Daughter of Wreath, ch.2

Author's Note: More Wreath! Introducing the new character, and getting things really kicked off.

[story] [futa] [more tags below]

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I’m jarred to my senses by the witch’s voice, the pounding of my heart gradually slowing back down after having just narrowly escaped an encounter I was quite unlikely to survive. Part of me is still horribly worried that Pinzak and the rest will decide to double back around and take their chances with me, a rematch I have no means of walking away from – there’s no chance I’ll be able to mimic Big Petunia twice in the same day, assuming I ever even get the opportunity to touch it. With that fear fresh in my heart, yeah, I’d better let the witch out sooner rather than later.

“Uhm… yeah, yes, sorry,” I shake the nervous haze from my thoughts and turn to inspect the cage, immediately overjoyed when I see that the key, a small, gnarled metal thin, remains inserted in the cage’s external lock. It seems either Pinzak does sloppy work (which… seems possible) or I really arrived at the exact perfect time, only moments after this elf woman was captured and before she’d been properly ‘processed.’ As I busy myself with wiggling the key into its proper place and trying to open this dark iron prison, I cast my eyes up to get a better look at the woman I’m actually freeing. She’s… a bit more unusual than I’d thought at first glance.

She is, indeed, an elf. Though I confess to knowing precious little about their various factions and ethnicities, her impressive height, willowy build, and long, pointed ears give her away as something distinctly different from the humans I’m much more used to. Her skin is paper-white, her hair as black as crow’s feathers, long, straight, fine, and hanging well past her shoulders, though the right side of her head has been shaved smooth, instead bearing some bizarre inscriptions that seem to have been intentionally scarred into the flesh – faint from age, but still very much visible. Her clothing consists of a great deal of black leather and cloth, all in strips and patches that cover most of her, while leaving occasional glimpses of pale flesh visible, and obscuring little of her general shape – long legs, slim hips, poor posture, and what appears to be a nearly, if not entirely, flat chest.

Her eyes, yellow like a hawk’s and messily caked with black makeup, follow mine as I study her, taking a moment to study me right back before giving comment. “You gonna actually open the door, bug, or do ya need a little longer to stare?”

“Right, yes, sorry, it’s just… I’m not sure which way the key turns, and–” Click. I slide the key out and pop off the lock, letting the cage door swing open at last, and the lanky witch within finally slither free, stretching out her long, slender limbs as if she’d been trapped for a century, rather than… well, probably a few minutes at most. “There we go! Sorry about that!”

“No sorries needed,” she says, flashing a grin my way – and I notice that her left upper canine has been replaced by a long, steel fang, yet another of her oddities. “You saved my ass, and that’s not something I plan to take lightly.” She leans one hand against the side of the cage, taking another good, long look at me, as if trying to make some sort of decision. “Kiiinda curious as to why you came out here in the first place, I gotta say. You don’t look like a townie – don’t look graicean at all, if I’m bein’ totally honest – and most people avoid me an’ my little shack like a bogge with a bad case of the Shakes.”

“It’s… sort of a long story,” I sigh, finally starting to fully relax now that it seems the bounty hunters have no intention of returning. “I heard you might have seen someone, someone I’m trying to find. Oh, uh – my name’s Nowa, by the way! Nowa Jarren.”

“Oh, introductions, huh?” the elf says with another crooked smirk. Straightening her back, she flourishes one arm outward in a deep, exaggerated bow. “Then you have the pleasure of rescuing Vexabeth Inithel, small-time necromancer known locally as the Birch Witch. My friends call me Vexa, and since you’ve saved my life from piece-of-shit merc inquisitors, I’d say you’ve earned the right as well.” Wait, she has friends? ...Where?

“Vexa, then,” I offer her a small smile back.

She sweeps an arm towards her little shack. “Alright, if you have questions, there’s no way I’m answering them sober – not after all that little bit of business – so let’s head inside and have a cup of something spicy. Mai valara, thou mísil.” Her last words are in the elf-tongue, and while they aren’t known to me, their general meaning is. It’s an extension of hospitality, something along the lines of ‘my fire, your warmth.’

I follow her towards the strange little hut, which ends up being a bit larger than I’d first thought, if not… by very much. The interior is dimly-lit, rarely-cleaned, and horribly cluttered, though I don’t get the impression that Vexabeth is a hoarder – rather, to my layman’s eye, this place looks to be as much a laboratory as it is a home, a sort of magical workshop in which multiple projects are continuously ongoing. An alchemical station is scorched and discolored from experiments gone wrong, loose sheets of parchment inscribed with odd glyphs or designs lay scattered all over, and artificial segments of human bodies (that I can only assume are being used in some sort of rudimentary golemcraft) seem to pop up in every nook and cranny of the awfully cramped wooden structure.

Amidst all that, though, the elf manages to make her way to the stove, within which a squat, hateful little blob of fire sits magically chained, and sets a soot-stained black kettle atop it. A swift, booted kick to the side of the stove agitates the bound spirit within, drawing a muffled squeak of fiery rage and a fit of impudent thrashing that sets the metal box heating up nicely. “Gotta keep these little fucks on their toes,” Vexa shoots another grin at me, then topples into an overstuffed violet seat, gesturing for me to sit on the matching ottoman close by.

I accept the seat with some uncertainty, unsure if I should start talking, or if she has some sort of–

“Well, out with it, then!” the elf barks, and I take note of the lower musicality of her voice – not that her voice itself is deep, but that it frequently tends toward deeper notes rather than higher ones, a trait that imbues her with a kind of twisted authority. “You said you have questions, well, maybe mama’s got answers. You said you’re lookin’ for someone, li’l bug?” As she speaks, she withdraws a slim, bone-white flask from a small end table beside her seat, uncorking it and taking a long swig, then tossing it to me.

I catch the flask, eyeing it for a moment, then hesitantly uncorking it. No clue what’s inside, but… time to find out, I guess? “I’m looking for a woman; I heard she stopped here some time ago – weeks, maybe months. She would be a bluffsider like me, but taller, older. She came to town asking about magic-users, and may have headed in your direction.” I consider sniffing the liquid, but instead just take a risky sip, immediately reeling from the taste and doing my best to hide it. It tastes like a campfire, like smoke and flame and wood, extremely strong but not sweet at all. I force myself to swallow, then let out an involuntary couple of coughs, which brings a wide grin to Vexa’s face.

“Good shit, eh?” she says, grabbing the flask back from me and taking another swig of her own. Letting out a long, slow breath, she visibly savors the burning draught, while contemplating my quarry. “Another bluffsider… yeah, I remember. That was nearly a season ago, now. Strange, strange lady.” Those yellow eyes turn towards the ceiling as she tries to gather scattered memories, wrangling them back into conscious thought. “Brilliant, though. She had all these notes with her, crazy shit, research into myths, legends, curses, monsters, weird theories about the nature of Those… a lot of really impressive work that didn’t align with my own fields of research in the slightest.” Her tone changes a bit, less laid back, more professional, like focusing on an academic topic brings her a bit of clarity – or maybe it was the booze. Who could say.

“Didn’t align? I thought you were a witch – or, necromancer, whatever it was. You do magic!”

“Oh, and everyone who does magic has the same specialties, hmm? Magic is hard. Very fuckin’ hard. Everyone has a limited window of time to practice it, so you do what’s most important to you, nobody dabbles. This woman you’re after had such a narrow field of interest I think half of the shit she was sayin’ was made up.”

“Wait, a limited window of time?” It’s quickly occurring to me just how little I actually understand about magic. Mom talked about it sometimes, more in a reverent than a practical way. Said she knew some, but I never saw her actually do it. Whatever ‘it’ would have even looked like.

“Shit, you bluffsiders really don’t get around much.”

“We do not.”

“Alright, I’ll keep it real simple for you,” Vexa shifts to face me, long legs dangling over the arm of her seat. “Magic is like learning to cook, or paint, or whatever. Being talented helps, but anyone can learn how to do it. How magic differs from baking a delicious lotberry tart is that it feeds on the user. Casting a spell can take anywhere from seconds to years off your life. Hence why goblins don’t fuck with it, and all the ‘great magi’ tend to be elves – longer lifespan, more to give in service of mastering the craft.”

“So – wait, how old are you, then?”

“Baby, we just met, surely your mother taught you better than to ask a lady her age,” the elf feigns offense, though her smirk quickly creeps back onto her face, showing off that single metal fang. “Not that it would mean anything to you if I told you. But… back to this woman you’re looking for.” She tosses the flask back to me, and my second sip is much more tentative as she continues. “Her research was all on some really ancient stuff, and a lot of weird theories about different creation myths. Stuff about monsters, about humans. Most of it, as I said, totally out of my… sphere. But there was one thing I knew enough about to give her a lead.”

“I’ll take anything, at this point. After you the trail goes cold, I’d just be… wandering east, hoping to bump into her,” I sigh.

“She was really interested in the Shrine of the Second. One of – if not the most important ‘human’ artifact. Or considered to be human, anyway.”

“I’ll bite – ‘considered’?”

“Well nobody knows, really. Everyone thinks it’s a human relic. The location and design line up, but there’s no actually recorded history of its creation or purpose. Not that humans hold a torch to the elves or the shokari – even the zura, actually – when it comes to properly documenting their history, so it’s totally possible that it slipped through the cracks.” Vexabeth shrugs. “Supposed to be pretty impressive, according to the few people who’ve seen it. I only read little bits and blurbs about the thing.”

This is the biggest piece of information I’ve gotten yet. I know what she’s looking for, at least one thing she’s looking for, even if I don’t really understand why. “And… and you said you know where it is?”

“I do! Or, well, I think I do. It moves around. Which I understand is an odd thing for a physical location to do, but… yeah, I dunno, I don’t make the fuckin’ rules. Last I heard it’s somewhere beneath Tague, so she’s gonna have her work cut out for her if she wants to find it.”

“Tague?! The goblin city?”

“Eh. Sort of a city-state. But yeah.”

My heart sinks. Tague is deep into Graicea, and, as Vexa suggested, doesn’t really consider itself to be part of Graicea. I have a good bit of wandering left to do if I’m going to catch up, but… at least I have a direction. After a moment, I let out a sigh of resignation. “Tague it is, then,” I say dejectedly. “It’s going to be quite the walk.”

“Well,” the elf says, but it interrupted by the heating kettle beginning to whistle. She makes her way to it, dropping a matching pair of sachets into a non-matching pair of cups, pouring hot water into both and then handing me mine – a simple mug made of cool gray clay, its handle a little too small, otherwise undecorated. “At least you won’t have to make the journey alone.”

“Uh?” I grunt, waiting for what I assume is tea to steep, though Vexa’s already taken a sip from her own.

“I’m coming with you,” she says firmly, dropping back into her seat.

I blink. “I, um… excuse me?”

“The Order has me in their sights; Pinzak won’t be the last goon they send, so I clearly can’t still be here when they do. And fuck, if anyone’s gonna go find the Shrine of the Second, I sure as shit wanna be there for it.”

Her words don’t leave much room for argument. I remain stunned for a moment, but… yeah, there’s not really much I can say, besides “Alright, I guess.”

“There’s a good bug,” she flashes a crooked smile. “Alright, drink your tea, I’ll start gathering up everything that can’t be left behind. Maybe let a few of these spirits loose, too….”

I remain perched on the ottoman for some time, occasionally sipping at the mug of tea (which has an earthy, spicy aroma, though its rather astringent on the tongue) and watching as the witch, Vexabeth, busies herself around the hut. Much of what clutters the place – the golem parts, failed experiments, half-finished research – is ignored or just rearranged a bit, the lanky elf mostly gathering things she can’t live without, along with some notes, scrolls, potions, journals, and bits preserved food for the road. She does indeed, too, release several spirits that had been somehow bound to her service, including a jagged, vaguely-humanoid creature of pure whiteness that had been providing light, the angry little orange blob in the fireplace, and a fuzzy black lump with spindly limbs that appears to have been tasked with keeping the floor clean. I’m starting to suspect that Vexa will end up being a lot more useful to have with me than I’d originally assumed.

It’s odd to think I’ll have a traveling companion, even if it isn’t for very long. This journey has been mine alone for a long time now, I’ve kinda gotten used to the silence.

“Alright, hop up and get the fuck out, I’m gonna leave a couple nasty surprises in here, and you’re not gonna want to, uh… activate any of them,” the witch shoos me up and out of the hut, clicking the door shut behind me, and after a few moments I hear a bit of soft whispering and rhythmic scraping, as if something’s being drawn on the floor. Vexa emerges a few moments later, a compact black pack slung over her shoulder, her willowy frame leaning against the gnarled white wood of a birch staff. “There we go. That should buy me some time.”

“Do I wanna ask?”

“Nope.”

“Then I guess I won’t.” I swallow, glancing back towards the cemetery that will lead us back to the road, and eventually, on the long, long path to the small goblin nation that is our destination. “So… Tague, huh?”

“Yup,” the elf nods, making her way off ahead of me, boldly taking the first steps of our journey as if she isn’t leaving her entire life, and home, behind. “You ever been?”

“This is as far east as I’ve ever been, actually,” I frown, following behind her. Despite her extra foot of height and long limbs, all I do is walk, so I have no difficulty whatsoever keeping up with the elf’s long, lethargic strides.

“You’re a bluffsider, right,” she chuckles. “Guess you won’t have a lot of fun, worldly stories to share along our journey, then. Your people… what. You fuck goats, right?”

“We have a lot of goats,” I say hesitantly. “I’m sure there’s a bluffsider or two, here or there, that have done some inappropriate things with them. Have you ever actually been out that way?”

“Fuck no,” she chuckles as we approach the graveyard, pausing to orient herself and starting out on the road headed east. “This is as far west as I’ve been. I’m a city girl. Or I was.”

“Not a fan of teatimes in your fancy towers?” I jab back at her.

“Wrong kind of elf, sweetness. I’m selesril, a low elf. No teatime for me. More along the lines of bread soup, and getting excited when our rat traps accidentally caught someone’s pet, ‘cause it meant more than one of us got to have meat that night. You’ve never met an elf before, have you?”

“...One or two….”

“Fuck, it seems like we have a lot to catch up on, after all,” she chuckles. “Something to do on the road.”

We make our way through the birch forest, away from the little town, leaving the Pig and Candle far behind. It’s exhilarating to finally have a new direction, a real goal, even if it isn’t one I understand well – all I know is I’m following my mother’s trail, and this will bring me closer to her.

I share a few stories of my home with Vexabeth, of the bluffs. Simple people leading simple lives in the highlands by the ocean. Netfishers, goatherds, grain farmers. Not really a land of adventuring folk, not a land of heroic stories or great deeds. Our versions of ‘tall tales’ were the LaKarran boys claiming they’d killed a Grazzoth and brought its skull, only for us to all find out that they’d found the dead body of an old ox that had gotten lost, sawed off the horns, and glued them on the face to look like tusks.

Naturally, this means that Vexabeth gets bored of my stories in record time, but the general chatter between us remains pleasant after that. She’s something of an odd woman, very much unlike the way I expect elves – or magic-users, actually – to be. She’s crass, irreverent, and lazy, but doesn’t give me the impression of someone who’s genuinely selfish. I start to get the feeling that we’ll get along alright, at least until we get to Tague… however long that takes.

Hours pass. We have a brief road-lunch consisting of sour red berries and hard white cheese, barely enough to hold us until evening finally begins to fall. As dusk descends, we keep our eyes out – hers faring far better in the dimming light than my own – for a place to make camp, eventually finding a modest clearing in the forest to stop and make a campfire. Eating on the road is rarely rewarding, even with my tiny little mess kit, but I’ve gotten fairly skilled at foraging over the past year. Some wild pumpkin and mushrooms, in addition to the unexpected appearance of a pheasant, leads to the two of us getting to enjoy a meal far better than I’m used to.

“I don’t know this road all that well, probably not much better than you do,” Vexa thinks aloud, popping a pan-grilled puff of mushroom into her mouth. How she chews with that big metal tooth I’m not sure, but she seems to be having a decent time of it. “It’ll be another couple rough days of walking, I think, before we hit another town. A while after that before we get to Tague.”

“Right,” I sigh, getting a little closer to the fire as the chill of night air starts to creep in around us. “We should get some rest, then, I guess.”

“Eh, I’m gonna jerk off first, I think,” the elf says brazenly, not a hint of shame or self-awareness in her voice. “Unless you wanna help?”

I blink, trying not to visibly balk. “Help you… jerk off?”

“Yeah. Or, I guess I could do us both. You savin’ my life and everything, I’d say you’ve more than earned a handy.”

“Oh, I… huh. I just didn’t know you were…” I’m not really sure what I want to say, but I’m definitely taken aback… if tempted.

“I’m not saying we should fuck or anything. Too lazy for that right now. Just wanna pop my cork so I can sleep,” she shrugs. “Hey, if you’re not interested, whatever, you do you.”

“No! I– um, I’m interested.”

“Sweet,” Vexa comes back, though it’s very clear that she sees sex as more of a casual thing than I do – the enthusiasm she voices is the enthusiasm of someone who was offered a fresh honey-tart, not a fireside roll in the hay. Whether this is an ‘elf thing,’ or something specific to her, I suppose I’ll have to find out.

She wastes no time in unraveling the black strips of cloth and leather she’s wrapped in, doing so with a practiced hand and at a genuinely impressive pace. Slender shoulders and midriff are bared, then, a moment later, her breasts – though they align with my earlier suspicions, being so small as to be nearly flat. I’ve never considered myself to be particularly well-endowed either, but the pale, shallow swells beneath her stiff, pierced pink nipples make me seem positively developed by comparison. The bits of fabric wound about her lower half follows, showing off her long legs, small, perky butt, and the smooth, slender shape of her penis, which, despite Vexa’s far greater height, is either the same length, or slightly shorter than my own. Everything does come together into a sort of wan, willowy beauty, moon-bright skin against night-black hair, all slim, elegant curves, decorated with a patchwork of thin, glyph-like scars matching the larger one on the side of her head.

“You’re… you look amazing,” I say uneasily, offering a small smile.

“You’re gonna have to buy me a bottle of wine if you’re gonna talk like that – or at least take me dancing,” she smirks, “but I’m glad you like what you see. It’s been a little while since I had a chance to fool around with someone.”

I lick my lips, starting to hastily undress myself, watching as Vexa lays her curled-up bedroll next to mine so we can both side comfortably by the campfire. “Alright, let’s, uh… yeah–”  It’s only a moment before I’m over to her, but now find myself nervous, taking one of her hands in my own and drawing closer, as if to kiss her – something she seems immediately disinterested in.

“Ah ah ah, don’t get things confused, bug,” the elf plants one finger against my lips, holding me at bay, then guiding me down to recline with her against the bedrolls. “If we’re gonna do anything like that, it’s gonna have to happen in its own time. Not saying it can’t, or won’t, but that’s not why we’re here… not tonight.” She brings her finger from my lips, down my body, not really bothering with much foreplay beyond a soft caress down my chest, prompting me to notice the length and slenderness of her fingers, and her sharp, steely nails, each one etched with a single rune, like the ones carved into her skin. Constant reminders of how much I have left to learn about Vexabeth Inithel.

“Right – just this, then,” I reply, considering the situation for a moment. In a weird way, it’s refreshing to think about something this relaxed, this… simple. I squish myself sideways against the elf, nuzzling into her shoulder and wrapping an arm around her slim waist, but just enough to properly anchor myself to her, sharing my warmth while giving her access to what’s between my spread legs – my girlcock slowly rising to life, experiencing only a moment of stage fright before excitement and closeness coax it into activity.

Vexa wastes no time, winding one arm around my back the way I’m doing to her, and wrapping those long fingers firmly around my shaft, starting to slowly stroke it up and down, waiting for it to reach greater stiffness before picking up any real speed. Her other hand, she brings to her own member, which I note is, indeed, perhaps slightly smaller than mine, if not dauntingly so. More noteworthy is her greater difficulty getting erect, something that seems to take her several moments of rubbing and massaging, reaching the state of hardness I’d more-or-less started out with. It makes sense, I suppose – I’m a human teenager with sex drive to spare, she’s an elven hermit of indeterminate age; she could be twice as old as me or older.

It does take some effort to resist the urge to kiss her – it feels like the natural thing to do, the instinctual thing to do, and in refraining from doing so I find myself without much of anything to do beyond relax and enjoy myself. And… yeah, I suppose that’s the point, isn’t it? So, breathing softly, I let my eyes drift shut, relishing the sensation of those long fingers sliding up and down my shaft, working me up to total hardness before the elf pauses, licks both her palms, and sets back to work, now increasing the pace of her rhythmic stroking of both of us.

There’s an appeal that I hadn’t expected to seeing her play with both of us at once, both hands moving in perfect tandem as she strokes both my cock and hers, the latter now having finally achieved its own full height. “Mmmh… that’s great,” I say softly, my breathing getting deeper, nipples hardened as a cool breeze slithers across us, the warmth from the campfire quickly balming its fleeting chill. I shift sideways slightly, facing her more, bringing my free hand to her chest and tracing it softly from her throat to her navel, then back up, causing a little shiver to ripple along Vexabeth’s pale flesh. I tease my fingers up along her ribs, feeling the subtle sweeps and lines of the scars against her otherwise silk-soft skin, up to the negligible swell of her breast, finally caressing along the pink nub of her nipple, which perks instantly against my touch.

“Nngh… k-keep doing that, yeah…?” she groans, clenching her teeth, her metal fang hooking over her lower lip as she pumps her slender arms faster and faster, thrusting spit-slicked hands more rapidly and insistently against both of our shafts in tandem. I nuzzle into her shoulder, continuing to caress my fingers up and down her chest, wandering back towards her nipple to tease and pull at the metal bar piercing it, tilting and pushing the steel stud back and forth until I feel a yelp slip from Vexa’s dark lips. I’m incredibly tempted to get closer, to close my lips around the other one and suckle at it, but I don’t want to push past the elf’s boundaries without her say-so. Instead, I continue to pinch, pull, and prod at her tiny tits, massaging her pierced nipples between my fingertips, groping at her sensitive white skin as she cranks both of our girlcocks with increasing speed and eagerness.

After a moment, she goes so far as to tilt farther toward me, extending one leg to overlap mine and pushing the tips of our members against one another, still stroking one with each hand, her breathing growing heavier as mine does the same. I squeeze my eyes back shut, burying my face in the crook of her neck, clinging to her, my hips rocking forward against her hand. I can feel myself growing closer and closer to an explosion, the intensity of my pleasure only increasing as the slick, smooth tip of Vexa’s cock bumps and rubs against my own, our collective heat increasing, the heat of the fire coaxing a thin glimmer of sweat from both our uncovered bodies. “Hahh… hhnnh, fuck…” I groan under my breath, my muscles tensing and toes curling. I can feel the witch shuddering against me in sync, gaining the erratic speed of someone who’s arm (or arms, in this instance) is growing tired, a race against the hourglass that will soon bear fruit.

My breath catches in my chest, and I develop a sudden concern as to where to cum – I’m ‘aimed’ directly at Vexa, but just because she offered to rub one off for me doesn’t mean she consented to be glazed. I let out a brief stammer, interrupted by another urgent moan, but the elf seems to get the picture, whispering back “It’s alright, bug, just let go.”

I do as I’m told, my back arching, and Vexa’s own frame contracting in sync with me, squishing our cocks against each other and directing both of them towards herself. As if in perfect concert, both throbbing pillars erupt at the same time, shooting two volleys of creamy spunk directly at Vexa, latticing her belly and chest with our combined stickiness. I notice myself, once more, to be more virile than the elf, my shots proving to be thicker and farther-travelling, but it seems to be of great importance to neither Vexa nor I as we paint the witch in unison.

When the last hot pump of seed has landed, the witch topples backwards, breathing hard, arms flopping to her sides as she catches her wind. “Mrrmmh. Fuck yeah,” she sighs, rubbing our seed into her chest with lazy fingertips. “Alright, I’m out. Don’t wake me up for anything.” Golden eyes fall shut, and I keep my arms wrapped around her, snuggling lightly as she quickly falls asleep. Tomorrow looks to be full of a lot more walking, but… I definitely needed this moment, more than I realized. It’s nice to spend a night with someone, even if we’re just travelling companions.

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[futa/futa] [casual sex] [handjobs/masturbation] [frotting] [no kissing! >:( ]