The Ritual of the Sword and the Sheath

"But how will I know what do in a real fight, Sir Kor?" Eustace asked.

"You've had a full year of martial drill and sparring in our Order," Sir Kor replied, "even if you don't know what to do, your muscles and reflexes will."

"Maybe. But not all of us were born on a shield," Eustace muttered.

"I was found on a shield," Sir Kor chuckled, "And enough with the doubt Eustace, you're a squire of The Order of the People's Fist; it's unbecoming."

"Yes, Sir Kor." He studied the massive half-orc knight-errant. Sir Kor was, in fact, found on a shield at the doorstep of the Order as a bawling fresh-born years ago. On the shield was the Orcish rune "Kor,"which meant strength. The knight was close to seven feet tall with a massive build, thick black hair shorn in a severe, high and tight military cut and deep, brown eyes. A jagged scar ran from his nose across his left cheek. He wore scale mail crafted from the hide of a white dragon. Raised by the Order, he had become a powerful knight errant, sometimes called "The Wilderness Paladin" because his quests took him to daunting, remote areas where the elements were often more dangerous than the foe.

The two had been traveling on foot in the Tangled Wood for three days toward Oakdale to investigate rumors of a cult of Beelzebub. The forest was solemn this late in the year, with just a few bronze leaves clinging to boughs and the birght, cheerful birds had already moved south, draining the forest of their color and song.

The masters of the order had insisted that it was time for Kor to take a squire. Sir Kor told the masters that the boy looked capable enough but wouldn't be able to keep up with him scaling a cliff, swimming in full armor up-stream through white-water, carrying three wounded comrades -at the same time- off the field of battle under a hail of arrows, or slinging a lame donkey over his shoulders and trudging through twenty miles of waste deep snow while soothing the beast, and so on and such. As the half-orc cataloged his feats of strengths like routine chores the masters glanced sideways at each other. The knight was talking about swimming half a mile up-stream in full armor as no more a task than carrying some wood to the hearth. He continued cataloging super-human feats the squire would struggle with ("He's a healthy lad, clearly, but probably would need to take a break every mile if carrying a donkey in waste-deep snow"). The head master cleared his throat and interrupted the knight. The grizzled commander of the Order pointed out that nobody could keep up with Sir Kor—period- and that with his experience and renown, it was time to take a squire. Sir Kor yielded to duty.

"Have you thought about which house you will join, The Swords or The Shields?" Kor asked.

"I want to return to Rockville and plant roots as a Shield, Sir Kor. There is a girl there. . . " the squire blushed and looked away.

"Part of me is jealous, Eustace. Being an orphan, I guess the errancy of our order's Swords came naturally. It is good you have a community you cherish and want to protect," and the knight patted the lad on the back. "When I was. . . . ." Kor stopped speaking and froze, raising his hand. The cart track they were on curled around the side of a hill through twisted, ancient oaks. Eustace swallowed nervously as the cry of a woman came from around the curve.

Kor nodded grimly at his squire and unslung his two-handed sword, Storm-Bringer. He'd found the magical blade in a cavern under a glacier. A young White Dragon named Ice Fang had claimed the lair and was terrorizing the nearby hamlet of Frostdale. The blade was cloudy grey and when light struck it a certain way small veins of silver-blue mithril flashed like lightning against an overcast sky.

The two cautiously approached the sharp curve and peered around a stout oak. In the middle of the cart track a woman was naked on all fours. A simple linen robe, clearly ripped off, lay beside her next to a toppled wicker basket full of herbs, mushrooms and forest tubers. A man in black leather armor rutted into her from behind, holding her head down. Two sinister looking men stood above her, stroking their cocks. The woman was amazingly comely and slim. Her skin was as smooth and pale as ivory in moonlight. Silky, raven hair spilled over one side of her back and shoulder. She grunted with every thrust of the bandit and her face was contorted. Eustace had never seen a naked woman. Her breasts did not dangle like swaying teats; they were firm round orbs that stayed close to her chest and jiggled as the man rutted into her. The brigand held her head against the dirt and hoisted her rump high in the air. Her buttocks were astonishingly round and firm. Eustace realized with horror that the thug was violating her butt-hole. Punctuating the scene, a crow perched on a low limb squawking loudly and flapping its wings.

"Take that cock, bitch," the thug taunted. She only grunted in response.

Sir Kor stepped from behind the tree. Eustace followed with his shield and long sword. The lad was trembling the slightest bit and his mouth was dry and tasted of copper.

"Boss!" one of the men said.

"You lot will have to wait your turn," the leader said, turning to Kor and Eustace.

Kor knew there was no point in talking. He strode forward- a vision of martial might and determination with a sword that was clearly magical. The leader dismounted the maiden and quickly pulled up his pants while the others stowed their cocks and drew throwing axes. The woman slumped to the ground.

"Rawwrrrr!" and Kor raised his blade and charged. Eustace hesitated just a moment and then did his best battle cry and charged as well.

The two bandits let fly their throwing axes. Kor easily deflected one with Storm-Bringer but heard a meaty thunk next to him.

". . . Sir Kor?" Eustace's voice was feeble and confused. The boy turned to look at Kor, a throwing axe imbedded snuggly in the middle of his forehead, so tight only a trickle of blood seeped down to the squire's nose. His eyes were crossed upward and he held his shield and sword limply at his sides.

"NO!" and Kor closed the distance to the brigands. He swung Storm-Bringer and decapitated the first, then pivoted and impaled the other with a back thrust. Distant thunder rolled from the afternoon sky, soft and brooding, a sequence of melancholy, quiet rumbles. Every time the blade killed a foe far away thunder sounded, even in clear skies, even underground.

The leader had drawn a rapier and curved dagger. Clearly an experienced combatant, he squared off with the massive half-orc paladin. Eustace lurched forward a few steps, his eyes crossed, dragging the tip of his sword in the dirt.

The brigand feinted and landed a small slash on the paladin's thigh before darting away. The thug was slippery and fast as a mongoose. He feinted again and slashed, but Kor parried. They circled each other warily. Meanwhile, Eustace had fallen to his knees, eyes still crossed, and was pawing weakly at the axe in his forehead; his breathing was rapid, shallow and irregular.

The man came in for another slash, but Kor read his feint and with his formidable reach landed a pommel strike on the thug's head. The bandit's guard was down for just a second but that was all Kor needed. He swung a mighty blow, beaming the scoundrel's head with the side of Storm-Bringer. The foe fell to his knees.

Holding Storm-Bringer in one hand, Sir Kor lifted the man by the throat with the other, hoisting him until the thug's feet dangled two feet off the ground and danced in the air. The bandit clawed at Kor's adamantine grip uselessly. Kor saw the amulet of the cult of Beelzebub on the man's neck and he roared, "Did you know I was coming? Were you sent?!"

The thug tried to spit words. Kor roared again, "Tell me!"

"A deal. . . ." the man gasped in a strangled voice, "it was. . . " suddenly he gurgled foamy red sputum and went limp as the woman roared and stuck a knife through his back. She was holding her robe with one hand to cover herself and sobbing.

Kor tossed the man aside. He couldn't blame the woman for killing her rapist, but just wished she would have waited. The paladin turned toward Eustace. The squire had fallen on his side, his eyes open, staring into the abyss- no calmness in death, but a look of bewilderment and pain. Sir Kor closed the boy's eyes, removed the axe from the squire's head and whispered a prayer. The woman was on her knees sobbing.

Kor knelt beside her, "are you okay, miss?" but then winced at the stupidity of the question.

"My ankle," she said turning toward him, "I can barely walk."

Kor was stunned by her piercing, beautiful green eyes set in a round, symmetrical, flawless face. Her eyes were pools of liquid emerald.

"I am Kor, of the Order of the People's Fist."

"I am Marissa, a druidess. My cottage is not far from here. You're wounded!" she said gently touching his leg. The rapier had found more purchase in his flesh than he realized. "If you help me to my cottage I can treat your wound." She looked at Eustace and lost her composure, sniffling and sobbing, "Your poor squire, he died defending my honor."

"He perished with valor and duty," Kor said quietly.

The crow landed nearby, bowed and spread its wings, then hopped over to Marissa and made cooing sounds. "This is my friend, Amber," and she tried to smile as she introduced the crow to the Wilderness Paladin but her lips trembled and she stifled a sob.

Kor nodded. "We will take Eustace—my squire- with us and make his pyre tonight," he said solemnly. He planted the boy's sword where he fell, as was the Order's custom, and wrapped the fallen squire in his storm cloak while the druidess tried to wrestle her torn robe around herself. It was in tatters. She was barely over five feet tall, weighed no more than seven stone and appeared to be in her mid-twenties. The torn robe exposed one of her ample, round breasts. Its dainty nipple was slightly upturned. The ripped linen also show-cased lean, muscular thighs and toned calves.

With Kor dragging the dead squire in his cloak, the petite druidess tried to use one of his arms as a support, but after taking five minutes to walk a score of feet, Kor begged her forgiveness and she consented to be thrown over his shoulder. The tattered garment fell away and he found her soft yet firm buttock rubbing against his cheek. Its warmth and smoothness was a balm on his face. The scent of her sex reached his nose—half orcs were known to have four times the smell of humans. Her pussy's scent was floral, sweet and distracting. No matter how he tried to adjust things, the torn robe fell away. And so they proceeded, with Amber the crow circling overhead and the beautiful, soft white skin of her buttock against his face. After a couple of hours she directed him to a side path off the cart trail. Kor was relieved. Hours of her delicious rump jiggling against his head had driven him to distraction. Several times he had banished the thought of spreading her pale buttocks and penetrating her anus with his tongue. As the slanting orange rays of the autumn sunset shown through bare oaks, he saw a humble cottage in a clearing with a trickle of smoke coming from its river-rock chimney. It was made of rough-mortared logs and a thatched roof. It had a stout wooden door, several small windows and there were carefully tended plots of herbs around it.

Kor shouldered open the door and stepped into the cottage, dragging Eustace's body. It was one big room. He gently deposited the druidess on a deep, large bed covered in furs. Kor, used to taking charge, stoked the fire, tossing a couple of logs on it and unslung his backpack. He shut the door against the harsh Autumn wind and placed Storm-Bringer against the wall. There was a large hickory table. He picked up his dead squire and placed him, supine, on the table, folding the lad's hands on his chest. The crow had landed on one of the open windows and perched preening itself.

Marissa rose off the bed and hobbling said, "Sir Kor, please sit, please sit. I am your host, after all. Let me get you refreshment before we attend to your squire and your wound." She limped to the cupboard near the table and removed some items. She poured water from a large gourd into s simple wooden cup. Lastly, she lit some incense on the table near the dead squire. The maiden hobbled toward the knight with the cup of water.

He took the cup and holding it, asked, "What circle of druids did you say you were sworn to, Marissa?"

"Why, the Circle of the Forest. . . of. . . "

Sir Kor was fast. He shoved the druidess roughly and leapt toward the door, grabbing Storm-Bringer. Marissa hit the table with force, spun and fell to the floor. The knight was two steps from her and already about to bring down the mithril blade when she grasped her small moon-stone amulet with one hand, made a sign with her other hand and whispered two dark words.

The Knight froze. He felt his mind assaulted by the spell. He tried to mutter a ward, but couldn't remember the words and then his mind went blank. But just for a moment. It cleared and he was standing in his best friend Marissa's cottage.

She stood, breathing a sigh of relief, "It was the limp, wasn't it?"

"You were favoring the right on the trail, but favoring the left once we got here. That and the Korpothion incense," Kor nodded, smiling.

"If you had resisted my charm spell, I'd be dead right now" Marissa said, shaken.

"You would!" Kor laughed loudly, "you would be dead!" It seemed absurd that he would have killed his beautiful, charming friend but he sensed he would have. . . for a reason he couldn't get his head around.

"Well, we had better get you all sorted out before this spell wears off, hadn't we?" she said, and she took his hand and led him to a small alchemy table in the corner of the cabin. He let himself be led, shaking his head at his silliness.

Marissa retrieved several pinches of pink powder and put them in a plain wooden cup of water. The water fizzed for a moment. "Drink this, Sir Kor."

"Thank you."

"Thank you, mistress," she corrected.

"Right! Thank you, mistress" and he drank a large gulp from the brew. His head clouded but he also felt a sort of fire stir.

Marissa was holding the small cone of incense on a pewter dish and held it before him, "Breath deeply, Sir Kor."

"Yes, mistress" and the knight inhaled deeply. The dizzying scent was rich as bacon and he felt tendrils of it coiling in his brain, making him pliable. She wafted more at him and held it under his nose. He breathed deeply several times. Suddenly intoxicated, he walked over and sat on the plush bed. "You're a witch, right?" he asked trying to shake his head clear.

"Of course," she said, "blessed be The Three and The Goddess."

"I knew it!" Kor said happily, "so what happens now, mistress?"

"I'm going to take you as my lover," and she shrugged off the tattered robe, revealing her petite, naked body and spinning slowly in front of the paladin. Everything about her oozed sexuality and power. Her luxurious, glossy black hair flowed to just above her round, tight ass. Large, firm breasts—oversized for her petite frame- stood above her flat, toned abdomen. Her sex was waxed bald and glistened with arousal in the fire-light, a gold ring piercing her clit. She licked her lips and Kor noticed a sky-pearl stud in her tongue. Her arms and legs coursed with lean muscle and her skin was impossibly smooth, white and perfect.

"You're beautiful," the paladin observed, "and fit, but I could snap your neck with barely a flinch," and Kor chuckled. He didn't know why he thought of hurting her just now. Silly!

"You could have. Your love of Storm-Bringer is also a weakness," she said in a buttery voice while running her hands along her bare flesh. "You could have easily smashed my head on the table or twisted my arms, but you went for the blade instead."

Part of him wondered how she knew the sword's name, but he shrugged and said, "I hadn't thought of it like that."

With Kor sitting upright on the bed, she wantonly walked toward him and her emerald eyes looked at him as a huntress regards a hare. She straddled him with a naked thigh on each of the knight's armored legs and put the wooden cup to his lips saying, "shhh. . . enough of that, finish the brew." He did as he was told and the liquid made him feel woozy, but also exhilarated. She tossed the cup aside and kissed him deeply. Kor had made love only once, to a Shield-Maiden after The Battle of Three Peaks and he had been blind drunk on Dwarven spirits. He clumsily kissed the witch, more slobbering on her than anything else. She giggled and pulled away, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"No lover, that's not how you do it. Let me show you. Don't do anything but let me kiss you" she cooed.

"Yes mistress," he said, disappointed he had failed her. She tentatively, lovingly flicked her tongue on his lips and nibbled them, gently pulling with her teeth and then probed his mouth, flicking his tongue with hers. He melted. Next, she kissed his eyes and traced the tip of her tongue along the furrow of a scar on his cheek.

A voice from the window said, "I'd say the incense and the powder has him now, charmed or not." Kor looked over and noticed a small naked lady with bat wings on the window where the crow had been. She was about two feet in height with the head the size of an apple and sat dangling her legs while her barbed tail swished casually. She had pink hair in a pixie cut and were she human-sized she would be every bit as fuckable as the mistress, Kor thought.

Still straddling the half orc, Marissa pulled down his lower lids and examined each eye. The pupils were massively dilated. Standing, she said, "You're right, it's the Korpothian. The orc blood makes him more susceptible to it."

"But that's why he noticed it," the Imp said, "you were sloppy." The witch shot the diminutive figure a look that made it flinch. Kor thought it was funny they were talking about him like he wasn't there.

Turning back to Kor she said in a velvety voice, "On your feet, lover, let's get you out of this armor."

Kor stood passively as she began to unbuckle his dragon-scale armor. "So, you're with the cult of Beelzebub; it was a trap?" he asked.

"I'm not with the Cult, lover" she said, kindly, "they hired my services and asked me to craft a spell for you- well, on you."

"But those men were with the Cult," Kor continued.

"Oh yes, Derrick and his two brutes; I don't recall their names. They came here a few days ago to lay in wait for you. Rude, impertinent and disrespectful, at first. But after two days of my brew and attention they were completely under my spell, just as you are now. Last night I let them fuck my ass for hours, each in turn, over and over. They groveled to have my pussy, but I told them I was saving it for you, for our covenant," the witch gently stroked Kor's neck and cheeks as she talked and closed her eyes at the memory of the men, one after the other, shooting their cum deep in her ass, the seed of one lubricating the next man's cock and then one fucking the cum of another back into her ass as it seeped out.

"Are you going to kill me, mistress?" Kor asked, stifling a yawn.

"No, lover, they want you to make it to Oakdale, but they want you gelded so they can embarrass and humiliate The Order."

Kor nodded and helped her take off the rest of his armor until he stood in the firelight clad only in leather breeches. Marissa marveled at the specimen in front of her. His shoulders were as broad as a door-way and his torso tapered with ripped muscles to his waist. His pectoral muscles were the size of stone blocks and just as hard. His upper arms were thicker than her thighs and knotted with veins.