The Forge of Gramarye

Aranthir charged to her aid, ignoring the wider course of the battle about him. The bandits were quickly being overwhelmed, and Malgran and Janguld were being driven into a corner. Ilytha shook herself violently, attempting to throw off the goblins on her back. At the same time, she stabbed over her shoulder with her thin sword as best she could, even as they restrained her arms. Another goblin vaulted over the forge with a knife in hand, its jaws open wide in a cruel smile and its fat green cock swinging between its legs.

It arced over the forge and landed in a run, only to be cut short by Aranthir's blade. The longsword sliced straight through the creature's chest and it flopped to the floor in two halves. Just ahead of him, Ilytha had stumbled her way toward the opening of the forge chamber where the waterfall's stream exited. Stabbing over her shoulder, she had wounded one of her attackers, who now fell off her back to the floor. In his rush to aid her, Aranthir made sure to land a heavy footfall on the creature's throat.

It sputtered a yelp and he felt the creature's throat crush underfoot but he paid it little more mind. He reached Ilytha and seized the goblin by the shoulder and pulled. Its claws dug into her white robe, tearing at the fine fabric, but it would not loose its grip. Aranthir smashed the hilt of his blade into the creature's temple and it fell loose, arms and legs hanging limply as it muttered and sputtered in his hand.

He hurled the creature to the ground and stomped on its face. The goblin jerked, its arms and legs flailing upward. They flopped back to the ground and showed no motion except in the rise and fall of its belly.

"Janguld!" Aranthir called. "Back to me!"

The mercenary replied but did not turn to face him, for he was under heavy assault by a throng of goblins.

"Damn," Ilytha hissed, dropping into Tirannion elvish in her moment of stress "We must go to him instead."

"Aye, keep your guard up and--Look out!"

From above, two more goblins dropped from a hole in the ceiling, one onto each of them. Aranthir cut at the creature and carved a gash on its leg, but it clung to his shoulders and set about beating him with a crude wooden club. Aranthir found his longsword quite useless in such close quarters, and reached for the poignard in his belt, only to find it was no longer there.

Raising his arms up above his head to shield off the strikes of the club, he backed toward the wall hoping to bash the little monster against the stone. He ran backwards into Ilytha, apparently hoping to do the same, and their goblins screeched in confusion as they became entangled. Aranthir and the loremaster became entangled as well, and his foot slipped from the flat stone of the forge floor and into the slick rock of the stream. He flailed about for something to arrest his fall and caught only Ilytha's sleeve.

He heard the goblin screech, the loremaster cry out, and then the squeak of his boots losing their footing on the stone.

They plunged into the cold stream and were swept away.

They tumbled down a steep, slick tunnel carved through the earth. In the deepening darkness, Aranthir heard Ilytha cry out, the words to a spell form and die on her lips, and then the crack of bone as they struck off the rocks. The goblin about his shoulders screeched a hideous wail and clawed at him as the rushing stream battered them against stone walls. Aranthir fought against the battering rocks, spraying water, and flailing claws of the goblin to no avail.

Swept down the tunnel to a precipice, they were carried over its edge and into the dark. Aranthir felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as they plummeted to a certain doom. For what seemed an eternity, they fell through the impenetrable black, goblins and elves crying out in terror as one.

They crashed into water. By some stroke of Apliss' favor, Aranthir landed atop the goblin, the little wretch breaking his fall. But they were not altogether saved, for beneath the water lay a rocky floor to the subterranean pool, and Aranthir felt the breath blasted from his body as he crashed against them. When his breath went out, the cold water came rushing in. He choked, spat, and gagged, his hands and feet scrabbling about on the slick stony floor while the rushing current pushed him deep into the earth.

His hands found purchase on the rock, and with a mighty gasp for air, he pulled his head up above water struggling against the weight of his armored and waterlogged clothes.

"Ilytha!" he cried, casting wild looks into the darkness. He could see nothing. "Damn it all," he muttered, a spell of illumination forming in his mind. He called for light and a softly glowing orb of cool white light winked into existence. Aranthir looked around. They were in the depths of a low, narrow cavern with the thunder of the waterfall booming from one and the rushing river echoing up from the other. The goblin that had been about his shoulders drifted by limply on the current, face down in the water. Aranthir spared it not a second thought, his eyes searching the tempestuous surface of the underground river for any sign of the loremaster.

The surface roiled and burst upwards, revealing the soaked elven woman as it retreated. Ilytha gasped for air, her long golden hair now dark with water, and her bun fallen loose about her shoulders. Strands of dark gold wrapped about her face and neck like a noose. Thick black mud was smeared across her fair face and the left side of her body. She steadied herself against a slippery rock with her offhand and looked about, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath.

"Thank the gods for your light," she heaved, "I could not tell which way was up without it."

"Are you alright?" Aranthir asked with more concern that he thought himself capable of after the argument above. Ilytha slowly managed a nod.

"I think so." She looked down into the water. "The goblin's dead. I ran him through, even though I could barely breathe. But the little wretch is no more."

"They will get no burial down here," Aranthir replied grimly. "We had best be moving before the spirits of the restless dead call us to join them." He cast a look up the stony riverbed whence they had come. In the light, he could see the white mist of the waterfall at the end of the tunnel. "Come on. We can't be far."

They picked their way up the tunnel from rock to rock in waist-deep water, all the while struggling against the strong current trying to wash them further into the bowels of the earth. Aranthir's globe of light followed them, casting long shadows up the tunnel. The cold was beginning to get to Aranthir. His clothes were soaked, his armor turned chill. Wet hair hung down into his eyes and he could see Ilytha laboring under the weight of her clothes as well.

The mist grew thicker and Aranthir felt droplets form on his face. The deepening cold was unwelcome, but he reassured himself it was a sign that the waterfall was close. The roar of the waterfall grew louder and spray thicker until at last they pulled themselves from the tunnel and into a domed chamber where the waterfall plunged into a dark pool from high above. The roar of the falls seemed quieter here, and Aranthir saw that in many places the walls were caked in the same dark mud that Ilytha was covered in, the soft, wet earth deadening the drone of water. Arched over the tunnel mouth was a great tree limb, fallen through the subterranean stream long ago and wedged here since. Where its branches had once blocked the flow of water, they were worn away, but the rest of the tree remained.

"This stream must lead back to surface eventually," Ilytha mused, her fingers brushing through her mud-caked hair. "I wonder what else has found its way down here?"

"I am more interested in how we might climb back up," Aranthir replied. "That tunnel looks steep, and there is much water coming down it."

Ilytha looked away, toward the edges of the chamber. There a number of passages led away from the chamber, all narrow and twisting. Aranthir frowned. He disliked the thought of getting lost in them, and some looked too narrow for them to pass through. And there were always the goblins to worry about. They would have a warren nearby, he knew. Though who knew if they were prowling these tunnels. He feared an ambush here more than above, where they had been taken completely unawares.

"We cannot climb that," Ilytha said, looking up the waterfall. She looked to the same passages that Aranthir had eyed. "We must brave the twisting labyrinth instead."

The thought was unpleasant to Aranthir, but he saw little other way. Together, they dove into the confusing tangle of tunnels.               They soon became lost. Twice, Aranthir thought that he was ascending toward the surface, only to come upon a place that he already knew and realize he had approached it from below. The only constant was confusion and the sound of the roaring waterfall from somewhere nearby. He began to grow frustrated at the lack of progress, and Ilytha was not helping his mood.

The loremaster moved without hurry, sometimes stopping to examine roots or stones protruding from the wall. Her face was caked in mud, but she seemed unconcerned about that or the mud on her robes. Aranthir cared little for her appearance, but her preoccupation with their surroundings and disinterest in their escape ground on his nerves.

At last, he thought they were making progress. They were in a new passage and seemed to be ascending again, but Aranthir's hopes were dashed when they emerged back into the waterfall chamber.

"Damn it all! This maze must have been built by Felitharna herself to torment those who blunder into it." He slammed his fist against the stone wall and immediately regretted it. Grimacing, he turned to Ilytha. The elf regarded him with slight amusement, which only angered him further.

"To Tarnilaen with this maze," he growled. "We came down the waterfall, we can go back up it as well."

He splashed into the pool up to his waist and waded out to the base of the waterfall. The roaring of water filled his ears as he searched for a handhold. He could dimly hear Ilytha calling to him from the shore, but he ignored her. Far above him he could see the opening where the water rushed through the rock to plummet into the cavern's pool. It was perhaps forty feet up a nearly sheer face slick with water. Aranthir would not have tried it unless he was desperate or mad, but on this occasion he was both.

Hand over hand, he went up the wet rock. The spray from the waterfall fell heavy onto his back, glittering in the light of his magical orb.

His hand slipped. Aranthir grabbed for the wall again, but could not find purchase on the wet stone.

He fell.

The waterfall rushed by beside him as he flailed about for a handhold in vain. His glowing orb grew smaller above him, and then he crashed into the water. The water roared about him, the orb high above distorting in his eyes. He thudded against the mud, feeling its cold embrace all around his body. He sputtered with frustration in the water and hauled himself to his feet, still submerged beneath the cold surface.

Hauling himself above water on a boulder, he thanked the gods he had not landed there. All about where the waterfall plunged into the pool were strewn heavy boulders and only by the grace of Apliss had he and Ilytha avoided breaking themselves on the rocks as the goblins had. With his waist about water, he shook himself off like a wet dog. Through the water clinging to his eyes, he could see Ilytha on the shore, doubled over in laughter.

"I told you that wouldn't work," she called over the roar of the falls. "Are you alright?"

Aranthir scowled in red fury and plunged back into the water. Under the weight of his armor, he swam through the shallows back to shore where he hauled himself out. Ilytha had covered her mouth with one hand, but her smile betrayed her around the edges and her belly still shook with laughter.

"I suppose you think us being stuck down here is terribly amusing," Aranthir fumed.

"Take your laughs where you can get them, Aranthir." She raised a finger to dab at the mud on his face. "Now you look more like I expected a mercenary to look," she said, stifling another laugh. Aranthir scowled and pushed her hand away.

"You look worse than I do," he grumbled.

Ilytha touched a hand to her own face and let out a small chuckle.

"I had not even noticed," she said. "Well, if we are stuck down here, I might as well clean myself up." Aranthir turned a quizzical eye on her, but she paid him no mind and instead knelt and removed her boots. His breath caught and he stood speechless as she stripped off her soaked robe and cast it aside. Naked, she waded into the cold cavern water, her dark golden hair falling loose as she pulled out her pins to let it loose.

The water rose up to her waist, and Ilytha spread herself forward, swimming out into the deeper portion of the pool with strokes of her long, white arms. Standing on the shore, Aranthir felt his heart quicken and his cock grow hard under his armor. Her pale form shone in the light of his magical globe, her body slender and smooth, glistening with cold droplets of water. Her hair trailed behind her in a wide fan, giving the appearance of a strange fish in the pool.

Turning herself over, she treaded water as she looked back to Aranthir on the shore.

"Won't you come in? Or would you prefer to wait until the mud dries on your face?" she raised a hand to her face and wiped it clean. Now free of mud, her white face was even more beautiful than he had judged it before. Beneath the water, he could see the distorted image of her breasts, floating beautiful and shapely, weightless in the water. Aranthir's cock was hard beneath his armor.

Finding a rock beneath her feet, Ilytha stood herself up out of the water, raising her breasts above the waterline that Aranthir might have a better view. The chill made the white of her skin and pink of her nipples starker in their contrast. Even from this distance, Aranthir could see her skin rising with gooseflesh bumps. She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Well?"

He considered the offer. Casting an eye to the waterfall, he wondered how he might climb it again.

"You've tried it once already," Ilytha reminded him, calling over the roar of the falls. "Are you so eager to try it again?"

"I was almost out," he countered. She laughed to herself.

"You almost broke your neck. At least clean off the mud from the last time before you get yourself dirty again."

Aranthir sighed internally. His cock was doing his thinking now. He set down his pack and began stripping off his clothes and armor. Ilytha lowered herself back into the water until only her eyes were showing above the water, but he could tell she was smiling.

When the last of his armor clanged to the floor, he gingerly began to wade naked into the water. Its icy grip crept up his legs until it reached his hard cock and he heard himself gasp. Ilytha raised her head above the water again to call to him.

"The cold does not shrink your cock. I am impressed."

"Give it time," Aranthir grimaced, and she laughed again. The water deepened and he dove forward into the water. His hand brushed the muddy bottom before he rose up on the boulder before Ilytha, his hard cock swinging before him.

"Nice of you to join me," she purred.

"We should find a way out of here," he muttered, suddenly bashful. Ilytha shrugged.

"The battle will be over by now. If they are dead, they are dead. If they life, we can find them. In the meantime, you and I are here, our clothes are over there, and you have mud on your face. Come, I will clean you up a bit."

He knelt beside her and Ilytha reached up to wipe the mud from his face. His cock stiffened at her touch. It had been many years since he last touch the delicate touch of an elven lady, and a flood of memories came rushing back, most good. He exulted in the touch of her silky smooth skin against his cheek, half-closing his eyes at the sensation.

Ilytha grinned at him, flicking the last of the mud from her hands into the water. "Much better," she murmured. "Now you look less the mercenary and more the scion of a high house."

Aranthir gave her a bemused look. "You do me much flattery."

"Do I?" she mused. "Perhaps I should do you more."

She leaned in and kissed him. Aranthir breathed in with shock, the sensation of her red lips against his overpowering his other thoughts. Her hands closed in about his head and Ilytha moaned into his mouth. Recovering from the shock, he returned her embrace with passion. Their lips locked together, tongues entwined, and bodies pressed against each other. Aranthir felt the elf's nipples, hard with the cold, press into his chest and tried to keep from coming already.

She kissed him up and down his neck, entangling her fingers in his hair even as he grabbed fistfuls of her golden locks. Ilytha's soft hands caressed his sides until they reached his waist, where she grabbed hold of his cock. He tingled everywhere with her touch and as she wrapped her fingers around his manhood, Aranthir gasped in ecstatic delight. He bit her lip, harder than he meant to such that he feared he might draw blood.

He unclenched his jaw and Ilytha pulled away. But she was not deterred, instead staring into his eyes with her beautiful blue orbs shining in the light of the floating globe. She smiled, a crooked smile that reached up her left cheek as she began to stroke him. He sat back on the boulder, suddenly unaware of the water's chill or the pounding roar of the waterfall nearby.

She stroked him near to climax before Aranthir pushed him away. He brushed Ilytha's hair back over her shoulder and bid her to lay against the cold rock. She did as bidden, displaying her nude body before him, one leg to either side of him. She was a vision to behold in the soft white light of the magical orb. Her small, shapely breasts called to him, and he crawled forward to put his mouth on them. She moaned with pleasure as he suckled at her breasts in turn. They were warm and soft, the smooth flesh playing against his tongue like no other woman he had lain with. He nuzzled against her breasts and Ilytha stroked his short hair with one hand, the other pinching her nipple for him to kiss again.

Turning his attention from her chest, he ran his admiring fingers down the hairless expanse of smooth white skin above her pink sex.

"Beautiful," he breathed, and Ilytha gave a soft snort of appreciation. He kissed her between the legs, a passionate embrace of his lips against hers, and she moaned in surprised delight. She was warm and soft between her legs and Aranthir kissed her sex with the hunger of a starving man. His tongue caressed the folds of pink skin and slid inside her.

Ilytha moaned, arching her back as her fingers clutched at his hair. Her bare feet scrabbled on the rock, toes curling with pleasure. Her chest heaved with the motion of her back, setting her breasts shaking. Aranthir clutched at them as he pleasured her with his tongue, kneading her soft flesh in his hands as he twirled his tongue around her sex. Ilytha moaned louder, her cries of delight echoing off the rocks until at last she pushed him away.

"Enough," she moaned, her eyes hungry for more, "Fuck me!"

Aranthir did not hesitate to comply. He crawled atop her and thrust his cock into her warm purse, which she received with another moan of pleasure. Her arms wrapped around his body, nails digging into his back as she began to grind her hips against him in motion with the thrusts of his cock. He kissed her mouth again, stifling her moans with his lips. He felt them in his chest, however, as her moans reverberated through him, growing in intensity with each thrust. She broke the kiss and bit down on his shoulder, crying out with each thrust into her warm and wet sex. Aranthir thrust into her again and again, feeling himself drawing closer to the moment when he would come inside her.