Deviant Mage Pt. 01

Specifically, that she had decided that she'd literally rather die than go along with Dovian's plan.

What had made her crazy, stupid plan to just run away from the castle and live out her filthy fantasies so terrible? Because the very best realistic way that plan could end was for her to meet the reaper. But, if the alternative was going along with Dovian's horrible plan, then she'd cheerfully get fucking intimate with Death.

She nearly blunted the tip of her pen, with how hard she pressed it into the paper.

She would do it. She would fucking do it. She would (figuratively) scream defiance in her mothers' face, for their guests to gawk at. She would sully the Lanovin's already sordid reputation, and her mother would be the one stuck trying to explain it. And she would get to do everything she'd ever wanted to do, with the last remaining week or so of her life.

Oh, Gods...

The tip of her pen ran dry and she left it on the paper, hand frozen, and a sudden terror hit her, at the idea that she was about to die. And it could very well not be a nice death.

Best not to think about that.

She turned her attention back to her page, stoking her rage once more.

Ultimately, Lyran's goal was quite simple. She needed to escape Castle Lan with a week or so's worth of supplies, with zero expectation of ever coming back. But simple didn't mean easy, since she was trying to escape from a castle. There were sixteen guardsmen/watchmen, and if anyone saw her leave, they'd wonder why she was leaving. A lot of the guards would be involved in the castle's cleanup, though. She needed to find out how many, and she had to figure out how to avoid the attention of the remainder.

And then there was another thing. A thing that she technically didn't have to do at all, but absolutely needed to.

If she was going to do this, then one of the first things she was going to do once she was free was to get utterly filthy, and stay that way (for the rest of her life). What she really wanted to do was make a massive mess of herself within the castle, and then sneak out while covered completely in shit, defiling everything that the servants had worked so hard to clean...

Thinking about doing that that made her horny, and she covertly rubbed herself as she sat in the library. There were a couple members of her extended family here, and they didn't notice.

But, despite how tempting that was, it added too many complications to a plan that was probably going to be a hair's breadth from failure at best. So instead...

The following morning, she went about her day as though nothing untoward was going to happen. She went where she was told to go, did what she was told to do, and ignored anything that wasn't her business.

But she found herself a lidded jar, and she snuck into a side-room to shit into it. The brown shit steamed in the cold room. Now she needed a hiding place for it, for if anyone found it, they'd suspect instantly that it was something to do with her. She didn't normally save up shit, for exactly that reason, but she wanted to have enough to properly celebrate her freedom. Any of her hidden stashes would work, but she'd had a better idea.

There was a drainage tunnel that kept the castle's courtyard from flooding when the weather was wet, as it currently was. While helping to move some crates, she lowered the jar down one of the grates on the end of a string. There was a heavy bronze grate at the end of that tunnel (that several family members wished they could get away with melting down and selling) that she was fairly sure would block the jar from being sent careening down the cliff, but it should fit through the grate slats if she reached in, and the flowing rainwater would push the jar right to the grate. No one would see it, and she could retrieve it once she'd left the castle, if she made it out undetected.

A big 'if'.

As the day progressed, and she seemingly did her duties as a loyal daughter of the Deacountess, Lyran found and sometimes made whatever opportunities she could gather up the things she needed, either from her hidden stashes or from where she knew they could be acquired. A long-disused soldier's knapsack. An oilcloth rain cloak. Food from the kitchens that would keep. Quite a few other things, all that would comfortably fit into that bag.

The trickiest item to acquire wound up being a knife- she had actually wanted something small and discrete, and what she wound up making off with was a nicked and scratched yet very sharp dagger almost as long as her forearm, nearly a short sword, with an accompanying scabbard and belt. It had been forgotten about in one of the towers, the protective grease upon it having solidified into a crust. She swung the thing around experimentally, remembering sword drills that the guards and Lanomen practiced. She felt a little badass, but mostly just felt like she had no idea what she was doing. She wound up tying the blade to her thigh under her dress, so she could sneak it to a proper hiding place.

She carefully packed her knapsack (stuffing her food and journal into the oilcloth bag) and then hid the knapsack and dagger belt in a crate in a storeroom full of other crates.

Lanovale did occasionally see respites in the gloomy gray clouds and rain, even in autumn, and Lyran was surprised to discover, when she awoke the following morning, that the skies overhead were mostly clear. She even saw stars in the sky, promising that there would be sun later.

Heartbeat sounding like a drum in her chest, she ate her breakfast like it would be her last decent meal. It would be.

(It wouldn't be. She would never muster the recklessness to actually do this.)

(But then that meant she'd actually be onboard with her mother's horrible seduction plot.)

(Her cowardly little voice of 'reason' was so confused by being stuck between two bad options, with the option it had always feared being widely the preferable one.)

Her mother decided to give everyone a literal fucking sermon that morning (about how they had to be united as a family for once and blah blah blah), and the idea that this was the last one of these that Lyran would ever have to attend had a draw to it like a lodestone.

After breakfast, barely after sunrise, the Lanovins' resident Professor (an aging scholar from neighboring Iosul's university who managed to either talk in a grumpy monotone or a melodramatic rant, with no middle ground) insisted that there must be a lesson on etiquette given to those of the Lanovins who were deemed needing of it, mostly children, but some of the family's adult troublemakers had also been deemed to require some lessons in manners, and naturally Lyran was one of them.

She had, once again, pissed but not shat that morning, so her bowels were full, and it was becoming an effort to hold the crap inside her. That, the sheer pointlessness of having to sit here and be lectured on manners (especially since she was about to gleefully abandon every single one of them) and the Professor's extremely dull teaching style, made it difficult to pretend to pay attention. Even if those things hadn't been the case, Lyran probably would have ignored the lesson out of scorn. She outright hated that bright idiot jackass.

The lesson was cut short, as a crashing on the roof above indicated that some roof re-shingling was underway. The Professor opened the window to shout at the carpenter and his assistants, who all shouted back twice as loud. They didn't give a rat's ass about the Professor's lessons, and the soft prick would do well to let his class out to do something useful, because they were behind schedule and it would look considerably worse for the Lanovins if that roof leaked than if someone didn't use honorifics in the correct order. The Professor apparently disagreed, and a debate broke out.

Lyran delighted in the lifelong academician losing the debate soundly to someone he clearly considered his intellectual inferior, and when the final blow was struck the old fart threw his wizened hands into the air and conceded the argument. Then he shouted that his pupils were dismissed for the rest of the day, and that they were all due to do go help the servants. It was easy for Lyran to slink away after that. She went off to get her things, and no one stopped her.

The distraction she made was quite simple; there were stables within Castle Lan's courtyard, and her father's spirited black stallion (he was totally compensating for several somethings with that animal) didn't like to stay in his stall. All Lyran had to do was unbar the stall, and the animal was out and prancing around, with a merry procession of servants and guards trying to catch him, while the watchmen still up on their posts were pointing and laughing and/or making helpful (not helpful) suggestions.

With them distracted, it was easy for Lyran to tie a rope off and rappel down the castle's duskward wall, using a knot she'd learned, that came undone as soon as tension was let off of it, leaving no trace once she'd landed (and the wall was about twenty feet high. Not that scary.) After coiling up and stashing her rope in her bag, she skulked her way in the shadow of the defensive wall down to where the drain was.

The drain emerged from the castle's foundation, a trickle of dung-scented rainwater flowing from it and cascading down the steep hillside/shallow cliff that Castle Lan was built at the top of. That water cascaded down the cliff as a dirty waterfall when things were properly wet.

A couple hundred feet below, built on quarried-out and built-up terraces in and on the hillside, was the town of Lanovul. It was divided into the cramped wall-confined all-stone Upper Lanovul and sprawling, chaotic (yet still cramped) all-wooden Lower Lanovul. Looking down the drop-off with no wall made Lyran feel a little uncomfortable about the height, but she could see how it made a lot of Lanovins feel like they were really damn important when they stood on the castle walls and gazed over their domain.

Down beyond the town, Lanovale (literally the Valley of the Lanovins. Lyran's ancestors hadn't exactly been original thinkers when it came to names) spread out, though it didn't have much room to spread. The valley was about thirty miles long and ten wide at its very widest point, and it narrowed to something more like a canyon downhill from this habitable section.

Several smaller rivers joined at various points in Lanovale to form the River Lan. The largest of these flowed down from the dawnward end of Hethaltie's Plateau as a series of waterfalls, cutting through part of Lower Lanovul, and was used to power water wheels for the industry there. The river cut through the middle of the valley, splitting Lanovale into duskward and dawnward halves that were joined by several bridges of widely varying quality. The farmland down there looked like a dirty patchwork quilt, and the people working in the fields were barely specks. To either side, mountains rose steeply, their green forested slopes dusted with snow, and with only higher mountains beyond them, shrouded in cloud and already white.

Her shit-pot was dangling just a few inches beyond the second drain grate, its string having caught on the first grate, its fall barely having been arrested before what would have been a disastrous tumble down the hill. Lyran untied the unbroken jar from its string, pleased with her good fortune. She started to make her way out across the plateau.

Around Castle Lan's perimeter ditch (it was actually possible to divert the nearby river and make the ditch into a proper moat, but that hadn't been done in over a century) was around two-hundred paces of the plateau that had been mined down flat, to provide no cover at all against the castle's archers and catapults (back when those catapults had actually worked), and also to prevent anyone from sneaking up on the castle. But the watchmen didn't currently give a damn about keeping watch, and the spectacle of trying to wrangle a stubborn horse was far more entertaining than their actual job. No one saw her as she ran across. No one had any reason to care.

Beyond the mined-down semicircle was the actual terrain of Hethaltie's Plateau, which consisted of many flat-topped mossy boulders of bedrock that had been left nice and jagged (good luck getting a siege engine over them), with lots of nooks and tucks and ledges (there were also a lot of disused traps built by previous generations and in various states of repair lying around. Fortunately, Lyran knew the area quite well), and she eventually decided she'd gone far enough.

She was free. She'd done it.

Somehow, it all felt too easy.

Well, never mind that. Now she was finally free to do exactly what she had wanted to do for years, to become the version of herself she had never realized she was destined to become! This was exciting! And the lack of any real drama in her escape was something she ought to be feeling very, very thankful for, given how much drama she was likely to be in for, very shortly.

Now it was time to smear herself completely with shit, and not worry about that sort of thing.

Sighing in relief, Lyran finally relaxed her anus, and the turd she'd been keeping inside her finally was set free. She'd eaten more than usual yesterday and chewed her food well, just to ensure that this poop would be perfect. And it was. It was firm, it was smooth, and it was consistent, and there was lots of it. It was one of the nicest shits she'd ever gotten to play with.

Contrast that with yesterday's shit, having moldered all night in the cold, and having been a rather mushy and poorly-digested affair to start with. Something perfect to begin, and something utterly nasty to finish with. Suited Lyran fine.

She untied her hair and shook it out of its braids, letting her greasy locks cascade over her shoulders. She hiked up her skirt, and, with her hands, encouraged the silky poo in her knickers forward, towards her pussy. Once she'd gathered a good warm mass there, she mashed the hot silky-smooth stinking mass onto her already dirty folds, losing herself in the sensations and the knowledge that she was finally getting to properly mess herself again after four years. She panted with lust as she mashed the mess around in her folds and over her clit, and still she crapped! Her nipples went hard, her face turned flushed, and her heart pounded. Fuck yes.

She alternated between playing with her shitty pussy and taking her dress off. She was back to wearing the older dress, the one with the green and brown pattern that hid dirt. It wouldn't hide this dirt! She didn't care about getting it dirty, she didn't care about damaging it; she wanted it to become a filthy rag! She threw it to the mossy stone and sat down upon it, the filth squishing against her bottom as she kept crapping.

Lying on her back, still jilling herself, she took a sizable handful of crap from her knickers, examined it for a moment, mushed it sensually in her hands to really get an appreciation for its texture (she'd chewed well enough she couldn't see any individual morsels, even of mushroom. Good to know.) and then smeared it down her face. She got some in her hair, and didn't give a rat's ass. She smeared her whole face, even sticking gooey fingers into her mouth to taste the crap. It tasted horrible, but she liked it anyway. Then she started to smear her tits, circling filthy fingers around rock-hard nipples, pinching them with gooey fingers.

She came, moaning softly and expression softening, which was a dramatic orgasm for her, used as she was to having to hide her pleasure. She reached into her knickers and started to thrust gooey fingers down into her vagina, intent on filling herself up with shit as she kept smearing filth upon her flesh. She wanted to fill herself up with this nice poo, and that just left the pot of cold, mushy, lumpy, nasty shit.

Eagerly, she reached for the pot, and dumped it between her perky breasts. The chilly, mushy pile of muck shed some sort of brown moisture, and beads of it flowed down her skin. She watched them transfixed. And then, looking at and feeling the double-piles of filth on her body, she took handfuls of one or the other and smeared them wherever she wished.

She spread cold lumpy muck on her sparsely hairy legs and arms, and saturated her pubic hair and armpit hair with the warm creamy muck. She kneeled on her dress, and smeared filth onto her ass, then over her shoulders, neck and back. She deemed some areas too thinly covered, and scraped up filth from other areas to cover them. She even took a couple handfuls and worked them into her long black hair. If she'd had more crap, she would have saturated the whole unwashed waist-length mass with muck. This was the start.

She would never wash any of this off. She would forevermore be filthy, stinking of shit and piss and her, and that was all she had ever wanted! The stink was intoxicating. The taste in her mouth was revolting in the best possible way. Her body was utterly soiled now, and she could only think of how good it felt, how good all this shit smelled on her, and how horny she still was.

Now that she had gotten herself utterly slathered in lovely shit, she was ready for another orgasm. She stuck two filthy fingers up her pussy, started playing with her asshole, and she pleasured both holes for all she was worth. Her orgasm was enough that her toes curled and her eyes crossed. It was all that she could do to keep herself from screaming in joy. It was like the orgasm was coming from everywhere!

She kept fucking herself with shit. She scraped shit from her body, and stuffed it into her pussy. She had lost her virginity to shit, and now she was embracing her nature as a true shit slut. And she wanted all of Lanovale to know what kind of shit-slut she was! She absolutely would!

This was pure, filthy bliss. This was as happy as Lyran had ever been, and she didn't want it to stop.

And it wouldn't.

Because now, Lyran's life as she knew it was over. There was still a part of her that was horrified about that, but it was now smothered under a thick coating of crap. Even as she stroked her shit-covered form and brought herself to orgasm after orgasm, the thoughts in her head were of the things she was going to do, now that she was free.

In the afterglow of her latest orgasm, she lounged there, wearing nothing but her shit-sticky knickers and two days' worth of poop, slumped against the vast boulder, filthy flesh against the filthy cloth against the filthy stone. It was cold, but she currently didn't feel the cold. The poo covering her was still sticky and moist, but was drying fast. It would become a flaky crust soon, as before, although it was humid here so that might take a while.

Once all that shit was mostly dry, she would get dressed in her nicely shit-smeared dress, and head into the nearby woods. Then she would head down into Lanovale's mountain-confined countryside, to mess around with manure whenever she felt like it, to smear every single turd that came out of her ass onto herself without care, and to pit her wits against all who dared oppose her.

Yeah, the 'wits' of someone who was stupid enough to do something like this.

Oh great, now the self-loathing started. There was nothing to loathe. She had already determined that this filthy act of deviancy and defiance was her best option, insane though that was. She ought to be utterly without regret about what she had just done. What she was currently doing. Because this was fucking awesome!

Lyran kept stroking her shit-covered, stinking body, savouring the various sensations of her utter filth, but her mind refused to shut up now that she'd orgasmed a few times and her lust had faded a little.