Night's Storm Ch. 01

Rega's eyes scanned his surroundings as he walked through the streets of Cerathia. Purloined coins jingled in his pocket, and he would often clamp his hands to his sides lest the sounds of gold be heard by men more desperate than he.

The alleyway reeked of the stench of rotten offal. He cupped his hand over his mouth and squinted through the dust. His destination lay at the end. It was a small door, too small for any man to go through. But Rega wasn't a man even if he would like to think he was. Hints of hair traced his face and his features certainly spoke of a mature youth. But inside he was still very much a child.

Three short raps and two hard knocks. A person from behind the door shuffled towards it and opened it. "Yes?" said a bearded man, much older than he, a scar across his cheek. Rega had always wondered how he got it, but was much too afraid to ask.

"Um, would like a girl..."

"Suck or fuck?" he said, his voice showing little appreciation for his customer.

"Uh, a fuck, sir."

"You clean?"

Rega nodded. "Yes sir. I've been here before." A pointless question he thought. Even if he was he would say yes anyway, not to mention the girls there were far dirtier than him. The bearded men let him in with a grunt.

"No dilly dallying. Pick the slut and be done with her," he told Rega. Rega nodded and wiped the sweat from the side of his face, a product more of nervousness than the heat. He walked into a room, and seated along a tattered sofa were four girls, thoroughly unappetizing.

Rega cursed his luck. He was reduced to brothels such as this which contained girls that were too old, too young or too overworked. The last time he had gone to see a proper courtesan, he was laughed away - it was far too expensive for him, and he, they said, was far too young to be able to appreciate fine things.

"Well?" the bearded man said. Rega turned to him, scratching his back which grew itchy at times like this. He gulped. "None of them I fancy, sir," he said. The bearded man's cold gaze met his for several long seconds, and then he grabbed Rega by the collar and threw him out the window.

Rega coughed out the dirt that had made his way into his mouth. He picked himself up, brushing his clothes and exhaling in relief. That wasn't so bad, he thought. At least he saved his money now. His horniness had been considerably reduced. It often made him do rather insane things.

Then he remembered something he had kept in the back of his mind, a place he had discovered awhile back on his jaunts through the city and that he told himself he had to go back to. A smile on his face, he raced to his next target.

The bathhouses of Fel were dedicated to the goddess herself. A huge statue of her graced the courtyards, water flowing out from her fulsome breasts. Rega had always wondered how she looked like. He was but a child when the Divines had vanished, leaving godless cities in their wake. Cerathia, like all the others, survived and prospered nonetheless.

Only nobles could enter it though, and Rega had no intention of entering through the main gates. Instead he wound his way through the backalleys and scaled several walls. It all came naturally to him, as if imprinted into the back of his head. He climbed over a wall, and leapt down, crouching. In front of him was a large marble wall of a building. He drew closer and and peeked through a tiny slit in a gap.

He saw heaven. Or at least, what he thought it should look like. In the sprawling pool were dozens of bathing noble women, their polished skins a contrast to the suntanned, scarred street girls he encountered. Nearby were a group of girls, with flowing raven hair and breasts barely rising out of their chests. Sisters, Rega guessed. And they were lovely.

His cock had grown hard at the sight of such women frolicking carelessly, unwary of their voyeur. He reached down his pants and began stroking himself. His mouth clamped shut; he had a tendency of letting out unwanted noises of pleasure. His breaths grew shallow as he watched a young girl, peeling the hair away from her wet skin, washing her breasts, her navels and the slit of her nearly hairless pussy.

"What are you doing here boy!" a voice screamed from behind him. Rega turned around, cock in hand and just as when he was about to cum. A rotund elderly woman was in front of him. She took one look at him and screamed. Rega yelped in fear, and at that instant shot a stream of cum onto her skirt.

Her shock was replaced with fury, and she screamed for the guards. Rega, regaining his composure, pulled up his pants, took to his feet and did what he did best. Run.

The pursuers would usually be no match for him, but the guards were unusually persistent this time. He panted as he turned around and saw that the two guards that were behind him had turned into a horde. Rega swore as he winded through the alleys. The map in his head told him that the best way out would be to head for the walls towards the gates, where the market crowd usually gathered.

But there was no crowd that day, and Rega ran into an empty courtyard where the market should have been. A few of the more fit guards had already begun closing in on him. The watchguards at the walls had begun to eye him. It was then Rega saw his way out, - a horse, standing cluelessly and unattending. He ran and leapt onto it. Horses frightened him, but he had far terrifying things chasing him.

Its owner saw him and began running to him, screaming curses. Rega grabbed the reins and did what he saw everyone do. Give it a strong whip.

The horse took off with speed, past the open gates as the guards trailed behind, eventually stopping their pursuit when he was far off in the distance. Rega looked back and let out a laugh of exhilaration. He had left the city before although he never stayed away for long.

Outside the city were the shanty towns, which turned into farming villages and which then quickly opened up into the countryside, filled with starflowers and carpeted with orange grass. Rega enjoyed the thrill of the ride, of the wind rushing against his face and his newfound freedom. Then he realized that he had no way of stopping the horse.

He pulled hard on the reins but with no effect. The horse kept going at a fierce pace. He yelled at it and kicked it, with the result of spurring it on even more. Rega looked to his left and right, finding a soft place to land. Even if he did, it would probably hurt bad.

Rega decided to wait until the horse tired. He held the reins and waited. The horse's hooves pounded on the Capital highway, that extended all the way to horizon and beyond. If it kept going like this he would probably go all the way to Holonia. It was near sunset when the horse began to slow to a pace that Rega felt was comfortable. He seized his chance and leapt off it into a patch of shrubs. It did little to cushion his impact as he body crashed into it. He pulled himself from the thicket as he watched the horse continue to trot into the distance.

It was after regaining his composure did he realize that that was nothing but countryside all around him. "Fel-Cera's tits!" he swore. He had to choose between heading back to the city or continuing down the highway, hoping to find someone or something. He chose the latter.

The sun hung at the cusp of the horizon, where it would do so for a few more hours. The night came late in this season. Rega was not panicking yet. After another hour of walking he came across a stream, where he drank greedily. As he was finishing his last sip of water from his cupped hands, he saw a small hut in a distance. He made his way to it, realizing it was his best chance for shelter before darkness came.

He walked towards the door and then knocked it once with apprehension. Who or what has behind it? He hoped there would be no one at all. But his heart beat faster as it was answered, bolts unlatching from behind. The door swung open, and Rega's mouth dropped.

She seemed neither young nor old, although she had a streak of grey in her otherwise dark hair. Her dark brown eyes studied him and Rega gulped, thinking of what to say. She wore an almost translucent dress that left her right breast exposed, and her skirt was scandalizingly short.

"Yes, boy?" she said.

"Ex...excuse me my lady. I am lost and am need of a place to spend the night."

"Lost?" she said.

"Yes, miss."

"Or perhaps jumped off your horse?"

"How...how did you know?"

The woman sighed. "Come in, boy."

Rega gratefully entered and peered around the modest home. There was a bed and a bookshelf, along with a fireplace and stove. A table was in the centre of the room, covered in scrolls.

"Thank you miss," he said, "I am Rega."

She looked at him. "You're hurt," she pointed out a gash on his arm.

"Just a scratch. I'll be fine, my lady."

"Not if it's infected," she said, reaching out her hand. A warm surge of light shot out of it and his wound instantly shut close. Rega took several step backs in fright.

"Relax," she said with a sigh.

"Mm-magic!"

"Yes, Rega. Magic. Stop right there or you'll end up in the fireplace."

Rega froze.

"I am Deanyr."

"You're a witch?"

She sighed and nodded her head.

"Yes. And you may stay the night. If you didn't I wouldn't be surprised to find your dead body rotting on the Capital highways."

Rega nodded and wondered what he got himself into.