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The Caravan Trip

Old Vault Category: 
Old Vault ID: 

“What brings you to Ordulin?” he asked as the caravan coach rumbled shakily along the long, plain dirt road.

“It’s on the way.”

“On the way to where?”

“I hate to break it to you, but it’s none of your business.” My erstwhile companion – a young, blonde swordsman with a buzz cut, a caravan guard like myself chuckled at my rebuttal.

“For a pretty girl, you’ve got a whole lot of attitude.” I smirked and looked away at smooth green forest, a nice break from the crowded cityscape, trying to phase the presence of yet another simpering male fool out from my mind.

“I suppose you get a lot of male attention, but I was just trying to make small talk. Fills out the boredom of the road. Keeps me awake for any bandits springing from hidey holes.”

“I’m sure. Say what you like, you’re not charming your way into my pants. I’m not going to fuck you. Ever. Forget it.” I shot him a piercing look.

“What’s your problem? I just wanted to chat. I thought you would be a nice girl to talk to. Gods.” He frowned and looked away. A long while of comfortable silence passed until a guttural war cry sounded out from somewhere to the left. There were no mistaking orcs- brutish, tusk-jawed green-skinned goblinoids.

Reacting immediately my companion and I leapt onto the road, charging to the threat. Already two packhorses lay slumped bleeding on the floor, beset by a gang of orcs. An arrow out of nowhere stung my shield and I turned to face a line of orc archers peeking out from behind trees.

“Let’s get the archers! We’ll leave the others for the rest!” The swordsman nodded his assent and we made for the trees, both of us half-crouching behind our shields for cover.

Up close, the flimsy wooden bows were poor defense against our armed assault. As we closed in they switched to crude axes, but were little match for our skill, and I was dispatching them with practiced ease when all of a sudden I felt my limbs freeze and I couldn’t move a muscle. My partner couldn’t help noticing me standing stock still, motionless even as an axe swung dangerously close – and parried the blow for me just in time, then swiftly pulling his blade away and thrusting it into the gut of the offending orc.

The archers all done for, a gruff chanting voice sounded off somewhere deeper into the forest, and just from the corner of my eye I could spy an orc shaman waving his staff, powder sprinkling into the air from his other hand. His chanting was soon interrupted by a sword slash. With his death, his magical compulsion over me ended, and I shook myself, getting my bearings back.

“Let’s head back, the rest could use help.” He said, and we made our way back to our fellow guards embroiled in battle, the musky scent of spilt blood and clang of steel in the air. He charged into the fray, while I stood a safe distance away, still panting hard and wary from my near brush with sure death, working my spells from afar to good effect, summoning a fearsome dire wolf to my side, and the hound bounded to the orcs, leaping and tearing at their limbs and throats with beastly power.

Casting the very spell that nearly cost me my life, one by one holding a handful of orcs stock still and at my fellows’ mercy, and with the help of my animal friend the tides were turning in my side’s favor. Before long, they were all struck down or chased off. Taking a much-needed break back in the carriage, my armor off for comfort, we were back on our way with no less haste.

“Thanks for that,” my partner said as I healed his few wounds by Tymora’s grace.

“No, I should be thanking you for saving my life. I was helpless and stunned by foul magic.”

“You’re welcome. I expect you to stick out for me too.”

“I’m Sylvia, by the way. You can call me Silk.”

“I’m Bendon. How did you become a cleric?”

“It’s a long story.”

“It’s a long road ahead, and I’m all ears.” He flashed me a ready smile, and I could see the earnest interest in his baby blue eyes.

“A cleric of Tymora rescued me from yuan-ti slavers in faraway Hlondeth – a true stroke of luck that changed my life for the better. He wanted to take me in as his disciple – he said Tymora smiled on me on that day, and I was fated to serve the goddess. I was a desperate escaped slave and just wanted his protection, and eventually his power to stay away from slavers. That’s how I joined the faith.”

“You were a slave to the yuan-ti? That’s terrible. I, I’m sorry I asked.”

“Don’t be, it’s over. Besides, it wasn’t as bad as you might think.”

“It couldn’t have been any good.”

“Well, actually, at some times, it got very good.”

“I don’t see how that could be. I mean- you were a slave.”

“A slave in a noble yuan-ti family that was brought up to breed with the family’s scion. You see, Hlondeth is a city of yuan-ti, and the yuan-ti family’s prodigious son was a halfblood – he looked mostly human but had a tail for legs and slit snake’s eyes. I was to breed with him to maintain the human features of his offspring for whatever nefarious purposes the noble elders had in mind. To that end, I was treated pretty well. They wanted me in good physical condition to bear child. I got to be his playmate as I grew up with him. That’s how I learnt swordplay and fighting. His kind- halfbloods usually become fighters in that society.”

“I escaped before I was deemed old enough to bear child. Let’s just say it involved some violence.”

“Some violence. You don’t say.” He arched his brows.

“And a lot of running. I was hiding out in the city for weeks, hiding from relentless city guards and the like on the lookout for an uppity runaway slave. I can’t remember exactly but I met Kaern, a powerful Tymoran priest. I do remember how he looked in gold-rimmed plate mail, powerful, rugged and strong – the type of person who could save me from servitude. I begged for help, and he did as I pleaded, smiting down guards at the city gates with pillars of fire from the skies as we left galloping away on horseback.”

“What came next?”

“He taught me to become a fledging cleric, the dogma of the goddess. We believe that fortune favors the bold- I was bold enough to escape cruel yuan-ti masters, and the Lady of Good Fortune smiled on me, sending a servant of her own to my aid. After that, we went our separate ways. He was a powerful, wandering priest; I was a young girl who was just starting to make her way around. As you can see, I’m doing pretty well.”

“Yes you are.”

We made further small talk then, he told me about his humble beginnings in a countryside town as a farmer’s son and his aspirations to become a great swordsman. Shame on me, I guess, that I paid more attention to his young good looks, the sleek, rippling musculature that showed through his vest, admiring his strong, toned arms, rather thick and veiny.

Eventually the sun slipped behind the western Thunder Peaks, painting the evening sky a smattering of coppery red, cloudy white and cornflower blue. Bendon and I broke camp a little away from the rest of the caravan, and I watched for his certain, longing, darting looks as I bent over on my knees to lay firewood. His eyes, I knew, were drawn to the heavy sway of my breasts and the smooth valley of cleavage like a moth to flame, and I could feel his quietly hungry gaze explore me from tip to toe, leaving a trail of teasing tingles in its wake.

The campfire sparked and sizzled like his simmering lust as we partook of dry rations, an offering too brittle, too meager, to be enough for our hunger. Sitting side by side, I could feel the tense heat that was just waiting to be let loose.

“I’m feeling a mite too warm now, strangely.” I spoke softly before slowly pulling my bodice up and away, then turning to face him with my bare expanse of soft skin and a sultry smile. My quiet night was then lost in a swirl of hot-blooded flesh and a sea of stars.

The Caravan Trip © lynnatha

Migrate Wizard: 
First Release: 
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