Scoundrel's Answer Ch. 15

Alan lowered the point of his blade, and rubbed at his bruised neck with his free hand. It hurt to swallow, but at least he could breathe. Windhawk approached with ginger steps, weaving her way amidst the tables toward him. Her own gaze studied the dead beings with a nervous look.

"What do you think those were? I don't think I've seen anything even close to them."

He shook his head in response. When he spoke, he cringed at how hoarse he sounded, but it didn't hurt at all as much as he expected, "I have no idea. With Miena's skills, they're probably from some other realm, like elementals, or demons."

"Or worse," Windhawk's voice fell, and her eyes narrowed. She nudged at one of the things with her booted foot, but there was thankfully no response.

A peal of laughter rang out from above the two, and when their gazes rose, they caught sight of Miena. She was just standing there on the stairs leading upward, gazing down at them from on high. She looked younger than she had been in life, more in line with the dreams that had been plaguing Alan than the memories of her last years. Her once unruly red hair was secured back in a tight tail, and a robe of gleaming red silk hung loose about her form, exposing her shoulders and much of one leg, her creamy skin standing out in sharp contrast to it. Little red slippers were pulled over her feet, while within one hand she held the Nightmare Orb, letting it dangle almost casually from one hand.

"Are you going to waste all day wrecking all of my servants?" She raised one brow, "Or are their little shows disturbing you?" A cruel smile then slowly spread across the redhead's features. "And where's Vick and the little gnome brat? Did you send them to deal with something all alone? Oh my, I hope nothing terrible happens to them."

Her mocking tone sent Alan's blood boiling. He lifted his blade to point up at where Miena stood on the stairs, and he growled out, "Kill her."

Windhawk took direction well, although neither expected it to be that easy. An arrow was notched and loosed, but as it leaped through the air toward the wizard, it suddenly stopped, deflected as if it had struck a wall. Whatever spell had arrested the arrow's flight within arm's reach of its target simply let it drop. The arrow clattered to the ground far below, still whole.

Miena stifled a yawn, then pushed away from the railing. "Well, if you're going to be like that, I'll be waiting up at the top." She stretched languidly, displaying her slender figure against the thin fabric of that silken robe. As she turned to ascend the rest of the stairs, Alan was already racing toward the base of that flight. She was so close to the top, however, that she was long gone before Alan could make it halfway up.

He wanted beyond anything to dash up those stairs and snap her neck, but he forced himself to slow, so that Windhawk could catch up. Alan had a feeling that if they were separated by too much, Miena would find some way to keep them from assisting one another. This was, after all, her home. Only when the elven woman was by his side with bow drawn did he hasten up the last few steps.

Their ascent to the next level of the tower was rewarded with a vision of opulence. Tall windows let sunlight stream through the room from all sides, while in the middle of the chamber, a fountain resembling four playful nymphs carved of white stone sprayed water down into a grand basin below. Numerous velvet pillows in a mad array of colors lay scattered here and there, and interspersed with them were trays and goblets of gold, containing various snacks and drinks. Rather than another grand staircase on the opposite side of the room, there was only a winding, tightly spiraling staircase of metal, hung from a pole attached to the high ceiling.

Amidst the cushions upon the floor, as if she were some playful nymph herself, lay Elizabeth. Just one of her this time, and from all appearances, the real one. Still, Alan was cautious. As he eyed her over, her own glittering green eyes showed no sign of recognition, only surprise. Her long, blonde hair was freshly washed, and cascaded in damp tendrils down her back. Her heavenly figure was draped about with soft, nearly sheer white silks. They clung to her form, failing to conceal anything beneath. She seemed wholly unharmed, well rested. It was as if she were still in her own home, waiting for her husband to return from his day's errands.

If only he caught any sign that she recalled who he was.

She sat up suddenly, her breasts swaying with the movement, bobbing with her quickened breath. That look of surprise grew to one of alarm as her eyes drifted down to his drawn sword, and then to Windhawk as the elf stepped up behind him. The fear and uncertainty in her voice tore at Alan's heart.

"Who are you?"

Before Alan could respond, Miena seemed to materialize out of mid air behind Elizabeth. It was as if unseen wisps of smoke flowed up into the shape of the redheaded wizard woman in the space of a single second. Those delicate hands came to rest on his wife's shoulders, and she spoke in a gentle, insidious tone, "They're the ones who are responsible for the death of your beautiful bard."

Elizabeth's features twisted from shock and fear, to anger. Alan knew well how fiercely she would set herself to defending something she cared for, even if she didn't have the actual combat skills to back up her anger. He watched his wife as she rose to her bare feet, her fingers curled into fists.

"Elizabeth! It's me, Alan. Your husband!"

Lizzy looked confused for a moment, then frowned, "I don't know you! Miena says you killed my love, and she's been nothing but kind to me."

The magic user behind Lizzy lifted a hand to take the blonde woman's. There was a faint shimmering, as a blade of gleaming steel seemed to telescope out of Miena's hand. It formed a razor sharp, single edged sword, the handle of which she gently pressed into Lizzy's palm.

Elizabeth gazed down to the weapon, and grasped it awkwardly. She had no idea how to use it, but Alan doubted that would keep her from trying.

"Miena! Enough," He tried to reason with her, recalling the message within his dream, of Miena having taken Lizzy's memories of him away. "If it's me you want, don't do this to her."

Behind him, Windhawk leveled her bow at Miena, though she clearly didn't have an open shot. Elizabeth began to stalk toward Alan, murderous rage in her eyes. Her fair hair and sheer silks floated behind her as she moved, gaining confidence with every step.

"What have I done to her, Alan? You're the one who shattered her happiness. You're the one who came in here, after your friend killed the only love dear Lizzy can remember..."

Alan tightened his grip on his own blade, but he began to back up as Elizabeth advanced. He couldn't go far, however, not without going down into the room below. He backed up to the wall, then began to circle around it, away from the stairs. He did not want to fight his wife, even at his most careful something terrible might happen.

Elizabeth's gaze tracked his every move, and she raised her sword. With a snarl, she began to charge Alan, her blade raised. As her bare feet pattered across the cushion strewn floor, she left Miena wide open, and Windhawk took her shot.

This arrow, different from the ones previous, bore a minor enchantment on it. That much was clear, as it left a trail of silvery glitter in the air. The arrow struck through whatever magics had protected Miena from the prior arrow, and plunged into her chest.

The arrow then continued on, as if it had struck nothing at all, and shattered against the stonework opposite Windhawk.

Miena laughed. Her image flickered once, then again as she outright cackled, until finally it faded away. Only the gradually echoing remnants of her laughter remained to tell that any projection of the wizard had ever been present.

During this, Alan raised his own blade, keeping the flat toward his wife. He received her inexpert hacking, parrying each blow she rained upon him. For all of her lack of skill, there was power behind her slashes. She genuinely wanted to kill him. Alan wasn't sure if he could hold off her attacks indefinitely. She'd get lucky eventually.

Windhawk was little use. For a moment, she trained her bow on Lizzy, but upon seeing Alan's expression when that arrow pointed at his wife, she quickly lowered it. The length of that blade the woman was wielding meant that even approaching from behind was risky. As Alan circled one way, Windhawk drifted in the other, looking for an opening.

"Elizabeth! Please, remember me!" He called out between the crashes of blade against blade. His own flexed and bent under the impact of some of those crude slashes, only to spring back each time.

There was no pause in her attacks, no hesitation. "You and your friends killed him! The only one who's shown me kindness since I woke up! I hate you!" Her own screams were nearly hysterical, her chest heaved with each panting breath. And yet she never seemed to flag.

There was another sound then, barely audible between the clash of steel and his wife's ranting. The rapid ascent of little boots coming up the stairs grew closer and closer. Windhawk spun and raised her own bow once more, only to lower it when the tiny figure of Faringalia the gnome popped into view.

"Alan! Vick fell down a pit! He seems to be alright, but I can't lift-" Her chattering stilled as she realized what was going on. "Alan? Is that the real Lizzy?"

"Yes!" Alan's response was irritable. But then, hope sprang forth. "Can you do something?" The illusionist seemed well capable of disabling her opponents with magic, and safely for the most part.

Faringalia grinned. "Of course." She rolled up her sleeves as she approached the two humans. She thrust both of her hands into different pockets of those multicolored robes.

Her approach, and Alan's nervous glimpses toward the gnome, caught Elizabeth's attentions. As Faringalia drew near, the blonde disengaged, and took a few steps back. She drew her sword up in an instinctive defensive posture.

A blinding wash of brilliant light and scintillating colors filled Alan's vision. Cursing, he dropped his own sword and clawed at his eyes. It felt like a rainbow had opened up his skull and thrown up directly on his brain. The wash of colors didn't last long, however, though it did leave afterimages seared into his retinas for a moment. He rubbed his eyes as his vision cleared, only to be greeted with the sight of Elizabeth sprawled on the ground like a discarded doll, stunned. Her eyes were rolled back, and drool crept from the corner of her mouth. She occasionally twitched a bit.

"What the hell did you do?" He groaned the words out. Even his own voice made his head pound after that. It was worse than the worst hangover he'd ever had.

"I stopped her. She'll recover in a couple minutes."

By then, Windhawk was already in motion. She grabbed the unconscious Elizabeth, and dragged her away from Alan and the fallen weapons. As Alan recovered, the elf tugged a length of silken rope from her pack, and began to bind his wife up.

Faringalia approached Elizabeth, and looked her over with confusion. "She's the real thing," the gnome finally stated, "I don't sense any illusions from her."

"Of course not, you silly little shit. I use real magic." Miena's voice snapped from high above. Alan turned his gaze upward, and his hand drifted to where his sword should have been sheathed.

Except it was still laying on the ground by the wall.

Alan dove to grab up his blade, but as he did, a roaring wall of flame sprung up, jetting up from the very ground and neatly bisecting the room. Alan was on one side, with Miena atop those spiral stairs, while the other three women were separated from him by the intense heat.

Alan shielded his gaze against the thick flames, but still tried to peer through any gaps that might form. Above him, Miena began to speak dark and eldritch words once more. As the arcane energies began to gather again, Alan braced himself, but nothing happened. At least, nothing happened to him.

Faringalia shrieked, and he could hear her tumble backward, while Windhawk screamed herself. It was impossible to see what was going on for a moment, but then, just above the flames he caught sight of them. Thick, black tentacles writhed upward, and in their grasp were his unconscious wife and Windhawk.

A few tentacles coiled firmly about each woman, and though he could barely see through the glare of the flames, what he could make out was grotesque. Thin, slippery tentacles of some unknown black substance secured each woman within the air, coiling about lithe legs, about their arms. Windhawk struggled, but his wife lay unconscious still. At least, until the first of the blunt tipped, enchanted tentacles slipped up under that gauzy white silk. It disappeared between Elizabeth's smooth thighs, and then a sharp gasp escaped her as she was penetrated.

Windhawk thrashed and screamed, but it was to no avail. He could hear the popping of buckles and buttons, the shifting of leather. The elven woman's pert breasts came into view above the barrier of flames for just a moment, before one dark tentacle wrapped firmly about each, squeezing and coiling about their bases.

Faringalia's panic stricken voice sounded from behind the flames, "Alan! The tentacles have got them, I can't do anything! I don't have any sort of counter for this."

He thought he'd seen a similar spell once, long ago, but the black tentacles it had conjured forth certainly hadn't taken such liberties. "Go find Vick! Find some way, any way to get him out of whatever pit he's fallen into." It was his best hope. A blade could sever those things and free the two women held in their oily embrace.

"Faringalia! My pack!" Windhawk gasped sharply, her breath coming in short pants. "Take it with you, it'll have something in it that can-" Her voice was cut off by a sharp cry, then a low moan.

The elf's tight, slender body arched upward. Limbs still bound in thick black coils could do nothing to prevent what was happening, and the ones curled about her breasts simply squeezed all the harder. One massive tentacle delved under her once tight leathers, past the shredded laces that had kept them secure. It was clear that the tip of the slick, dark thing disappeared into one of the elven woman's orifices, and it began to pump rhythmically within her. Any hope of her continuing her instructions to the gnome was cut off by the introduction of another tentacle to the elven woman's lips. Her eyes bugged out for a moment as it thrust between them, and her throat bulged out for a moment, as she was forced to deep throat that foreign intrusion.

Faringalia called out "I got it! I... I'll be back!" He could hear her scampering footsteps as she dashed for the stairs.

Alan began to clamber up that spiral staircase, sword now in hand. "Let them go, Miena! This is between you and I."

"Of course it is, but that doesn't mean I have to do anything at all, Alan dear. Besides, it looks like they're getting into it."

Elizabeth's moans begin to rise, and Alan turned his gaze toward her. He cringed as he watched his young wife's body, just writhing as the tentacles coursed over her skin, caressing and squeezing, thrusting rhythmically within an increasingly slick body. Even Windhawk began to buck her hips toward the squirming length that disappeared down her leggings. She blushed fiercely, and her cheeks hollowed as she began to suck upon the one sliding back and forth between her lips. As a third of the damnable things rose to begin to squirm down the back of her leather pants, he turned his gaze back upward.

There was one way to end such a spell, and that involved driving his sword through the chest of whoever had cast it. The staircase echoed with the force of each step as he ran up that rickety spiral, causing it to sway under his shifting weight. Through the wrought metal, he caught a sight of Miena's pale legs and slipper clad feet as she dashed up before him, through a dark portal leading upward.

Alan left the roar of flames, soft moans, and the steady sound of slick flesh meeting slick flesh behind him, and followed the wizard alone, into the dark unknown.