Callum

Chapter V: Reka “Drink! Drink! Drink!” The patrons spurred Reka on with drunken cheers. The whole tavern, save for the man who challenged her, were stood around her, encircling her, encouraging her with chanting. A dozen and a half drunken peddlers, all with mugs of ale raised high above their heads, spilling over. The man who had challenged her, an old, bearded man with an arrogance as thick as his beard sat across from her, watching with a cold, glassy glare that told her that he knew he’d been defeated. Of course she would've drawn quite a crowd. What man didn't enjoy a girl with a pint in her hand and a large drunken smile beneath her wine-red cheeks. Her legs were beginning to feel weak, trembling beneath her like twigs. The whole room was spinning, everything was a haze of blurred vision and echoing cheers, and her bladder was fit to burst, overflowing from four large flagons of drink. Reka didn’t let any of that bother her. With a shaky hand she reached for the seventh flagon of Devil’s Spit, brought it to her lips, taking a moment to savour the encouraging calls of her crowd, and once she was happy with what she had heard, began drinking. The crowd erupted, showering her with ale from their cups and cheers of victory as she downed the flagon. The crude mix of vodka and black ale burned the back of her throat like hellfire and she could feel her whole body getting weaker, but that didn’t deter her. She downed the entire flagon, looking into the eyes of her opponent, the man who had conceded at four flagons of Devil’s Spit, and victorious, slammed her flagon down on the table to a roaring fanfare. “T-There… M-Mudak…” She said to her opponent, wiping the foam from her mouth with her sleeve. “Now fork over the *hic* gold.” The old man with a sour look on his face reached into the pocket of his long coat. He pulled out a tattered purse that clinked as he jostled it in his wrinkled hands and sat it down on the table. He looked at it for a moment, his eyes glimmering as if he was about to part with a child, and then he slammed his hand down atop the sack. “Bullshit.” He muttered, raking the sack back toward him. “I’ve been cheated! You took me for a fool with that little girl act!” “And you were dumb enough to fall for it.” She laughed. She hadn’t expected a single person in the tavern to challenge her. She played the young innocent girl, looking to wrangle a man who valued his ego and coin over decency, a man would put coin on the fact they could drink her under the table, and she’d found it. “Now, I’ll take my fifty gold please.” “No you won’t!” The man pocketed his purse of gold and glared. “I’m not paying a fucking mansh like yourself!” He glared into her eyes, his lip trembling with anger. Reka sighed. She didn’t like what she was about to do, but it put her conscience at ease knowing it had to be done. She’d won, and that money was rightfully hers. She knew the kind of man he was; a man who could talk but when the pressure was put on him, he crumbled. Just like he had when he wagered that she could not down more flagons of that putrid vile know as Devil’s Spit than he could. With the calmest of movements, she lifted her foot onto the chair beside the old man and pulled subtly at her trousers, revealing the bootknife she kept concealed on her shin. “The deal was fifty gold if I could drink more than you, right?” She grinned, rubbing her hand near the dagger to draw the man’s attention to the blade. “And there’s seven empty flagons.” She pulled a second dagger from her belt and edged the blade toward him. “And there’s four empty flagons.” She started picking between her nails with it. “I’ll be taking that fifty gold now please.” She could see the man was intimidated. His eyes widened and he tensed up, hunching his shoulders and glaring. He shuffled in his chair, lowering himself as if he was hiding from the now dispersing crowd. Ego and coin over decency, and Reka intended to take both. He removed the coin purse from his coat pocket and threw it down on the table. “Here, take your damn gold!” He spat. “I hope you choke on it.” “Pleasure doing business with you.” She chuckled as she swiped the sack from the table. Reka dropped her intimidation act and lowered her boot from the chair. She placed the dagger back in her belt and examined the purse in her hand. It clinked as she held it up. That was a sound she hadn’t heard in a while, the cheerful clink of a sack full of coin. She walked through the inn, throwing the sack into the air and catching it repeatedly, listening to the sounds of the coins jostling inside, clinking against each other. She made her way through the crowd and to the back of the inn, toward her friends. Their table sat away from the crowd, in a corner of the tavern where the cold could be felt. Caster, one of Reka’s friends sat alone, reading one of her books with no interest for the world around her. The Mage sat, streaks of long blonde hair covering her soft face. Her crimson eyes scanned the pages and then her finger, delicately perched beside it, flipped the page. She couldn’t see Jenny anywhere, but Reka had her suspicions where she could’ve gone too after seeing her being smitten with one of the players of a traveling band earlier in the evening. She took a seat beside Caster and slammed the coin down on the table. Caster lowered her book and stared blankly at the tattered pouch placed before her. “Got us money for lodging. Breakfast too.” Reka said with a proud smile. She brushed a whisp of brown hair from her eyes and rustled up her short hair, uncovering her chubby cheeks and short, sharp nose. Caster lifted the sack and held it out in her palm. She examined every part of it, the weight, the sound of the coins as she jiggled the purse in her hand, and the roughness of the fabric. It was a strange routine that Reka never really understood about her, but she never dared question the eccentric actions of her best friend. Finally, Caster put the sack back down on the table and returned to reading her book, acting as if nothing had happened since she last put the pages down. “So, you actually found somebody foolish enough to try and outdrink you.” She said. “Some old peddler…” Reka paused, interrupted by a hiccup that burned her throat. The room was spinning, her words were slightly slurred and right now all she wanted was some darkness. She lay her head on the table, escaping the bright spinning room and entering a nice peaceful darkness where her head didn’t feel so muddled. “He invited me to a drinking contest, told me I could make fifty gold if I could drink him under the table.” She replied, her voice muffled by her arms. “We won’t be sleeping out in the cold tonight, at least.” Saying that brought a smile to her face. With work being hard to come by for a group of bounty hunters like themselves, Reka took whatever shillings she could, even if it meant by deceitful means like she had tonight. Herself and her friends came first though and she was glad to do it if it meant giving her friends a bed for the night. She glanced up from her drunken stupor for a moment, remembering against that Jenny was not at the table with Caster. “Where’s Jenny? She was here when I left an hour ago.” “She left when the band stopped playing. I believe all it took was for that drummer she looked so smitten for to wink at her.” Caster paused, licked her finger, and turned the page of her book. “She ran off after him and upstairs.” There was only one thing she’d have followed him for, and when she thought about it, the blood rushed to her cheeks. The thought of Jenny having her maidenhood ravished made her giggle. She was the youngest of the three, though not as prudish as Caster could be, she never showed the side of her that Reka knew all girls had. There was nothing better for an adventurer after a long stressful journey than a romp between the sheets with a good man. Or in Reka’s case, a good woman. The warmth of the sheets, the feeling of another girls hot body entwined with her own as she enjoyed every inch of them with her fingers. it was bliss, a true respite for the stresses of journeying along the roads. Thinking about it was making her twitch between the legs. She was plagued by a familiar itch and unfortunately, nobody to scratch it. When she felt this way, she always relied on the fingers of another girl to scratch the pesky itch between her legs. Her lips were burning, yearning for somebody to relieve her of it. With the alcohol swirling through her head, blinding her judgement, Reka giggled and placed a hand under Caster’s skirt, resting it on the soft squishy warmth of her thighs. “What are you doing?” Caster asked, unamused by her personal space being breached. A faint line of red gleamed on her cheeks. Reka giggled again. She lifted her head from the table, forcing herself to face her surroundings spinning violently around her, and looked at Caster with burning cheeks. “Well I was thinking… if Jenny gets to have some fun tonight… why don’t we let off some steam?” Her proposal left her feeling flustered. But, as if she wasn’t in control of her inhibitions, she let her hand wander up Caster’s thigh, enjoying her warm, silky skin, running along the Magi’s soft leg and moving closer to the soft spot between her legs. Caster put her book down for a moment. Her cheeks were growing red and in the heat of the moment she was feeling flustered by the feeling of another girl so close to her maidenhood. Another inch and Reka would be there, right between the slit that ran between her lower lips. In that moment, she pushed away Reka’s hand. “Maybe another night.” She exhaled, letting out a soft whimper that showed her enjoyment, if even for a brief moment, of Reka’s fingers against her thighs. She picked up her book and returned to reading, her eyes darting along the pages quickly. “You’re no fun…” Reka said with a frown. She took her hand and pulled it out from beneath Caster’s skirt. She could still feel the softness of her thigh against her palm. The feeling lingered, filling Reka with a sense of lust. She pushed her chair back and got up. The room spun and for a brief moment she felt lightheaded. “If you’re not in the mood, guess I’m going to go for a piss.” She had been ignoring the calls from her bladder for relief. The tip of her maidenhood burned, yearning for relief from the beer she had drank. She pressed her legs together and gave herself a moment to gain some composure. Once the blurred vision had subsided enough so that she could walk straight, Reka stumbled through the tavern and toward the door. The night was growing, the old fortress was alight when Reka stepped out into the street. The moon above swept the forest over with a sea of shimmering silver. It had been raining, the road was wet and marked by long streaks sinking into the dirt. She grumbled. Her hands were growing fidgety, as were her legs. Anything to keep the desperate pains away. She couldn’t stop herself from shaking, after so many drinks it felt like she was going to piss her knickers. She was impressed that she had managed to hold it in for so long. It almost reminded her of the last time she had gotten so drunk, she’d fallen on her bed and gone to sleep without relieving herself, leaving her bed to be her privy as she dreamt of waterfalls and an intrusive dream of squatting down behind some bushes. But now wasn’t the time to be reminiscining of such unpleasant moments. Especially with her situation being as bad as it was. She was burning between the legs, the thoughts of squatting down in the nearest alley and taking a good long piss made her whimper with delight. She could almost envision it, the sight of long pale stream hitting the dirt beneath her lowered trousers, wrapped around her boots, the sounds of heavy splattering like rain against the mud. It was all so beautiful, so blissful in her mind, and she couldn’t put it off for another moment. Wrapping the length of her cloak around herself, Reka wandered off around the side of the tavern, into a small sidestreet between the building and the Fortress wall. There was a strong push from her bladder, forcing her to fight the urge to just piss herself in the street. She walked with a hand between her legs, pushing a single finger up against her spout. She couldn’t believe how desperate the urge had gotten. She felt fine with Caster, perhaps with a small niggling urge for relief pressing against her thoughts, but she did well to ignore it. Now, it was almost impossible to ignore. Seeing the soft dirt between the buildings only added fire to the thoughts of relief. She hastened her pace, moving to a brisk walk as she headed for the back of the sidestreet. Each step she took produced a small whimper as her bladder sat, rock solid between her legs. She ignored it, slipping a second finger between her legs to calm the waters moving rapidly toward her knickers. There was a small hovel just off from the street, in between an old patch of the fortress wall that had collapsed. It was perfect. Reka, with a nervous glance, scoured the street for any sign of life. All she could see was the highest room of the fortress tower with the a small light in the window. She delved into the small gap and with a pained whimper unbuttoned her trousers. She couldn’t pull them down with both hands. Her drunken state made her fingers feel light and sluggish. She kicked out her knees, shuffling her trousers slowly down until they were around her boots. She threw her cloak aside, not caring if it got dirty from being pressed against a mud. She couldn’t contain herself any longer. She hadn’t even squatted down before her mind gave the signal for her to start relieving herself. From between her legs, she felt a hot spurt shot out from her spout. She relaxed and in an instant, the sounds of water striking dirt resonated from the hovel as she flooded the dirt beneath her boots. “Oooh~” Reka sighed, her breath, white from the cold cascaded out into the air. She took a lengthy piss in the shadows, the only sign of Reka’s presence were the sounds of indecency that escaped her quivering tongue. The sounds of water splattering against dirt quickly became the sounds of water hitting a puddle, like a waterfall tinkling into a creek beneath it. The overwhelming relief left Reka feeling weak. Her body, weak from drinking, struggled to support herself as she squatted. Her legs felt tired, rubbery, like they could give out. She let her head fall against the cool brick. “Ha...ha...ha…” She panted, grinning as she listened to the sounds of her waters rushing out of her. A shudder of pleasure shot up through her whole body as she passed seven flagons of ale onto the crowd. Her lower lips knew a brief damp warmth as several dribbles ran down her slit, creeping down toward her anus and dripping off. The smell of fresh piss quickly overpowered the air; it mixed with the earthy smell of the streets that had followed her since she came outside. Time felt like it didn’t pass. Reka had no idea how long had passed since she’d squatted down. The relief of a piss she’d so desperately needed seemed to pause time. For what may have been ten seconds, or twenty, or even a minute, all she knew was the sweet relief of making her water. A few stray dribbles fell from between her thighs and a well welcomed silence filled the air once more. The heat of her piss rose in the cool night air, wafting up and caressing her cold thighs. Reka sighed and glanced down between her legs; the puddle she had made was massive, a lake of pale yellow fluid swam around her boots, filling the small space she had pissed in. Fragments of dirt floated atop her water, no doubt broken off by the force of her streak as it struck the dirt for the first time. She eyed a trail too, leading between her legs and up to the wall. Although only a few inches from the ground, she had left quite a mark against the stone. The heat was dying off quickly between her thighs. All Reka could think of was how she had turned seven flagons of ale into such a river. It made her giggle drunkenly. She grabbed a length of her cloak and wiped off the dribbles from between her legs, ignoring how the tough cloth felt against her bare cunt. She pulled up her trousers, buttoned them up and stepped out from the small enclosed area of collapsed wall. Relieved, she brushed up her cloak, wrapped it around herself and stumbled back to the tavern with a drunken smirk on her face. As she walked up the sidestreet, she heard knocking in the air. It echoed through the town, drawing any who heard and inviting them to examine it. Out in the main street, Reka saw a man by the notice board planted outside the general store. He wore a long cloak just like hers and in his hand he held a wooden mallet. He was nailing something to the board, a notice and out of curiosity, Reka went over to investigate. “Hey, old timer.” Reka made herself known, approaching the man and the notice board slowly. “What’s that you’re nailing to the board?” The man finished nailing the notice to the board before turning to acknowledge Reka. He turned to face her, the tip of his hood dripping with rainwater and scowled. “A contract.” The man replied with a sleepy grumble. “A witch has taken over the ruins of the old estate to the east. You want to know more, you can speak to the Commandant in the tower.” He spat, finished hammering the contract to the board and hobelled along the road, back toward the tower. Reka tore the notice from the board and held it in her hands for a brief moment. She felt a sudden surge of excitement reading the details of the contract; a hefty reward of five hundred gold to whoever brought the head of the witch who had taken over the old Talteri estate to the west of the old fort. At first the thought of hunting a witch scared her, but seeing that reward and knowing it would be the end of their worries for a short while put her mind at ease. She had been a bounty hunter for a while, along with her friends. A band of girls who took bounties from local settlements for runaways and brigands who took refuge in the forests of Serkaine. Although she did not see it, the difference between Monster Slayers and Bounty Hunters was large. One of her old commanders from her days with the resistance had always told her the difference between the two was experience. “No fighter worth their grain goes for men. They go for beasts.” is what she always remembered. Five hundred for the head of a Witch, this was the kind of opportunity she had been waiting for. Something bigger than thieves and brigands, an actual beast, a creature of darkness that had to be brought to light. Reka wasn’t going to turn down this opportunity for either the experience and the chance to test herself against a real foe, or the mountain of gold it would pay. She smiled, scrunched up the contract and hurried back into the warm welcoming embrace of the inn. In the tavern, the crowd had grown quiet once more. A handful of patrons remained seated, nursing tall brass mugs of hard liquor. She couldn’t see the man she had swindled; no doubt he had ran off, probably leaving the fort after she had tricked him out of a purse of gold. Two men sat by the window, sellswords assigned to protect the town based on the tattered bands around their arm, bearing a symbol of the old fort. They sat, each with a pipe in their hands. A thick cloud of smoke covered the tavern in a tobacco-smelling haze. Reka walked through it, enjoying the sweet smell of tobacco. She returned to her table with Caster and with the contract wrapped up tightly in her hand, put it down on the table for Caster to see. “What’s this?” Caster looked up at Reka. She glanced down for only a brief moment before adjusting her spectacles and looking back up. “A contract.” Reka said with excitement in her voice. “And not a runaway either, an actual monster contract. Like the ones the Selkava put out.” She took the paper in her hand and pointed toward the reward. “Five hundred gold, Caster. That’s worth ten times the amount of any brigand.” “And far more dangerous than dealing with any brigand.” Caster continued to stare at Reka, her brow furrowed and her eyes half closed like her interest was dwindling with each passing word. Reka knew that look, it was the look of a girl who knew her best friend was speaking like a dunce. “We’re not Monster Hunter’s, Reka.” “The only difference between a Monster Hunter and a Bounty Hunter is experience.” She said to Caster, mirroring the words of the old commander. “Five hundred gold would do us a world of good for at least a month. I could get a new crossbow, you could get those spellbooks you want… we wouldn’t have to con our way through every night.” She saw the glimmer in Caster’s eyes as she mentioned the spellbooks. Reka wasn’t blind. She remembered seeing Caster stare at them in the window of the Apothecary. “Think of it Caster. We do this contract, you can have them.” She could see how hard Caster was thinking about this. Reka liked to believe it was the line about experience that had caught Caster’s attention, but she knew it the appeal of acquiring those new spell, new tools to aid in fighting against this country’s corrupted. A minute passed and Caster sighed. Like a child awaiting her mother’s approval, Reka sat in silence, waiting for the pivotal moment Caster would speak. Caster closed her book, pushed it aside and put out her hand. “Let me see this contract.” She said with a calm, dull voice. She took the contract from Reka and started reading. “A reward of five hundred gold is to be granted to the person or persons who bring the head of the witch, currently occupying Taltari estate, to Commandant Lucav.” She finished reading and peered up from the paper with a furrowed brow. “The Witch?” “The Witch.” “So this contract does not state the kind of beast we’ll be up against? Simply naming it a Witch and nothing more.” And then, Caster said something that Reka was not expecting. “If we are to do this, we’ll need to know exactly what “The Witch” Is.” She said with a great deal of displeasure. Her tone was that of appeasement. “We will accept the contract. But we will be thorough, tomorrow we’ll be heading out to the estate to scout it and to learn just what is occupying the manor, understood?” “That’s my girl!” Reka said, overjoyed. She sat down at the table and whistled to a busty barmaid behind her. “A pint of Devil’s Spit please!” She smirked, longing to say these next words. “And you can keep the change!”

Since you do a lot of holds Scarlett and probably drink a lot of water, I want to know if you've been to the subreddit r/waterniggas If you have, what is your opinion?

It all looks good, too much for your ravenous stomach to properly comprehend. You couldn’t just pick one thing, right now you wanted to scoff down everything on that menu. “Hmm…” You feel embarrassed to ask. It was pure greed what you were indulging in. “Can I get a little bit of everything on the menu?” The cook looks at you for a moment with an unimpressed stare. Something in his eyes gives you the feeling you're being judged, like you're a glutton who just wants to everything out of pure greed. After a second he looks over his shoulder to a worker behind him. “Maitland, Niles, bit o’ everything on a tray.” He looks back at you with a hearty smile. “Hell of an order, lass. Busy day on the training ground?” “Ha… yeah.” You reply with a nervous chuckle. You didn’t want him to know you were just being gluttonous. "Busy, busy, busy." In the kitchen, you watch the two cooks prepare your supper. One of them dollops a spoonful of creamy mash onto a plate along with a single battered pudding before lavishing the whole thing in gravy. The other cuts open a crusty bun and starts throwing handfuls of pork in before finishing the bun off with a large helping of sage stuffing. Watching them prepare your meal makes you shudder with glee. It looked delicious. You pat your stomach as it growls impatiently and lick your lips with pure delight. As they’re working, the man serving you leans down behind the counter and reappears holding a tall frosted mug in his hand. He slams it down on the counter and looks at you wide-eyed. “Mug o’ ale with ya’ supper?” “Do you have anything else on tap?” You ask, hoping there is some tea or something else on offer. Something that doesn’t make you so gassy. “We got a pot full o’ Earl Grey at the back.” The cook offers, looking back and scratching the back of his head like he’s unsure. “If it ain’t ale or tea ya’ after then only other thing we have on tap for tonight is water.” What drink do you wish to have? >Appleskin Ale >Earl Grey Tea >Water >Nothing

After a roll of the dice, a bit of all three wins the tiebreaker. Shibo is now going to eat a bit of all three of rich Eserithian cuisine that has a history of being iffy with her stomach.

Nothing, but the potential damage caused by Shibo's butt will be on your hands.

It's a nice night, go the short way along the pond. Also Riley, your shoelace is untied.

You put a hand on your belly. “I’m famished.” A nice piece of buttered bread or some stew, something to silence your rumbling stomach. A visit to the dining hall wouldn’t go amiss. You’d need something to soak up all the alcohol Yuka would no doubt have you drinking. You stand back up, stretch out and head off toward the dining hall. In the Common room, you cross paths with a middle-aged man coming out from the lavatories. He wears a long tattered grey coat that is stained and filthy. In his wrinkled hands he’s carrying a slop bucket and a mop. He limps out from the hall, stopping when he sees you. He turns his head and glares at you with cloudy eyes, his thin lips twitching as he eyes up every inch of you. “If you’re ‘ere to use the pisser yur out of luck.” His voice is aged, he croaks with a thick Eserithian accent. “Floor’s swimmin’.” He coughs, sounding as if he’s hacking up a lung. “Bloody warriors and the lot of ya’ can’t even hold ya’ water for an hour… Like a bunch of little girls.” He glares and limps off toward the tower, the only sounds are the contents of his slop bucket sloshing nosily. You think nothing of your encounter with the Common rooms custodian and continue on toward the dining hall. You pass a couple of Apprentices in the hallways and nearer the main hall, you catch a faint smell of tobacco. Out on the balcony, you see two Guildhands sitting and smoking pipes, gossiping about their day. You walk past them, covering your nose with your hand to escape the stink of tobacco smoke. It always made you feel nauseous. Out in the main hall, it’s eerily quiet. You walk along the grounds, looking around the empty hall and the walkways above. Earlier this hall had been swarming with Guildhands, and now it was empty. It was so quiet you could hear the fires on the walls crackling. As you walk along toward the dining hall, you hear a door creak open. Footsteps move along one of the walkways above. You look up, noticing a silver-haired girl in a black dress heading towards the stairs. It was the Guildmaster, though her name escaped you. The Guildmaster approaches you. She walks down the stairs, the sounds of her boots echo through the room. You notice how elegantly she walks, her armoured boots, though heavy, tap against the stone floor with the most delicate touch. Her graceful strides coupled with the beauty of her black dress and silver armour give her an air of nobility. She conjures up thoughts of a Knight from the old tales your father would tell you before bed. She stops before you and gives you a curt nod. “Good evening, Apprentice.” She greets you formally. “G-Good evening, Guildmaster.” You say with a nervous stutter, unsure how to properly greet her. “Please, I am not the Guildmaster, there is no need to address me as such.” She smiles. “You are welcome to call me Lucina, same as everybody else. You are the apprentice who arrived earlier, are you not?” “I am Guildmas- I’m sorry. I am, Lucina.” Your near slip of the tongue causes you some embarrassment, but Lucina chuckles. “My name is Shibo. Shibo Kenshiko.” “Ah, Kenshiko, as in the Orientian house of Magi?” “Y-Yes Guildmas- Lucina. You’ve heard of my family?” “I’ve had work in the past with the Mai’Tong under orders from the Eserithian royal family. It’s good to have a member of a reigning house among our ranks.” Lucina smiles. “You’ll do great things for the Fighter’s Guild. I trust you’ve found yourself around the halls?” She asks with a solemn smile. “I have, Guildmas- I have, Lucina. I’ve also had the pleasure of meeting two of the Royal Guildhands too.” “Addilyn, no doubt.” She says The Bards name with a fondness. “She is the first to make new blood feel at home. And I believe you’ve been spending some time with… Yuka.” She does not share a similar fondness. “Still, that is good to hear. It is important that you get acquainted with your fellow Guildhands. They’re- We are your family now, best you treat us as such.” “I shall, Guildmas- Lucina.” “That’s good to hear.” Lucina sounds pleased. “I shan’t keep you any longer. Have a good evening, Shibo.” She walks off toward the common room and stops. “Oh, and when you meet with Yuka,” suddenly, the air feels chilly, as if a spell of ice has been cast, “please remind her: By order of the City Guard she is still under curfew. She is to be back on these grounds and have reported to me by the eleventh hour tonight.” Lucina’s voice grows cold. She furrows her brow and looks you dead in the eyes with a glare that would make the devil cower. “Or she will have me to deal with.” The sudden harshness in Lucina causes you to freeze. The hairs on your neck stand up on end. With a trembling tongue, you just manage to reply. “I understand, Lucina.” “Excellent.” She replies calmly, as she had before. “Have a pleasant evening, Shibo.” She smiles and bows before wandering down the corridor, off toward the north tower. W-What the hell was that about? You think, too scared to mutter the words for fear Lucina would hear them. Your meeting with the Guildmaster was not how you were expecting. It left you shook. You pat your body, your chest, and under your arms, making sure you were not the victim of some demonic curse. That was how frightening you found her, like a girl possessed by a demon. I better remember to remind Yuka… or she’ll be speaking like that about me. You make a mental and continue onward to the dining hall, your stomach rumbling as you walk. You enter the dining hall for the second time today, the smell of fresh stew and aged ale hangs in the warm air; It’s not as pleasant as it had been earlier, but the smell is still enough to get your stomach rumbling. You walk up past the now empty tables. Without two desperate girls hobeling from toe-to-toe by your side it’s much easier to take in your new surroundings. You look to your right, out of the large windows; The city of Guilden can be seen, lit up with a hundred torchlights, each like a little firefly glowing above the city. A large brass light hangs above the hall, glowing a burning orange. The hall is not as packed as it had been earlier, but it still boasts a large crowd, no doubt Guildhands who were relaxing after a hard day on the training ground. Several lads sit hunched around a long table, yelling and cheering, but you can’t see what for. On the other side, a group of quiet Apprentices, Mages by the looks of their robes and the presence of a wand on the table, sit in study. You pass an empty firepit in the center of the hall. There’s a spit standing over it with a few pieces of meat that hadn’t been picked clean. It looks like you’ve missed a roast. What you wouldn’t give to have had a piece of that. At the back of the hall is the kitchen, separated from the dining room by a long table. There’s several barrels going along the wall, each with a small plague that states its contents. It’s all ale, but the sight makes you smack your lips. All that wine earlier had left you feeling parched. A drink wouldn’t go amiss with your food. There’s nobody waiting to ask what you want at the counter. You stand, looking around for a moment. “Albert! Albert! Get up ‘ere, lad! It’s your shift!” An older man in an apron with a balding head of grey hair shouts over to the group of men huddled around the table. They all ignore him, drowning out his calls with a victorious cheer. He sighs and approaches the counter. “Sorry, lass, I’ll have to take your order.” He slams his hands on the tabletop and gives you a polite smile. “What you having?” You glance over to a board hanging from the wall marked Menu. It’s a bog standard fare of Eserithian food; Pork sandwiches, vegetable stew and battered pudding with mash. You smack your lips in delight just reading the names. It all looks delicious, but the rich meats and thick stews common in the Midlands often battled with your soft stomach and left you feeling gassy. Not that you would let that stop you from filling your stomach. You were ravenous. What do you wish to have? >Roast pork and stuffing sandwich >Vegetable stew with buttered bread >Battered puddings and mashed potato with gravy

Chapter IV: Eliza From deep within the forest came a faint glimmer of purple light. Eliza could barely see it from behind the barred windows of her caravan. The purple shards lingered in the air for only a short time. After a few seconds, a fiery explosion lit up the entire forest. The light was intense, blinding Eliza and forcing her to seek cover. She ducked down beneath the windows of the caravan, shielding her eyes, and waited for it to pass. As quickly as it arrived, it dissipated; the light faded and darkness returned to the forest. Eliza, with caution, moved her arm from her eyes and lifted herself up to her feet. She looked out through the bars into the clearing and out toward where Franziska had vanished. She couldn’t see anything. Whatever that light was had left no trace. For the Cleric, there was no telling if that explosion had been the work of her companion, or the entity she was fighting. She slid down onto the wooden floor and huffed. She felt horrible, riddling with guilt that her carelessness had forced Franziska into danger. The Monster Slayer was more than capable, Eliza knew that from experience. Even when she arrived at the Chapel, bloody and broken, Franziska was not hindered by her injuries. But this wasn’t her fight, and Eliza knew she was foolish for ignoring Franziska’s warning. Had she simply listened to her, and relieved herself beside the caravan, none of this would’ve happened. By the door of the caravan, atop an empty crate, sat a small ornate sword. Eliza’s sword. She looked at it, and for a moment pondered taking it and heading out into the forest to help Franziska. She hated the feeling of being useless, having other people fight her battles. The thought of cowering here while her companion fought was a feeling worse than guilt, but Eliza knew she had no choice. She was nowhere near the fighter Franziska was. It pained her, but right now the only thing she could do was follow Franziska's orders: She wasn't to leave the caravan until she came back. She was ripped from her thoughts by an angry rumble in her stomach. She felt the cramps intensify, and the overpowering urge to break wind, even if it would just quell the stress of her bowels. But Eliza couldn’t. The weight pushing against her backside warned her that it would not just be a fart, that’s how desperate she had gotten. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and whimpered. She struggled to hold it in, grimacing in pain as she clenched her quivering hole. The urges retreated, but retaliated with a strong kick against her stomach. Being on the brink of relief had been the last straw for Eliza. Right now, the only thing stopping her from going in her trousers was the pressure she placed on her puckered hole. It was coming. The cramps were growing worse, the weight on her rectum was getting heavier, and she could feel her strength waning. She tried to hold out, struggling but keeping strong. After only a minute passing, Eliza realized she was now on the very edge. But she had to endure it. There was nowhere to go, but the load in her bowels continued it’s assault against her quivering ring, pushing against it, almost squeezing it open with a hard, muddy head. It was then, the Cleric knew she had no choice. She’d have to go here. In the caravan. Behind the crates, there was a basin, a small one for collecting river water. Eliza felt she couldn’t wait any longer. She rushed to the back of the caravan and kicked the basin away from the wall, giving her adequate room to squat down over it. She wrestled with her robes, her hands too feverish to properly pull them aside. In frustration, she threw her robes off. She unbuttoned her trousers, struggling with them too; her legs were trembling under the weight of her bowels. She got her trousers undone, yanked them down and squatted over the bowl. Just as she was about to expel, Eliza heard the bolts on the caravan door fumble. She bit her lip, her heart was racing with fear, she didn’t know what to expect. She, with great pain, forced the turtles head hanging between her cheeks back and watched the door open. The doors swung open and Franziska revealed her, triumphant. “Eliza, are you…” “Excuse me!” Eliza screamed. Holding her trousers, she rushed out of the caravan and into the night. Her ring was quivering, the snake was slithering ever so closer to the cotton of her knickers. The cold nipped at her bare arms, but she didn’t care. Eliza was on the verge of soiling herself. She dared not chance the dangers of the forest again, even with the spirit vanquished. This time, she ran around the side of the caravan. She didn’t care that she was about to do it out in the open, she didn’t care if anybody could see her, all Eliza wanted right now was sweet release. She trampled the grass beneath her, yanked down her trousers and squatted over the dirt. There, out in the open, Eliza expelled onto the grass beneath her. With a whimper of relief, she looked up into the night sky. A long, moist snake squeezed itself out from the ring between her cheeks. It was soft and hot. "Ooooh~" Eliza sighed. The chilly night air resonated with a quiet, muddy crackling as she pushed out a firm length of the log. It broke off under its own weight and splattered against the floor with a muddy slap. Eliza’s lips quivered with joy. With a firm push, she expelled the final length of it with a muddy fart that made her stomach settle, and her cheeks burn. The stink of her waste polluted the air, but that didn’t matter. After so long, Eliza finally knew sweet release. She sighed with overwhelming relief as her stomach settled. Her hole felt sore after squeezing out the large log. She stayed crouched, wrapping her arms around her legs, and basked in the pleasure of an empty stomach. An owl hooted above her. Eliza looked up, spying an owl perched on the tree above her, looking down at where she did her business. She shook her head and averted her eyes from the bird watching her. It was then she’d realized the shame of her situation. Blood rushed to her cheeks, the feelings of pleasure swirling in her quickly became feelings of embarrassment. She looked down at her boots as if hiding away from the world. After she was finished, Eliza pulled a tissue from her trouser pocket and wiped away the mess from between her cheeks. It had been a messy drop. She buttoned up her trousers, and looked straight ahead, not wanting to look down at the load she had left in the grass. She walked slowly back toward the caravan, kicking her feet along the dirt. Around the corner, Franziska was waiting. Eliza froze as she felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. She paused and stood by the edge of the caravan, out of sight. It took her moment, but she wandered sheepishly around the corner, hands swinging behind her back and a low stare watching her feet drag. “Finally did it?” Franziska asked. Eliza looked up slightly, looking down at the wooden trim of the caravan with a shameful glance. She nodded her head, unwilling to say anything. The Monster Slayer sighed. “Good to hear.” She hissed. “Can you fetch me the medical supplies?” Those words prompted Eliza to look up. She took a long look at Franziska: The Monster Slayer sat, topless, wearing only her bra and knickers, as well as her boots. She could see Franziska was nursing a wound, a long vertical slash along her body, starting from her shoulder. The wound looked ghastly, and she was caring for it with a dry rag. “You w-were hurt!?” She nodded, looking down at the long cut on her shoulder. “It didn’t seem so bad in the middle of the fight. It was only after I realized just how deep it was.” She grimaced as she pressed the dry rag into it. “What happened to your clothes? Where they cut? I c-can stitch them back for you.” Franziska shook her head. “No need to worry about them.” There was a suspicious stink of piss in the caravan, but Eliza dared not bring it up. “Well at least let me get this wound cleaned up.” Eliza took the dry rag from Franziska and threw it aside. She inspected the wound herself. “That’s quite a fine cut, deep too.” She sighed. “Wait here.” She hopped up into the caravan and grabbed the strongbox of medical supplies from the back. Inside was holy water, for cleaning the wound, medica plant for mixing into a salve, and some bandages. "There's no need." Franziska insisted. "We don't need to waste supplies. It's just a cut, nothing trivial." “Don’t be ridiculous!” Eliza replied with the voice of a stern mother. “Look at you, you’re bleeding and in pain. "That’s a horrible cut you’ve endured.” She would hear none of Franziska’s protests. She was a Cleric, a master of healing, and she knew best. “Crush these herbs for me, I need them to disinfect the wound.” Eliza ordered her, handing her the herbs and the pestle and mortar. Without protest, Franziska followed her orders and started grinding the medica plant for the salve. Eliza took a clean rag from their supplies and filled a small bowl with holy water. “This is going to sting.” She warned Franziska as she dipped the rag into the bowl. “You don’t have to tell me… F-Fuck!” Franziska cursed as the wet rag was pressed against the wound. She flinched, almost dropping the pestle and mortar. Slowly, but surely, Eliza got to work, cleaning the wound. She started at the shoulder, where the cut looked to be the worst. Everytime she dabbed the wound with the rag, Franziska twitched. “What happened out there?” She asked, hoping to distract Franziska from the pain. “I saw a purple shimmer, and then suddenly there was a violent explosion.” Franziska chuckled. “One of the aether bombs. They react violently with fire, especially magical fire.” She looked down at her hand, a faint shimmer of red energy swept over her palm. “I was able to anchor the spirit in our world and then burn it.” “And that’s how you killed it?” She shook her head. “While it was burning I sliced it in half. They’re horrible things to fight, are Spirits.” Eliza always enjoyed talking about monsters and spirits. It was her favourite part of treating the injured, listening to their tales of the beasts or entities that had inflicted their wounds. Franziska was no different, but unlike the usual travelers, Franziska was well more versed in them. “The wound, does it still hurt?” She asked. “Not as much anymore.” Franziska smiled. “I hadn’t realized just how bad the wound was until after it was over.” “It’s just a laceration, a deep one but nothing serious, thankfully.” Eliza finished washing the wound around Franziska’s shoulder. She rinsed out the rag, washed it in the holy water and prepared to clean the rest of it. “I…” She looked down at Franziska’s breasts and choked up. “Hmm, is something the matter?” Franziska asked, brow raised. “I’m not going to die, am I?” She jested. “Uhm… n-no.” Eliza felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “It’s just… the cut goes across your breasts. S-So to wash it I need to…” The Monster Slayer could see the ordeal had left Eliza flustered. “I think since you’re patching me up, I won’t protest.” She chuckled and undid the straps of her bra. It fell to the floor, and Franziska sat with her breasts uncovered. The cold air got to them, hardening her nipples. “You sound awfully uneasy. You’re a Cleric, I’d have thought you wouldn’t be too squeamish about touching another woman’s chest. H-Hells! That’s cold!” Franziska yelped as Eliza pressed the rag against her. Slowly, Eliza washed wound going along Franziska’s chest. Her skin prickled as pushed the wet cloth against Franziska's bare chest. She tried to pay no mind to the area of her body that she handled, but she couldn't help but think about it as she dabbed the rag against her breast. The Monster Slayer's breasts were firm. Though not too big, her bust made Eliza feel a little soft about her own. She had always been flat around the chest, even wearing the robe to hide it didn't truly hide how small her breasts were. “So that’s our healing supplies too. Not that we had many.” Franziska sighed. “No food, no medicine, and we’re still two days off Vetalka. Thankfully, I think I have an idea.” She gestured to the map sitting in the caravan. “Do you mind if I…” Eliza nodded and let her reach over to grab the map. “I was looking at the map earlier and I noticed something.” She sat the map down on the floor for her and Eliza to see. “Try not to get water on it. It’s the only map we have.” “I’m d-done cleaning it, anyway.” Eliza grabbed the mortar full of salve and dipped her fingers in it. “I just need to put the salve over it and bandage it up.” The smell of medica plant filled the caravan, a sweet, aniseed smell that was pleasant on the nostrils. Eliza delicately applied a small dollop of salve to the wound and rubbed it in. While she worked, Franziska pointed a finger on the map, showing a path to the west of where they were currently camped. She traced a finger along it and ended where the path ended. “There’s an old fortress along this road. It’s occupied by a trader’s guild.” “So they’d be willing to sell us supplies?” Eliza asked. “They might even have work.” Franziska shrugged. “It would be nothing special, maybe clearing rats out of a cellar or something mundane, but work means gold.” Disappointment adorned her face. Eliza wasn’t surprised seeing her blank stare. A veteran Monster Slayer and right now she was settling for killing rats in a cellar, if she was lucky. “It would add another day onto our journey, but at least we’d be able to get supplies before continuing on.” With a solemn smile, Franziska looked up to Eliza. “So what do you think? Should we do it?” “Should we do it?” Eliza finished bandaging up the wound. She cut off the loose bandage and put it back in the strongbox. Once she was she finished she sat down beside Franziska and said with a great smile. “Of course we should.”