The Feast of the Masked Dancers

"What's your name traveller?"

"Jack."

"I'm Crystina Hawkwing. Here, I already have a bath filled. Come with me."

He followed her into the room past the curtain, which just contained a crude iron bathtub near a small window, that let in the midday sun.

"Just leave your things with me. I will get them cleaned for you."

"Thank you," said Jack. "I have a leather jacket in my backpack, but it's covered in blood. Do you think you could help with that?"

"Of course," she smiled, taking his backpack, before withdrawing back into the hut.

Jack peeled off his clothes, and got into the cool water. It was a very spacious tub. It confirmed to Jack that this woman might be wealthier than she seemed. He pondered what she was doing out here in the woods, as he scrubbed himself clean.

Crystina entered the room again.

"How are you doing, Jack? Are you clean?"

"As clean as I can be, thanks."

"Well," she said, peering down into the bathtub, running a finger along the surface of the water. Jack followed her eyeline. Was she staring at his cock?

"There is room for two. Would you mind if I got in?"

"Oh. Of course, I'll just get out."

"No need," she smiled. "Stay in the tub and rest yourself. You look like you've had a long day."

"Wouldn't you like some privacy?" said Jack.

"Hah!" laughed Crystina. "This isn't Bremasdon. No need for privacy out here."

Crystina opened her robe and dropped it to the floor. The first thing Jack noticed was how huge her tits were above him. He stifled a gasp. Her nipples were large, pink and erect in the sunlight. They were a bit on the saggy side, but still big and firm.

"Budge up, will you?" she said.

The rest of her body seemed quite fit and well-preserved for a woman of her age.

Jack curled his legs up towards him, as she got in the tub across from him. The whole time he knew he was going to get an erection at some point. He wondered if that was a breach of etiquette in this situation.

But as she entered the tub in front of him, he noticed something else. A tattoo, running down from the side of her stomach, down to her thigh. A large, golden cat leaping from her thigh up to the side of her stomach. It's face stared at him with blue eyes.

"Crystina," he said. "That tattoo."

"Oh, this?" she said, kneeling up in the tub to give him a better look. Jack hoped it didn't look like he was staring into her pubic bush.

"Yes. Where did you get that done? Most tattoos I see don't even have colour, they're like line drawings. Yours is like a piece of art."

"Thank you. I had it done years ago, back when I lived in Bremasdon. Some of the finest tattoo artists in the land work there."

"It reminds me of some of the shrines I've seen out in the woods."

She sat back down and started scrubbing her neck and shoulders.

"Shrines?"

"Carvings of cats, everywhere."

"Ah, yes. I know. This part of the woods used to be home to an ancient cult of Abasis. No one knows what happened to those people, but they are long gone now."

Jack tried to ignore her when she started scrubbing underneath her breasts, almost like she was squeezing them right in front of him.

"Abasis?"

"Yes. She who Dwells Below, the Bringer of Gifts, the Queen of All Riches."

"Are you a devotee?"

"It pays to be on Her good side when you live in Her territory."

"Hence the impressive tattoo."

"Correct. And speaking of art pieces, you seem to have one of your own in that rucksack. I noticed it while I was cleaning your leather Jacket. I hope you don't mind."

"I found it in an abandoned chapel. It looked like a chapel to Abasis."

"Do you know of the lady in the picture?"

"No."

"She was one of the masked dancers of Bremasdon. Many years ago."

"Did you know her?"

"Oh, yes. I know a lot of things. I can tell you things about that painting that you would find very interesting."

"Such as?"

"Such as where you could get a very good price for it."

Jack's eyes widened.

"Is it worth a lot?"

"Absolutely. To the right customer. But first," she reached forward, taking Jack's hands. "I want you to do something for me."

She kneeled up again, and pulled his hands onto her breasts. Jack got an erection straight away as he felt the full firmness of her warm flesh in his palms. He felt her hard nipples between this thumb and forefingers. She closed her eyes and let in a long, deep intake of breath, her breasts heaving against his hands.

Jack's cock was out of the water between them now.

"What do you want?" said Jack, immediately wondering why he had to ask.

"Just to feel your hands on my body. I want you to feel your cock inside me. It's been...a while."

"Okay."

Jack would have done that anyway, with or without this information she claimed to have. It had been a long time for Jack as well.

She took his hands off her breasts and clambered over him. He saw her huge tits swinging above him, before she lowered her body, smothering his face.

He squeezed them, as he felt her hard nipple in his mouth. She reached down and carressed his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze before making her way to his cock.

As her hand caressed his hard shaft, Jack took one hand and ran it down the side of her body. He grabbed her surprisingly firm ass, before reaching underneath to gently rub her pussy.

She started to moan, her breasts heaving in his face as her breath got heavier. Jack couldn't get enough of her breasts, the salty taste of her skin, the musky smell. He started to put a couple of fingers inside her. Even underwater her pussy felt wet as his fingers slid into her

"Harder, please."

He started thrusting his fingers into her, her moans got louder. Until eventually she collapsed on top of him. She moved his hand away from her pussy and clambered on top of him again, this time mounting herself on top of his cock.

Jack felt his cock slide right into her. She mounted him, her huge tits swinging in front of him as they fucked.

It wasn't long before he came. She lowered herself to his side, pressing her firm tits against his arm and chest, running her hand over his pectorals. He felt her breath against his neck.

"Her name was Lucinda Bellevue. She stole the show the night she went on. But then, she went the way of many masked dancers. She got married, had children and became boring. No one heard from her since then."

"It sounds like you were there," remarked Jack.

"I was," she replied.

"Is she still alive?" asked Jack.

"I don't know," she sat up from Jack and climbed out of the tub.

"You said I could get a good price for the painting," Jack enquired.

"Of course," said Crystina, wrapping herself in a linen towel. "There's a man in Bremasdon who'll pay very good money for it. An art collector. His name is Arten Breivig. He runs The White Horse tavern. Tell him I sent you."

"I will. Thanks."

They dried each other off with linen towels, and Jack joined her for a cup of tea at her table.

"Why wear that mask?" Jack enquired, looking at the painting before him. "She's not ugly. Very beautiful in fact. And everyone knows who these dancers are. So why the masks?"

"Tradition," said Crystina. "You know where the custom of mask wearing came from?"

"I think so," said Jack. "Something about honouring their Gods?"

"No, that developed later," Crystina replied. "The tradition is much older than that."

"Interesting, tell me more," said Jack.

"Well. Bremasdon used to be a small coastal settlement, far back in Leinyere's distant past. Just a small port, with a few houses and a tavern that still stands today. The White Horse."

"I didn't realize the place was that old," said Jack.

"It was probably called something else back then," Crystina replied. "If it even had a name.

Anyway. Bremasdon was attacked by invaders from across the sea. No one remembers who they were, but the attacks were sudden, and galvanised the Bremasdonians into action.

In a particularly bloody battle, the men of Bremasdon successfully fought them off on the beaches, although many died. But the invaders never returned. Peace returned to the settlement.

Until a year later, when the village was beset with a series of disasters. Cattle mysteriously died. Harvests were ruined. Violent storms raged on the coastline, killing locals and sailors. And during these storms, the shades of the dead men were seen haunting the coastline.

The village leaders believed that the ghosts didn't properly receive their last rites. They sent a priest to give them a proper send off. It didn't work. The hauntings continued.

So they sent a sorceror called Phalinos, a man skilled in necromancy to communicate with them. You've probably heard of Phalinos."

"I've heard that name. The same sorceror that the College in Bremasdon is dedicated to?" replied Jacked.

"Correct," replied Crystina. "Phalinos learned that the dead were young, unmarried men who expected to return to the village as heroes, taking wives having proven their worth as men on the battlefield. The hauntings and violent disturbances were a result of their fury at being denied this, their unsatisfield lust, and their inability to move on to the afterlife.

Phalinos had a solution. He approached one of the prettiest women on the settlement, a young lady called Almida. He asked her to perform a naked, erotic dance on a hill, in the hopes that this would appease the dead who roamed the beaches at night.

Almida agreed to this, but only on the condition that she could wear a mask to cover up her identity in case she is seen.

In the dead of night, while the villagers were shut in their homes, afraid of the marauding ghosts, Almida went up on the hill with Phalinos. She performed a fantastic strip show in full view of the ghosts on the shore.

It worked. The hauntings, storms and disasters stop and everything goes back to normal.

However, every year, an attractive young woman needs to take the role of the masked dancer, and dance naked on the hill to appease the dead and prevent disaster."

"And this is why Phalinos and Almida are the twin patron saints of Bremasdon," commented Jack.

"Correct again," smiled Crystina. "that's why the Grand College of Bremasdon is under their combined patronage. Dancers and sorcerors of all kinds come from across Leinyere come here to learn their trade."

"Just dancers and sorcerors?" asked Jack. "I know people who've gone there to study other vocations too."

"Oh, of course, people study trade, philosophy, theology, the liberal arts, etcetera. But it's mainly known for dancers and sorcerors.

"Anyway," said Crystina, waving a hand to signal a return to the topic. "This tradition expanded into a small harvest festival, with entertainers and musicians and beer halls. Travellers heard of this event, and spread the word across Leinyere. More and more travellers and pilgrims came from across the continent to witness this spectacle.

Bremasdon is the wealthy city it is today because of the masked dancers. As more travellers came to the festival every year, not only did the festival expand, but more business came to the town.

And as the town's fame grew, many young women came to make their names as a dancer. And many wealthy merchants and nobles would visit in the hopes of marrying one."

"Interesting," said Jack. "So the masks didn't have a religious meaning at all?"

"Not initially, no."

"Did you ever study at the Grand College?"

Crystina let out a short laugh.

"Yes," she replied, "once. A long time ago."

"You wanted to be a dancer?"

"No, my vocation was Sorcery. But I was thrown out. My experiments in necromancy went a little too far.

It's ironic I should be thrown out for necromancy, as Saint Phalinos himself is an unofficial patron saint of the necromantic arts. You probably know him as a patron of the more respectable forms of magic and sholarly pursuits. Yet many low-born necromancers have his idol on their altars too.

Just as Saint Almida is the patroness of dancers and beauty, she has also has a less respectable side as the patroness of strippers and exhibitionist women. No one ever talks about that."

"There's so much I don't know about Bremasdon," said Jack.

"It's been around for much longer than Breagor," said Crystina. "You don't survive this long without accumulating secrets."

Jack looked at the picture of Lucy, reclining her perfect body against silk sheets of the four poster bed.

"What are the chances of someone like me marrying a woman like this, eh?" said Jack, smiling.

"Better than you think. It's no accident that you are here, you know."

"What?"

"You were guided here."

"Guided? By what?"

"This." She raised her towel over her hip, revealing her tattoo. The cat's eyes stared at Jack over the table. "You recognize him, don't you?"

Jack looked at the cat tattoo, and then looked at Crystina.

"I had a dream last night. That cat..."

"I know," replied Cristina. "My cat brought you here, didn't he?"

"Your cat?"

"A cat from the spirit world. We have been bonded since I began my relationship with Abasis."

"A spirit cat," said Jack to himself. "Was this cat ever alive? In this world, I mean?"

"I don't know," said Cristina, looking down at her tattoo, before lowering her towel and sitting back down. "All I know is, he goes out and brings me what I ask for."

"You asked for me?"

"I asked for the first shag I've had in years," smiled Crystina. "But when I saw that painting, I knew I had to point you in the direction of Bremasdon. That painting wants to return home."

"Your cat led me to the painting as well. To the old chapel, not far from here."

"Ah," said Crystina. "Interesting. I don't always understand the cat's motives. Perhaps it was the will of Abasis? Who knows."

"Well," said Jack. "I'm very grateful for the tip-off. I should probably head towards Bremasdon now. It will be a hell of a trek getting there, but it looks like that's my destination."

"Very well," said Cristina. "Remember to tell Arten I sent you."

Jack got dressed, packed his things and bid farewell before heading west through the trees in the direction of Bremasdon.

Past the trees and the creepy old cat shrines, the woods thinned out and became fields, lined with fences.

It took him a couple of days before he reached the farmlands bordering Bremasdon. The sun was setting as he hiked past the thatched farmhouses, past fields of sheep and corn.

When Jack saw the towering spires of the Grand College, and the four granite watchtowers that guarded the City walls, he knew he would be there by nightfall.

Tents were dotted around in the fields, with travellers setting up their campfires for the night.

In the distance, groups of pilgrims of all races could be seen, crowding into the gigantic city gates.

Jack found himself among this noisy throng of pilgrims, entering a huge portcullis guarded by the plate-armoured town garrison. They glared at the tourists in the torchlight.

A couple of guards dragged a drunken orc through the crowd, covered in vomit, shouting curses. They threw the orc onto a pile of other drunken wretches who lay at the City walls. The air reeked of ale and the piss of drunks.

Inside the walls, the streets were crowded with drunks and revellers, shouting and singing into the night air. Music could be heard from the taverns. Bards, dancers, and fire-eaters performed in the streets.

Jack breathed in the smell of tobacco smoke and beer, and let out a sigh. After years of drudgery, this was the change of scene he needed.

Two women approached him, wearing fine, very low cut dresses. Jack could tell by the way they did their makeup, that these women were not nobility. He couldn't take his eyes off the immense cleavage of the woman who spoke to him.

"Alright love? Having a good time?"

"I've only just got here."

"Well, we can show you a good time if you like." She winked at him and with a single long fingernail, she tugged at her dress, pulling it down a little, but not enough to reveal her nipple. Jack's heart raced. He didn't see many women like this in Breagor.

"Sorry love," he said. "I've got hardly any money on me."

"Fair enough," she, and the two ladies of the night turned away from him.

"Wait," said Jack. She turned around.

"Do you know anywhere I can stay for the night?"

"Forget it," said the hooker. "The taverns are all full. And where there are rooms, the prices have been hiked up massively. You'll need a lot of coin to get a room tonight. Most people are camping outside."

"Damn," said Jack. "Fine. In that case, can you tell me where The White Horse is?"

"The White Horse?" the hookers laughed. "You can definitely forget about that place. You don't look rich enough to get a room there."

"Doesn't matter," said Jack. "There's someone I need to see over there."

The hooker looked him over, curiously.

"Very well. It's right in the centre of town, in the plaza across from the Lord's estate." She pointed him in the direction ahead of them.

"Thanks. By the way, are you two lace whores?" Jack asked.

The hookers laughed at this compliment. Lace was the highest level a whore could attain.

"If we were lace whores, we would be working The White Horse, or the pleasure boats," she said. "We're silk whores."

"You should come to Breagor. You'd be lace whores in an instant," Jack said. "You'd run the place."

"One problem with that," said the second silk whore. "We'd have to live in Breagor."

They both laughed, before disappearing into the crowds.

The White Horse towered over the crowded plaza. The crowd here was more upmarket, mostly wealthy humans, with a few elves and the occasional long-haired anocot -- the cat-headed people from the south. The only people who were dressed like Jack were the street entertainers.

A stage had been set up with some actors putting on a bawdy slapstick performance for a raucous audience. Jack threaded his way through the crowd towards the entrance of The White Horse.

This ancient tavern towered above the rest of the buildings around the plaza. Light came from the ornate windows above, set into the ancient stonework of the grand building.

Inside, this tavern was nothing like any beer hall Jack was used to. The vast bar area faced a stage, upon which a troupe of actors were performing before an audience of well-dressed nobility from various races -- mostly human, elf and anocot -- seated at tables.

Jack marvelled at the most elaborate lanterns he had ever seen. At each corner of the bar, these tall glass lanterns resembled curvacious nude women, holding various poses. He wondered how they were crafted.

The barkeep was as well-dressed as the crowd. A well-built man in his forties, statuesque with the most finely trimmed moustache Jack had ever seen. He polished glasses while a group of barmaids served the patrons.

The barman eyed Jack warily as he approached the bar.

"What can I get you?"

"I'd like to speak to Arten Breivig, please."

"He's busy at the moment."

"I think he would be very interested in some artwork my client has to sell to him."

"And who is your client?"

"Tell him Crystina Hawkwing sent me."

The barman stopped polishing and narrowed his eyes.

"Wait here."

The barman dropped his towel and went through a door to the side of the bar. While the crowd watched the stage performance, Jack found himself getting lost in the play of fire inside these elaborate glass lanterns.

"Come with me." The barman reappeared behind him and led him through the door near the bar. They went up a spiral staircase to the next floor.

An oak door stood at the end of a corridor lit by hanging lanterns.

"He's just in there," the barman pointed him to the door and returned to the bar area.