Sundered Isles 01: Drog and Cember

Sedge told my uncle he had stumbled across Drog in the woods a few weeks before he had come to our town. Drog was exhausted and fearful. Sedge had taken him for an ogre, albeit a strange looking one, and had assumed he would attack, as ogres are want to do.

To Sedge's surprise Drog had stopped short and spoken to them. He had introduced himself and asked for food and a place to rest in exchange for work. More out of a combination of fear and relief Sedge had agree. Then, once Drog had recovered from whatever trials he has escaped, he quickly proved himself to be indispensable. He was unrelenting in his work ethic and seemed to have the strength of ten men. He had a special affinity for the pack beasts and, after only a brief time in his care, they were healthier and more productive than Sedge had ever seen them. Best of all, Drog kept to himself and demanded no more payment than food to eat and a dry place to sleep.

Partly because he seemed as wary of the company of men as they were of him, and partly to keep a better watch over his charges, Drog chose to sleep close to the oxen, and not in camp.

Which is why he had not been present during last night's attack. It was also why they were not expecting him when he did arrive.

The first I knew of his presence was when two enormous hands fell, as if from the sky, and clamped down on Rein and Cappie's heads. I am certain it was both the first, and last, time they knew of him too.

I had witnessed Drog's strength before. I had seen him single-handedly shift oxcarts mired in deep mud and clear fallen trees from the road, but this was something else. Cappie was not a small man, and Rein was huge, yet Drog plucked them up by their skulls and swung them like a pair of kittens. He bellowed and shook them until there was loud crack and one of the voices cut off mid-scream. The next stopped shortly after, when Drog hurled both of them against the old stone embankment with a brittle crunch of bones. Still unappeased, he roared, picked up a rock and began to pulp the already still forms, coating himself in a mist of their blood. He was no longer the Drog I knew, the beast inside him had awoken and taken over.

It was hard to connect that savage spirit with the contemplative man I saw before me now, looking shy and standing up to his waist in cold water. Standing beside him, the river reached to just below my chest, the hastily tied knot in my shirt beginning to soak up the water. He still held my hand tightly. I was unsure if he was worried the river would sweep me, or him, away.

As gently as I might tend a babe, I began to wash him, dipping my hands in the water, and then rubbing at the blood on his arms. It had not dried yet, so it streamed off him, and turned the water around us a reddish brown color.

He had his wide, square chin tucked in as he watched me intently. I felt the skin on my scalp prickle under the intense scrutiny.

"Help me out here, big guy," I laughed nervously. I had been close to Drog before, but never so close that I could actually feel his skin and breathe in his pleasant earthy scent. I tugged at the hem of what had once been his shirt. If I could find the buttons, mine might be repairable. But, his was little more than tattered rags. I held it out and pushed my hand through one slash, looking up to meet Drog's eyes. I was pleased to see the crinkle of humor I had grown so fond of had returned.

"You should be dead," I said, narrowing my eyes and making a poor attempt to look cross, "How are you not dead?"

While Rein and Cappie were having their already lifeless corpses battered out of any recognizable human form, Clem and his remaining three men had become all too aware of the danger Drog suddenly posed. When Drog finally did stop his crazed assault, he turned to find Clem and three other men armed and waiting for him.

One of them fired off a crossbow bolt before Drog had time to process the threat. I gasped as it stuck into his shoulder, but Drog merely plucked it out like it was an inconvenient burr. Drog had let out a deep rumble then and began pounding forward to meet his attackers. He seemed not to notice me, huddled directly in his path, and I had to scramble to get out of his way. He brushed me aside as he passed, sending me sprawling onto the rocks again. It felt a sharp pain in my head, and my vision had flared white for an instant, but I was too focused on Drog and the armed men he now faced to consider it for long.

They came at him with swords and axes at the ready, but those proved as ineffective as the crossbow. They managed only to slice through his clothes, their weapons seemed to rebound off his tough hide. Any cuts they made were shallow, and Drog gave them as much attention as he might a mosquito bite. Once he was within close quarters, Drog tore through the men as if they were made of wet tissue paper.

They split before him like wine sacks on a stone floor. Weapons spilled out of lifeless fingers and, within moments, Drog had three more bodies at his feet, with only Clem was left in one piece. The coward he was, he had stepped back as his men ran forward. He was white with fear and backing away, having fully realized what he was up against. Perhaps if Drog had not been consumed by his state of hyper-rage he might have had the wherewithal to send Clem to join his men in the frozen outer reaches of the afterlife. As it was, he was too busy stomping what tiny slivers of life remained in the men under his feet to see Clem turn and run.

For my part, I was still processing the awesome power and ferocity of the man I had grown to care for so deeply. It chilled me to see the ease with which he could snuff out a human life. By the time I even considered going to dig my knives out of the pile of mush that was now Cappie and Rein, Clem had disappeared into the underbrush.

I examined Drog closely now, as he stood before me. I could see marks where the crossbow bolt, swords and axes had struck. There was even some slight bleeding in places, but nothing to indicate that three men had chopped and hacked at him with the intent to end his life.

He shrugged off my attention, saying only, "Ogres are very tough to kill."

I dug an elbow into his side and replied, "You're not an ogre."

"Very well, a half-ogre. Either way, I have that side of me to thank for my thick skin. Although, I do wish it were a shade less green."

"I don't know, I think it suits you." He was not the vivid green of the true ogre, more of a pale olive green, "it makes you unique, Drogben Mender."

He snorted, replying, "It makes me a freak."

I tugged at his shirt. He gathered my intention and helped me by ripping it off in his strong fingers.

"It was ruined anyway," He said, ruefully, "A pity, I really liked that shirt. It is hard to find ones that fit."

"I'll bet," I murmured absent-mindedly, as I drank in his naked torso. He was all flat planes and thick slabs of muscle. He looked like an idealized carving of the male form done in granite. I licked at my top lip.

"Not that I'm complaining," I tried to mutter under my breath, but the hint of a smile that played across his lips told me his sensitive ears had picked it up.

I was a little disappointed when he began to wash his own body, not waiting for my assistance, scooping up basket-sized handfuls of water and letting them run over his ridged muscles. He could not, however, reach his back, and I assisted by rubbing with my wet hands at the few remaining blood streaks there. I carried on rubbing long after all the blood was cleaned away, enjoying the lean, bunched muscles on his back, relishing the way they seemed to snake and coil beneath his skin.

It was more with morbid curiosity, than anything else, that I allowed my fingers to trace the criss-crossing scars that laced across his back, but I refused to shy away from touching them.

What could have done this to a man whose skin could repel an axe blade?

I fought the temptation to bend down and bite the small rise of flesh where his wet trousers had slipped to reveal the top of his taut backside.

Reluctantly, realizing he might start to suspect something soon, now that my cleansing had turned into more of a massage, I stepped back from him. He took a deep breath and plunged under the icy water. He stayed under long enough for me to start to worry, and then he burst up in a fountain of spray.

I laughed as he splashed me. He turned and grinned, sending out a jet of water from between his lips. When he grinned he revealed the slightly elongated bicuspids on his lower jaw that reminded me that he was not altogether human. Still, it did something strange inside me, seeming to turn my insides to liquid.

His amused eyes suddenly changed, however, and I saw, first concern, and then anger in them. He plowed through the water towards me. Involuntarily I stepped back, nearly slipping on a loose rock, but he engulfed my slim wrist in his hand, staying my fall and staring down at me with a blazing fury.

I flinched when he held out one of his thick fingers to me. But, with the tenderness he might have used to pick up a fallen butterfly, he brushed at the hairline beside my temple. When he pulled his finger away I could see blood on it. My blood.

For a moment I saw the same fury blaze in his eyes that had turned five strong men into carrion only minutes before. Then they softened as he looked down on me.

"You are hurt," when he spoke it was a a statement rather than a question.

"Not badly," I replied, taking his finger between my two hands, "During the fight, I got knocked down. I think I hit my head on a rock."

"I did this?" It was fear rather than fury that filled his eyes.

"Not exactly. It was in the heat of battle. It could have been anyone," I tried to lie, but I should have know Drog was more perceptive than that. At times, I swear, he could read my mind.

"It was me, I know it was. I lost control." He tried to pull away from me, but I held him tight. "I could have hurt you, Cember!"

"You didn't though. You saved me." I could see he was distraught, his mind a turmoil of warring thoughts.

Reassuringly I pulled his hand forward and, tenderly, placed a kiss on the broad finger, not bothered by the slight metallic taste of my own blood.

"I don't think I could handle it if I harmed you, Cember. You mean more to me than you could imagine," warmth flooded through me at his admittance.

"You mean the same to me Drog."

He scoffed and tried to turn again. "I am a half-ogre freak. You are the most beautiful, sweetest girl," he looked at me and shook, his head, "no, woman, in all the hundred islands. I appreciate your kind words, but you do not really know of what you speak, little one."

I felt sorrow for Drog then. A lifetime of prejudice against his mixed bloodline had left him completely unaware of who he was. Before he could pull away I flung myself at him, and hugged him fiercely. I could feel angry tears pricking my eyes as I said, "Don't you dare tell me what I don't understand. Not you, Drog. You are the kindest, funniest, most wonderful man I have ever met. You're an idiot, but I won't hold that against you. You mean everything to me, Drog."

A heavy hand fell timidly onto my shoulders. "But," he began, "I am not even a man."

I looked up at him through the tears that were pooling in my eyes and gave him a hard glare, "So?" I asked, "I have seen what men are capable of," I dropped my gaze in the direction of our camp, "Trust me, Drog, whatever you might be, you are the very best person I know. If you talk about yourself one more time like you are somehow beneath me, then I will beat some sense into you."

I punctuated my speech by poking his abdomen sharply with a finger. It was like poking at a tree trunk. My finger hurt afterwards.

He laughed then, a deep laugh, resonating with all the warmth I knew was in him. I felt it rumbling in his tight stomach as I clung desperately to him.

When I gave him an even angrier look it only made him laugh harder, until I could fight it no longer, and I was laughing too. It felt wonderful, being pressed up against his warm body in the cool water, feeling connected by this moment of shared joy.

As the laughter died and became a lingering ember of warmth held between us, I looked up to meet his soft, smiling eyes. He reached out with his sausage sized finger again and this time I did not flinch. He hooked it under my chin, at the same time dropping his own head closer, and raised my face up so that I was looking deep into those soulful green eyes.

He let the moment hover there, uncertainly, our faces now inches apart. I knew then that, if I left things up to him, he would grow embarrassed and flee from me again. Seizing my moment, I suddenly bobbed up on my toes and planted a kiss on his wide, sensual mouth.

I wanted to grin in satisfaction as my one small action did what half a dozen armed thugs could not do. I actually knocked him back a step.

His eyes were wide in surprise, but I was not about to give him time to consider the implications. I had waited too long for this. I pressed my advantage, stepping forward boldly and placing one hand on his abdomen and another on his pectoral, before tilting my head up for another lingering kiss.

His lips, in contrast to his body, were soft and inviting. An eternity seemed to pass as he hesitated awkwardly. I was just beginning to doubt myself when I felt his resolve crumble and his lips reformed themselves to meet mine in sweet and tender kiss.

Having broken through his final resistance, I let myself flood forward to meet him. I probed his lips with my searching tongue. He twitched once in surprise, then parted his lips further, letting me sink into his mouth. The tongue that met mine was thick and heavy, yet brushed with delicacy of a insect collecting pollen. I lapped at it hungrily. He seemed to want to savour my taste as if each touch of my tongue were a drop of honey on his.

Two great arms, thick as leviathans, curled around me and crushed me to his chest. He lifted me off feet as if I weighed nothing. The kiss deepened and lengthened. Suddenly I became very aware of a new hardness developing, as it pressed eagerly against my thigh. The liquid thrill deep in my belly began to ripple like the surface of a pool in a rainstorm.

My hands were running up and down his torso, relishing in the sharp, defined ridges between muscles, loving how my soft curves were able to mold into his rigid body.

I broke the kiss first, staring up once more and, whispering, "I've been wanting to do that for so long." He looked genuinely puzzled.

"Cember, I think you know I am crazy about you. I haven't been able to hide that since we met. But, why me? You could have any normal man. One who doesn't look like me, or have my twisted past."

When he tried to put me down I gripped onto him as hard as I could, even trying to sink my nails into his flesh; it was like trying to push them into boiled leather. He did not even flinch, but he did not release me either.

For answer to his question I reached up and grabbed the sides of his head, pulling it down for a deeper, fiercer kiss. I felt the resignation leave him after a moment's struggle, and then he was opening himself up to me, meeting my hunger with equal measure.

He sucked insatiably on my tongue. His powerful lips were timid no longer, they began to dominate mine, covering them to allow deep, wet kisses, occasionally pausing to suck on my already swollen bottom lip.

I felt my body awaken to his. The heat of his skin contrasted deliciously with the icy cool misting off the river. I wrapped my legs tightly around his narrow hips. I could feel his bulge now pressing into my awakened sex. I could not control myself, I had to rub myself against him.

A deep animal purr rumbled out of him.

My shirt suddenly felt cold on my skin, from where it had soaked up some of the water. Holding him between my thighs, I reached down and began to tug at the knot, needing to feel my skin on his. It was wet and my numbed fingers seemed unable to tease it open. My diverted attention drew my mind out of our kiss.

Drog must have realized it, because he broke it off and looked down at where I was now struggling. I saw then that his eyes had changed again. They were hungry again, but not for destruction, they were ravenous for me. Lightening streaked up my spine in recognition of this.

He took his hands off my shoulders and, grabbing hold of the tie at the front of my shirt, he flicked a thumb over the tight, wet knot I had now made. I saw a flash of his bottom fangs before he gripped the shirt and ripped it open, tearing the fabric.

I gasped, relishing the sight of his eyes on my exposed skin. Where they fell, and his skin touched mine, he seemed to wash away the residue Cappie and Rein had left, imagined or not, on my skin.

My breasts are small and high. My incredibly sensitive, puffy nipples seemed to sting in the sudden exposure to the cold air. They had pulled tight into little puckered peaks, surrounded by goose bumps from the coolness and my desire. I had always felt a little ashamed of my flat chest. I felt an urge to cover myself under Drog's intense stare, but resisted, and did my best to hold myself proudly.

Drog let his broad tongue roll lazily over his lips. His lids hung heavily over his eyes.

"You are so incredibly beautiful, Cember," his voice was soft as he caressed my cheek with one big hand. Gratified, and growing hot under his gaze, I nuzzled into his rough palm, nipping playfully at the thick pad.

His eyes asked me a question he had no need to vocalize. I merely nodded shyly and bit down on my bottom lip with anticipation. He lowered his hand and cupped one of my small, budding breasts with reverence. I heard him suck in a sharp breath between his teeth. I let out a soft moan.

Tenderly he plumped the little mound between thumb and forefinger, protracting the already excited nipple. He let his fingers close softly, making their journey over my delicate areola with agonizing slowness, until they were just pinching the hardened nipple.

His fingers were enormous, and should have been clumsy. Yet he handled me with the skill and delicacy that the finest horologist on Qualle isle could not have matched. Either he knew my body in ways that even I did not know yet, or else it was attuning itself to him without my knowledge. He rolled, then tugged at the little bud now gripped between his fingertips. It seemed as if there were a taut cable suddenly connecting it to my core, sending vibrations through me and into my sex. I hissed through bared teeth at the sudden intense sensations electrifying my body.

He kept his hand there, massaging my breast carefully and patiently, while placing the other under my backside and lifting me up until he could press his open mouth to mine.

Despite the cold, magma seemed to be coursing through me. I felt insulated, protected and safe beyond anything I had know before, encased as I was in his hard-bodied embrace.

I rolled my hips and used my legs to pull myself closer into him. I could feel the definition of his erection now through our wet britches. The ridge of his glans was placed just perfectly to fit into my gap and brush against my rapidly expanding arousal. I began to rock into him, the planned, careful kisses I had been offering up before becoming disorderly and unrestrained. It felt wonderful to sink nails into his resilient flesh and know I could not hurt him. I was fevered with anticipation now, and frustrated by the thin barrier between us.

Suddenly, Drog broke off, leaving us both panting furiously from the intensity of the kiss. He lifted me in his arms, cradling my head in one hand, before lowering his head until his mouth was on my chest.