“We have the witch on our side.” Moon sat in bed next to Vix and elbowed her friend. Ayla’s packing was taking an inordinate amount of time. Indeed, according to the witch, she would not be done packing for a full three days. Vix had recieved the news gratefully. It meant that she might have three days without danger or conflict. Three days respite from the war which raged hither and thither throughout Lesbia.
She nodded in acknowledgement of Moon’s words. They did have the witch. Ayla was not what or who she had expected. A twisted angry crone, Ayla was not. The woman was beautiful, sensual, mature… and a dozen more adjectives all of which served to tantalize and excite.
“Something much bigger,” Moondust giggled under her breath, hiding her smile but not much else of her anatomy. She was blessed with a beauteous body, well kept by the frequent ingestion of herbs to the exclusion of most anything else. Though Ayla maintained a respectful demeanor, it was impossible not to notice the curve of her breasts, the smooth line of her stomach, the way her abdominal muscle narrowed as it made its way down toward the short scrap of fabric which preserved the vestiges of her modesty. Continue reading
Kira made her apologies and took her leave quite quickly. Time was of the essence. War was at hand. There were things to do. Judging by the speed at which she mounted her waiting steed and rode away, the first of those things was to get as far away from the two she had left at Ayla’s cottage as possible.
Sighing to herself, Ayla did the bound woman the honor of untying her. “What is your name?”
“I am Moondust Stargaze,” the naked woman declared, stretching her limbs. “I dance with the trees and I float on the breeze and I partake of herbs of all kinds.”
Heat from flames made ends of golden hair streaked with lighter strands of gray turn up into tight little fizzing coils. The forest witch sat before the hearth as she had so very many times before and dropped chopped herbs into a potionous blend which bubbled and churned with pleasing vigor. The witch’s robes were in a similarly relaxed state to that of her hair, parting almost to the navel and revealing ample bosom as they did. The witch had lived more years than any other in Lesbia, but one would not have known it to look at her. She was as seductive as she was kind, and as dangerous to those who might cross her as she was skilled in the arts of magic.
A heavy handed knock at the door heralded the arrival of an old friend. A friend so old that once she had knocked, she wasted no time in coming in. The door creaked open, and the many hundreds of days which had passed between that moment and their last meeting seemed to fade in an instant.
“Er…” Reed made the noise as her nose dipped toward the floor. “Is there… I mean.. if you don’t mind me asking… why… am I in this position?”
“Well,” Ayla said, smoothing her hand across Reed’s lower back. “The way this usually goes is the summoner throws a fit and I spank her until she sees sense, cries, or both.”
“Fascinating,” Reed murmured, staunching the flow of her nose with the back of her wrist. “The summoner, you say? That would be me?”
In which Ayla gets up to her old tricks…
Reed opened her eyes. It was a small achievement, but she was proud of it. She looked at wooden beams above her head and she saw that they were good. As her mind became accustomed to the light, she slowly became aware of the noise of the world. She listened to the noise, and heard that it was good. Sounds of chatter and revelry were drifting up through floorboards below the bed she was very comfortably ensconced in. Deduction told her she was in an inn or tavern of some kind. Her body told her that she felt like hell. That was the problem with Blue Lady. The pure stuff was pretty good, but it was often cut with other substances to bulk it out. It was those substances that left her joints aching, her mouth dry, and her head pounding.
If the truth were to be told, and verily it would be told, Reed had no idea where she was. That did not overly concern her. These days it would have been stranger if she had woken up knowing where she was.
Her clothes were different. She noticed that when she pushed the coverlet back. Her clothes were different, and she saw that they were not good. The pale blue robe she was wearing was not at all her style. She couldn’t imagine her reason for having swapped her nice, neat leggings for the billowing dress thing that was tangling around her legs.
Just as Reed was about to seriously contemplate getting out of bed, the door opened. A tall blonde woman, the most striking example of femininity Reed had ever seen, entered the room. She cast a kindly smile in Reed’s direction. “Hello,” she said. It was good.
“Hello,” Reed replied. She sat on the bed, just staring at the lady. There was something very elfy about her. Something very magical and mysterious. Reed was quite transfixed. The woman was woman, but she was also something more than woman. Her presence was almost angelic – it was certainly ethereal. Pale strands of golden yellow hair ghosted about her face and shoulders, framing a face of wisdom and kinditude. Her body was curvaceous, bosom and buttock emphasized by the fall of silken violet robe. She dressed and comported herself with undeniable nobility, but not the sneering kind Reed was used to encountering in the High Lanes. It was more natural, more genteel, an organic sort of aristocratic bearing.
The next day, Atrocious and Ayla set off for Clitera City. They rode in a little horse drawn trap which Ayla drove. Atrocious was content to sit next to the half-elf witch, wrapped in a blanket and making the occasional disparaging remark about potatoes.
“Remember,” Ayla said. “Rogette lives in Clitera City now. We are going to stay with her in her tavern.”
“Fancy fancy, Rogette and her tavern,” Atrocious said, glowering at the passing wildflowers. “Is there not somewhere else we can park ourselves?”
“You will be comfortable there,” Ayla replied. “She is eager to receive us. She sent word by carrier pigeon this morning.”
“Oh I bet she’s eager to receive something,” Atrocious muttered. “Did you pack your best carrot dildo for her?”
Ayla’s cheeks dimpled with a smile. “You are never going to let that go, are you?”
“You harvested her potato that day,” Atrocious said. “Her filthy potato juice.”