Scoundrel's Answer Ch. 06

Daphne's trail was easy enough to follow. There was more blood on the walls than in the bodies. Stepping over the occasional exsanguinated corpse, Alan paused only to thrust open doors they passed, to ensure there were no survivors hiding within. There was naught to be seen, but for furnishings in disarray and the occasional still twitching body. It was a gruesome scene, but inwardly Alan hoped she saved some for him. The visions of his wife's torment still seethed just under the surface of his thoughts.

"Look at this shit, and you wonder why I don't trust the monstrous bitch."

"The fact that she can do this when we let her off her leash just goes to show how well she's keeping her terms of her surrender," Alan's voice was cold and calculating. He was in a deadly mood, and now they were so close to rescuing his wife, he couldn't allow any mistakes.

Vick merely grunted in response, and their sweep continued in silence until the next crossing. Two halls intersected in a fair sized room, though a trail of blood along the wall to the right hand corridor clearly showed where the elf woman had gone.

"We should wait for Master Steelwright," Farangalia finally spoke, uneasy with the situation. The dwarf, at least, had seemed a kind soul.

"He'll catch up. Daphne's this way, so let's clear other way," Vick pointed to the corridor opposite.

"No, we split up here. Farangalia, you go catch up to Daphne. Vick, take your pick of a passage, I'll sweep the one left over."

Farangalia wasted no time padding off to the passage to the right, while Vick turned and clanked his way to the left. His armor was dented and bloodstained, but so far seemed to have protected the fat Count from the worst of the blows. Alan steeled himself, then wandered down the middle corridor. Once again he drew his dagger with his free hand, and with Farangalia's light no longer present or necessary, there were plenty of shadows to stick to as he advanced.

He was almost disappointed that there weren't more traps, but then once they'd got past the initial defenses, it only made sense not to lay too many amidst the every day living quarters. Back in his day, they'd occasionally rig nonlethal snares just to fuck with the new recruits, but there was none of that in evidence. As Alan made his way down the corridor, he caught a faint scent of incense, and a soft, feminine humming drifted down the hallway.

The hall was relatively short, just three doors lined the wood paneled walls, one on either side and one directly ahead. The one on the left was unlocked, and opened into an opulent bedroom. It was beyond anything that Alan expected, even with the guild's usual resources. The scent of perfume within was almost intoxicating, and mingled with the drifting incense in a manner he found hard to describe. It stirred a certain sense of want within him.

Still, despite the obvious luxury of the bedroom, no one was within. He tried the one on the right next, and it gave readily. The incense seemed to come from within, thick and cloying. This chamber held four crude cots, and upon one of them was a haggard, gray haired man that Alan recognized with a sickening realization.

Tannon, a thief of the old guard. He'd been utterly loyal to Alan during his tenure, the two were of similar age. He'd had little ambition, however, and preferred to stay in the shadows. Over the years, he had provided updates to the guild's progress, but Alan hadn't heard from him in months. There were no chains in evidence, no sign of torture, but something about Tannon's state struck Alan as simply 'wrong'.

The man's leanly muscled frame was nude save for a single scrap of loincloth. His hair had grown out, while his trademark goatee had been lost. He sat on the edge of one cot, staring into the distance. It was those eyes which were the worst part. Those once keen, unfettered brown eyes were clouded and dim, and his half lidded expression seemed just shy of a total stupor.

Alan wasn't prepared for anything that obviously magical, so he shut the door carefully, quietly. He'd have to find out what happened to his old friend later. For the moment, he turned his attention to the last door on the corridor. Once more the perfume and incense seemed to mingle, a calming scent that lulled the senses and set the mind wandering on pleasant thoughts. From beyond the doorway, gentle splashing and running water could just be heard. Shaking his head in a vain attempt to clear his mind, Alan sheathed his dagger and tightened his grip on his sword, then warily opened the door.

The vision within was wholly beyond anything Alan could prepare himself for. She was barely visible at first, but as the steam from the grand bath dissipated with his opening of the door, more of her haunting visage came into view. Long locks of shimmering silver cascaded like liquid metal about her form, parted by the tapered points of her ears as ivory rocks splitting a river of mercury. Her hair was damp, and clung to her petite frame with a mind of its own. A high widow's peak gave the impression that her smooth forehead were more prominent than it was, but it hardly detracted from her unearthly beauty. Brows of silver rose above eyes the color of the forest. Those vivid greens fixed upon him, holding his gaze transfixed for a moment. Only when her lashes kissed her high cheekbones, breaking the caught gaze, did he feel he had the permission to let his eyes travel once more.

Alan wasn't sure whether it was the warmth of the blush dusting her pale, soft skin, the way the water cascaded down her body in a lover's caress, or the shift of her nude form to face his so invitingly that drew him in. There were others within the chamber, standing to either side of the preternatural elven woman, but his gaze couldn't tear itself from her long enough to acknowledge them. The tip of their buckets to allow more water to course over her form was only noted by the way the liquid flowed over her sleek curves, over breasts more modest than the human women he was used to, along taut belly and flared hips. Her nipples puckered and peaked, jutting forth toward his gaze, and though she raised one arm to drape across her bust, that delicate limb did nothing to hide her, resting just shy of where his gaze caught every luscious detail.

Perhaps it was the clang of his sword as it hit the fine wood floor, or perhaps it was the click of the door closing behind him, but for a moment, just a moment his mind snapped free of the shock of the beauty before him. Alan turned his gaze up, the men flanking her were dressed similarly to his old friend, simple loincloths and nothing more. He shifted his gaze to the door behind him, but just as he wondered when he had entered the room, the warm touch of an elegant hand on his shoulder and the soft, musical sound of the elven woman's voice conspired to drag him back into that entrancement.

"You look so tired, so weary. Let me help you forget your worries, your troubles," Her very voice was as a fine wine to the senses, and when he turned to look back to the woman that seemed much closer than he remembered, his eyes caught those angled, forest green eyes. And with that, he was gone.

The scent of her was enthralling, the taste more so. His lips trailed unbidden over her neck, that soft, damp skin trembled with her laughter. Her hands found his shoulders, his settled at the gentle flare of her bare hips. She was warm, too warm really, but it felt nice under his touch. Alan's tongue darted over that flesh just between his lips, tasting a mix of cinnamon, honey, and need.

"Just rest, relax," Her voice was soothing, like the gentle rustle of wind through tree branches, or the distant crash of ocean waves. "Let your Mistress wash the cares of the world away with her touch." He could listen to those musical tones forever.

Her long nails dragged over the leather covering his form, then began to deftly undo the lacing. His own hands trailed up her sides, resting to either side of her bust. That skin was so soft, so smooth under his hands, under his lips as he trailed his kisses to her shoulder. There was movement, just out of the corner of his eye. The other two servants of the Mistress ducked about to take up his weapons where they had landed, his sword, his dagger. Hadn't it been sheathed? It was so hard to think. Especially when those small, dainty hands began to caress over the bare skin of his chest.

Alan offered a moan of protest when she pushed him back, but it was cut off with a gasp when her hungry lips caught the dip of his throat, then teased expertly down toward his chest. The steam from the baths once more thickened in the air, obscuring the rest of the room. Nothing in the world existed but him and the elven Mistress.

Her long nails dragged down his firm chest, teasing as razors over every contour of his torso, just light enough to avoid cutting, but firm enough to leave welts in their path. Sharp little nips were interspersed with suckling little kisses, surprisingly sharp teeth scraped along his flesh, to the point of drawing a drop of blood near to one nipple. Alan gasped, then groaned as her soft red lips sealed over the bite. They weren't the fangs of a vampire, no, but rather the sharp teeth of some wild beast.

At any other time, that would have worried him, but his mind was occupied with other things. With how good she smelled, how soft and warm her curves were under his hands, how exquisite her touch was against his own skin. He stroked his fingers gently over the moderate swells of those breasts, then brushed his thumbs across the edge of each nipple. His arousal strained against his trousers, but then with quick work of her dextrous fingers, that thick length sprung free. The brush of his cock against her bare thighs brought a sharp intake of breath, on his part at least.

"Will you stay with me?" His Mistress sounded so needful, so longing, "Will you be with me here, forever? Sweet pet?" She asked so nicely, and those fingers slid along his powerful thighs, then along the growing shaft of his cock.

Alan's nod was rewarded by the brush of one of her fingers along the underside of his length, then the contact of her warm, wet flesh against the head. His eyes turned to hers, and he was lost in the deep forest of her eyes. His hands slide over the curve of her ass, but then her hands slid up to his broad shoulders. He couldn't look away even if he wanted to. Those nails traced like claws over his body, then with a gentle touch, she began to push him downward.

"Do you want me?" It was a stupid question, as if he could want anyone else.

"Oh yes, yes Mistress," He descended toward one knee.

One of her hands slipped up along his neck, caressing the nape, then drifting further. Her fingers laced in his hair, and she guided his lips toward one of her pert, jutting nipples. When he tried to close his wanting lips about that offered flesh, she pulled sharply on his hair, just enough to keep those lips from reaching her. He watched her eyes uncertainly, then his tongue darted out to circle her nipple. Her smile was terrifying. Ruby red lips, razor sharp teeth all gleaming white.

"Good boy, pet," Her words sent a thrill down his spine.

Further she pushed him, holding his head so he could not touch her skin, but any time he lifted his tongue from her soft, sweet flesh she paused, and tightened her grip at his shoulder and within his hair. There was pain there, as those nails pierced the flesh of his shoulder, drawing little beads of his blood from the contact. His hands were left to roam freely, and roam they did. He stroked his hands from her ass down along the backs of those silken thighs, then caressed those sultry limbs on the return journey. His tongue danced about her navel, then along the flat of her belly. Her goal was unmistakeable, but he wouldn't stop her for all the world.

When the scent of his Mistress reached him, his arousal grew all the more. That thick cock jutted into the air, untended, but when he lowered one hand toward his own length, she gave another sharp tug to his hair. "No pet," Her command was the sweetest thing he'd ever experienced, at least for those few moments before his tongue was guided to her warm, wet slit. He delved in greedily, lapping hungrily over those folds, splitting her flesh with the tip of his tongue. The forest of her eyes released his at last, and he closed his own, just living for the scent of her, for the taste of her nectar upon his tongue.

He must have been doing well, for her nails tightened at his right shoulder, scoring his skin with shallow, bleeding scratches. Her lean, supple leg hooked over his left shoulder, and the warm, smooth skin against his caused his heart to leap. It muted the sound of battle, was someone fighting somewhere? All Alan cared about was the warm, moist cleft before him, and the soft moans his Mistress made. His head moved at her direction, lips upon her folds, his tongue stroked over her inner walls, and then, with a tug to his hair, he trailed both lips and tongue upward. That engorged little nub beckoned.

She was close, he could make that much out, and as her secretions filled his senses, his lips clasped about that sensitive button. His Mistress cried out, and it was all he could do to gather what he could with quick, lavish swipes of his tongue. If he brought her pleasure, perhaps she would see fit to give him the same. He would settle even for the barest of touches to his own rigid member. And then she reached her peak proper. She bathed his tongue and his lips, most of his face with her pleasure, her hips bucked forward, her hand pressed his face into her folds. It seemed an eternity that he was kept there between her thighs, but he'd have it no other way.

When he was finally allowed a breath, he immediately squandered it, "Please, please touch me," His voice was a whisper really, his voice washed over her sensitive flesh with each syllable.

"Please what, pet?" Her voice was stern and alluring all at once.

"Please, Mistress."

Her leg slipped from his shoulder, and her foot traced along his side. Those delicate toes teased along his waist, then slowly, agonizingly stroked along his throbbing length. Pet gazed up at Mistress longingly, and though her touch upon his cock was like lightning, he couldn't climax. He grunted in frustration, arching his hips, pressing that length against those dextrous toes, along her soft foot.

"Please!" Pet panted out, "Please Mistress!"

She smiled cruelly down to him, once more showing those red lips and those sharp teeth. It was different now though. Where once her flesh had been pale and smooth, it was now covered with fine, silvery fur. Her ears were sharp and pivoted forward, her face was stretched, resembling that of an elegant fox. "Please what?" She purred, and stroked that foot over his cock again.

"Alan!" Someone was calling for someone. Who was Alan?

"Please let me cum," Pet whined up to his Mistress, even as the mists began to clear.

The vixen tensed, her clawed nails dragged over his shoulder, cutting deeply. "Pet, your mistress needs your help! Intruders!"

In the throes of want, Pet turned his head toward the door. There were figures there. Armored, a tall, fat man he felt he should know. Beside him, a dwarf in sparkling mail. Pet's brows furrowed. "Did I know you?" He asked in a dreamlike tone.

"Let him be, ye fuckin' whore!" The dwarf's words were punctuated by the sharp whistling of something thrown through the air. A dull thud and crunch followed, and the Mistress wheezed for breath. The thrown war hammer glittered, the dwarven runes upon it glowed, and it whipped back through the air. The dwarf caught it nimbly.

They'd attacked his mistress! Pet scrambled for his weapon, but none were in sight. Nude and unarmed, he stood quickly, raising his fists. He was prepared to die for his Mistress.

"Sorry 'bout this, Alan." The larger man rumbled out, shortly before swinging his gauntleted fist forward.

Alan wasn't sure when the gauntlet connected. He remembered seeing stars, then the world went black. When he finally came to, he was on the floor in a growing pool of blood. Down the hall, through the opened door, he could see a silver furred fox fleeing quickly.

"Damnit! The bitch got away!" Vick's tone was full of fury.

Garthur stooped over Alan, his hands glowed with the after effects of whatever healing prayer he'd just performed. "That'll fix you up lad, now put some damned clothes on."

Alan sat up, groaning softly, "What hit me?"

Vick jutted a thumb in toward his own chest. "You needed it." He continued to watch the hall, just casting the words back over his shoulder.

Alan began to dress groggily, his clothing still laid strewn about the floor. Tannon stepped into view, clad in a ratty tunic and trousers. He dropped Alan's weapons near.

"Think I found 'em all."

Alan looked confused for a moment, even as he pulled his leathers on. "Tannon?"

"Yeah." The other thief grinned, "I owe you guys. That bastard pretending to be Devron gave me to that fox bitch to keep me quiet. If you guys hadn't happened along, I'd have been a toy forever."

"You two are pathetic," Vick near grunted the words, "That bitch didn't have enough meat on her bones. No tits."

Alan managed a laugh, then stood with Garthur's help. "So what's the situation?"

"Still haven't heard from short stuff or Daph," Vick admitted, "But the rest of this floor is clear."

"Aye, looks like we'll be heading off after the abomination."

Alan eyed the Count and the dwarf in turn, before his eyes settled on Tannon. "And you?"

"Man, count me out of this. I've been locked up in these rooms playing personal servant so long I'm out of practice. I think I'll head down and try to get some things in order, then find a place to rest."

Alan nodded at that, "Understood. And after that?"

Tannon grinned, "Maybe find a few of the old boys and do a little fox hunting."

This brought a chuckle from both old thieves, then Alan clapped Tannon on the shoulder, "Good luck with that."

Stiffly, still sore and somewhat unsettled from the fox woman's effects, Alan followed Vick and Garthur down the hall, then toward where Daphne had been bound. The walls were in a shambles, and not a living soul could be seen. They passed four doors, each of which opened into a room that contained either nothing, or just corpses. Then, just at the end of the hall the room opened up into a sitting room, with another stairway leading up.

The scene the three men walked in on was a chaos. One black-clad guild member cowered in the corner, clearly terrified, while two more exchanged blows. They shouted out strange and illogical things, apparently thinking each one was some manner of monster. Two more lay dead on the floor. Farangalia was there, her shock of hair brilliant and loose, her robes fluttered. She had tears running down her eyes, and weaved her hands in the air as if directing puppets on strings.

Behind the gnome, pinned to the wall by a wooden shard through her chest, lay Daphne. The elven woman was wounded in several places besides the big spike protruding between her breasts, and simply hung limp against the wall.

"She's dead," Farangalia offered, just as one of the men she was manipulating finally struck a fatal blow to the other.

Alan casually walked to the remaining combatant, who didn't seem able to see him. He watched as the fellow whirled about in a panic, then casually thrust his own sword through the man's gut. With a grunt, the bewildered fellow dropped to the ground.

Vick walked past Farangalia, and patted her on the head as he moved. "You did good, short stuff."

"B-but Daphne's dead!" The gnome seemed hysterical, near tears. She turned her tearful gaze toward Vick, just in time to see the Count yank the wooden shard from Daphne's chest. The elf woman slid to the ground, and crumpled there.