Deviant Mage Pt. 05 - Lowdawn Farms

Disclaimer: as usual, this work features extreme scat and filth-fetish content, as well as non-sexual violence and general dark fantasy fucked-up-ness. This particular chapter will include some body horror involving teeth. All characters in sexual situations are over the age of 18.

Prologue

Zake, in his full black and white bone-themed armour (minus his gauntlets, helmet and weapons), with a ragged black cape hanging from his shoulders and his face still obscured by artfully layered scarfs, sipped at a glass of red wine. He'd pulled the bottom layer of his scarfs down to reveal his lips and chin and nothing else. The wine was unobjectionable, but certainly nothing special. With how much he'd paid for it, it ought to be spectacular. He was drinking this grossly overpriced wine in a very illegal wine house in Upper Lanovul, hidden down in the basement of a fancy tea house. Everyone else in the wine house was gawking at him. He tried to look brooding as he sipped. Like someone pondering dark and serious matters. Which he basically was anyway. He supposed that that counted as method acting.

This wine house was called the Crystal Lounge. It was where the dissatisfied sons and daughters of rich wankers went to get shit-faced, and Zake had once counted himself among their number. The Crystal Lounge had been fashioned to look like it was some sort of natural grotto that had been converted into a drinking establishment: all the stone down here looked like it had been sculpted by flowing and dripping water, large quartz crystals in several colours sprouted from the walls and supporting columns, sparkling in the lantern-light, and a few seemingly-natural trickles and pools of water added to the illusion that this place had once been some kind of mystical place of uncanny beauty before they'd made it into a secret wine house, except that Zake could see the occasional chisel-mark.

(There was an old man up on a stage in the back, rather dramatically reciting poetry from a worn-out book. That fossil was reading flowery romantic crap tonight, which Zake found vaguely annoying.)

The Crystal Lounge smelled vaguely of incense, probably from the various braziers dotting the place that barely managed to keep the chill in the air at bay, but that spicy smell didn't quite mask the stink of unwashed bodies and stale tobacco smoke. By Lanovale's shitty standards, this place was actually considered by many to be too clean; a stuffy establishment fit only for toffs and the occasional class traitor.

For the time-being, he was alone at his little round table. Although people kept coming by to pester him. Pestering was something Zake had outright encouraged. When he'd first arrived down here, he had loudly offered a free glass of the house's finest to anyone who told him a story about Stench that he hadn't heard yet. (He'd tried subtlety already, and it hadn't worked.) After that, he'd heard lots of tales that he would rather not have heard. He'd taken notes. He intended to put so many details into his fucking report that whoever read it either fell asleep or puked.

The Eighth Company had stayed in Lanovale for three days following Zake's meeting with Captain Tamaerin. During those days, there'd been no sign of Stench- Lyran!-, and Zake had attempted to hire some down-on-their-luck types to act as extra eyes and ears, in order to inform him if his mad cousin was spotted. Every single prospective hire had fucked off before he'd even finished making his offer. Between how he'd picked up a Lakelander accent and the fact that he'd been dressed in a hooded black cloak and mask (and probably also the fact that he didn't stink), they'd probably all assumed he was some foreign prick up to something that it was in their best interests to not get involved in.

So, when the Eighth had departed, Zake had decided 'screw subtlety', and had paraded up Lanovul's main street, in full armour, on horseback. The only way he could have been more ostentatious would have been if he'd had a musician following him, playing the sort of aggressively melancholy music associated with a desperate last stand. (He'd actually considered arranging something like that.) At least that way, he'd gotten to have style.

After he'd crossed the so-called 'Arrowshot' (A gap between Upper and Lower Lanovul exactly as wide as the maximum effective range of a flaming arrow from atop Upper's walls) he'd tried to enter Upper Lanovul through the lower gatehouse. The Lanomen on guard there had initially refused his entry, and had made rather tiresome accusations as to what they presumed his business in town was. Zake had wordlessly presented them with a scroll, signed by Sirgil Lanovin, saying that he had permission to conduct the Wandering Duke's business within Lanovin lands. He still wasn't sure if that scroll was real- that Duke Kesilbary was involved in this plot somehow and had manipulated Sirgil into signing it- or whether Captain Tamaerin just knew a good forger. He wasn't sure which possibility worried him more.

Then he'd gotten quarters in Lanovul's nicest inn, and now he was down here in Lanovale's fanciest drinking establishment. Word about the grim, villainous-looking swordsman had probably spread to at least half of Lanovul by now, and various darkly-dressed gloomy types (there was no way they'd truly experienced enough of life's horrors to be properly cynical, but Zake supposed he appreciated their effort) regarded him as a novelty. The braver ones attempted to strike up conversation with him. Not just with tales about his disgusting lunatic cousin in exchange for a free drink. With how generous he'd been about giving glasses of stupidly expensive mediocre wine away (he'd kept receipts for the bottles!) everyone was assuming he was wealthy, and he'd already had four women and one man come up to his table, making suggestions that they wouldn't mind getting to know him better.

He'd told them that they ought to bathe before he'd be interested, and they'd treated his relatively mild remarks regarding hygiene like they'd been highly offensive insults, and now they kept shooting him disgusted looks.

Fucking Lanovale.

Though there was one woman who was clearly very interested in Zake, who seemed determined not to be easily chased away. She had shown up in the Crystal Lounge not long after he had arrived, and had started pestering him practically the moment she'd entered. She had given him four separate stories about 'Stench' that he had never heard, although he now somewhat regretted hearing.

(Apparently, his mad cousin had started having her disgusting idea of fun all over Lanovale, not long after Zake had tried to make her see reason. Assuming these accounts were accurate, that felt a bit like a deliberate 'fuck you' to Zake specifically.)

That woman, who had introduced herself as 'Gianne', was out of stories by now, but kept coming by Zake's table anyway. Kept trying to flirt with him, and kept taking his gruff indifference as some sort of challenge. Her skin was a little darker than was typical for Lanofolk; her slightly greasy wavy black hair was shorter than what looked to be the current fashion. She was pulling off the 'conservative black dress and lots of silver jewelry' look quite well, and her dress was totally free of stains. She also clearly had been in a hurry coming to the Crystal Lounge, because Zake could smell her unwashed sweat every time she came close.

Zake probably would have been interested, if she was clean. Yes, he'd been Lanofolk once, and there had been a time when he hadn't even noticed that other people around here stank, but the memories from those years weren't ones he cherished, and his time spent down in the Lakelands had taught him better. Also, he could imagine going down on a woman who'd didn't clean herself down there, and didn't care for what he imagined.

Yet, despite making no secret of his distaste for her dirtiness, he didn't do anything to outright drive her away. He knew who she was, and her presence here represented an opportunity.

She had been a struggling stage actress and street musician, when Zake had last lived in Lanovale. One of the Lanovins (Sirgil, probably) had decided to recruit her as an agent to 'gauge public opinion'. A spy, essentially. She'd held the position for long enough that she presumably had some skill at intelligence-gathering, and Zake could only assume she'd gone up in the world since he'd last seen her. And he could not, for the life or death of him, remember her actual name; he just knew that 'Gianne' wasn't it.

If he had to guess, she was here because the Lanovins wanted some information on this 'dark mysterious mercenary' who'd stayed behind while the rest of the Wandering Duke's people had departed. Probably. Zake had, admittedly, made the mistake of overestimating his own importance before, and he'd been lucky to escape that particular blunder with his life.

"You're too old for me" he said, when she came to his table again. He knew she was at least ten years older than him, though she'd aged well enough that she could have easily passed for someone younger.

"Oh? And how old do you think I am? It's hard to tell how old you are with your face all covered like that, 'Muurg'."

Zake had no intention of ever using his real name while he was stuck in Lanovale. To those who'd asked, he'd claimed his name to be 'Muurg the Unrepentant'. (Which had actually been the name of one of the Eighth once; a crazy fucker who'd volunteered for a suicide mission and had died horribly. Zake had once thought the man to be the maddest person he would ever meet. Such naive days...)

"I already know you're here trying to gather information on me, just so we're clear. I trust the Lanovins don't miss paying you too often?" She'd put her empty glass down on his table. He poured a rather scant measure of wine into it.

She raised an eyebrow, then sipped from her glass, still standing despite the unoccupied chair in front of her. "I would be very interested in knowing how you figured that out so quickly, stranger."

"You can speculate on that all you like." Zake took another sip of his wine.

"I'm not here on business, you can relax." Yeah, Zake sure believed that. "I'm here because I heard about an interesting man in the Crystal Lounge offering good free wine for people with stories. I have a good memory and I wanted a decent drink. What are you so interested in 'Stench' for, anyway?"

"Oh, trust me, I'm not. Duke Kesilbary is, and I do my lord's bidding. Ask him, if you're so interested. I expect he's a day's ride downriver by now." That practiced melange of lies and half-truths came out sounding perfectly honest.

"Odd that he'd be so interested in a dead madwoman."

"Oh, tell me about it..."

"Does that Wandering Duke of yours think she's still alive?"

"I suppose he must" Zake shrugged, and took another sip of wine. "I personally doubt it. Though if he's wrong, then my stay in Lanovale's going to be rather dull."

Gianne shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe after a couple seasons-" Oh, great. She knew how long he expected to stay in Lanovale (probably had an informant at the inn he was staying at), and wanted him to know she knew. "-stuck here with nothing to do, you'll put aside your silly foreign ways." She leaned towards him, sniffed, and rolled her eyes. "You smell like cheap herbs and fake flowers. It does not become a warrior."

That unwashed hair and dirty sweat smell had noticeably intensified when she'd leaned in. Zake suspected there were parts of 'Gianne's' unwashed body that could currently out-stink a manure pile, but he opted not to voice that opinion. Being Lanofolk, she might actually take it as a complement. "What would you say to making my job easier?" He spoke that very quietly, with an extremely neutral tone.

The spy-woman eloquently raised an eyebrow, and came closer, so she could whisper in his ear. Again, her smell was obvious when she was this close to him, and her breath was far from sweet, though the wine helped a little. "And just what do you mean by that?"

"I'm presuming a great deal here, but I presume you have an informant network, listening out for oddities. I'm going to guess most of the stories you've been telling me are what your sources gathered. And I think that's why you showed up here so soon after I arrived. 'Gianne'."

She gave a flicker of a smile. "And?"

"If Stench is sighted, I need to know as soon as physically possible, yet I am but one man. What would it take for me to get the assistance of your network?"

The spy woman silently considered that. "You should speak to the Lanovins about this, 'Muurg'."

"This is as close as I'm going to that damn castle of theirs."

"You don't care for the lords of Lanovale? Interesting."

"They're the Lanovins."

For the briefest of moments, her face did something interesting. Probably her trying to actively suppress showing a particular expression. Then she shrugged. "That is fair enough. And you'll find me quite willing to extend the favour you ask to a friend, 'Muurg', but I'm afraid I can't count you as one just yet."

Oh, here we go...

"For one, I prefer to know my friends' real names."

"You'll never know me by any other name than 'Muurg', 'Gianne'." He made the emphasis on her fake name as obvious as possible. "So how else might I go about gaining your... friendship?"

She considered this for a long moment. "Well, I suppose there are some matters of my own I could use assistance with. And you are, of course, a mercenary."

"I'm not working for the Lanovins."

"I'm not asking you to. But what would you say to working for me?"

"Don't involve me in any horrible shit the Lanovins are trying to pull." Zake said flatly.

"You won't have to. I merely have need of a bodyguard."

"Tell me more."

'Gianne' closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose in what looked like a genuine expression of weariness. She sighed. "Are you familiar with the criminal underground around these parts?"

Zake gestured vaguely around him, at the extremely illegal wine house he was currently sitting in. 'Gianne' rolled her eyes. (She rolled them down towards the Underworld, not skyward.)

"Do you know which gang runs this wine house?"

Zake shrugged. He actually did, but if he seemed too knowledgeable, it would be one more clue to 'Gianne' that he wasn't actually a foreigner.

Leaning her head in close to Zake (she'd better not have lice...), 'Gianne' whispered "this wine house is run by the Glass gang. They control most of the liquor smuggling into Lanovale, so you can thank them for this wine." She sat back and drained her glass. Softly, she continued, "as of two days ago, they've gone to war with the Hoolheith's Hands. Again." She grimaced. "And this happened just as my man within the Hands notified me that he had some important information to share, for my ears only. The idiot got exposed as a 'traitor' in the process of trying to alert me, and the Hands are cracking down on 'divided loyalties'." She said that with a slight sneer to her voice. "My sources say that he's in hiding somewhere down in the fields, and it seems I need to talk to him personally. I'm expecting trouble when I try. I was going to employ some Lanovin guardsmen, but somehow I feel you know your way around a sword better than them." She scowled. "And I swear, the information that daft fucker's got had better be as important as he claimed."

"This information he has, I can only assume the Lanovins need?"

"Yes. I am, after all, a Lanovin agent."

Well, as far as offers went, it could have been worse. It was tangentially involved in Lanovin business, but it didn't sound like he was about to be dragged into participating in any outright atrocities, this time. Although that assumed generously that 'Gianne' was being truthful. There were so many ways this could all be a setup to screw him over, and he had absolutely no idea how much he could reasonably trust her.

Whatever. If it all went to shit, he could handle it. Probably.

He was absolutely bringing Ket with him, when the time came. In the highly likely event that 'Gianne' didn't like it, that was her problem.

"When would you need me?" he asked.

"I'm still working on that. If you're interested, then I'll find you when it's time. It won't be for a day, at least."

"And you'll inform me if any of your people hear of 'Stench', even before that?"

"Of course. I give you my word." She gave a little smile, which Zake didn't overly trust.

He sighed. "Very well, then. I accept." He tried to give those last two words their appropriate gravity. 'Gianne' just gave him a flat look that wordlessly accused him of being a melodramatic dork.

Despite that... awkward moment, 'Gianne' shook Zake's hand. Her hands weren't much smaller than his own, her grip much stronger than he had expected. Her fingers were warm in the cold wine house. And he had to admit, he didn't find her stink completely repulsive, now that he was getting used to it.

When Zake left the Crystal Lounge, 'Gianne' tailed him, rather obviously. After he'd ascended the stairs, collected his stuff, and emerged from the 'secret' door out onto a back street, he found a bunch of Lanomen waiting for him. He was prepared for this to become a whole thing, but then 'Gianne' emerged from the 'secret' door behind him, went straight to the Lanomen's captain, whispered a few things in his ear, and then the group's captain made a quick hand gesture, and all the men dispersed.

Among those who dispersed was an old corporal with a graying skullet, a sad drooping mustache, several days' stubble and a bandage covering his left ear, who glared balefully at Zake before departing. The fucker had been lurking outside the inn Zake was staying at all day, and had done a downright terrible job of trying not to be noticed tailing him here. Zake had been expecting something when he emerged from the wine house.

Evidently, the Lanovins' lawmen had some kind of working relationship with 'Gianne'. She gave him a smile, which looked a little sinister in the evening lantern-light, and headed away. Zake went the opposite direction, back to the inn.

He'd made his agreement with 'Gianne' less than ten minutes ago, and he was already starting to regret it...

Deviant Mage, part 5, Lowdawn Farms

Following the mountainous trail from the Diueshet mines, Stench caught her first distant glimpse of the Lanovale fields just as the sky was starting to lighten. For a change, it wasn't raining, although it almost seemed like the chill had followed her down from the mines. Frost crusted the ground in the predawn gloom.

Stench had come to look, as far as she was concerned, exactly like how a shit-witch ought to look (and smell, of course). A reeking haze wafted lazily off her, generated by the copious quantity of supernatural germs that were keeping her warm. She had fashioned a crude cloak out of her ratty gray blanket plus some string, and it was draped sloppily over her shoulders. It had started gray, and was now a grayish brown, even though she'd worn it for less than a day. That, right there, took dedication and talent at being filthy.

The ragged, filth-saturated dress she wore under her 'cloak' was outright rotting away; there were patches of the filthy rag where its brownness had a green hue to it, which was all that was left of its original colour. The tattered, decaying fabric hung off of her. Her entire left arm was essentially bare, save for all the dirt. It meant that her hairy armpit, with several beads of dry crap lodged in her pit hair, was on full display any time she extended that arm. She liked the asymmetry. Her skirt, which had once come down to her ankles, had gotten shredded to a length that now averaged at just slightly above her knees (which was about where the ratty, crusty remains of her stockings ended), with rips that went even higher, all the way up to her knickers. Their filth-saturated fabric blended in so much with her filthy skin that it was actually difficult to see them.