tagSci-Fi & FantasyThe Squire and the Succubus (P)

The Squire and the Succubus (P)


The door to the bar opened and for a few moments, Vela wondered what exactly had gone wrong in her life to bring her here. Sam may have felt the same thing, but she was too busy tottering from side to side, her eyes looking off in two different directions. Vela had gotten her friend out of the crash armor that the logical beings of Mechanicus had strapped her into and led her to the nearest doorway that hadn't gone straight into a home or a burned out slum, and now Vela was starting to regret that decision.

And lots of others.

The interior of the bar was a low, smoky place. Music trailed form the corner of the room, where a three armed hideous mutant wrapped in ragged cloth was playing a strange instrument that appeared to be mostly string and piano wire and produced a sound not too dissimilar from the eerie howls of the damned. The occupants of the bar ranged from rough looking humans to scaled, hunch-backed creatures with short wings and a color pattern that went from black to blue depending on the beast in question. There was a large suit of armor that Vela had been sure was empty until it knocked back a mug of ale, which pattered down the inside of its chest plate and then dripped through its boots.

Sam shook his head, putting her palm to her forehead. Her fingers glowed and she gasped. "Ow! Okay. I'm good now."

"Not going to walk into walls anymore?" Vela asked, glancing at her. Sam stood straighter, her palms going to the only set of clothing she was still wearing – her sword belt – and adjusting it. She focused and clothes formed around her body, shifted into being using the same skill she used to ape the appearances of other peoples. There were serious advantages to being a half succubus. Together, the two women advanced into the center of the bar, standing atop the large grille that had been planted on a short dais that made up the middle of the chamber. Looking down between the metal bars, Sam saw nothing but blackened metal. It wasn't a brazier or some kind of barrier between this level and another. It seemed mystifying.

But as there appeared to be two large, muscular human-dog fusions sitting in the corner playing chess against one another while drinking, Sam was willing to accept that mystifying was the modus operandi for this place.

"Okay," she said. "Dart said that she'd come to Sigil-"

"And this is Sigil, the fay said so," Vela said. "At least, I think they did."

"Oh, good!" Sam grinned at Vela. "Wait, fay? You were hanging with the fay?"

"Yup!" Vela said. "They said it was a self-contained demi-plane in the plane of Limbo. Which I think is...chaos or something? Anyway, I became their Queen and Lord Cocksmith."

"Whaaat?" Sam wailed. "You ended up in the fun dimension. I ended up in the dimension of bullshit and red tape." She crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head. "No. Focus, Sam."

Vela coughed, covering her mouth with one hand. "I notice you still managed to get laid, despite ending up in the law of pure order."

Sam shot a quick glare at Vela. "So," she said, her voice acid. "We need to find the bar that Dart said that she goes too a lot. Uh, she called it something." She snapped her fingers. "The Burning...something?"

"Burning Man?" Vela asked.

Sam snorted. "Yeah. Like someone would want to go to a place called Burning Man. Talk about morbid."

She shook her head slowly – and by doing so, she spotted the bartender. Sam strode towards him and wondered, for a moment, why he was tucked off in the corner of this place. If she had been designing the bar, she'd have put his work place in the middle, so people could get the beer easier. She slapped her palms onto the counter and looked at the man. He was short, squat, roundish – like a walking pumpkin plant, though Sam realized that that kind of analogy could get confusing in a place where dogs played chess. The looked at her quizzically, arching a single white, bushy eyebrow, his arm moving in a motion that made Sam open her mouth, then close it and cock her head to the side.

"Yeah?" he asked. Sam realized that he wasn't masturbating. He was cleaning a cup with a rag. Right. She flushed and coughed.

"I'm looking for a, uh, a bar," she said.

"Well, you've found that dark," the bartender said, his voice so dry that Sam was fairly sure he had called her an idiot. Somehow.

"I'm looking for a specific bar!" Sam amended, leaning forward over the bar counter. "I'm looking for the, uh, Burning Man or the Burning Corpse or something."

"The Smoldering Corpse Bar," the man said. "Well, I've got a shiny for you, Clueless. Yer in the Smoldering Corpse." He set his mug down and spread his hands wide. Sam looked around the bar again – noticing that several of the winged, scaled creatures that had been sitting in the back were watching her intently. She gulped and waved at them, trying to seem friendly. Looking back at the bartender, she rubbed her hands together.

"Well, great. Do you know Dart the half-elven wizard?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah, totally," the man said, nodding. "She's a regular. I like her – she spends her jink and doesn't bring her bullshit here." He grinned.

"Well, uh, I'm looking for her," Sam said, trying to lean on the countertop of the bar casually. She wiggled her eyebrows at the bartender. The bartender looked less than amused. He picked his glass up again and started to rub the cloth along it.

"I have a quick question," Vela cut into the conversation. "Why is it called the Smoldering Corpse?"

"Oh, it was named after the central attraction," the bartender said.

Sam's eyes bugged. "You set people on fire here!?"

"No, just the one," the bartender said. "Some barmy wizard – got his ass chained to a portal to the plane of fire and just kinda floated there for a few years, burning. Then some...some..." his face twisted. "Wandering adventurer just wandered in and doused the main draw to this place." He sighed. "Fortunately, by that point, enough fiends came here and liked the bub. Nice thing about the Lowers?" He grinned. "They're immortal. They hate to change unless they gotta. So, even with the big draw gone, they kept coming."

"Uh, yes, wonderful," Sam said, looking a bit queasy. "So, about Dart..."

"Clueless," the bartender said. "You got a bigger problem than finding Dart. Dart can take care of herself." He jerked his chin. "You've got Baatezu."

"Gods bless?" Sam asked, wondering if the man's tongue had suddenly gone into convulsions. Then a scaled palm slapped down on her shoulder and spun her around to bring her nose to snout with one of the green scaled lizard-creatures that she had waved at earlier. He was smiling toothily – and Sam didn't even want to know how she could tell his gender just by scent – and yet, for some reason, Sam felt nothing but palpiable menace oozing from his every scales. His two friends looked just as nasty, their scales a dark black.

"T'narri," the lizard-creature hissed. "Let usssss buy you a drink."

"Uh, uh, uh," Sam said, holding up her hands carefully. "I don't want to cause any trouble, Mr, uh-"

"Abissssssshai," the lizard-creature hissed, tongue flicking out. Its head tilted backwards and it looked down its snout at her. "We are Abissssssshai, T'narri."

"Oh, uh, well, I'm not a, uh, one of those," Sam stammered, feeling like she had blundered into something very dangerous. She gulped. "But I think that you've gotten me confused with, uh, something else."

The bartender leaned forward, whispering. "You're a succubus, ain't ya?"

"OH!" Sam's eyes widened. She beamed at the Abishai, knowing how to solve this. "Don't worry. I'm a Paladin!"

The loud smack of palm meeting face was the only sound in the bar for a moment as everyone who had been watching the gathering tension looked at Sam, mouths agape. The Abishai looked at his friends, then back at Sam. He bobbed his head.

"Very good," he said, happily.

The next thing Sam knew, her back was hitting the bottles behind the bartop, shattering them into a thousand shards of glass, coating her body with flame as trilling war-cries burst from every single fiend in the entire bar. Sam hit the ground and noticed the bartender was making good on his escape – he had flung open a trap door underneath one of the stools behind the bar and was scrambling down it. Vela had flung herself behind the bar and was curling up – which seemed to be fine, the Abishai looked like they were only interested in Sam. Fine. Sam could handle that.

She kicked herself to her feet, sword in hand. She slashed at one of the demons and sent its hand flying in a spray of black blood. The black scaled creature howled in pain, gutteral words streaming from its mouth. Sam didn't recognize them, but she saw the demons all spring backwards, hissing at her. Then all of them opened their mouths at once and sang. The sound made her ears ache and the walls rattle. Then, with a series of cracks, roughly two dozen hideous lumps of malformed flesh appeared between her and the bar. They were horrifying creatures – soulful eyes peered from sunken pits that were planted on barely humanoid faces, while their legs flowed together into puddling, bubbling mounds of viscous goop. The smell was incredible – and the wailing sound they made as they slumped towards the bar was all the worse.

Sam shook her head slowly. "I feel like I have made many mistakes in my life," she said. Then, snarling, she shook her head. "But coming here wasn't fucking one of them!"

And with that, she jammed her alcohol soaked left arm into one of the candles that flickered on the bar – blue flames exploded along her arm, flickering and crackling and feeling more comforting than painful. She leaped over the bar and landed in the mass of the monsters. Her blade hummed as she cut three down in a single vicious sweep, before turning and punching an Abishai in the snout. The green scaled creature screeched – more shocked than hurt – and staggered backwards. That opened him up, and then Sam opened him up from hip to neck. The Abishai hit the ground face first and died.

The other hideous creatures swarmed towards her. Sam flew into the air, her back hitting the ceiling, and then fired a bolt of hellfire down. It slammed into the mass of creatures and exploded outwards. Other customers in the bar started to flee, running for the doors as chunks of exploded demon went flying, leaving a mass of wounded beasts. Sam landed on them, her sword stabbing down – cutting and hacking at the weakened creatures. Then the black scaled Abishai sprang onto her back and, to her shock, his hand had completely regenerated. His claws dug into her chest and and his tail whipped around, plunging into her thigh.

Pain and fire seemed to burn through Sam's body as she opened her mouth in pain. The Abishai laughed, snarling in her ear: "I am going to eat your eyesssssssss, T'narri filth." His claws dug in deeper and Sam felt the pain intensify. The agony of acid burning through her thigh, plus his claws cutting her flesh, was more than enough to paralyze her. Her eyes widened and she tried to get a grip around her sword.

The Abishai laughed – opening his mouth and leaning forward in a grotesque parody of a kiss.

Then, quite suddenly, the Abishai's head was on the ground, a shocked looking expression on his face.

Standing beside Sam, looking quite pleased with himself, was one of the humanoid hounds that she had seen playing chess earlier. He was still dressed as he had been before, wearing nothing but a set of loose, blue dungarees hanging around his hips, with a hole cut for his tail. His tail wagged happily as he shifted the long, pale blue sword he held in his right paw against his shoulder.

"Well," he said, casually. "I think he was getting ahead of himself."

"Weak," another male voice spoke as the other dogman kicked the other – equally as shocked Abishai – off his sword to thump onto the ground. "That was weak, Damion."

"Looks like he," Damion said, tugging a pair of strange, reflective glasses from his left pocket. "Just paid off his stab." He set the glasses on his snout, covering his shockingly gold eyes. "Yeahhhhhhhhhhhh."

His friend looked at him as if he was suffering from an intense brain parasite infection.

Sam fell to her knees – which was far less satisfying and far more grotesque than she wanted, as she landed knee first in the pile of dead, squishy demons that the other demons had summoned. Her palms hit the corpses and she started to hyperventilate as the two dogboys grabbed her and helped her to her feet. Their paws glowed and she felt the soft, wet tips of their noses pressing to her cheeks. "There," the one who hadn't been punning said. Sam felt a strange warmth fill her – she felt damaged and battered, but the pain seemed lessened somehow. She was able to stand – and hissed as she looked down at her thigh. Normally, her wounds regenerated.

Well, normally seemed to have taken a vacation since the recursive demon summoning started.

"Vela?" Sam called out.

"I'm okay!" Vela said, springing up from behind the bar. "S-Sorry for not helping, Sam, but I'm-"

"Oh, no, no, no," Damion said. "You shouldn't have done anything – staying there is just the right thing to do." He took off his reflective, shaking his head. "Nothing sucks more than some cute-as-hell commoner getting her butt chomped because she wanted to be a hero."

"Commoner!?" Vela spluttered.

"Dude," the other dogboy said. "Dude. Dude."

"What?" Damion asked, looking baffled. "Commoners are cool. You ever see a nobleman thank us for our help?"

"Yes, all the time!" The other dogboy snapped.

"Yeah, but rarely with sex," Damion countered. "It's all, oh, no, I need to keep my virginity this, and-"

"And then you teach them about anal, come on!" the other dogboy sounded annoyed. "We need to get this Paladin to a healer."

"Oh, right, acid tail," Damion said, slapping the side of his head. "I forgot."

"You forgot!?" Sam asked through gritted teeth – the dull ache of the acid was lessened from the intense oh-shit horror it had been before, but lessened didn't mean gone.

"In my defense," Damion said, sweeping one hand under her legs and lifting her up against his broad, furred chest. His fur was the most shocking hue of pale white, and as Sam pressed her palm against it, she found that it added a delicious cushiness to the iron hard shape of the muscles underneath it. She felt his nipple, pressing against her palm, and felt the sudden and overwhelmingly intense urge to nuzzle him. Instead, she turned her head away, and made a soft humph noise – trying to seem irritated. And not at all turned on as the powerful dogboy carried her, without a single hint of difficulty, to the threshold of the exit.

Fuck I'm wet, she thought.

Okay, maybe a little turned on.

"Yeah, I'm hot," Damion said, his nose flaring.

Sam growled. "You never said what the defense was!"

"Oh, sorry," he said, flashing a winning smile at her. "I got distracted by holding a brave, beautiful, bold and badass woman in my arms." He winked at her. Sam tried to keep looking annoyed, but it was really hard.

Meanwhile, Damion's friend – also carrying Vela – muttered: "Wait, if you were behind the bar, how did your legs get-"

"Shutupandcarryme," Vela mumbled, face buried against his black fur.


The cleric that came to the house that the two dogboys had carried Vela and Sam too clucked as they looked at Sam's thigh.

"That's definitely acid," the cleric said, pushing the goggles away from her milky white eyes. If Sam had seen her anywhere else, she would have said that she was blind. But the cleric – wrapped in white cloth and covered with leather straps – seemed to move about with utter ease and confidence. Sam, meanwhile, had felt the strange sense of wellness that the dogboys had granted her had started to fade, bringing the oh shit burn of the acid more and more into sharp edged focus. She hissed, her fingers digging into the cushions of the broad, green sofa that Damion had set her down on.

"You don't say!?" Sam hissed.

"Well, gee," the cleric said. "If I had known you were a snippy succubus, I'd have brought a lolipop." She shook her head. "Don't be such a baby, it's just a little bit of acid – your natural resistance should-"

"HALF-succubus!" Sam shouted. "I'm a half-succubus it's burning now oh oh god it's burning now!" She started to scream.

The cleric scrambled to get her goggles over her face, looking mortified. She put her palms on Sam's thigh and a bright green light flared around her palms – and Sam felt as if every tendon in her body had been cut with the wave of relief that flooded through her body. It was almost orgasmic, the sudden lack of pain. She closed her eyes and let out a low, easy groan. "Oh fuck thank you..." she breathed.

"I am s-so sorry, you seem so succubusy!" the cleric said, her voice fought with regret. "I thought-"

Sam opened one eye and managed a soft: "S'okay."

She felt very tired.

She closed her eyes and floated in a space between sleep and wakefulness. She heard the soft murmur of conversation as the dogboys paid the cleric, and heard Vela explaining what was going on. As she floated back from not-quite-sleep, she was able to look around the room for a few moments before anyone noticed she was rousing. The dogboys had made themselves quite comfortable in their home, which appeared to be an upside-down siege tower, from the fact that the ceiling had several chunks of platemail that had been stuck there, and the second story – visible through a narrow set of stairs that went the wrong way – got wider than the base. The front was held shut by a series of chains – and it looked like the entire wall was both door and wall.

It was all very strange.

But not quite as strange as the clothes that had been cast about. Dungarees – several of them tossed over the hanging magical lamp that hung from the ceiling – were everywhere, and no one had picked them up. A sleek pair of white under garments that looked almost shamefully tight were tucked underneath one of the chairs. There were shirts that looked both simple and oddly complex, many of them with intricate decorations on them – and words.

Damion stepped between her and the wall, grinning at her. "Hey, you're awake!" he said.

Sam blinked a few times, cocking her head to the side.

Damion was wearing a black shirt with an incredibly detailed moon – even if it was the wrong color – in the upper right hand corner. Filling the rest of the shirt was set of three howling wolves. Sam cocked her head to the other side.

"I'm not sure I am," she whispered.

Damion grinned. "She's up!"

The other dogboy walked around to stand before her. He was dressed far more sensibly and infinitely more distractingly in nothing but blue jeans. That left his amazingly dark chest exposed and Sam could see the dozens of tiny scars that seamed his body – shoulders, arms, chest. There were three furrowed lines along his belly as if he had been caught across there by some kind of clawed creature. Those lines were the easiest to see, but Sam's tongue ached to trace each one. She gulped and pressed her thighs together – then started as the dogboy held one paw-like hand out to her. Sam looked at it – and seeing the smooth digits, she started to wonder if maybe it was more like a hand-like paw.

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