Deviant Mage Pt. 02 - Lanovale

She headed up into the mountains, this time on the dawnward side of Lanovale.

***

The dawnward hills of Lanovale were a legitimately interesting area, at least so far as she was concerned (it was appalling how few Lanovins considered Lanovale's basic geography to be point of little more than trivia). The hills at the foot of these mountains was gentler than the abrupt steep slope of Lanovale's duskward side, and so human habitation extended a fair way up into the woods; mostly pig farms, though there was a tannery up here somewhere too. These slopes were kept forested (anyone who cut down a tree without express permission was flogged, fined and branded as a criminal, even if it was on their own land), all because the whole slope would supposedly crumble without a mostly-intact forest there to stabilize it.

And so the best use of these hills was to put them to use as a pig woods, and that was where all of Lanovale's best pork came from. These woods were criss-crossed with a few graveled roads, fences of varying levels of sturdiness, lots of crude wagon trails, a small maze's worth of paths, plus a plethora of various buildings in various stages of disuse. It was a tame forest, but Lanovale's typical air of haphazard neglect made everything feel slightly wild. And, at this point in autumn, it was slaughtering time for the hogs, and that meant that there were whole carts of livestock being hauled to the slaughterhouse in Lower Lanovul. There was lots of traffic on what passed for roads.

She wore her rain cloak, stuck to the roads, and it was a relief to be ignored again. She gave her surroundings some cursory exploration, and she found plenty that interested her (piles and piles of pig shit, a bunch of outhouses, a couple nice manure piles...) and of even more lewd interest was that she found a really good place to put on a filthy show, potentially before a fairly large audience, without her audience being able to easily interfere. She marked that site with a big X-shaped shit-smear on a nearby tree-trunk.

And then she found some trails that led into the mountains further up, which she followed until she casually hopped the trail and let herself get lost, and in doing so she found literally nothing else of interest except for some logged clearings that may or may not have been legal.

There actually was something interesting further up in these mountains, an old abandoned copper mine, but it would have taken hours to reach it. So she continued until dusk to search in vain for anything interesting closer to Lanovale, and then slunk back down to the fields under cover of darkness, using her germ-sense and shit-sense to see (there was lots of bacteria and fungi in the soil) skulking like the criminal she was, though of course she kept stopping whenever she found some fresh dung to mess around with, until she found a nice comfy shit-pile.

***

On her third day of freedom, she returned to Lanovale's dawnward slopes, with every intention of doing something even lewder today. She had left her knapsack buried in a manure pile, with some sticks layered around it to keep the manure pile's dampness from soaking into it, so nothing encumbered her. She was going to strip completely naked, and mess around with a massive quantity of pig shit, probably before a good-sized group, since she'd found that perfect place to do it yesterday. And she still didn't actually want to do it, despite her deliberate attempts to delude herself into wanting it. It felt like that kind of madness ought to come easy to her, but apparently not.

Whatever. She just had to do this a few more times, then she could let the rumours fly, they'd do the rest, and she could mess around with excrement in peace for a while after that.

She headed up the road through the woods, wearing her cloak, avoiding attention for now. Fancy pigs, that probably ate better than the serfs that raised them, still roamed around these woods despite their recent steep fall in numbers. They shat in the woods and nature dealt with their excrement, so there weren't many big dung piles around the place. That was a little annoying, but her shit-sense made it easy to find the places where they'd crapped. She left the road many times to smear handfuls of filth onto her body, stuffed it down her knickers, masturbated with it while also pushing it inside her, and she even gave it a taste. The taste was awful, even to her, and she spat the brown mouthful out onto herself, only to try again later. Yes, she was delaying the inevitable, but fuck it.

Different kinds of fresh shit had different properties when she manipulated them with her powers, and she was still learning how best to use pig shit. Human shit was capable of becoming extremely sticky, but could only become as hard as rotten wood. Fresh horse shit could barely become sticky at all, but could be hardened as to be tough as tree bark. Cow shit could exert much more force when telekinetically controlled than any other when it was fresh, enough to easily crack rocks, but the toughest she could make it was about the consistency of cork. And pig shit, it turned out, she could make incredibly slippery, and it became like brittle cold wax when she solidified it.

The filthy shit-lover had a goal to smear the feces of every animal that lived in Lanovale upon herself, and find out what each of them was best at. It wasn't exactly her top priority, but she absolutely would do it if she could.

There had to be uses for shit that could become like thick grease when she commanded it to be. And for all those others. What happened if she mixed various kinds of fresh crap together? She should start keeping a collection of fresh shit on hand.

Her ragged dress's pockets weren't very big, and she didn't have anything on her belt besides her dagger. After she came to an orgasm rubbing pig shit (which, made super-slippery, felt wonderful to pleasure herself with) all over and into her pussy, she skulked around some farm buildings until she eventually found a discarded old jute sack that didn't have any holes. She started stuffing whatever fresh pig shit she found into it, instead of just smearing it onto her body, although she still did some of that too. Slowly, the sack filled up.

Once it was full enough to be heavy, but not unmanagably so, she deemed that particular task complete. She was already totally smeared with and stuffed full of fresh excrement (and Gods, did it ever feel good) and now she had plenty of shit to perform with. There was no more delaying the inevitable.

Dammit.

One of the main roads up into the hills was dug into the mountainside, criss-crossing the slopes, and so the hillside had been shored up with walls of unmortared stone. One wall, about seven feet high, with no obvious way to climb its slippery, mossy stones, stretched for long enough that there was effectively no fast way to the top of it. She could climb it easily (though only with her small supply of human shit. The pig shit proved less than helpful when she attempted to assist her climb with it).

She settled down on a small flat spot on top of the retaining wall, and once again she peeled her mucky dress off. Then her underwear, all of which were slick and heavy with fresh pig shit. So was every part of her skin. It no longer was a novel sensation for the shit-loving deviant to be covered completely in excrement. Of course, being naked except for all the filth, in the rain, on the side of a road that she knew would see traffic soon, was a very novel experience. She just had incredibly mixed feelings about doing it.

She tried to regard her memories of yesterday as thrilling, and they were, but but they had also been varying combinations of scary and awkward, and she was about to do something even crazier. She replayed them anyway while taking scoop after scoop of her collected pig manure out from its sack, caking her body in an even thicker layer of muck, and then she slapped a luxurious double-handful of her nearly unlimited supply of nice fresh pig shit onto her crotch. She managed to lose herself in the sensations of her own utter foulness, forgetting where she was...

And then it all evaporated when, inevitably, people showed up. A procession of three carts full of pigs came around the corner. Each cart was pulled (although it was more like steered) by a mule while stressed-looking drivers sat on their carts, manning a brake lever. Six serfs, probably rented from the Lanovins, assisted the carts in their precarious descent down this steep road. There was a persistent scraping groan sound of wet iron squeezing wet wood, from the carts' brakes.

Leading the procession on horseback was an old lady, clearly a relatively wealthy citizen-farmer.

They all saw the filthy girl up on the rock wall. She pretended, even to herself, not to have noticed that they saw her, and she kept on trying to get herself off, just let herself exist in her own filthy little world. She wanted to be aroused by all the eyes suddenly on her.

"Oy! Ignore the slut, and watch the damn road!" shouted the old lady. She looked like one of those old ladies who'd gotten tough with age. "What are you tryin' to do up there?"

"What's it look like?"

"Well... stop! It's disgusting!"

"No! Shut up and let me have fun, unless anyone has a request!" She spread her legs wide and then spread her pussy lips with two fingers. She pushed a lump of shit out of her pussy, took it as it broke off, stuck the pussy turd onto the top of her head, and then plunged her gooey fingers back inside her.

The old woman looked so offended and revolted that she legitimately looked to be on the verge of being sick. The remaining serfs, a mixture of men and women, young to middle-aged, mostly just tried to ignore her and focus on their task. Several of them kept stealing glances. She wondered if any of them found this display appealing. For the hypothetical person who maybe, just maybe, might be, she put on her best performance. But it was still just a performance; she was still too apprehensive to actually cum.

The old woman lagged behind as the three carts groaned their way downhill, still aghast. "Disgusting slatten! Don't you have even the slightest bit of self-respect?" she shouted.

"I respect myself plenty! This is awesome! What's your problem, old lady?" She made a few fake gasps of delight, and then pretended to cum to an orgasm with the lewdest face she could make, totally shameless in her self-pleasure. At least the last part was true- she didn't feel any shame for this, but she also couldn't relax enough to actually cum! And that was starting to legitimately piss her off!

"You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"Yeah, maybe, but I'm not. What? You jealous of someone whose cunny hasn't dried up?" the filthy girl speculated loudly, then smirked as she heard the old woman sputter. She heard a couple strangled-sounding chuckles, which seemed to be more to do with the old hag's reaction to the filthy girl's insult than the actual remark.

And then she heard a 'snap' as one of the wagon's brake levers broke off in the driver's hands. It happened to do this while they were negotiating a spot that was particularly steep and heavily rutted.

The wagon lurched forward. The solitary mule started to make a sound of distress. Perhaps because she'd distracted them, the men and women whose job it was to catch the cart if it got away were a second too slow to catch the wagon as its weight started to pull the legs out from under the mule-

And then the cart abruptly jolted to a stop. Just for a moment. There was a bunch of fresh pig shit in the cart, and she'd just made it ooze its way slickly between floor boards, grab at the cart's wheel spokes, and turn solid. The brittle waxy material shattered almost instantly under the force, but the runaway cart slowed down as the material shattered, just enough for the serfs to catch up with it.

As soon as she'd done that, the filthy shit-witch hastily grabbed at her things (including her pouch of shit, which still had some remnants in it) and she scrambled up into the trees and out of sight.

A few minutes later, she was hiding in some bushes. Stopping that cart had just... seemed like the right thing to do, in the moment. She hadn't wanted disaster to unfold through something that had been her fault, even if only partially. Stuff like that was the sort of thing that she actually felt shame about, and she hadn't wanted another mental scar. Except none of those justifications had been in her mind when she'd set about to help- she just automatically had.

She got dressed back into her filthy clothes without any interest in pleasuring herself, tucked the mostly empty sack of dung (she was going to keep that sack) into her belt, and headed up into the woods to give this a proper think.

***

That night, she returned to a manure pile she had grown to enjoy sleeping in. This was normal for her now. She was in her place, as much at home in this filth as the dung beetles and worms she shared the pile with. She buried herself in it with her coprokinesis, no longer intimidated by her power, although she still occasionally felt clumsy in using it. She was truly turning into the shit-witch she had always been meant to be. As was becoming her custom, she pleasured herself in (and with) the muck until she came a few times, then fell contentedly asleep.

She woke up the following morning and could tell through her own closed eyelids that it was still dark. Half-consciously noticing that, she pointedly refused to get up. She let herself fall back asleep, and dozed.

The next time wakefulness reached her, she noticed that it was still dark, and allowed herself to doze again. But her doze waned steadily, as she realized that she felt pretty damn rested. But the day hadn't begun. Huh?

She cracked an eye open, (which required an actual breaking of a thin crust of dung residue that had been holding it closed). She had been sleeping on her side in a partial fetal position, one that would have make her shoulder ache if she'd been sleeping in a regular bed, but this manure pile was molded around her body perfectly. About three quarters of her face had been all that was exposed to the air, and her face was so crusty with filth that it hadn't been obvious that her face was there until she'd opened her eyes.

She looked out from her shit-pile, wondering why she outright felt like she'd overslept despite it very clearly still being night time. Now that she was paying attention, she heard the occasional distant call, and saw the glow of many torches in the distance. It didn't look or sound like a commotion, it just sounded like the day's toil was being done despite there being no natural light to work with.

She lay there, her consciousness solidifying, and she realized what was going on. She groaned. It had been a Long Night. It still evidently was still a Long Night.

Long Nights, as far as Supernatural Bullshit was concerned, were one of the less dramatic and more common occurrences in the world. The days of the year generally followed a pattern of being shorter during the winter and longer during the summer, but that pattern was an average, itself known to fluctuate from century to century. Minor statistical anomalies, like a summer-length day in mid-winter, were common enough to pass without comment. Long Nights (Long Days could happen too) were the major anomalies; they happened randomly, averaging once every couple of years.

Long Nights were more or less harmless, mostly just a blow to productivity and an affront to sleep cycles, but this prolonged night would also mean that the temperature in Lanovale was going to plummet. She was aware that it was softly raining (the dung was warmly damp around her), but she suspected that it wouldn't be long before the rain turned to snow. Meanwhile, though she was buried in this wonderfully warm pile of shit, she didn't have anything to keep herself warm outside of it besides that rain cloak.

She really needed to do something about that, unless she wanted to spend hours and hours stuck buried in this shit. Dammit, she'd known she needed to prepare for some colder weather, but she hadn't wanted to and it hadn't seemed like a priority, and now she would have to do whatever she could at the last minute!

She unburied herself from the dung pile without using coprokinesis to help. It felt appropriate that she had to struggle her way free from this pile's nice warm fragrant embrace. Nevertheless, she emerged. She extended a filthy hand and caught a raindrop upon it- as expected, the raindrop had a frozen center. Lovely. She pulled her cloak on, and it helped, but only a little; the cold was already bothering her now that she was out in the air. Her clothes were dense with filth, which she loved the feeling of, but which didn't make them any warmer.

Was she going to have to steal something warm? She didn't really want to have to go rob anybody. It wasn't like she had much in the way of choices, though. Right?

The manure pile she had emerged from was next to a mid-sized cattle shed. There was a farmhouse not far away, belonging to citizen-farmers of modest means- enough that they owned all their land at least, since this wasn't one of the Lanovins' serf-run farms. She snuck towards the house, grateful for the continued cover of darkness, not so grateful for the cold.

It turned out that no, there weren't just some clothes conveniently left lying around for her to steal. People didn't wash their clothes much in Lanovale, and they'd dry their things around the hearth at this time of year if they ever felt so inclined. So she'd have to break into that house if she wanted to nick their clothes- entirely doable, but just ridden with potential problems, such as 'what if there was someone home who objected to her burglary enough that she had to resort to violence, and she wound up maiming someone, all for a scruffy sweater or something?'

Or she could take advantage of the darkness to jump someone who was wearing clothes she fancied, and get them to fork the garments over... Yes, threaten some unfortunate person at knife-point, force them to strip bare on a freezing Long Night out of fear of being stabbed, and send them home naked and cold and terrified and reviling the filthy girl as a despicable monster, inevitably to spread word of how that disgusting shit-loving deviant was pure evil.

Yeah, the filthy girl hated that option even more than breaking and entering.

And then there was the possibility of just trying to ask for someone's coat, as a literal beggar, but the filthy girl hated that option most of all. She had seen beggars back when she'd been Lyran- specifically she remembered how pathetic they'd been, and they'd done such a good job at being pathetic that she'd barely even felt jealous of how filthy they all were. And she was not pitiful or pathetic, and wasn't about to start acting like she wanted to be! Her filth was splendid luxury! Her homelessness was glorious freedom, and her 'madness' was enlightenment! That old lady yesterday had ignorantly claimed she had no self-respect? Well, that was how someone who actually had lost their self-respect acted.

For fuck's sake, she slightly preferred the idea of inspiring fear and loathing to the idea of being regarded as that kind of pathetic, but she generally disliked all of the options she had. So she was going to have to spend all of this Long Night, which could potentially last days, huddled in a pile of dung. The idea of that would have sounded pretty fun only days ago, but now that messing around in crap was normal for her, it just sounded like a waste of precious time. Moreover, a waste of the opportunity that this Long Night provided.