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Blinking in the bright sunlight, Astarion looked around. The party was standing on a small hill. Undulating grassland spread out in front of them, interrupted here and there by small pine forests. The exit of the narrow cave system they had traversed for the past two days lay behind them – a shortcut on their way to the goblin camp.
“Breathing’s easy again, at last!” Gale spread his arms out. “I have to say, the air down there didn't quite meet my expectations. Well, it's probably similar to the air in the Underdark. I've read about that – the air in the Underdark is most likely produced by the numerous mushrooms growing there. It’s an interesting process: the lamellae of the mushrooms —”
Karlach's clawed hand descended heavily on Gale's shoulder, causing the wizard to bend his knees slightly. “No one cares about the mushrooms, Gale! I’m more interested in a snack.” She looked at Morg. “I’m starving! Can we eat something before we move on?”
They took a short break, and while his companions ate and chatted, Astarion fidgeted edgily with one of his daggers. He felt uncomfortable. Over the past two days, a kind of restless irritability had spread through his body — the same feeling he used to get when he was caught up in one of Cazador's sadistic little games, which always ended in torture or some other perverse punishment. Once again, fear stretched its black tendrils towards him, the fear of losing control. About a tenday ago, he had come up with this nice, simple plan. He would seduce the leader of their merry little band, manipulate her feelings, and then use her to influence the others in his favor. However, things had lately become a little more… complicated.
Yes, the bard had fallen for him, the result of a carefully woven tapestry of half-truths, a well-orchestrated seduction and a touch of charming sass. Every evening, she came to his tent, offering him her blood and begging him to fuck her, preferably rough and painful. And every night, he relished the control she was giving him, losing himself in her submissive sounds of pleasure, her beautiful, sweaty body, her dark, sparkling eyes… There was no loathing, no disgust when he was with her. Instead, he felt very much alive. She was perfect, and she was all his. Or so he thought.
Astarion glanced over at Morg and Wyll, grimacing as the bard put a piece of cheese in the fucking warlock's mouth, her fingers lingering a little too long on his full lips. It had turned out that his depraved drow was accustomed to having multiple lovers, and for some inexplicable reason, she was attracted to the horned whelp. The rogue frowned. This didn’t make any sense. If it had been Lae'zel, or even Shadowheart, that would have been at least understandable. But Wyll?! The warlock was probably a virgin, a romantic who desired a fucking fairy-tale relationship. And his bard was... Well, to call her a ravenous wildcat would be a kind understatement.
Unsurprisingly, nothing had happened between Morg and Wyll so far – in a small camp with thin tent walls, you quickly knew what was going on – they were just talking, swapping adventure stories, discussing poetry, bantering while feeding themselves cheese… Nevertheless, they both seemed to be enjoying themselves very much. Frustrated, the vampire turned his gaze away from the annoying lovebirds. In a way, this kind of intimacy was even more unsettling than if they had just fucked.
Things had been so beautifully simple... well, not simple, but controllable when it was just him and Morg. A nice little secret, some sweaty trysts under the stars, his willing bard in his arms, receptive to his manipulations... But now the whole group knew about them, and he was forced to share her with this… noble hero, the fucking Blade of Frontiers! The vampire’s fingers slipped and the blade in his hand cut painfully into his hand. Cursing softly, he put the dagger away. This whole triangle thing was really getting to him.
Morg’s disturbing interest in the whelp could change the whole game. He had seduced the bard because she had this… gift. She could convince people of almost anything, even if it went against their own interests — and he intended to use this to his advantage. When the time came to face Cazador, the bard should persuade the others on his behalf, to risk their lives for him in a potentially deadly battle. However, he wasn’t so sure if he could manipulate her into doing this if there was a rival. The whole thing with Wyll… It could affect her feelings for him, make her less receptive to his influence, and thus jeopardize his plans, his revenge.
Besides, he had no desire whatsoever to share his beautiful drow. He had agreed, yes, but only because he had no other choice. Otherwise, she might have dumped him. The rogue gritted his teeth. Over the last two days, he had thought again and again about how he could find a new angle to push Morg's buttons, so that he could keep her affection all to himself – or how he could remove the fucking Blade from the game for good without arousing suspicion.
But so far, he hadn't had any viable ideas, and the longer he thought about it, the more agitated he became. His whole body felt tense and his muscles ached. He was hungry and he longed to fight. Right now, he would love nothing more than to slaughter a few goblins and then feast on Morg's blood, losing himself in sweet intoxication…
A short time later, the group finished their meal and packed up the leftovers. Finally! Astarion quickly stood up, pacing nervously until, at last, everyone was ready to leave. “How much longer until we finally reach the goblin camp?” He let out an annoyed sigh. “This journey is so terribly tedious. I’m really looking forward to a decent carnage.”
“Yeah,” Karlach agreed. “I’m not used to just wandering around. In the Blood War, not a day went by without a fight. Sometimes not even an hour. Not that I'm complaining, but… a little action wouldn't be bad, right?” She grinned. “Nothing against you folks, but there are no travelers, no inns, no adventures around here. It's kind of boring.”
Wyll spread out the map and the companions gathered around it. “I think we’ll reach the goblin camp in a few days.” The warlock’s finger followed a broad line. “Here, that’s the Risen Road. It should be about a day's journey from here. It will take us west quickly.” He tapped a point. “We can even stop at this inn here – it's called Waukeen's Rest – and sleep in soft beds for once.”
“Didn't you tell us how much you prefer the solitude of the wilderness to the achievements of civilization?” Astarion sneered. “Looks like the duke's son can't quite do without a little comfort after all. Oh, sorry, darling. I meant the Blade of Frontiers, of course.”
Wyll gave him a cold glance. “That doesn't mean I don't enjoy sleeping in a soft bed from time to time. Of course, that's only if you don't spend all our traveling funds on expensive wine and silk underwear at the next merchant.”
“Oh, shut up, Blade!”, the rogue snapped. “It's only thanks to me that we have a travel fund at all!”
“Because you stole from the tiefling refugees in the Emerald Grove!” the warlock barked at him, raising his voice. “I can't believe you're exploiting the very people who depend on us for protection!”
Astarion glared at Wyll, his hand twitching. He would bury the damned bastard! When no one was looking, that is. Maybe he could disguise it as an accident... “For your interest, Blade, I didn't just steal from the tieflings,” he hissed. “If I had, we certainly couldn't afford beds in an inn! I also took the druids' gold. And the stupid loud-mouthed adventurers’ too. I stole from everyone. So, you're welcome.”
“That's enough, you two!” Karlach growled. “Let's move on.”
Morg nodded. “We should hurry. Not so much for the soft beds – although I'm looking forward to them – but because I want us to finally reach this goblin camp. We've been travelling for long enough with those worms in our heads.”
They marched briskly down the hill. While Gale quietly resumed talking about his current favorite topic – mushrooms – Astarion carefully observed the landscape around them. Tall, yellow grass stretched out in all directions. A dusty path wound its way between soft, grass-covered hills, and they followed it, one behind the other. Small pine forests dotted the landscape, and huge boulders lay scattered amongst the trees. The rogue had taken the lead, closely followed by Morg and the others. Lae'zel brought up the rear of their small group.
They crossed the grasslands for a while. An oppressive, almost eerie silence lay over the hills. Not a breeze stirred, not a bird sang. There weren’t even any cicadas. When the path led them into one of the pine forests, the silence felt somehow threatening. No one spoke, even Gale had fallen silent. Twisting and turning, the path meandered between pine-covered hills, and the surroundings became increasingly difficult to see. The feeling of danger grew stronger the further they went. Astarion could feel his predatory instincts stirring at the back of his mind. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Something was wrong.
“Something's not right. My big toe is throbbing,” Wyll whispered.
The vampire rolled his eyes. Was the warlock carrying his fucking instincts in his big toe?
Morg raised her hand to signal that they should stop. “What's going on?” she asked quietly.
“I don't see anything in particular,” Astarion replied, shrugging his shoulders. “But Wyll's toe is right. It's too... quiet. Something's definitely wrong.” He looked at Morg through his long, black lashes. “I can sneak ahead and scout the area, if you wish, darling…”
But Morg shook her head. “That takes too much time. I have a feeling we should hurry. I want to reach the goblin camp as soon as possible.”
“As you wish. Still, we're practically on a silver platter here.” He nodded towards the hills on their right and left. “Perfect for an ambush, if you ask me.”
They decided to split up the group. Astarion and Morg led the way, followed by Gale and Karlach at a distance, then Wyll and Shadowheart. Lae'zel glanced warily to all sides, drew her broadsword and followed last. Slowly, they crept between the hills. The silence became increasingly oppressive. Shadowheart murmured a silent prayer. Astarion took the bow off his shoulder.
“Tsk!” The air smells disgusting!”
The vampire sniffed. Indeed, there was an acrid, bitter smell in the air. Suddenly, something flew towards him at high speed. With cat-like reflexes, he dodged to the side. A black arrow dug into the ground next to him. Shit!
“Take cover!”
Everyone ran apart, throwing themselves behind some boulders. Arrows rained down around them, plunging into the earth with an unpleasant “plop, plop, plop”, their shafts black and glistening with poison. Astarion crouched behind a rock, pressing his back against its stony safety. Morg was right beside him, her shoulder touching his arm. He glanced at her. She was highly focused, scanning the hillside facing them for enemy movement with quick looks.
“Gale!” she shouted. “We need cover! Give them a fireball!”
On the opposite side of the path, Gale and Karlach were crouching behind a rocky outcrop. Wyll, Shadowheart and Lae'zel had taken cover behind a large boulder a little further back on the same side of the path. The wizard muttered something, and a fireball whizzed over their heads, detonating with a loud burst in the forest ahead. Astarion risked a quick glance, but could see nothing. He heard Shadowheart cast a blessing and saw Lae'zel stand up.
“Stay down!” the drow barked. “Wyll, come on!”
“Already on it!” Wyll summoned his imp and cloaked it in invisibility. A few moments later, the warlock’s voice called out to them. “Gnolls! About three dozen, mages, archers, warriors... in front of us and to our right and left on the hills... no one behind us.”
Gale stood up and threw another fireball. “Burn, you bastards!” he howled. A black arrow hit his foot, causing him to sink down with a cry of pain. Karlach hastily pulled him back into the shelter of the rock.
The vampire looked at Morg. “They'll surround us completely if we don't do something.”
She nodded. “We have to attack them.” And louder: “Karlach! Assault to your side on my command! We’ll make a sally!”
“Hell, yeah! Let's take these motherfuckers down!” The barbarian's loud roar echoed through the forest. She must have used a soul coin; Astarion saw flames rising higher and higher, setting the grass around her on fire.
“There’s an ogre, to the left, a good distance ahead of us, coming closer! No, two ogres!” Wyll's voice was joined by the sound of more arrows raining down on them.
Astarion took a deep, unnecessary breath. Oh, he had missed this! That sweet, delicious chaos of battle, the excitement, the adrenaline coursing through his veins... It silenced his racing thoughts and numbed the fear of the last days. What fun! He wanted to kill, craved it. And these ogres were just what he needed. With a wicked smile he rose lithely to his feet. Time for a little risk.
“What in the hells are you doing?!” Morg gave him an aghast look.
He grinned innocently. “Someone's got to take care of the ogres, right? I'll give them a few arrows...”
The drow grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back down, her dark eyes close to his ruby ones. “It's too risky! And I need you here, by my side.”
“Are you afraid for me, Morgan?” Astarion raised an eyebrow, and put on a practiced, confident smile. “Don't worry, darling, I’ll be fine. You take care of the sally here — just... just let me deal with these ogres.” The bard didn’t look convinced, but he could almost hear the warm blood of the ogres splattering, their death rattles... “Darling, I’m sure I can handle them,” he asserted. “They're just a couple of slow, big mountains of flesh, aren't they?”
She shook her head. “No, Astarion...”
“Come on, sweet Morgan, I'll be done with them before you can miss me. You can trust me.” He was on the verge of begging her. He needed this!
Another volley of arrows rained down on them, and they pressed themselves against the rock again. Their eyes met, and for a long moment, the bard’s gaze seemed to reach into his innermost thoughts. She let go of his arm. “All right, I trust you. But please, stay alive!”
He leaned towards her, kissing her fiercely, not caring if anyone was watching. Hunger, arousal, and bloodlust competed within him. After the next volley, he quickly ducked around the boulder, melting into the shade of the trees. He could hear Morg giving orders for the assault, followed by Lae'zel’s battle cry. Another fireball hit somewhere with a crash.
Carefully, the rogue crept between the trees, following a narrow deer trail upwards to the next hill on his left. Pine needles covered the ground, completely absorbing the sound of his footsteps. He turned south, leaving the shouting and the clashing of weapons behind him. His muscles tingled. He longed to shed the ogres' blood and scatter their entrails across the forest floor...
But he wasn’t suicidal. They were ogres, after all. Attacking them when he was hungry and weak wasn’t a good idea. First, he needed a little refreshment to sink his fangs into. Ruby predator eyes looked around for suitable prey. The whole forest seemed to be full of armed gnolls. To his right, a row of archers shot arrow after arrow, a little ahead of him, warriors hurried through the forest, growling loudly. He ignored them and kept to the left, away from the fighting. The last thing he wanted was to attract attention. He needed to find a single victim, and quickly at that.
Following another deer trail, Astarion went up a slope. In front of him was a hollow, and in it, a kind of supply depot. His gaze slid over barrels, food, weapons – guarded by a single young gnoll, his fur still fluffy. He grinned with satisfaction and moved forward. Just what he needed. Cautiously, he crept closer until he was right behind the gnoll. A quick movement, a soft squeak, and his fangs sank into its furry neck.
Spicy blood gushed into Astarion’s mouth, and he sucked and swallowed greedily. The gnoll wriggled in his firm grip, wheezing softly as the vampire took more and more of his blood and strength. At some point, the wheezing subsided, and a little later, the gnoll's body went limp in his arms. Astarion dropped the corpse with a bloody grin. Never before had he drunk so much blood at once! It sang in his veins, tingled in his aching muscles, and filled him with strength down to his fingertips. He felt exuberant, giggling as bloody intoxication mingled with hot adrenaline. Now... time to kill some ogres!
He sped up and hurried through the forest, heading west. The path was to his right, and judging by the sounds, the battle was in full swing. Suddenly, the trees on the hill to his left began to move. Branches splintered with loud cracks, and the ground shook as something large broke through the undergrowth. The rogue slowed his steps, crouched behind a tree and reached for his bow.
There they were! Two huge ogres were trudging down the hill towards the battle with slow, heavy steps. Astarion placed an acid-covered arrow on the bowstring and readied a shot. Smiling, he waited for them to get even closer, then released the string. The arrow struck deep in the first ogre’s throat. Blood splattered, but not quite as much as he had hoped. With a booming roar, the two beasts turned to face him and charged towards him with big, thunderous strides. The rogue shot another arrow, then dashed back in the direction he had come from. Fuck! The ugly monsters were too fast! More adrenaline rushed through his veins, and he sped up. Running, he put another arrow on the string, stopped, took aim, shot. And another arrow, and another. Not a single arrow missed its target, but the beasts were tough.
The ogres' angry roars echoed through the forest, coming closer and closer. The vampire heard a loud crash behind him, followed by something heavy flying past. And again. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that one of the ogres had uprooted a young tree and was throwing its pieces at him. Another piece of wood whizzed close past his ear, and he dived to the side just in time to avoid the next one. Quickly, he got to his feet again, keeping on running.
The path was leading him uphill now, forcing him to slow down. He was panting. The ogres were getting closer; he could almost smell their foul breath. Cursing, he held his arm in front of his face, as branches whipped against it, painfully tearing his skin. Perhaps a bow wasn’t exactly the weapon of choice when it came to slaughtering ogres. A change of strategy was in order. Desperately looking around, he sped up once more. There! To his right was a large group of boulders. He dashed towards them and quickly climbed up – just in time. As he pulled himself up to safety, he felt an ogre's claw scrape his ankle, narrowly missing him.
Gasping for breath he didn’t need, Astarion stared down at the two beasts. Had ogres always been this fast?! At least they couldn't get up here. Below him, furious roars sounded, and clubs were smashed forcefully against the rock. Numerous arrows were stuck in the monsters’ flesh, blood oozing from the wounds. The smell rose up to him, and he felt an excited joy tingle through his body.
He loved the thrill of looming death, the carnage, the killing. It was a strange feeling, delicious and exhausting at the same time. He had used to feel something similar when he had spent a night in the kennels. When Godey had ended the torture, and the fear and pain had subsided... Then, sometimes, a certain, twisted... joy had kicked in, flooding his veins with that very tingling sensation. He had always tried to suppress it, because he hated it. It made him feel weak and pathetic. But now that he was free… It just was intoxicating, sending hot, blood-red pleasure through his body, making him feel so alive!
With a malicious grin, the rogue placed another arrow on the string, taking careful aim. This time, the arrow pierced deep into one of the ogres' eyes. The monster gave a loud cry and staggered back. It grabbed the shaft and howled in pain as it tried to pull the arrow out of the bleeding wound. Finally, it ripped the arrow out of its eye, uttering a triumphant howl — and fell down dead.
Astarion unsheathed his short sword and let himself fall, landing on the shoulder of the second ogre before it could realize what was happening. The ogre’s skin was as thick as leather and slippery with stinking sweat. With a violent thrust, the vampire plunged his sword into the ogre’s neck, cutting its throat from one side to the other with a swift movement, splattering blood all around. A loud death rattle echoed through the forest, and the second ogre collapsed beneath him.
Panting, the vampire jumped to the ground and wiped the blood from his blade. Ruby eyes darted from side to side, scanning the surroundings. There were no gnolls in sight, but he could hear the sound of fighting in the distance. He sheathed his sword. It was time to return to Morg. Quickly, he crossed the forest, heading towards the fighting sounds. But when he reached the path they had come, it was deserted. Burnt corpses lay everywhere and large smoldering areas of embers covered the ground. None of his companions were amongst the dead. Where was his beautiful bard?
More battle sounds reached Astarion's ears, prompting him to quicken his pace and hurry up the hill to the right of the path. He passed more bodies and went down a gentle slope. A little way ahead, the trees thinned out to reveal the sunlit grasslands. He saw Morg standing with her back to him on a hill at the edge of the trees, Shadowheart kneeling beside her.
The rogue went up the hill and joined them. Only now he did see that Gale was lying on the ground between the bard and the cleric. He was unconscious, with dozens of wounds covering his body. Morg gave him a wry smile. She was sweaty, and her face was smudged with soot, blood splatters forming a wild pattern on her face and neck. Her attention was focused on a spell she was using to control some gnolls below. Astarion watched in amazement as the furry beasts slaughtered each other, one by one.
Some distance ahead of them, Karlach and Lae'zel were chasing a group of gnolls through the tall grass. Karlach's axe flashed in the sunlight as she struck an enemy with a mighty blow. A little further out on the grassland, a cloud of daggers sparkled in the sun, and next to it, Wyll was dueling with two warriors. More corpses were strewn everywhere. The rogue reached for his bow and sent a few arrows into the group below.
Next to him, Shadowheart bent over the unconscious Gale and cast a healing spell. And another. Finally, the wizard let out a groan and began to stir in her arms. When he opened his warm brown eyes, the cleric looked up at him. “Where the hells have you been, vampire?!” Her voice was gruff. “We could have used you here!”
Astarion looked down at her. “No need to be rude, little cleric. I had the great pleasure of killing a few ogres. Attacking them with a bow was a bit risky, but —”
“Oh, you had your pleasure? That's great! But we nearly got killed here!” She glared angrily at him. “Gale almost didn't survive!”
“We had trouble with some of the mages,” Morg added. Her voice sounded strained. “They knew some really nasty necromancy spells. Gale saved us all.” She held out her arm. “Detono!” A circular blast went off beneath them, shredding the rest of the gnolls and scattering their bloody remains across the tall grass.
Shadowheart was still staring at him. “Someday, his appetite for risk will kill us,” she growled. Then she stood up and helped the groaning wizard to his feet. “Come on, Gale. You’re a hero today. Let's go and see if our dead furry friends have anything of value.”
The cleric marched down the slope, with Gale following behind her. Out on the grassland, Lae'zel finished off the last gnoll. A peaceful silence fell, and a bird began to chirp in the branches of a pine tree above them.
Morg fell into his arms and kissed him. “We've done it! What a fight!” She laughed exuberantly. “That was pretty close. I don't think I've ever felt so alive!”
So did he. Astarion was still hyped up from the fight, adrenaline coursing through his veins, the taste of killing on his tongue. He fiercely returned her kiss, inhaling her scent. She smelled of soot and blood and sweat, and… arousal. Her warm body pressed against his, and he could feel her strong heartbeat at his chest. His hands ran down her flanks and grabbed her ass. In the tight leather armor, her butt was as enticing as it was distracting… Hungry for more, the vampire pulled her into another heated kiss, moaning into her mouth as he felt his cock harden. The blood-red thrill of the battle turned into a lustful, possessive hunger. A feral part inside him wanted to rip her clothes off right there and then, devour her, feast on her blood and body…
Breaking the kiss, the drow gasped for air. There was a ravenous look in her sparkling eyes. When she raised her lips to his ear, her voice was a husky purr. “I want you.” Her hand trailed down, stroking the bulge in his breeches, making him moan again. “I think the others can manage the looting just fine without us. So… how about we steal away for a quick... combat debriefing?”
The vampire licked his lips. There was nothing he wanted more, and his cock was throbbing with desire at the prospect. It felt a little strange to be so turned on, but who was he to complain? Now was not the time to overthink things.
“Skipping work for a quickie in the woods? Oh darling, you know how to sweet-talk me.” With a lewd grin, he took her hand from his crotch and kissed her fingertips. “Come. Let’s go before they see us.”
Hastily, they ran down the hill, past the corpses, and a little way into the forest. Astarion pinned the bard against a tree, pushing her thighs apart with his knee and grinding his hard cock against her through their leather breeches. Morg moaned and let her head sink against the tree, as his lips and tongue ravished her blood-speckled throat with hungry kisses.
She reached for his waistband, impatiently tugging at the laces of his breeches. When her fingers finally closed around his hard cock, the rogue gasped. He wanted her. Now. Mine. One hand grabbed her neck, the other went down between her thighs. Deft fingers quickly undid the buttons of her pants and pushed them down, exposing her wet, glistening beauty.
Morg raised her hand to his face and ran her thumb along his cheekbone. “You look awful.” She grinned cheekily. “Blood everywhere... And you want to fuck me like that?”
“Well, darling, you look like you've already done it with a dragon today,” Astarion mocked. “And do you hear me complaining?” He pushed two fingers into her and his voice became a sweet coo in her ear. “I know you want this, my depraved dark elf. You asked for it. You crave for me to fill you, fuck you hard and dirty until you scream. And...” His tongue slowly licked over her ear. “You want a little pain, too. Am I right?”
She bucked her hips against his hand and gasped as he pressed his thumb at her clit. “Yes, oh gods below… go on, fuck me hard, give me pain!”
The vampire smiled. Sharp fangs pinched the sensitive tip of her ear, making her hiss. He pulled his fingers out of her and closed them around her wrist, holding her in a steel grip. With a deft spin, he twisted her arm painfully behind her back and pushed her roughly against the tree. Quickly, he pulled down his breeches and pressed himself against her, grinding his hard cock against her ass, digging his pale fingers into her snow-white hair.
“How do you want me?” he growled, increasing the pressure on her twisted arm, until she whimpered with pain and pleasure. Her heart was beating fast, like a mesmerizing drum, calling him in, the tempting line of her pulse throbbing mere inches from his lips. Sweet and delicious, the smell of her blood lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of her arousal.
Wriggling in his grip, Morg let out a loud, unrestrained moan. “My pussy… please, fill my pussy… make me scream…”
Astarion tightened his grip on her hair, and she groaned with pleasure. Adrenaline was still rushing through his body, along with an almost painful desire. He wanted to fuck her, wanted to feel her come for him, wanted to possess her... and lose himself in her. He pressed his hard cock against her slippery entrance and they both moaned as he roughly pushed inside. For a moment, he paused, relishing the sensation of her hot, tight pussy around him.
Cold lips traced the warm line of her neck, bruising her skin, marking her. “You want to scream for me, huh?” The vampire yanked her head back, and a melodic cry of pain escaped her lips. “Oh, you are so insatiable, my wanton bard.”
The drow growled as he pressed her cheek against the bristle bark of the tree, gasping as he thrust hard into her again. Her pussy was amazingly wet, taking his hard cock easily. Again, he thrust into her, and again, upwards, hitting her sweet spot until she let out loud, desperate whimpers, her fingernails scraping over the bark. Pleasure built up quickly within him, surging through his body in hot waves with each thrust. His loud moans joined hers as he quickened his pace, fucking her with relentless thrusts against the tree. Oh gods below, he wouldn’t last long like this.
Morg's climax hit her fast and hard. Sobbing and trembling, she bucked beneath him as ecstasy rippled through her body and her face contorted with pleasure. The rogue could feel her pussy clenching around his cock like a vice, her wetness running down his thigh. Groaning into her neck, he slammed his pulsating cock into her, his hips trembling as he raced towards his own peak.
As he climaxed, hot shivers were running from his groin up his spine. He bit down, sinking his fangs into her fragrant flesh. Sweet blood ran over his lips and filled his mouth, the taste overwhelming his senses. His mind went blank. He couldn't think, he didn't want to think. There was only his craving for her. She was his, his alone — her alluring body, her beguiling heartbeat, and her huge, dark eyes mirroring all his desires, fears, and conflicts in such a disturbing way. Every muscle in his body tensed and he let out a guttural moan as he felt his cum surge down his shaft, spurting into her with every fierce thrust of his hips.
Panting heavily, he let himself sink against Morg’s back. He released her neck and his tongue licked up the last, delicious drops. The adrenaline rush slowly faded, taking its toll. His muscles ached, but a golden, warm bliss filled his mind.
Finally, he withdrew, and the drow turned around, groaning. “Gods, this is...” She staggered and leaned against the tree.
Astarion reached out for her and pulled her close. “You look pretty beat up, darling. Maybe I got a little carried away, but you... Well, you were so enticing.” He smiled and softly kissed her pine-scented curls.
Carefully, she leaned against him. “Oh, I'm fine. That... that was pretty intense. I'd forgotten how much of a turn-on it can be to survive almost certain death.” She let out a rough giggle. “It feels like you're still inside me. And I'm not sure I can walk anymore. I want to sleep for days!”
“Morg? Morgan!” A voice rang through the forest. It was Shadowheart.
The bard groaned and took a step back. “There's never a dull moment, is there?” She sighed. “Duty calls.” And louder: “Over here, Shadowheart!” They pulled up their breeches and straightened their disheveled clothes, not a moment too soon.
“There you are.” The cleric walked towards them through the trees. “We've found something. Someone. We weren't sure what to do. You'd better —.” She interrupted herself and grimaced. “Oh, Lady Shar, you just fucked!” She gave Astarion a withering look. “You never miss an opportunity to get your pleasure, do you, vampire?” Wrinkling her nose, she turned to Morg. “You smell like a bunch of wild animals!”
The bard shrugged. “Well, we did it like wild animals just now, so that's not very surprising.” She gestured. “You found someone? Lead me there.”
The three of them went through the forest. Astarion eyed the cleric as he walked beside her. She seemed really upset, turning up her nose haughtily and didn't deign to look at him. When they reached the grasslands, she led them west, along the edge of the forest. After a little while, they reached a cave entrance.
The group stood in front of it, weapons drawn, pointing them at two strangers. They were humans, a boy of perhaps twenty and a man of about forty. Both were well equipped and armed, but they looked rather worn. Behind them in the cave, the rogue could see a handcart loaded with several bags and an iron box that looked quite valuable. Lae'zel and Gale moved aside to let Morg pass, and the drow stood up in front of the prisoners.
The older one gave Morg a broad smile. He wore his long hair tied up, blue eyes twinkling in a striking, tanned face. He was handsome, and he knew it. “By the gods, you are a sweet sight! The gnolls out there have been besieging us for almost two days. You’ve probably saved our lives.” He frowned. “My name is Rugan, this is Olly. Is any of my crew still alive out there?”
The bard shook her head. “No. We didn't see any survivors. The gnolls gave us quite a hard time, too. Now there's just bodies, blood, and guts.”
“Damn it. I guess that's a no.” He grimaced. “The Risen Road is more dangerous than ever. Gnolls, goblins... drow —.”
Crossing her arms, Morg gave him an icy look. “You've seen dark elves? Where?”
“We keep running into them — the road from here to Rosymorn Monastery and further west seems to be their new favorite route. They usually travel with goblins, and attack us when they see us.” The man smiled with embarrassment. “I didn't mean to offend you. You're the first friendly face we've seen since Elturgard.” Looking down at the weapons that were still pointed at him, he added: “And you have a fairly pretty face, if I may say so.”
The drow laughed out loud. “Oh, you may. It won't do you any good, though.” She tilted her head. “Elturgard is a long way from here. Where are you heading?”
“We’re bound for Baldur's Gate. Got some cargo to deliver. But we have a stop to make along the way.” Astarion saw the younger one, Olly, make a slight movement, as if to say something. But Rugan shook his head, almost imperceptibly.
“Where's that?” Morg smiled sweetly and reached for her lute.
Rugan raised his eyebrows. “Oh, you're a bard? Maybe I can hear you play someday?” He grinned and pointed his head to the west. “We're heading for Waukeen's Rest. It's just a two days' journey from here. I'd be enjoying a mug of ale right now if those beasts hadn't come at us.” He gave Morg another broad smile, his blue eyes sparkling as he eyed the bard in a way that made Astarion grit his teeth.
“Listen to me. You look like you know how to handle yourselves.” Rugan glanced around before his gaze returned to Morg. A sly expression appeared on his face. “You should meet my associates. We've got our own drinking spot by the tavern — invitation only. He leaned forward. “Tell the fellow on the door 'little serpent, long shadow'. He'll take good care of you.”
Morg pointed to the handcart. “What's in the chest? Your cargo?”
The elder nodded. “Aye. The whole reason we're in this mess. Trinkets for some rich tosser in Baldur's Gate. He gets his shiny baubles, we get a handful of tarenths.”
Tarenths. Astarion remembered this term. It was the currency of the Zhentarim, a network of merchants and mercenaries with few scruples.
Morg seemed to know the term as well. She played the first chords of a song that sounded vaguely familiar to the vampire. She hummed, “'Moonsea lost, for’ver lost...'” Then she lowered the lute. “The Black Network. You are Zhentarim. Your people do not deal in 'baubles'.”
“You know who we are — very clever.” Rugan smiled appreciatively. “Then you probably also know it's not smart to interfere with Zhent business. This is the point when a smart lass like you accepts my gratitude and walks away.”
The bard curled her lips. “Hm. I know a thing or two about the Zhent. You are indeed a powerful alliance — one you don't want to mess with. You have a long and bloody history. And you are greedy.” Her eyes sparkled, and she gave Rugan a flirty smile. “I will no longer bother you. You and your young friend are free to go. Along with your cargo.” She nodded to their companions, and they lowered their weapons. “And I am grateful for the tip you gave me. We'll certainly stop at Waukeen's Rest, and pay a visit to your trading post.” She played a few soft chords again, then touched Rugan's arm. “I hope to see you there again. Maybe I'll have a chance to play for you and thank you.”
Again, the broad smile, the blue sparkle in the tanned face. “I'm looking forward to get to know you better... What was your name?”
“Morgan Le Fey. Remember it, perhaps it will stay with you for the rest of your life.”
Rugan indicated a bow. “Well then, beautiful Morgan. I am looking forward to see you again soon.” He nodded to young Olly, and together they maneuvered the handcart through the trees toward the path.
Astarion looked after them with a frown. When they were out of sight, he turned to his bard, crossing his arms. “I can't believe it, you let them go! Along with the precious box! Did I miss something, darling? We outnumbered them three to one.” He pouted. “I would really like to have this box. I wonder what's inside.”
“It's not a good idea to steal from the Zhent without a backup plan,” Morg replied. “Their 'business associates' from Waukeen's Rest would have come after us if they'd found out. And these people tend to find out things like that.” She gave him a little kiss and grinned. “Don't get upset. We received an invitation to a Zhentarim trading post, that's worth quite a bit. The Zhent are not only greedy, but wealthy. We can stock up on quality goods, and… who knows? There may be an opportunity to get something even more valuable than this chest. In any case, it is useful to have a contact there.”