Acolyte of the Pleasure Goddess Ch. 09

"That's... exactly what I found out," Delyssa said. Her companions glanced at one another.

"What did you barter with?" Bryn asked.

"I lifted a curse from a soldier."

"Really?"

"And I sucked him and his sergeant off."

"Ah," said Bryn, beaming. Cenhera muttered an expletive and fished a gold coin out of her purse and tossed it to the fighter.

"Did you bet on if I would lay with someone? When did that happen?" Delyssa said, trying to feign indignation.

"Just now, before you got back," said Cenhera.

They paused at the sound of quick footsteps squelching through the mud. Streetdog appeared out of the mist, panting.

"I promise I'm not making this up," he said, holding both his hands up in a conciliatory gesture, "But I was just at the scout's tent and the map I was going to get you is gone. I swear to your god and any other that I'm not lying!"

"It's okay. We know you're not lying, Streetdog. We'll just call your end of the deal finished."

Bryn turned to Delyssa. "We should get going. I want to get clear of this camp as soon as possible."

"Alright. Streetdog, it was nice meeting you and your sergeant. War is not a part of my goddess' domain, but I wish you safety and wellness. Tell Stupid I said the same, and farewell."

The group turned and began to walk north, hunched in towards each other, the hoods of their cloaks already soaked and drooping low over their faces.

"Streetdog? Stupid?" Bryn said, rolling his eyes.

"It seems that soldiers have strange ways," Delyssa said.

Behind them, Streetdog followed at a short distance.

"Hey! I don't feel square with you, Delyssa!" He called after them. "I still want to help!"

Bryn turned. "Thanks pal, but I think we can manage on our own," he said gruffly.

"Sure, big guy. But I promised I'd mark down which way your friend went, and I always keep up my end of a deal."

"Well... Alright. Let's find someplace dry."

They wound up in Streetdog's tent, hunched and crowded in the center, all kneeling around the stolen scout's map, which lay unfurled on the bedroll.

"Your friend went down here, this path on the north-west. Seems like he just picked the first one he saw. But after a few miles it gets to narrow and broken for horses, so he probably turned around before then." Streetdog traced his finger across the inked lines on the map.

"Well, if he's just traveling blind, then he may have just picked the first branch big enough for his horse," said Bryn.

"That would be here. But the same thing happens farther down there." Streetdog followed the each branch and fork down until the center of the map. "Uh oh."

"What's that mean?" asked Cenhera. "What's 'uh oh'?"

"Well... if your friend just kept going through the most obvious, easiest paths, then it might be that he went down the same trail that Mothwing did."

"What's Mothwing?" said Bryn.

"A scout," said Delyssa. "The man I lifted a curse from. He was blind and catatonic."

"There's something out there," said Streetdog. "Well, there's lots of things out there, but this one seems right scary. If your friend ran into that..."

"Vael can take care of himself," said Bryn, though Delyssa wasn't sure if he was reassuring her or himself.

"But we should get moving, just in case," said Cenhera.

"Thanks Streetdog. You've been a great help," Delyssa said to the soldier.

"Yeah. Yeah, don't mention it. Stay safe, hey? And I hope you find your friend. And uh, if I get back to Gra'tan, I'll stop by your Temple to pay my thanks. Maybe I'll see you there?"

She smiled. "Perhaps! I hope so."

They left the tent and Streetdog behind, though she caught a glimpse of him peering through the flap at them as they disappeared into the rain.

"You saw the curse up close, right?" Bryn said as they made their way to the edge of the army's camp. "Any idea what could have caused it? I know monster lore isn't really your strength..."

Delyssa thought for a while. "Actually, I think I do have an idea what this could be," she said. "And it's not good."

#

Vael hacked his way through a tangle of vines, his sword dripping with sap. He didn't like leaving such obvious wounds in the trail, but these paths were far thicker with vegetation than he imagined, and Dereac was having trouble navigating through the foliage. The horse was irritated, and that soured Vael's mood as well.

His sword dripped with a thick sap from the vines, and when he tried to clean it with a rag, the two simply adhered together, the latter ripping as he tried to tear it free.

Despite the difficulty of the trail and the challenge of leading a horse through jungle footpaths, Vael found some relief in the journey. Each step demanded his attention. There was no room for distraction, no space for anything in his mind except focusing on where to plant his boot next.

No time to think about Delyssa and Bryn and Cenhera, which was good because when he did, there was an awful, familiar pang in his chest. Guilt. It seemed there was no way for him to escape from that sensation. Either it was the guilt from the man he was before or it was the guilt from trying to stay who he was now. A man who'd rather flee his friends than change.

He stumbled over a low, twisting root and fell. He flailed, grabbing at the vines around him despite their thorns. He caught one, and immediately winced at the sting in his palms. He righted himself, cautiously stepping clear of the roots. His palm had a small smear of blood across it, but less than he feared. It seemed that the sap-covered vine acted as a sort of natural poultice. He sniffed the wound. It smelled like blood, sap, and honey, and... He shook his head.

Once more, he thought about turning around. Back through the trails, back past the camps, through the jungle hills and back to the plains. Maybe all the way back to Gra'tan if that's what it took.

He thought about when he met Delyssa, outside of her Temple. He had lingered at the base of those steps, too unsure of what he might see had he climbed them. A foolish hesitation, but then... the image of her approaching down the steps towards him stayed clear in his mind.

It was getting hotter, and his skin beneath his armor was slick with sweat. He doffed it as he walked, fumbling with the buckles and straps, gasping with relief as he felt the open air. He peeled his shirt off, discarding it to the side of the trail. Still, the heat stifled him, the battery of the rain doing nothing to alleviate it. He held his shield up over his head, but soon grew tired from the beating of the heavy rain. He slung his shield back over his naked shoulder and let the rain rattle off the top of his helmet.

His blood felt hot now, too. And his breeches felt tight. He loosened them, tugging at his belt and the laces on the front until his cock sprung out, harder than he had ever felt before. It was such a relief to feel it out in the open air, though why this was so he could not describe, just an intimate scratching of an itch, a sudden urge fulfilled.

Dereac huffed and shuffled in place, falling back behind him as he stumbled forward. He knew that something was wrong, but he could only keep crawling along, that he could either keep moving forward or fall to ground and fall upon himself.

His legs were starting to grow weak, and he lowered to the mud, dragging himself with his forearms. Dimly he was aware of the sudden absence of vines or roots, but his mind was overtaken with the pressure that kept him moving down the trail.

He reached forward and grasped a smooth vine, and the vine gripped him in turn, wrapping around his wrists, binding them together. Then it began to pull him into the jungle.

He rolled onto his back. Dereac had disappeared behind the vegetation. He couldn't think, all his sensation was focused down at his groin. His cock was so hard, curved back up towards the canopy above him. Each raindrop that hit the exposed tip of his glans was an agony, and he writhed as the vines pulled him deeper into the underbrush, not to escape, but to try to find some contact for his cock, anything to bring him some relief.

All of his other senses were getting dulled, and it became harder to keep his eyes open. It was like he was only his organ, and could only perceive the world through what it kissed.

A final thought came to him as he began to lose consciousness, cutting through the fog in its simplicity: I bet Delyssa would enjoy me like this.