It took a moment before the sensation of her bosom filled my palm completely, no larger or smaller – a perfect size. If I still had my wits about me, they would have left me right then and there, emptying out of the holes in my head and pooling on the ground beside me. She tilted her head up at me, giving my eyes a clear look at her pristine face. Her cheeks were flush with warmth as her chin came to a rounded point. Nose so perfectly shaped as it sloped elegantly from her face. And then there were her eyes, orbs of vibrant emerald that seemed to glow ethereally from behind her gentle gaze, that truly captured me, turning me into a slave devoted entirely to them. My body grew rigid, robbed of any motivation to move, basking in that single moment, praying it would never end.

It was my hesitation that she used to leverage herself onto me. Unable to contest her, I found myself on my back as she pinned me down with the ferocity of a wild beast bearing down on her prey. Dear Gods, I was her prey, and I desperately wanted nothing more than for her to tear into me. At that moment, I had no desires of my own aside from pleasing her in all of my being. There was no Placedo, no Steel Family Business, no maddened Brother for me to avenge. There was only me and her, our bodies entwined as she straddled my chest, letting her attire fall to the wayside, revealing her bared breasts to me in their entire splendor beneath the light of the crescent moon.

This was a dangerous woman.

And I didn’t care.

I wanted, no, I NEEDED her. More desperately than the air in my lungs, the blood in my veins, the flesh on my bones, even the fire in my soul. In that moment, all paled next to her and the touch of her flesh. In that moment, our formed meshed, I was complete, whole. It was as if I had finished a grueling adventure and finally been rewarded with her presence, her being. I was bound to her in ways that no man had been before or ever would again. Nothing else mattered in that instance. Had the world been sundered in twine, I would die with a smile on my face. Drifting in the blessed nothingness where our bodies were one, I succumbed to sleep as the warmth of her body lulled me to my slumber.

When next I woke, I was naked on the hillside, my body ached from head to toe. Panic overtook me as I desperately searched for my clothes before one of the other travelers saw me in such a disgraceful state. I was fortunate enough to find them again and haphazardly dressed myself before rejoining Jeru, who was stationed beside a dwindling campfire, his only company the easterly wind on the breeze.

I asked him what became of the troupe that had camped with us, only to receive a shake of the head from him as my response. Perhaps I was still under the effects of my experience the other night or that I was too tired to follow up, but I accepted Jeru’s response readily enough. Even as I write this, I cannot fathom what might have transpired.

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2.9

I have been hoodwinked.

We arrived in Placedo by mid day, no thanks to our “friends” from the minstrel troupe. As they had left us earlier in the morning, I decided to take stock of our supplies and coin on our way to the city proper. It would be during that check that I would find that over the course of the night, we had been pilfered of everything not nailed down. Rations, clothing, coin… Nothing was beyond reproach. In their place, I had found rubbish, rags, and a coin purse stuffed with copper washers. In an instant, I knew that it was the Usurans that had robbed from us, keeping close company as they bided their time and waited until we had let down our guards to make off with our goods in the dead of the night.

Jeru tried to offer words of consolation, tried to calm me down from my rage at being made a victim of. However, my rage could not be quenched as I turned my anger on him, ranting over the poor judgment in giving them a chance, only to have them stab us in the back so thoroughly. My teeth clenched and ground against one another as I hissed out accusations at Jeru’s feet. Had it not been for him, we would not have joined with their troupe; we would not have broken bread with them and trusted them enough to be made fools of. Jeru stood there, his head bowed and back hunched, resembling more of a child than the man he was in the moment. He understood how much he had screwed up and showed his contrition on his brow. This only served to stoke my rage even hotter, my tongue cutting into him as I castigated him for a good several minutes.

I most likely would have continued well into the morning when it dawned on me that I too, was culpable in the instance. My mind went back to the woman who had bedded me, keeping me from the caravan and potentially protecting it. In that instance, my anger found no place to go anymore but inward. I realized in that moment that I was lashing out at one of my oldest friends over something I had shared guilt in. Finding my humility, I offered Jeru my apologies, hoping I could make amends for my cutting remarks. While he appears to have forgiven me for my words, I cannot help but feel he still harbors his own guilt in the matter.

With my anger abated, I took stock of our wagon again, hoping against hope that there was something the thieving minstrels had forgotten in their haste. To my surprise, a miracle of miracles had descended upon us as I found the cargo of iron still within our possession. I could barely believe it, that the Usurans overlooked our most valuable commodity. I pinched myself at our good fortune as I reasoned that perhaps we could still make good on this trip. With quickness, I pulled our caravan just outside the city walls and attempted to hock another portion of our iron to another prospective buyer. Luck must have still been on my side as within the hour, a fellow trader made themselves known and were willing to purchase our iron at only a slightly discounted rate. Given my desperation at the moment, I acquiesced immediately, reasoning that it was worth the loss in profits if it meant getting enough coin to cover the cost of entering the city. With the deal made, Jeru and I approached the gates of Placedo.

It was about this time that the city guard stopped our advance and demanded to see our papers and to be able to check our wagon. While the latter would be of little problem, my blood ran cold as I was sure that the thieving Usurans had taken even that. It would be while I searched in vain for the proper documents, Jeru asked the guards if they could make an exception for one of the Steelbane Family’s ilk. While I felt my panic begin to rise, the city guards were surprisingly understanding as they spied the Family Crest branded into the wagon itself. Almost immediately, they stepped aside and apologized for their gruff nature. It was soon explained to me that they had been on edge for a while as there were tales of a murderer rumored to be around. However, with my crest, it was enough to convince them of my own validity. I thanked them profusely as they allowed me to pass, moving our wagon into the infamous city of Placedo.

At long last, after what had been an eternity of anticipation, Jeru and I walked the streets of the Pale City for the first time of our lives. Exhaling deeply, I felt an immense weight upon my shoulders lifted off of me as a sense of accomplishment resonated throughout my body. We had done it and there was nothing that could take this away from me. With my head held high, I walked the streets of Placedo in search of my fortune. Following directions given by the city guard, we found an inn willing to keep watch over our caravan while we could get some much needed rest. This inn’s name? The Pale Lady.

It is as I write this that my mind wanders back to the dangerous woman who had slaked her sexual thirst upon me. I asked if Jeru had seen the striking beauty while participating in festivities with the Usurans, but he professed to having never seen such a woman in their company. This continues to perplex me as I sit in contemplation. If she was not an Usuran as I had earlier presumed, what was she doing on that hillside? I fear that this would be one of those questions that would plague me in my sleep.

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2.10

I had a dream the other night.

The woman I had met on that hillside still haunts me in my weaker moments. Her features are burned into my memory as I find myself daydreaming about them whenever I have a moment’s rest. From the curves of her body, the pout of her lips, the lushness of her curled hair, it all melds together to form an image so strong that it becomes unforgettable. It is in that memory of her, that intoxicating feeling of her attention, I attempt to find peace, only to have it stripped from me as my mania stirs against my mind. Had she been a simple thief along with those Minstrels, conning me and taking me for all I was worth? It troubled me into the early morning hours, playing havoc with my sleep.

It was only last night that I was finally able to get some rest. It was then that I had my dream. I was on a marshy plain, mist obscuring my view of my surroundings. It would be the sound of her laughter, a lilting voice full of mischief, that would beckon me through the mists. The moon hung high in the sky, sending its beams down into a path for me to follow to her, letting my feet carry me the rest of the way. Hopelessly drawn to her, I pursue her voice through the land as shapes around me appear and disappear in the mists, blinking in and out of reality at a moment’s notice. The sense of fleeting gave it an ethereal touch, just on the cusp of existence and ephemera. By all means, I should have been frightened, scared out of my mind at all of this chaos happening around me, but instead, I allowed the allure of this calamity to entice me, to be swallowed in this oblivion would be a delight. It never occurred to me at the time that such thoughts were madness warping my perceptions. Was this what Brother felt when he succumbed to his desires, discarding reason for the inevitability of death?

I trudged forward, my feet moving faster with every step, the shapes in the mist disappearing and reappearing as I could only follow the sound of her laughter in the distance. Redoubling my efforts, my hand reaches out past the mist, outside of my sight, toward the woman’s voice. I could feel my hand clasp around her wrist, a warmth spreading through my body as I brought her close to me, looking into her face to see that her eyes have vanished, and in their place, two black voids.

The scene shifts. I am now on my back, naked as the day I was born, with the woman straddling atop in. She bucks her hips  against my member with great pleasure, cementing our coitus as her bosoms bounce freely before me. She moans in ecstasy as my rod grows rigid, desperate for the need to empty itself into her womb and breeding her. The woman smirks at me, our orgasms close at hand. Her eyes seem to glow like starlight, giving her an ethereal, almost divine look. They speak with a hunger for my seed and wanting nothing more than to be filled with it. At our climax, when we are both threatening to explode in wondrous orgasm, the moonlight catches the glistening of her sweat over her body, an immaculate moment that burns itself into my mind. Her head shoots back as a primal scream emanates from within her as our climaxes do not go unnoticed.

It is then that the atmosphere changes. The moon turns a shade of blood red and a dreadful feeling forms a pit in my stomach. The woman is still on top of me, but looking up at her, everything is wrong. Her bust swells to grotesque proportions, her waist cinches inward to a waspish degree, and her bottom plumps up to cement her position over me. A cruel smile crosses her bloated lips as she looks down at me with a steely darkness in her eyes. I try to escape, but but her weight is too great to push her off easily. My panicked eyes stare up at her in bewilderment, her being obscuring everything in the dream. There is no sky or earth, no life or death, just this frightful woman and her corpulent tits hovering over me. They dangle before me, their stench filling my nostrils with a putrid odor, like sweat mixed with excrement. She bends down further, letting them descend upon me, burying me in their demonic vastness. Pressed against my face, there is at once a slimy and sticky feeling to their touch, furthering my disgust. I gasp out, fighting to breathe fresh air, but only being met with the poisonous miasma that surrounds her. My instinct forces me to gag as my nausea rises the longer this woman’s tits rub themselves into my face, infecting me with her musk. The smell worsens, carrying with it the same odor, but warmed over with a touch of urine. I fight to speak, to move, to breathe, but I am paralyzed. This woman’s gargantuan bust pressed into my face, it washes over me, merging with my own body. She melts around me, invading every pore of my body with her essence. I choke on her fetid stench as it pours down my throat, thick, viscous. In my last moments of consciousness, I despair beneath her flesh as a cruel and haughty laugh resounds in my ears.

I come to in a cold sweat. The light of the moon reflects off of each sweat bead upon my body. I run a hand through my hair, the memory of the dream burned into my brain. Had this been some portent, a vision of the future? Had it been a revelation of this woman’s character, of what wickedness she possessed? Maybe it was an indictment of myself, of my own fallible nature? I want to scrub the memory from my mind, free myself of the misery it brings me. But as the stink of my own body wafts up to my nostrils, the image of those loathsome tits comes back to me, haunting me.

I fear this city may bring out the worst in me.

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