Stench from the South Pt. 01

He looked up at her, the butterflies boiling up low and intense.

"I-Maelee-"

She slipped the blanket off of herself and set her mug off to the side, before slipping a hand into one of his own.

"Either you take me here, or I'll take you myself. Don't think I won't."

"That sounds like a threat," Gravin muttered with a smirk.

She smirked back. "Think of it as...oh, more of a promise, I suppose."

He chuckled, leaned in and locked his lips onto hers. She moaned softly and swiftly pulled his own fur away from his shoulders, Gravin just managing to set his own mug aside before she slithered into his lap, locking her legs tightly around his waist as they deepened their kiss. Their arms explored each others' bodies, Gravin's hand slipping under her soft, thin tunic in order to massage one of the soft breasts hidden beneath.

"No foreplay," she hissed after emitting a gasp, Gravin's thumb grazing over her nipple, "I want you inside me, right now. Make love to me, Gravin."

"How badly do you want it? How badly do you want me?" Gravin's voice was strained, breathless.

"More than anything," she whispered, letting out a soft whimper as he began to massage her nipple directly. He'd planned to get her even more worked up, but at that moment she loosed a low snarl and pushed him back onto one of the blankets, whereupon she crawled on top of him and swooped down to trap him in another lip-lock.

"I made up my mind," she whispered as she broke their connection and pulled her head off to the side, her breath tingling his skin of his ear, "I think that I will take you after all."

Gravin knew better than to argue. Despite her short stature and normally kind nature, she also had a strong, determined, and scrappy streak. This tended to manifest, more often than not, during their 'private encounters', when she could reaffirm her desires properly.

"I told you once," she whispered, sitting up and running a hand down his chest, her index finger pressing ever so softly against him through the fabric of his tunic, "that I've always been a quiet and reserved person. Even my parents and my friends would tease me about it while I grew up. It used to cause problems for me sometimes, did I mention that?"

"N-no, you didn't."

"I was always so worried. Worried and without confidence," she said, reaching the bottom of his tunic and slipping her hand beneath it. "I was afraid to go after the things-and the people-that I wanted for so long. I was afraid of making mistakes, of being rejected. But then I joined the Army and learned to fight-to be strong," she whispered, sliding both hands up his chest beneath his tunic, nearly making him shudder as goosebumps sprang up beneath her probing digits. "Now I am finished with who I used to be-the meek girl I once was. Now, I am a woman who gets what she wants. I want you, Gravin, and I will have you."

With that, she pulled the tunic from his torso, then just as swiftly removed her own, her breasts bouncing enticingly as she fell upon him again, peppering his lips, face, and neck with passionate kisses. After a moment, she shifted and reached under his trousers, where she began to massage his rapidly expanding erection.

"So large," she whispered, "and so...ready."

"Maelee, what if someone-?"

"I don't care. Let them," she hissed, slowly beginning to stroke his length. "You will fill me to the brim, no matter who might see us."

In what seemed like an instant, her trousers-as well as his own-were gone, tossed to the side as she hovered over Gravin's form. The lips of her womanhood were just out of reach of his tip, her left hand still slowly stroking him.

"Tell me you want me."

"I want you more than anything else."

"You mean it?"

"Yes. Three, yes."

"I'll not waste any more time, then."

She engulfed him.

There came simultaneous gasps of pleasure, followed by a low, whining moan from Maelee as she felt his long, thick manhood fill every last inch of her. It lightly kissed her cervix, and she took a moment to get used to the intrusion. She always needed to do this; he was, in fact, the largest man she'd ever been with. Her breathing came deep and strained as she splayed her fingers across his chest, and slowly began to thrust him in and out of herself.

"Ah-Maelee-"

"Darling," she muttered, "oh...oh, my darling. You fit me so perfectly."

She leaned down and began to slowly and ever so softly kiss and lick him. She tasted the faint saltiness in his sweat, smelled the masculine musk that always drove her over the edge. It was low, subtle; an almost spicy scent. She wanted to fill her senses with it, to truly be one with him while she took his length up into her deepest, most intimate recesses. She wanted to experience him in every way, know all that there was to know so that she might elevate their lovemaking-and, by extension, their love itself-to its' highest form.

Had she spoken these words aloud, she might have come off of as unnerving. Instead, she would convey her desires through her body and her sex.

His hands were upon her hips, the rough soldier's pads of his fingers and palms searching her skin. Her own hands reached up to cup her own breasts before she began to massage them, stroking the supple flesh all over before slowly beginning to work her nipples. She gasped as small bolts of pleasure wracked her body, causing her to shudder and hitch. These actions, combined with the steady, luxurious thrusts of Gravin's manhood exiting and entering her passage made her feel as if she had ascended to the realm of the Divine itself. She felt complete when they made love, as if a part of her body that she hadn't known was missing were suddenly being returned to her. Whenever he poured his love into her-as she always insisted that he do-there were times that it nearly made her weep for joy. Feeling that sudden eruption of wet heat deep in her womb always felt so...satisfying.

She began to gyrate slowly and steadily as she rode him, her fingers curling, the nails digging into the skin of his chest. He winced ever so slightly, drawing in a breath between his teeth with a hiss. Maelee savored the reflexive tightening of his hands, still upon her hips, knowing that she was driving him wild. She looked upon his face, which had reddened deeply while his mouth hung slightly ajar and his eyes remained tightly shut. Sweat covered his body in a thin, glistening sheen which she knew wasn't simply due to the fire or the warmth of the furs. The crop of fine brown hair on his chest shone softly in the firelight, sweat saturating the threads as thoroughly as his skin. Her eyes fell upon the five-inch scar which ran horizontally across his belly-the result of a brawl with a very drunk, very angry tavern patron when he'd been but eighteen years old-and found herself oddly transfixed by it. He once told her that he hated it-found it ugly and embarrassing-but Maelee had simply smiled, looked him dead in the eye, and told him that his name and the word 'ugly' didn't belong on the same plane of existence, much less within the same sentence.

In that moment, she'd sworn she had seen the beginnings of tears in his eyes. She wondered, too, if that had been the moment he'd known he'd wanted to marry her. That had been it for her, anyway.

"Are you getting close, my love?"

Her voice-low, husky, and filled to the brim with lust-snapped him out of his deep sexual trance.

"I-I am-"

"Good. Show me how much you love me. I want to feel it inside me!"

"Maelee..."

He did not get to finish whatever sentence he'd been about to speak as she swooped down and kissed him, her tongue abruptly cutting him off. He moaned into her mouth as she picked up the pace, tightening herself around him to an almost cruel degree. She pulled away with a soft 'pop'.

"You're going to-to wring me dry-!"

"That's the idea, darling."

She positively exuded sexual desire, her womanhood now leaking onto his crotch as she rode him. Seduction had given way to animal desperation now, and all pretense of romance had been dropped. She needed him to finish, needed his love to fill her completely. It made her feel powerful, in a way, knowing that she could have such a profound effect on him-even if it was just for a while. For Maelee loved this man dearly, and if she had her way he would not escape her so easily. Not, she thought, that he would have wanted to, at any rate.

Her hips slammed up and down, her pace now absolutely relentless. He was getting close; she could always tell, as his thrusts-much like her own-were growing more aggressive all the time. He began to emit brief moans of his own, his eyes closed and his expression screwed up into one of intense concentration-he wants his release more than I do, she mused to herself as she gave his shaft a good, hard squeeze. His head angled back and he gasped. She grinned and bit her lip, her fingernails digging into his chest like blunt daggers, scrawling odd calligraphy through the soft hair.

She could feel herself getting close now, the buildup mounting with every passing second. Her breathing came hard and fast, and she began to paw at his chest in desperate desire, her animal brain now completely in control. She began to mewl and whimper softly, and Gravin took the hint. His hands flew to her breasts-one of her weak points, and he knew it-and began to knead them gently again, his thumbs circling the sensitive skin on the cusps of her nipples. It drove Maelee over the edge, and one of her own hand drew back to her own opening, where she began to massage the engorged nub atop its' folds.

"I'm close, darling," Gravin gasped.

She did not reply with words, but rather a muffled howl as she bit down on her free forearm so as to not fill the halls of the outpost with the sound of her racking orgasm. Stars popped before her eyes, a galaxy made up of sheer joy and wonderful, wonderful release exploding throughout her body. She bucked crazily once, twice, then a third time before pulling her forearm from her mouth, emitting a sigh that sounded halfway like a moan, before finally falling forward. His thrusts continued unabated, however, as he took her into his arms: one cradling her body, the other her head.

"I'm almost there-!"

"Yes."

"I-I love you, Maelee."

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes."

Gravin had to stop himself from bellowing at full volume, as he felt his emission soar up the length of his shaft and explode into her loins. He heard her gasp into his collar, clearly having felt the sudden burst of warmth within her body. He jerked and twitched, the toes on both his feet curling and uncurling rapidly as he loosed a second, then a third, then a fourth rope of his seed into Maelee's womb. She continued to gasp and whimper as he filled her, her nails digging in as they clutched one another tightly, their sweat and combined fluids seeping onto the blankets beneath them. They rode the wave of aftershocks together, their breathing and heartbeats slowing gradually as they ascended into the joy of shared afterglow.

After half an hour or so of quiet cuddling, the only sounds being their breathing and the crackling of the fire, Gravin spoke.

"You can't get it out of your head either, can you?"

Maelee looked at him apprehensively.

"I-I cannot, no."

"Those people, they were-"

"I know, Gravin."

"Mutilated. Eaten. They had been fucking eaten, Maelee."

"I will have nightmares until I die, I fear."

Gravin pulled her in tightly, and she did not resist. After a moment, she spoke again.

"What is happening, Gravin? I-I still cannot make sense of it all. They swarmed in, they took nothing, they just killed and ate family! Even the animals! It is madness, Gravin! Pure insanity! What-?!"

"Maelee, hush!"

She squeezed him tightly for a moment, then loosened her grip. She sighed.

"Well, the sex took it off my mind for a time, at least," she grumbled as she reached for her spiced wine and took a swig. "I'm grateful for that."

Gravin chuckled, picking up his own mug and drawing from its' sweet depths. He pondered for a moment before setting it down again, staring into the low, flickering tongues of flame that still danced in the fireplace.

"Are you afraid too, Gravin?"

He did not answer immediately.

"Yes," he whispered after a moment, "yes, I am."

They did not speak again for some time after that. Outside, the rain poured harder than ever, and the tendrils of night began to slither over the land.

*****

Chapter II: Braelon And Back

Braelon, the Capital of Ralleah

Three days later

Beneath a pale grey sky, Captain Balthus Crick made his way up the main thoroughfare, Halberd's hooves clopping sharply against the damp cobblestone. At least the rain wasn't as bad up here, he grumbled internally as he gave his head a brisk shake, trying to free himself of the moisture which had seemed to perpetually cling to his hair throughout the trip. He immediately regretted his surge of optimism, however, as he felt a few drops of water strike the exposed skin of his face. He shot a glare up at the clouds, then looked up and ahead at the pale stone towers of the Keep, towering over the rest of the city structures like silent guardians. As the drops began to fall with greater urgency and in higher volume, he gave Halberd a sharp tap with both heels.

"Let's pick up the pace, Halberd! I've seen enough rain these past few days, and I've absorbed far more than I'd like!"

That did it. Droplets trailing from his mane and tail, Halberd broke into a healthy canter. All around them were people hurriedly making their way up or down the street, trying to make it to their destinations as quickly as possible so as to avoid becoming thoroughly soaked. Hoods were raised, cloaks were pulled in close, and umbrellas were opened as Balthus and his loyal friend headed toward the steps to the Keep courtyard.

Half an hour later, after he'd seen to Halberd, the Captain found himself striding down the length of the Keep's audience room, where Raela and Cyrrel, the Queen and King of Ralleah stood in front of the long hall's meeting table, speaking quietly to one another. As he approached, they looked up, and their expressions brightened.

"Balthus! It's been too long, old friend," Raela said, stepping forward and clapping a hand onto the Captain's shoulder as he halted before them. "I admit, I was surprised when the Guards told me that you'd come calling."

"My Queen," Balthus replied with a bow of the head, "I apologize for the short notice, but I've traveled many a mile, and this could not wait."

"There's no need to be so formal, Balthus," Cyrrel said kindly, stepping forward to shake the grizzled soldier's hand. "You know us better than that."

"I surely do, Cyrrel," Balthus replied with a smirk, clasping the King's hand within both of his own and giving it a vigorous shake, "but you're still my superiors, after all."

Raela laughed softly. "We missed you at our son's wedding, Balthus! We wondered if you'd even received the invitation!"

"I did, Raela, but I'm afraid my hands were full at the time-it arrived while my troopers and I were hunting down a group of brigands who were trying to extort the miners down Silverton way, I'm afraid. Apologies if my absence caused any offense."

Raela smiled. "And the miners were quite grateful for your intervention, as I recall reading in the reports. I only tease, of course, Balthus-though, admittedly, you did miss quite the event."

"Are the Prince and his lucky lady here? I'd like to congratulate them in person, if possible."

"They're both in Willowald at the moment, I'm afraid" Cyrrel replied. "Our daughter-in-law's family is based there. They run an orchard-apples, I believe. Astren and Silira-that's her name-are off visiting for a few weeks."

Balthus chuckled. "He's a good lad, always was; I'm sure he'll make a good impression, if he hasn't already. His was quite the tale, though, from what I heard-killed a group of Woodland scum, somehow meets and somehow manages to bring those Mountain Folk into the world, then caps it all off by marrying his bodyguard, eh? Almost didn't believe it at first, if I'm honest."

"That's only scratching the surface," Raela said with a grin. "We'll tell you the whole tale some other time-but yes, it's all true. The Mondagar-that's what the Mountain Folk are actually called-have since established an embassy here in the city, and the people themselves are already popping up here and there throughout the land. Even had a few join the Royal and City Guard, believe it or not. I would imagine after centuries of isolation that some of them would want to see the world, after all."

"As fascinating as this all is," Balthus cut in, "I did come here for a reason, my King and Queen. I'm afraid I come bearing ill news."

The King and Queen glanced at one another worriedly before Raela spoke again.

"I suspect we already have some idea as to the nature of your visit, Balthus."

That caught Balthus off guard. "Truly?"

"Sit down first, old friend, and tell us everything," said Cyrrel, motioning at the polished stone table which stood at the end of the long hallway. "Leave nothing out."

And so they sat, Raela and Cyrrel on one side of the table, the Captain on the other. Illuminated by the bright blue flames emitting from the magical torches upon the walls, Balthus began to recount the tale of what he'd seen on the Fessely farmstead in earnest.

"I've never seen anything quite like it, my King and Queen," he said as he finished, "and I've borne witness to more than my share of truly barbarous and cruel crimes committed by the brigands. This...this is different." He paused for a moment, looking between their solemn faces in turn. "I'm at a loss here, and I am not ashamed to admit it. I'm truly not sure what the goal of this massacre was supposed to be. As I said before: the attackers took nothing of value-they merely broke the door down and killed everyone inside. Only Mister Fessely himself manages to escape-gets upstairs, tied some sheets together, and shimmies down the side of the building. Gets to his barn, grabs his beast, and makes for the Outpost."

"So the man survived, then, despite his wounds. That's good to hear."

"Yes, Cyrrel," Balthus replied with a nod, "our Healers began seeing to his wounds upon his arrival. I would have liked to have questioned him further; maybe get a clearer picture of what we could expect at the farmhouse, but-"

"The nature of the crime changed things, I'm sure. He was badly hurt, and he needed immediate treatment. I understand perfectly why you took the course of action that you did," said Raela with a nod. "You did your duty, and you did it well. Now, you said the tracks suggested dozens of attackers-thank the Three you didn't meet them."

"No one is more grateful for that than I, Raela."

"So it wasn't a robbery," Cyrrel muttered, stroking his chin with his thumb and index finger. "That obviously rules out monetary gain, as far as motive goes."

"Yes, old friend. Something else was at play, but I can't for the life of me figure out what. Possibly a...I don't know, Steed's sake-some twisted form of scare tactic to terrify the locals?"

"I doubt it," Raela mused. "Those would be used in conjunction with a demand or demands of some type, I think. Personally...well, as odd as it sounds..." There was a brief, pregnant pause.

"I'm open to any theory, even if it lies purely within the realm of guesswork," Balthus said with a shrug and a wave of his hand.

"Madness. Some bizarre form of incipient madness brought onto the attackers through sickness or dark magic, perhaps?"

"What sickness or curse have you heard of that would make its' victims hunger for the flesh of the living, Raela?"

"We ought to ask Jakobus about this," muttered Cyrrel. "If anyone would have an idea, it's him."