Deviant Mage Pt. 03 - Lower Lanovul

She pulled her water-skin off her belt and drained nearly half of it. She undid her belt and tossed it, and her dress that had still been tucked into it, dismissively aside. And then she slumped down into the muck.

Her ass sank into the large squishy pile, and she kept sinking, feeling the filth ooze under her. She flopped backwards, sighing in relief at finally getting to relax, until she was half-sunken into the foul pile, though her legs were sticking out and bent, the toes of her shoes brushing the spider-webs. Not as comfortable a position as she'd like, but she wasn't about to complain. The germs down here kept things warmer than the surrounding air and earth, but urine-soaked human waste was a lot wetter than animal dung, so it wasn't much warmer. That was fine; she was so hot and sweaty from her flight that the coolness of the pile felt nice, and, as she gradually cooled off, she activated her warmth-germs. They more than overcame the chill, and faint mist began to rise from her filthy, half-naked form.

Holy fuck. She'd done it. Despite having done a succession of what were probably the stupidest possible things someone could do, with only the vaguest of plans for how she was going to get out of trouble, on purpose, she'd still managed to get out of that mess unscathed, and with her long-term plan looking better than ever! People would never stop talking about what she'd done today, though most discussion would probably be in the form of curses and dark grumblings. She'd take it!

She had to do that again!

Oh, Gods, no. No, she was not doing that ever again. Surely that hadn't been a thought she'd just had.

Oh yes it had. And she'd meant it. And if she'd learned anything about herself in this last week, it was that if she wanted to do something, then trying to force herself not to do it was a doomed effort.

Well, she wasn't going to do anything like that again for a good long time, and next time she did anything like it, she'd have the sense not to completely wing it while high on witch-hemp! Presumably!

And what the fuck had been with that mercenary? It still just felt wrong that Stench had given them the slip so easily, and their very presence indicated something weird was happening. She had to wonder if it was something to do with her jackass cousin. Maybe she ought to ask him, but she didn't want to talk with Zake at all, so she supposed she was just going to have to let that particular mystery lie!

She didn't like the idea of that very much...

Eventually, her troubled thoughts became the beginnings of troubled dreams, as she lay there in her luxuriously mucky bed. Less out of lust and more out of habit she was deliberately trying to ingrain in herself, she idly played with the filth around her as she drifted off, smearing swirls of human waste from the pit on top of the cracked and crumbly brown crust on her skin. It took no effort at all to piss herself anymore, but it still felt naughty to do it.

Between her exhaustion, her relief at having escaped, and the inherent sense of safe comfort she had come to associate from being in her filthy element, not a single one of the many anxious thoughts she had as she drifted off happened to be in question of whether this hiding place was actually safe enough to fall asleep in.

Lying on her back, Stench began to snore.

***

About half an hour after Stench had contentedly fallen asleep in the muck, a grubby little boy of about eight years of age came to examine the shitter.

He had seen that filthy-looking cloaked stranger make a bee-line towards their compound's outhouse at top speed, and had seen them burst out of it seconds later to go crashing uphill through a dense and thorny thicket that the boy wouldn't have thought someone could get through at all, yet alone as quickly as they had. Less than a minute after the sounds of distant crashing and snapping vegetation had faded, a group of adults, most of them low citizens from Lower Lanovul, had come by and had demanded to know if anyone suspicious had been seen.

The only adults in the compound were a handful of grandparents who were supposedly keeping the kids in line, but all of them had been asleep (their bodily clocks insisted it was well past sundown, despite being late morning), so the kids (a lot of whom were quite sleepy themselves) had been the only ones to witness that stranger's hasty arrival and departure. The pursuers hadn't overly trusted the children's' story of what had transpired, especially since a couple kids embellished what had happened massively, but they still got the general idea.

A couple of adults had tried to charge through the brambles, and fared considerably less well than that stranger had, judging by their yelps of pain and cursing. Most of the others adults circled around the brambles in the hopes of cutting them off.

The boy didn't know why those adults were so motivated to hunt down whoever that had been. It was generally a mystery to everyone here. A few of the boy's friends had asked, and the adults had gotten extremely tight-lipped at the questions. Almost like they were embarrassed to talk about it before children. Had that stranger been a robber? A murderer? A witch? Maybe some kind of monster? All the boy did know was that the fleeing stranger had gone straight to Compound 11-C's communal outhouse, and he was curious as to why. Maybe they'd dumped treasure down there, and they'd be back for it! Surely, if that was the case, then they wouldn't notice a coin or two missing.

Before he even opened the door, he heard the snoring. It wasn't especially loud snoring, not like what one would associate with some kind of sleeping monster, but a snore it certainly was. Silently, he peered through a gap between planks, and saw no one inside. The snoring was coming from down the shitter holes. After a while, the snoring faltered, and the boy heard the sort of mutterings that some people made in their sleep.

"Please, no... you don't have to..." came the voice. It sounded like the voice of a young woman. Then she went back to snoring.

The boy snuck away from the shitter, and conveyed this information to his friends. Several of them didn't believe him- they'd seen that figure dash off into the bushes, hadn't they? -and went off to check for themselves. Once the consensus was that, yes, there absolutely was some kind of crazy woman sleeping down in their shit-pit, the arguments began.

These kids lived in the Lanovale woods, and were quite often left to their own devices so long as they did their chores. As such, they were accustomed to the oddities that happened in these woods. Kids would quite often see and interact with things that no one else saw (which made it difficult to say for sure that someone spinning wild tales was actually lying). Meanwhile, the majority of adults (and the older, the worse) always seemed determined to pretend that Weird Stuff hadn't happened, sometimes literally, right under their noses.

Thus the arguments that now raged, to the point where some actual fights started over differing opinions. Because some crazy girl asleep down the shitter sounded very much like something adults ought to take care of, especially since a bunch of them were on the hunt for her. But, since the shit-girl had clearly been seen and heard leaving, and there had even been a trail of broken vegetation (and, for some reason, a lot of stinky brown smears) left in her wake, it was unclear what was going on, and that meant something Weird was happening. Getting adults involved in Weird Stuff didn't often have the desired results.

Stench might have actually gotten away with her poorly-chosen hiding place if it wasn't for how, about an hour after the kids had noticed her, a pair of mounted Lanomen clopped their way down the narrow road that zig-zagged its way up through the hills, which happened to pass alongside Residential Compound 11-C. Leading the pair was a sergeant, with a fierce gray-speckled black mustache and lank gray-streaked, heavily receded long hair, who regarded the children (who were pointedly minding their own business) like a rat-catcher regarding a pack of rats he didn't currently need to catch. Behind him was a gangly, pimple-faced young corporal with sand-coloured hair despite his Lanovale-dark completion. Both of them looked decidedly unhappy.

The serf-kids gave every impression of paying the Lanomen just enough heed to not be suspicious, all the while being prepped to bolt for safety. A lot of them had had bad experiences with the Lanomen, that sergeant in particular. If there was an adult to be told about the girl sleeping down in the outhouse, it wasn't these two.

Or at least, that was what most of the kids concluded. One little girl, barely five, wandered out to meet the Lanomen, either ignoring or oblivious to the gestures by older kids to stay away from the pair. She went up to the corporal. The two made eye contact for a brief moment, and the faintest hint of a smile flickered across the corporal's lips.

"Get lost, brat" he said, though without any heat. His voice was high and nasally.

"Please mister. There's a monster in the outhouse."

***

Stench was usually a light sleeper. Down here, half-buried in her filthy element, blissfully comfortable and with her subconscious (though apparently not all of it) certain she was in a safe place, she was less of a light sleeper.

She awoke to a load of shit hitting her in the chest, just above her right breast. It started her awake, but then she smiled, feeling its warmth, smelling its fresh stink cut through the reek of old shit and piss and her. This seemed like a nice way to be woken up. She could just about make out a male posterior- she reflexively averted her eyes. She didn't want to risk seeing a little kid's butt. She wasn't that kind of pervert.

The person using the shitter stood, and the light shining down through the outhouse seat was uncomfortably bright. Stench glanced back up. Just as a pimply adult face glowered down at her.

"You awake now?" came an obnoxious, nasal male voice. "Lyran?"

Never mind. This was not a nice way to be woken up.

Stench was totally silent, but it didn't help. The man pulled his trousers up and cracked the door open. "Yeah. The mad stinkin' slut's down there, Sarge!" With the door now open, and daylight backlighting him, he sneered down at Stench through the outhouse hole. "Though you could hide down there, did you?" His sneer extended to his voice, it made him sound even more obnoxious.

"Why did you just shit on me?" demanded Stench, baffled despite being on the verge of panic.

"Eh. Thought it was funny."

"Well, uh... thanks!" She prodded the turd with her fingers,- it was a nice mix of firm and mushy crap. "Maybe I'll spare your life now."

The Lanoman stood up there silently for several seconds, apparently dumbfounded. "You are right fucked-up, girl."

"This is coming from the guy who's the Lanovins' loyal dog, and I know all the fucked-up shit they have you guys do. Did you have to resist the urge to beat a serf-kid to death on your way here?"

"I need rope!" the Lanoman shouted over his shoulder. "And you shut your stinking mouth, whore, or I'll fucking cut your tongue out when we get you out of there." That had touched a nerve. The Lanoman's voice was hard and dangerous, while still being nasally and annoying.

"Oh, no. I'm so fucking terrified down here. I'm shaking."

The shit-pile turned roughly as solid as cork, and Stench stood upon its firm surface. She slammed on the inside of the seat with the heel of her hand, while simultaneously a four-inch column of excrement shot up from the pile. It did most of the work, but it looked like she'd just busted the seat (barely secured. The shit column was overkill) off in a feat of uncanny strength. As wood smashed and the Lanoman made a yelp of surprise, she launched herself out of the shit pit and directly at him. He had backed out of the outhouse in surprise, and had barely avoided getting hit by flying splinters. He grabbed for a man-catcher that he'd propped against the outhouse, but the shock of Stench's emergence had knocked it over. He wasted a half-second reaching for it. It would have been a terrible weapon against someone so close to him anyway.

Stench's dagger was out (even though her undone dagger belt was down there in the muck still), and, screaming, she stabbed at the corporal's gut, then slammed him with her shoulder with the same motion. He was wearing heavy leathers and a breastplate, she knew it- she didn't want to actually kill him, she just wanted him out of her way, and scared of her! He was gangly and only an inch taller than her- she out-massed him, and shoved him aside easily, knocking him to the snowy ground.

But then she saw the sergeant, who was still on horseback. He had a sword at his belt and brandished another catch-pole. His horse trotted towards her. Stench screamed with rage, hoping to scare the horse. The horse was apparently one of those rare animals that didn't spook easily, it barely flinched, and the sergeant went for Stench with his weapon. There were versions of man-catchers that didn't have spikes, but of course Dovian was the one who approved the design of their weapons, and she was a sadist.

She expected the sergeant to go for her neck, but instead he went for her thigh. And, to her dismay, both his aim and timing actually wound up being pretty good. The flexible steel grabbed around her leg, and the spikes would have dug into her flesh if she hadn't reflexively solidified the thick coating of shit, but that just meant they dug into a layer of hardened shit, trapping her no less firmly, though at least the pain could have been a lot worse. He had caught her in mid-stride, and she fell with an indignant squawk.

She growled like an animal, and tried to wrench the catch-pole out of the bastard's hands, but he was a big guy, stronger than her, and the height advantage from him being up on his horse made it easier for him to pin her down. She had the idea to ablate the filth covering her leg, with the catch-pole along with it, but she had that idea about three seconds too late for it to do her any good.

"You don't stop struggling, I'm gonna fuck you up good, slut!" he growled. And Stench chopped with her dagger at the polearm's shaft with all her strength, digging the blade in deep, then she slammed a palm covered in hardened crap down on the notch. The catch-pole's haft snapped.

"Bring it, cocksucker!" she called, scrambling to her feet.

And then the butt of the other catch-pole came swinging at her. She saw it in her peripheral, hardened the shit on the side of her head, and tried to roll with the impact the way she'd seen.

Evidently, she didn't do it properly.

The hit made her see stars, and then the world afterwards looked blurry for a second, and it only then registered how much that had hurt. She didn't recall falling, she just realized that she was now slumped on the snowy ground, and the gawky Lanoman was kicking her, enraged. His kicks hit shit that solidified automatically under his strikes, which kept him from breaking any of her ribs, but not by the widest of margins. His uniform (given Lanovin finances, they weren't especially uniform) was spattered with shit from when Stench had slammed into him.

"Knock that dagger of hers away, will ya?" the sergeant growled, but otherwise he didn't stop the younger Lanoman from his assault.

"Oh shit! Right!" that nasal voice exclaimed. He slammed the butt of his man-catcher into the back of Stench's hand. The crust of crap covering her there reflexively hardened and shattered with the impact, absorbing the energy of the blow enough that she retained her hold of the dagger.

But then the young Lanoman growled, and the man-catcher butt smacked her hand a second time, harder, and the protective crust had all scattered. Stench felt something in her hand snap, and it took her brain a moment to properly comprehend how much that had hurt, and continued to hurt. She bit back a scream. The dagger skittered off into the brambles. And then the heel of the wanker's boot slammed into her ribs again. "Filthy bitch! You tried to fuckin' stab me!" He kicked her again. The sergeant seemed unconcerned by this.

"That's enough kickin' her." His horse was looming over her now. It was a gelding, not obviously a terribly impressive animal, but its hoofs were inches from Stench's head and could probably crush her skull, whether on purpose or by accident. "Gimme your catch-pole, I'll hold her. There's rope in my saddlebag."

While the gawky Lanoman looked for the rope, the sergeant lowered his catch-pole over Stench's neck, and then began to twist the shaft, on the assumption that Stench was hurt terribly by its spikes, probably. Prick. "Try anything again, and we'll start cutting bits off." He said that conversationally. He probably would. "The Deacountess wants you alive, but didn't say shit about 'in one piece'."

The filthy girl's head was still spinning, but at least she could think. Gods, she hurt... Still, she presumably hurt significantly less than she would have if she didn't have shit-armour. Except for her right hand- she'd managed to get that hurt worse thanks to her powers.

She was dead certain that she could use her powers to kill these two men. Now that she'd heard them talk, she doubted she'd feel guilty about doing so. But if she killed them, then she would have just killed two Lanomen! After everything she'd done and gotten away with in service of her later goals, she had to at least try to recover from her own stupidity! She could escape from this, right? Were all the searchers still in the woods? Were these Lanomen going to toot a horn and alert everyone? They hadn't yet.

"Fuck me running! Sarge, I got fuckin' shit all over me!"

"Yeah, yeah. Quit whinin', try not to touch your face. Least the dumb cunt made catchin' her easy."

"Seems to me we damn near lost her, Sarge" the young Lanoman countered.

"Quiet, you."

The filthy girl seethed quietly at being called 'dumb', and seethed at herself for allowing herself to be this dumb! She thought she'd gotten away with that whole misadventure! And she would have, if she hadn't decided to take a fucking nap!

"Can't bring 'er to the jail like this" the sergeant commented mildly. "She'll make a mess."

"What, ya wanna give her a bath?" the corporal asked, a sneer in his voice.

"Gettin' tired'a your attitude, corporal. Yeah, I say we give 'er a bath. Give her a dip in the Lan." He glanced at the corporal. "Clean yourself up while you're at it."

Fuck. A dip in the icy-cold Lan. A bath. Stench cringed physically as she imagined it, revolted and horrified by the very thought of being forced to become clean. She would almost rather die! But she could get out of this catastrophe before it came to that. She was certain of it! She just... wasn't quite sure what to do, yet!

Her wrists were tied together in front of her, tight enough that she felt the circulation getting cut off, and her injured hand smarted. The rope, though heavy, was old and worn and she could see the beginnings of mildew in it with her germ-sense. There were several ways she could use her powers to snap it. If she did, though, her captors were on fucking horseback. How did she get away from horses? Especially one that didn't spook easily?

The corporal slipped a rope around her neck and yanked her upright. The knot tightened as he pulled. At least he pried the man-catcher off her neck afterwards. "Struggle too much and ya won't be able to breathe, ya dumb shit." He grimaced. "Fuck, can barely breathe myself, just bein' near you."