Arcanum - Of Steamwork and Magic Ch. 09

"N-No, Ogden did that," she whispered. "He tended to your...wounds..." She trailed off, her eyes half closing. "Y-You're bigger than Borag..." She sounded awed and a bit frightened. I gritted my teeth as I sat up, my belly mucles tightening and my chest setting up a small orchestra of tiny aches and pains to protest my movement. But this allowed me to caress her bare cheek, my voice quite soft.

"I'm not him," I whispered.

Cynthia melted against me -- her mouth and mine met once more. Once more, I was left hard of breath, trying to keep up with the desperate thrust and caress of her tongue. But as she kissed, she ground against the bulge that was straining against the homespun blanket that had puddled on my lap. Soon, even that thin separation was unbearable. Since my hands were still gently caressing her skin -- her cheek, her shoulders, her flanks, her rump -- she reached down and jerked the blanket aside, tossing it carelessly to the ground. Now, my cock rose to meet her thighs, and with the practiced ease of a professional, Cynthia rocked her hips backwards, then forward, capturing my cock with her sex as smoothly as any woman I had lain with. She mewled into my mouth, but did not hesitate or stop until our hips had met with a wet slap, and my member was buried in her to the womb. She drew back, gasping in quiet, eager breaths.

"A...Are you quite comfortable, my lady?" I whispered, my voice tight against the mixture of pain and pleasure that ached through my body. My balls were quivering with pent up desire, as if they had waited their whole life to fill the womb of this Lady Boggs.

She whimpered. "C-Call me that more, Resh..."

"Of course, My Lady..." I whispered, leaning forward to gently kiss her neck. Tenderly, I caressed her back, allowing her to grow used to my size. She might have taken that bastard Borgar -- and a fierce gladness at having removed his head from his body flared through me. But she had clearly never been give the chance to enjoy the act. And she was beginning to do so now. She let out a quiet gasp as I leaned down to kiss the tips of her breasts, to trace the lines of her tattoos with my tongue. Her nipples were hard and oh so very eager. I murmured against her skin, my breath hot on her sweat streaked flesh. "I must admit, Lady Boggs, that I cannot...quite contrive to move with my body in this state. Y-You may need to...ah..."

"I can manage it, Resh," she whispered, a delight in her voice that was hard to miss. Her hands gently took my shoulders, then gripped them for leverage as she started to rise and fall. Rise and fall. The hot, slick tightness of her pussy was as delightful as anything I had felt, and I closed my eyes tight, simply reveling in the physical sensation. From the mewling noise that escaped from her throat with every slow transition -- Cynthia took her time going up, and moved until she had nearly slipped off of me, then let herself drop down with some force, a wet slap announcing her buttocks and her thighs jouncing against me -- I was quite sure that she had never felt more bliss in her life either. She started to gasp out faster and faster, and despite her attempts to prolong this tender union, her body had a deeper need.

A need for more.

Her teeth began to nip at my shoulder as she buried her face against me, allowing the huge mane of her brown hair to cover my face. I inhaled her scent, and shuddered as I barely managed to keep my own climax from exploding through me. From the tightness of her next bite -- nearly enough to bruise my orc tough skin -- and from the fluttering clench of her deepest places, I knew that Cynthia was reaching her own climax. To hold my own balls back would have been as impossible as stopping the rampage of one of the greater dragons during the Age of Legends.

My body tightened, and pain from as deep as my ribs to the knuckles on a bruised hand sang out. But it was drowned out by the deep, residing pleasure that exploded within my core as my balls clenched as if they had been squeezed by a hand. Cum started to paint the inside of Cynthia's womb, and I could feel it filling her and filling her and filling her as she clung to me, her whole body stiff as steel. Her fingernails dug into my back and her moan split the night air -- high and eager. She then collapsed against me, gasping and panting and mewling. She sounded as if she would have been mumbling my name -- but words seemed to have quite escaped her. For myself, the pleasure was receding into a warm glow, and the feeling of my thick seed dripping from her sex and coating my balls was mixing with the aches and pains of my battered body.

The pleasure was momentary.

Now, my body was really beginning to complain. And so, I slowly laid back, to try and settle myself down. This soothed some of my hurts -- and the feeling of Cynthia's warm, sweat slicked body pressing to me in the tropical humidity of the small shack was a balm to my very soul. I caressed her gently, my hands stroking through her hair.

Time passed in this confusing mixture of happy and hurt daze. Then, quietly, Cynthia began to tell me of where I was.

The Isle of Despair I had known of -- it was where every kingdom of Arcanum for the past two centuries had dropped their unwanted and their undesirables. All of those whose crimes had been larger than a temporary stay in prison and yet lesser than a quick death had been shipped here. First, the goal had been to mine. The Isle of Despair was named before the first prisoner had been dropped there, simply because of the way that some powerful magicks refused to operate about it. But as the years had passed and some rudimentary explorations by ship had been made, it was determined that the Isle was the site of a massive load of some kind of contramagickal material -- possibly even a load of mithril larger than any known to man, dwarf or elf.

But the prison colony had been beset by woes. Monsters. Prisoner riots. Corruption in the form of the North Catan Company, who had run the operation from their offices in Black Root before they had folded up like a cheap suit. With the mine unfinished, the kingdoms had shifted from attempting to run the colony like a colony and simply began to dump prisoners there and leave them to their fate.

And now I was here.

"I have but one question, my lady," I whispered, caressing Cynthia's brown hair from her face. "Your mother and you cannot be the only woman here. To be blunt, I do not have so low an opinion of the fairer sex that I believe them unable to commit crimes."

Cynthia laughed, then sighed sadly. "There is a tribe of women who broke free from the male dominated camp, years ago. My mother always talked of joining them, but..." She shrugged. "She thought it was safer here."

"Safer?" I asked.

She shook her head. "I...I'd go in an instant. If I knew where they were! But I cannot just run off into the jungle to wander."

I nodded. My hand took hers and I squeezed it. "Maybe I can help you with that," I said. "I happen to have done some cartography in my day." I grinned at her. Then my grin faded. "Wait, I have?"

Cynthia laughed. "You fill me with such confidence, Mr. Thresh." She laid her head upon my chest, and caressed my nipple, her smile bright enough to shine in the darkness. I laid back and closed my eyes, allowing myself to slide into sleep.

***

Brilliant sunlight exploded into the hut, startling me awake. An immense half ogre stood within the doorway, dressed in something approximating body armor, with leather plates and bits of metal woven together with what appeared to be straps of cow hide. His back had a broad blade strapped to it, but contrasting all of this was a pair of half moon spectacles that appeared to have been repaired by wire and string at least twice, though the lenses were still intact. He looked down at Cynthia and I, Cynthia rousing slowly from where she had sprawled atop me. Seeing the half-ogre she sprang to her feet, grabbing the blanket from the floor and holding it to herself.

"Ogden!" she said.

"Wench," he said, quietly. "I will not tell anyone you're giving services away for free if you get me and this orc here some kip. Now."

Cynthia, looking deeply relieved, bowed and scampered off, getting into her homespun dress without a wink of embarrassment or concern for her reputation -- all too sadly understandable. I sat up and winced as Ogden tossed a metal object to me. I caught it and found it was my pistol.

"Explain this," Ogden said, his voice tight. He spoke with an accent closer to a posh Tarantian gentleman than to a half-ogre ruffian stranded on the Isle of Despair. I looked at the pistol and, to my great shock, I began to understand what it was that I was seeing. I pointed.

"This charged battery pack creates an electrodynamic field which can be used to impel the metal of the bullet down the barrel at greater speeds than mere gunpowder could manage," I said, immediately. "Hence why it strikes like a cannon, without imparting bone crushing force to my arm."

Ogden shook his head. "And here I thought i'd seen it all. A half-orc and a technologist?"

I smiled, but it was a bemused smile. The knowledge seemed to come into my mind without memory -- learning without the recollection of how I had learned. It was deeply unsettling. But as I chewed on that, Cynthia returned with two wooden bowls filled with steaming bean and meat soup. Smelling this reminded my stomach that I was quite hungry, and soon I was scarfing down the food, using my fingertips. Ogden ate in a similar way, and once we had finished, Cynthia had brought a simple shirt and pair of leggings for me. The only thing in their favor I could say was that they were clean.

Once I was dressed, Ogden led me out of the hut and away from Cynthia, who remained within, watching us go. I shot a glance back at her, hoping to communicate that I would not forgetting her. But as we walked, Ogden spoke. "You showed quite a bit of skill for a new fish," he said. "I'm the second in command here -- Thorovald Two Stone is the dwarf in charge, and he told me to set you to some more tasks, to see if you are going to rise in our ranks, or settle to the bottom."

I nodded. "Understood," I said, slowly.

Ogden stopped near the pit. In the pit, two men were punching one another and other men were watching, cheering and jeering. Ogden frowned. "We brew vodka here -- potatoes took to the soil better than anything else. There's a hermit who lives out in the woods, Max." He nodded. "Max gets us meat and pelts and such, but in exchange, we get Max vodka. Our last carrier got eaten by the clock beast."

"What...exactly is a clock beast?" I asked, frowning.

"Some magick touched ape," Ogden said. "It can stop time about itself. Things seem to freeze, and then your arm is on the ground next to you." He shook his head. "Technology fails around it too, so the attempt to hunt it ended in two deaders and Crippled Charlie's new nom de plume."

I winced. "So, I should avoid it?"

"In a word?" Ogden asked. "Yes."

Five minutes later, Cynthia was handing me the backpack filled with vodka bottles. But she also pressed something else into my hands: A white band of cloth. Leaning close, she whispered. "If you wear this, the women won't attack you. If you meet them. S-So my mother said." She glanced around, but no one was watching. It seemed men setting out with bottles of vodka was quite the usual thing. This meant Cynthia could risk a quick kiss to my cheek and a wave as I turned and headed out of the fort. My ribs still pained me, but the night's sleep had done me good. I had even been allowed to take some of the bullets minted by these folks for their guns. They would serve, though I was fairly certain prolonged use would gum up my weapon.

Fortunately, I had a good sense of direction and the route to Max's homestead was well known by the camp. Several landmarks had been given me -- a red tree, a burnt rock, a broad expanse of blue sand that one should skirt about carefully. As I walked, I thought, and slowly began to piece together some fragmentary memories.

I was almost positive that I had not used the name Resh in quite some time. There was a lingering sense of unfamiliarity in using my birth name. Furthermore, I felt a pressing need to find dwarves. Thorovald? Had I not been banished here? Had I come to find Thorovald? But why? The name Black Mountain came to mind. Was he of the Black Mountain Clan? Questions abounded, but few answers came to mind, even as night started to settle and I made what camp I could. I slept up in a tree, with my pistol clutched to my chest. The only thing that disturbed me in the night were the buzzing mosquito and the worry that came from being so high up with a cargo contained entirely within salvaged glass jars.

Morning came without me damaging the jars, and another day of making my way past landmarks. They came infrequently enough that the day passed in a miserable, creeping sense of dread. I would think, after an hour or so of walking, that I had become lost...thinking that I had missed the landmark mentioned. I'd mutter under my breath, reminding myself again and again of what it was that I hoped to see. And then, just when I was thinking of turning back, I would find myself stumbling upon the exact landmark I needed.

Evening fell -- and with it, that most delightful of things occurred.

Civilization!

Or at least, something approximating it in this thick jungle: Between vines and trees, I could see the glow of a fire, and the shape of a homestead. I hurried forward quickly, tangling myself in some vines and making quite the racket. When I finally emerged, I stumbled out before a well made, well tended homestead. A slaughtered animal's carcass had been hung up on a rack, skinned and parred down to chunks of meat. But there was no sign of the man I had come to meet -- save for the harsh tip of a crossbow, thrusting from a window.

"Hands up!" a husky contralto called out.

I raised my hands. "Maximilian I presume?" I asked, figuring that being held up at...crossbow point was a time for courtesy.

A quiet chuckle came from the cottage. The crossbow angled up, then slid away. The front door opened and a robed figure emerged. Casting their hood back revealed a woman's face -- wrinkled about the eyes and silver-white of hair, she retained grace and beauty and regal regard despite the passage of time. She smirked ever so slightly and said: "So, you're a new fish, I take it?"

My cheeks heated. "Maxine, I presume," I said.

Maxine chuckled. "Come in." She stepped aside, gesturing to the door. But she did not put down her crossbow.

***

As the evening fell in completeness, Maxine set out a bowl of meats and greens that smelled better than anything I had eaten in what felt like years. As I ate, Maxine checked over the bottles, humming as she did so. She had taken off her robes, to reveal she was dressed in rough clothes that looked like they had been repaired many times. The only thing on her person that had any sign of being from off the island was a small signet ring on her left pinkie. She finished setting down the last bottle, then filled my pack as I polished off the last of the meat.

"My thanks, my lady," I said.

"A gentleman orc?" she asked, turning to face me, her grin wry. "And please. I'm no lady. Just...Max."

I inclined my head. "Well, Max, my name is Resh Craig."

She looked out the window. "Hmm, you got here just in the nick of time. The jungle is dangerous at night for men." She smirked. "There's more than just animals here."

"Oh, the tribe of warrior women?" I asked. "You know them."

"They come by from time to time. I keep them appraised of the camp. They keep me appraised of any migrations," she said, then took a seat with a groan. She picked up her own meal and began to tuck in.

"So, is it considered a faux pass to ask what brings anyone here?" I asked.

Maxine chuckled. "Yes," she said.

"Then I shall avoid it entirely," I said, placing my hand upon my chest.

Maxine nodded. Then, grinning, she leaned back in her seat. "So, what brings you here, Mr. Craig?"

I opened my mouth.

And quite suddenly, the story fell from me. It was as if being asked to tell the story to another, rather than to myself, allowed the part of my mind that had been damaged by the accidental electrocution to spill forth. Nearly as shocked as Maxine, I explained everything: Turning over a new leaf after Don had been killed, changing my name, growing a mustache, and trying to make it good. Being chased aboard the IFS Zephyr with a ticket won at a poker table and not a coin to my name. The airship being downed, the gnome, the ring, the Molochean Hand, Gilbert Bates, everything. Once I had finished, Maxine blew out a slow, descending whistle.

"Grim times have come to all of Arcanum," she said, her voice quite certain.

I nodded.

"Good that a man like you has risen to face it," she said.

"I couldn't do anything else," I said, my voice soft. "I...I may be an old bandit, Maxine, but I'm no monster. To turn my back on this is as good as asking the whole of Arcanum to face up whatever is coming without a warning. No one else knows all that I've seen -- and even if I told them, I doubt they'd believe me. Being a filthy savage greenskin and all." I smirked.

"It does my old heart good to hear that there are still men who remember what chivalry means," Maxine said, grinning at me, then picking up one of her vodka bottles. She handed it to me, then picked up hers, then clinked hers against mine. "To your health, Mr. Craig. Or should that be Cog?"

"Cog, me thinks," I said, smiling. "Though, this will make my reunion with Cynthia awkward."

'And what of your reunion with Virginia?" Maxine asked.

My face colored.

"Your story contained several...hasty edits," Maxine said, casually. "I've been around soldiers often enough to know when a rumpled sheet is being straightened."

I coughed. "Well, ah...yes, quite."

Maxine sighed, slowly. "My story is less valorous, I must confess." She paused. "Have you heard of Cumbria?"

I nodded. "The Kingdom of Cumbria -- controls the southern edge of Arcanum. Well. It did." I paused, trying to find a diplomatic way to describe Cumbria's slow, steady decline over the past century, interspersed with a rapid drop in their power and prestige at the end of their war with Tarant. Maxine's eyes, though, had grown soft and unfocused, as if she was recalling something astounding and beautiful.

"Cumbria," she said, quietly. "It was once a great kingdom. Elves and dwarves came to exchange words of wisdom with her mages, and her king, Torren the Eleventh, was a good king. He cared for his people. But he was also set in stone." She frowned, her eyes growing sharper as the warm haze of nostalgia dripped out of her, like blood from a wound. "First, he refused the first offers of technologists who did not dwell in Tarant, who brought with them the rudimentary sciences and the first steam engines. Mr. Bates, as you know, was inventing a great deal at the time." She shook her head. "King Torren refused to bring in such technology and weaken the mages that had been Cumbria's strength. And when Tarant, emerging from the chaos of their own civil wars, sought to build a transcontinental railroad from Ashbury to Black Root...they demanded Black Root and her surrounding lands. Torren refused."

I nodded. "And we know how that ended."

Maxine's eyes filled with pain. "Torren fell on that battle. Shot dead by a sniper with a long rifle, like some...commoner." She shook her head, her face twisted. "A silly way to see things. The Dragon Knights were shot down by canister shot. They were shot down by rifles. They were exploded by grenades. In the end, a sixth were dead. Another sixth wounded. The rest were captured and spent their lives languishing until Cumbria could strip the treasury to pay for them -- four hundred noblemen, half of them cousins to the royal family." She shook her head. "The bitter truth is that if all had died, the kingdom might have been better off."