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monstersandmaw · 4 years ago

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Female tiefling guard x human princess (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This has been up on Patreon for a week, and now it’s time to share it here!

Contents: a short, fiesty, gives-no-fucks female tiefling guard, some anti-tiefling sentiments from the other guards, a soft but 'don't mess with me' princess, an army of attacking demons, a minotaur best friend, and an nsfw scene to finish. Wordcount: 6756

A dull rumbling startled Salanei from her bed and set her reaching for the deep well of magic inside her in a heartbeat. The castle was shaking.

“Impossible,” she hissed, but other guards were tumbling out of their bunks all around her, some scrambling to draw weapons, others calling sparkling magic to their hands, though there were admittedly fewer of those. The castle was built on a promontory of black rock, harsh and stark against the chill morning light, but it was as old as the land itself and nothing should have been able to make the foundations shudder like that.

Unless…

Tilting her head to one side, letting her thick, messy, black braid slide down over one shoulder, Salanei opened her core of magic a little to the surroundings. At first all she found were the life-sparks of the other guards, but then, like a murmuration of birds on the horizon, she felt something far more sinister. “We’re under attack,” she yelled, stuffing her boots on and sprinting for the door. “Demons.”

The tiefling ignored the way the others dismissed her or scoffed at her - whether through deep-rooted prejudice or uneasy disbelief at her cry of ‘demons’ - and she bolted through the palace like a rabbit through its home warren. She didn’t think, she didn’t stop, she didn’t pause; she raced up back stairs and along half-forgotten passageways, and emerged, gasping, in what had once been an upper, open-air walkway that connected the main part of the castle to the residential wing. Her boots skidded on the rough stonework, grit and dust slipping beneath her soles, and she barely stopped before the gaping abyss into the courtyard below swallowed her.

Where a thick buttress of stone had arched across the space for centuries, now a smoking, singed stump of the bridge remained and the walkway was completely gone. “Shit.” Across it, she could see more of the royal guard backing into the part of the castle that would lead to the residential quarters of the princess after only a few staircases and passages. From the looks of it, they’d only just escaped back along the parapet in time.

Looking out at the landscape around the castle, she froze, horror icing over her veins.

Demons swarmed down the hillside and pooled around the outer walls of the castle to form a seething, foetid moat, their shapes as varied as the horrific noises they made; some with wings, some with horns, some with lashing tails and glinting claws. One or two of them breathed gouts of flame into the dawning sky, and from somewhere deep below at the curtain wall of the castle courtyard, the bellow of a bull in a blooded rage made her ears ring. A second later, the whole castle trembled again and a rain of fine particles and chunks of stone clattered down around her.

They were going to breech the wall.

“Fuck.”

The span across the gulf of empty air wasn’t so big that she couldn’t use a little magic to propel herself over it, and so, summoning a gust of air to spring her forwards, she leapt lightly off the stonework behind her and let the updraft catapult her onto the far tower. She landed hard but rolled through it and came to stand smoothly on her feet, finding herself face to chest with an enormous, familiar guard.

“Brandon, it’s…”

“Bloody chaos,” he said, falling into step beside her as they moved through the shrapnel-scarred archway and into the tower beyond.

The huge minotaur was about as broad across at the shoulders as Salanei was tall, and his huge war axe was cradled gently in his massive hands; ready. He was the only person who had ever treated her with any genuine respect at the castle, and the two were somewhat unlikely sparring partners more often than not.

“Who’s behind it?” she asked as they trotted down the stairs and a pounding, dolorous bell began to sound from the heart of the castle.

He shook his shaggy, black head, the patch of white at the front of his forelock dancing in the low light. “Not sure. Reports suggest they came from the west.”

“Dorhul?” she asked, steady pace stalling in time with her horrified, faltering heartbeat.

Brandon shrugged. “Seems likely. He’s always wanted to add the kingdom to his collection. With Ria’s father so ill…”

Salanei’s black eyes narrowed and she fought the urge to ram her hard horns against a wall with the wave of bitter spite that washed up inside her. The minotaur, clearly seeing the echo of a familiar urge bubbling up in the tiefling, laid a hand on her shoulder. It was so big, it engulfed the joint completely, and the weight of it steadied her. “Easy. We’ll get through this.”

“Where is the princess now?”

“The Elite Guard took her down to the undercroft.”

Salanei’s heart lurched and she stopped. “They’re taking her out by boat? Bran, that escape passage only leads to one place… if she’s caught out on the open water…”

“Dawn’s not far off. The sun rises over the lake,” he explained, but she could tell he was as unhappy with the plan as she was. “If the demons can even bear to look at the sunlight as it hits the water, they won’t see her. The glare will be too much. I think they expected to have broken through by now, but this castle’s a hard nut to crack, even with those numbers. It should buy her time to escape.”

He had a point. It was a flimsy hope and a prayer, but it was all they had.

They made it two floors down before the ring of steel and the snarl of demons reached their ears, and Salanei swore again, drawing deep on her reserves of magic so that it lapped like a vast lake a the very forefront of her mind; ready.

She flung a conjured talisman at the nearest demon’s head and the creature exploded into a mist of gore and black ichor. Not pausing to get splattered, she ducked low and aimed another spell - a lancing spike of ice this time - at a twin-headed monstrosity, one half of which was occupied with the head of a guard in its maw, the other half of which had just spotted her. The spike went through both skulls and pinned them to the wall before Salanei had even finished dancing lightly around them.

Quick and light as a mouse in a hay barn, she dodged and struck, until finally she was at the far end of the corridor. From behind her, she heard Brandon bellow a warning at her, asking her to wait, but she was gone like a weasel. Protect the princess. That had been what the old king had demanded of her in return for the shelter and comfort he had offered, and she had gladly accepted the trade.

Shouldering the door at the end of the corridor with a little extra magic behind the gesture, she burst through in a barrage of splintered wood and iron studs as the ramming spell cloaked around her shoulders made short work of it. Instantly, she found three spear tips at her throat, and she froze.

“Stop!” came familiar voice, and were it not for the glinting blades hovering so close to her pulse that she could see her blackberry-purple skin reflected in them, she might have gone slack with relief. “Let her go.”

“Highness,” Salanei said, bowing gratefully from the waist. “They’ve breached the castle from above, and they’re trying to get in from below. They’re only a floor above you now.”

She watched the princess’ freckled cheeks blanch, and she swayed ever so slightly before rallying her courage and pushing back her shoulders. “I have been advised that the undercroft is the safest route out of here, all things considered. Do you disagree?”

Before Salanei could reply, a guard stepped directly in front of her, his deep, maroon livery blocking her view of the princess. “Highness, we must leave. Now. Let the gutter rat fight the demons, but we have to get you to safety.”

Salanei’s lip curled back off her sharp canines and she snarled a warning at the soldier who ignored her completely.

It was a miracle that she even heard the soft tread of slippered feet on the stone floor above the clangour outside, but when the guard’s spine straightened and he shifted awkwardly back to where he’d been standing, Salanei almost snorted with laughter.

The princess’ face seemed carved from marble; all softness had shattered into hard lines, her eyes blazed green, her strawberry blonde hair falling behind her like a shield made of silk. “Repeat that,” she demanded in a voice low and deadly. When the guard stuttered himself into silence, she blinked. “Repeat that.”

“Highness,” he grunted. “Please, we cannot waste any more time! We must leave.”

“Repeat. That.”

“She’s a gutter rat, Highness. Everyone knows it.”

Stepping so quickly that no one saw her move, the princess darted forwards and backhanded the guard across the cheek. “I will not have someone spoken of like that, either in my presence or elsewhere in the castle. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Highness,” he nodded.

“Salanei, come here,” she said, turning away. Before Ria had gone two steps, a demonic portal began to open in front of her. The flickering purple and red edges were ragged as an old scrap of fabric, and a vile, sulfurous gas billowed out of it.

“Shit! Get back!” The tiefling dodged in front of the princess and brought her hands together, calling a binding incantation to mind and willing the strands of the spell to stitch the portal together again, preventing it from opening. The wielder on the other side was strong, their will like iron, but Salanei’s was stronger. Years of being whittled down until she was nothing but muscle and magic and sheer force of will had made her almost unbreakable now, and she knew it. Knowing it was half the struggle with magic.

I am stronger than you, she chanted in her head. This portal will not open.

“I knew having a magic wielder in my guard would be a good thing,” the princess muttered in her ear. “I’m just sorry my mother was so against it.”

Salanei could only grunt with the effort of closing the infernal portal. Behind it, straining against the glowing strands of her spell, a rabid demon snapped its jaws, trying to slice through the counter spell. The mage on the other side didn’t have a spare ounce of concentration to tell the beast to get back. Where was the High Mage when you needed her? Probably bolstering the wards on the castle walls, trusting that the Elite Guard would protect the princess for now.

“Get out of here,” Salanei finally rasped, sweating with the effort. The portal was almost closed.

A hand landed gently between her shoulder blades, fingers splayed wide, palm pressing securely against her skin through the fabric of her dirty shirt, and Salanei gasped as a rush of fresh magic and strength washed into her. With a snap, the portal sealed shut and she whipped around to find the princess smiling softly. “Come with me,” was all she purred.

Salanei nodded, winded and mute, and still dizzy from the surge of golden life that had poured into her from the princess and mixed so easily with her own magic. When had she learned to do that?

The path out of the princess’ chambers was littered with demons. Salanei used every trick and spell she knew, darting here, warping there, slicing, slashing, stabbing, to clear the path while the guard huddled close around their princess and picked off any stragglers who got through. The guards encircled the princess as though she were a jewel and they the setting. Nothing was going to touch her.

Out on another vulnerable, spun-sugar walkway that would lead them directly to the tower that sat atop the cavernous undercroft of the castle, a cloud of tiny, winged demons - which Salanei recognised with horror as having once been harmless forest pixies - swarmed towards them out of the lightening sky.

“Shields!” she screamed back over her shoulder, preparing another spell. Her vision swam from the speed at which she was hemorrhaging magic in the princess’ defence, but she blinked the daze away and focused on creating a wall of fire. Momentum sent the first half of the swarm ploughing straight through it, incinerating their fragile bodies to cinders, but the rest of the flock doubled back and regrouped. With a second flurry of flaming hands, Salanei danced through them until nothing remained but broken, blackened wings at her feet like campfire ashes.

One floundered uselessly at her boots, and while the princess was herded towards the safety of that final tower door by her retinue, Salanei scooped the wounded creature up in one hand and heard its infernal language as little more than a hoarse whisper, like wind through the grasslands. Tapping two fingers to her temple, she directed her magic at the creature, and connected a blue thread with its own yellow spirit thread, and demanded of it, “Who made you?”

A flash of images swirled through the connection, but she had seen enough. “Dorhul,” she spat when she saw the tall, slender figure of the most hated man in the four kingdoms. The connection sputtered, and the creature that had once been a pixie fell limp in her hand. Dropping it, she spun and trailed after the princess, blinking black spots from her vision.

Down staircase after staircase they plummeted, until finally they burst out into the echoing undercroft. Groin vaults stretched away into the darkness like the canopy of an endless stone forest, and Salanei shuddered. It reminded her of the dank dinginess of the slums so viscerally that she almost heaved.

“Don’t stop now,�� Princess Ria whispered, pausing to find Salanei staring off into the darkness with wide, black eyes. “We have to keep moving.”

Nodding silently, the tiefling fell into step beside her, scanning the shadows for the faintest hint of movement, but it was still as a sepulchre down there.

The lap of water eventually reached her keen, tapered ears, and she looked up to see three small rowing boats bobbing in the shallow, underground dock up ahead. A narrow canal of water led out towards the lake, and as they all climbed into the boats, Salanei took a moment to admire the calm presence of the princess. It was a miracle that Dorhul hadn’t known about this entrance to the castle.

Ria, still clad in an incongruously soft, pastel pink gown that was spattered here and there with the evidence of their desperate escape, somehow looked as regal as she had sitting in the great hall in her father’s stead these last two years.

She had remained a steady, reassuring presence in the kingdom even as the king’s health faded away despite the High Mage’s efforts to heal him. In his absence, Ria had taken over the rule of the kingdom with the grace and justice that her father had instilled in her from a young age. The queen had died only a few weeks after her father’s sickness had presented, and Ria had mourned her for the appropriate weeks before getting on with the governance of the kingdom. Beautiful, refined, and achingly gentle, it was no wonder that the kingdom was in love with her.

Salanei swallowed thickly. Half the kingdom, and… her too.

Now, although there was the air of a frightened child about her delicate shoulders, she sat in the centre of the small boat as her guards rowed her away, her green eyes fixed on the retreating castle as they skimmed across the lake. Just as Brandon had said, the morning sun glanced off the surface, glinting like a cut gem as the castle burned behind them.

Salanei uttered a quick prayer under her breath for the minotaur who was presumably still inside the castle.

Halfway across the lake, the guards’ oars faltered with a splash. A vast wave of power pulsed from the heart of the castle and spilled out across the land in all directions, sweeping demons off the walls and parapets, scattering them to ash on the wind. The sheer, raw magic made Salanei’s ears ring and her chest tighten, but when she’d mastered herself again, she found Ria staring wide-eyed at the castle with a look of unbridled horror on her beautiful face.

“Highness?” Salanei croaked, barely resiting the urge to grab her shoulder and shake her gently. “Highness?”

“Father…” she choked. “My father is dead…”

Three thoughts raced through Salanei’s mind before it went perfectly blank again: ‘that means you’re the queen’, ‘if the king is dead it means he used a purging spell so powerful that it obliterated himself as well’, and ‘the castle is free of demons now’. “Should… Should we go back?” she finally croaked.

Ria just sat there in the little boat, her breathing shallow, her face ashen.

“Highness?”

Nothing.

“Ria?” she asked, reluctant to use her familiar name. She leaned forward to touch her arm, but one of the guards - a huge, leonine rakshasa - growled at her. Salanei bared her own canines at him and hissed like a cobra.

The sound of her bickering guards drew the princess out of herself, and Ria turned to them. “Please,” she whispered. “Not now. For the goddess’ sake, not now. Let me think.”

Chastened, they fell silent, though Salanei’s black eyes never left her princess’ face.

“We go back,” she finally said.

The leonine rakshasa’s ears pricked up and he growled softly as he said, “Highness, we only just got you out of there…”

“Look,” she said, her voice eerily calm as she pointed a trembling finger towards the castle.

A cloud of sparkling, fluttering sparks had risen like butterflies above the remnants of the highest tower, and Salanei recognised Maeva’s magical signature immediately. “The High Mage,” she whispered. “You think it’s a trap?”

Ria shook her head. “No. We have a code in case such a signal is ever used. Green with gold is a trap. Pink and pale green is all clear. We return. Now.”

The rowers turned the small craft around, and Ria sat with her jaw set and her fists clenched in the fabric of her dress, eyes intense, mind working. No one spoke or grumbled, despite how the guards’ shoulders must have been burning from the effort.

The princess ground her teeth, and muttered, “This is taking too long. It’s not your fault,” she added as a guard’s expression flickered momentarily. “You’ve all been wonderful.” Snapping her head up suddenly, the princess said, “Salanei?”

“Highness?”

“Can your tiefling magic teleport me from here?”

Salanei tilted her head thoughtfully to one side as she examined her reserves of magic. “If I do, I won’t have much left in the tank when we get there,” she said. “I’d rather not…”

“Do it,” Ria said. “That’s not a request. Get me to my father’s chamber, and Maeva can take care of the magic from there if needs be.”

Jartyn, a gnoll with half his ear missing and a huge burn scar on his face, interjected, “I really must object, Highness -”

Ria’s eyes flashed and he sat back, teeth clacking as he shut his mouth quickly.

However, she got control of her frustration and spoke in a gentle, if tense, voice. “I appreciate your concern, and I owe you all my life,” she said, gathering them all into the praise with a sweep of her emerald green eyes. “But my father just sacrificed his life to cleanse that castle, and now I must return to protect his legacy. If I don’t, there’s still a window of opportunity for Dorhul to step in and claim the crown and the kingdom amid the chaos. Do you understand?”

They did, and they all bowed as one.

“You will follow in the boat and attend me back at the castle.” Ria turned her gaze to the tiefling, and held out her hand. “Now, Salanei.”

Taking the princess’ hand in hers, Salanei concentrated every drop of will and magic on the king’s chambers. Teleportation was not something many could do, and it wasn’t something Salanei particularly relished. The familiar sensation of blurring at the edges announced that they were ready, and a heartbeat later, it felt like two magical grappling hooks had yanked them by the spine and guts and had torn them away to somewhere else.

The princess landed awkwardly beside her with a cry, collapsing against Salanei as they arrived in the bedchamber of the king, and the tiefling caught her. “I’m going to be sick,” Ria hissed a moment before it happened.

Salanei supported her and held her beautiful, long hair back, and then magicked all the mess away with an easy flick of her hand.

Clearly grateful, Ria straightened and turned to her. Her eyes were pink and her cheeks were pale, but she still looked so regal that Salanei’s heart twisted in her chest.

Then Ria’s eyes slid from Salanei’s face to the bed in the middle of the ruined room. The glass in the windows had been obliterated, blasted out into the courtyard below. The twisted remnants of the lead work hung like the gnarled roots of a ripped up tree from the casements, and the rest of the room was reduced to splinters and tatters.

On the bed, there was no sign of the old king at all, but where his head would have rested on the pillow lay the golden crown, and where his heart would have been was a glimmering opal. Salanei gasped when she saw it, following at a respectful distance, a pace behind Ria.

“That’s…”

“The heart of the Lunar Forge,” Ria whispered. “Yes. Imagine what hell a necromancer like Dorhul could raise with a focus like this… That must have been how he was able to wield so much magic just now too…”

Salanei shuddered, not wanting to think about what could have happened. The Lunar Forge sat at the heart of the castle, and beneath the light of a full moon, any weapons quenched in the pool of spring water had the power to destroy demons utterly. The focus of the power was that opal. It was the size of Salanei's fist and it thrummed with power. That power did not have to be used to focus the powers of the Lunar Forge though; it could be used at the heart of any ritual, to add unfathomable power, and if the necromage had got his hands on it, who knows what he could have brought into this world.

Ria picked up the stone and the crown and then sank onto the bed. When she looked up at the tiefling, another pang went through Salanei’s chest. Tears flowed silently down Ria’s face and the urge to embrace her surged inside Salanei. “Highness,” she whispered, her heart going out to the young woman.

Her face twisted, and sobs wracked the princess then, and her guard didn’t hesitate. She stepped in close and the princess folded forwards, throwing her arms around her wiry torso and burying her face in the filthy fabric of her shirt. Her tears dampened it until the flow finally stemmed as Salanei stroked the coppery hair and just stood there, taking her grief and fears in her stride.

“I can’t do it,” Ria whispered, still plastered to her chest.

“You will. You’re not alone. I know he’s gone, but you’re not alone. You have Maeva, and your guard, and… for what it’s worth, you have me.”

It took another few minutes before Ria leaned back to regard Salanei and drew in a deep, unsteady breath.

Taking a chance, Salanei reached out and thumbed the remaining tears from the princess’ blotchy cheeks. “You have me,” she repeated as her golden eyelashes fluttered softly. A moment later, the tiefling let go and spun, adopting a defensive stance as footsteps rang on the floor outside and someone burst in.

She relaxed instantly, adrenalin dissipating when the familiar red robes of the High Mage swirled to a halt and the older woman appeared to go through a similar gamut of relieved reactions upon seeing the tiefling. “Thank the goddess,” she breathed, leaning heavily on a long, slender staff. “Ria, child, are you alright?”

Mutely, the princess nodded and stood. She touched Salanei briefly on the arm as she passed, and sent a tiny rush of her innate magic into the tiefling. The tenderness of the affection made her sway on the spot where she stood and she smiled at the princess, bowing her head.

The Queen, she corrected, forcing herself to make the mental adjustment. That’s the queen standing there now, you dolt!

The severe figure of the High Mage was made all the more stark by the harsh daylight now flooding in through the empty windows. The wind at this altitude whipped right through the room, tugging at tatters of cloth and blowing papers around like dry, rattling leaves. Maeva drew the queen to one side and the two proceeded to talk in hushed voices, leaving Salanei with nothing to do except keep watch.

She crossed to the door at the sound of — she tilted her head and strained — hooves. Demon or friend…? Brandon’s telltale white forelock and black pelt drew into view as he trotted up the staircase and she relaxed.

“You’re alright,” he smiled, tugging her into a quick hug before stepping back. “Thank the goddess. When you disappeared like that — And… the princess?”

“Queen now,” Salanei murmured. “She’s fine.”

“Goddess shelter his soul, and long live the queen,” Brandon said under his breath.

“What’s the rest of the castle like?” she asked, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder and adding, “It’s a fucking mess in there.”

“Same,” he said, leaning on the door frame and suddenly looking extremely tired. “It’ll take weeks to clear the demons and the rubble, but whatever that was, it purged them all in one go. Damned powerful magic.”

“It was the king,” she said. “He sacrificed himself to save the castle.”

“Not just the castle then,” Brandon said darkly. “Saved the whole bloody kingdom with it.”

It in fact took just over a week to get the last of the ichor and demons out of the castle, but it did take much longer to clear the rubble.

Ria insisted on being crowned in the goddess’ temple at the castle, despite the fact that half the roof was missing. Maeva and anyone with even a scrap of magic had been drafted in to weave invisible supports over the roof timbers and pillars to stop it all from tumbling in and crushing the congregation.

Salanei stood at the head of the guard of honour, her blade raised as the queen passed beneath, and she winked at one of the kitchen girls’ daughters whom Ria had selected to be one of the four train-barers. The tiny child could hardly lift the heavy material of the excessively long gown, but she valiantly did her best, along with the other children who had been chosen from the families of the castle staff. It was a lovely touch, and it had only endeared the young queen more to her people.

As the queen drew level with Salanei, she didn’t stop or break her step, but she shot her a fleeting look in passing, and the tiefling’s heart leapt. Over the past few weeks, the queen had shown her a remarkable degree of affection. She’d raised Salanei to the prestigious position of the Queen’s Blade - her personal bodyguard. But where the two had hardly interacted before the attack on the castle, now Salanei found herself often being admitted inside her private study to discuss security and plans to bolster the castle’s and kingdom’s defences with magic and boots on the ground. On such evenings, it was not uncommon for their hands to brush or their gaze to meet, but whatever swirling emotions Salanei felt, she kept her thoughts to herself. This was the queen after all.

The coronation service went on and on, but finally the oaths were taken, and the queen, now formally crowned, processed out into the courtyard beyond to thunderous cheering and applause. Maeva sent a rain of enchanted petals down around her, and she addressed her people as their new leader. All the while she spoke, Salanei scanned the crowd, but to her relief, she found nothing but adoring faces and cheering people. She met Brandon’s eye from the front row of guards keeping the crowd back, and he nodded at her.

It wasn’t until Ria was back in her chambers, again with Salanei at her side, that she showed the faintest sign of her exhaustion.

She was silent while her maids undressed her, their nimble hands undoing the regiments of buttons. Finally, they removed removed the ridiculous gown from the room and found something more comfortable. In her humble, ignorant opinion, Salanei thought that the queen looked much better in plain dresses anyway.

Ria had decided, upon Maeva’s advice, to take the rest of the day to herself, and just as Salanei was preparing to stand guard outside her door, the queen took her wrist in her gentle, firm grip, and halted her.

“No, Salanei,” she said in a hoarse, tired voice. “Stay. Please.”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“I… I don’t know,” she said with heartbreaking honesty. “I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Feeling her body go slack as her heart went out to the young woman, Salanei said, “Shall I run you a bath, Majesty?”

On the point of replying, the queen paused and changed her mind. “Call me Ria,” she said. “Please. When it’s just us two in these rooms, please�� call me by my name. I’m… I’m afraid that I’ll forget the sound of it now that I’m queen and there’s no one left to call me that…”

Bowing her head under the weight of that gift, Salanei nodded. “As you wish… Ria.”

With a smile, the queen reached for Salanei's other hand and squeezed her fingers in her own. “You’re so strong, Salanei,” she said, running her thumbs over the rough, scuffed knuckles and feeling the calluses from weapons training on her palms and fingers. “You… You’re so beautiful…”

The breath left Salanei in a rush as if she’d been punched in the solar plexus. “Majesty,” she protested, embarrassed and trying to pull away, but the queen held firm.

“I mean it,” she said with a fierce light in her eyes. And then she went soft with a sigh and said, “But yes, a bath does sound nice.”

“I’ll run you one,” Salanei offered, glad for an excuse to leave the room. Her heart was thudding and her skin felt hot all over.

“You’re not my servant,” Ria barked as the tiefling made to stride away across the room towards the chambers. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I’d like to,” she said. “Please.”

With a nod, Ria accepted, and ten minutes later, a steaming hot bath stood ready for her in the adjacent bathroom, the scent of jasmine heady in the air. When Salanei emerged, she found the queen undressing again, and struggling with a button right in the middle of her back.

“Help me?” asked the queen in a surprisingly shy voice.

Silently, Salanei crossed to her and freed the tiny pearl button from the back of the dress, revealing the smooth, warm skin of her back as the fabric parted and fall away. She had three freckles just to the right of her spine. The urge to brush her fingers down the length of the queen’s back from the nape of her neck to the waist of her dress was almost overwhelming, but she forced herself to step back. “Anything else?” she asked in a croak.

With a knowing, almost playful smile, the queen looked over her shoulder and said, “Fetch me a robe?”

Licking her lips, Salanei swallowed. Had Ria’s eyes always been so bright? Her hair so golden? Her lips so…

“Salanei?”

“Of course,” she chirped and turned abruptly to fetch a robe from the back of the bathroom door and bring it. When she found the queen standing completely naked in the middle of the room with her dress pooled around her ankles, she nearly cursed. Her feet stopped and she stood there, slack-jawed and staring.

“Are you going to pass it to me or not?” Ria giggled.

Flushing hot, Salanei handed it to her and looked away as she extended her arm.

“Don’t,” Ria breathed. “Unless you want to, of course.”

She had no answer for that.

“Salanei…?” the queen asked, sounding suddenly unsure. “What is it you want? Answer me honestly.”

You.

“I can’t,” she hissed, turning completely away.

Oh gods, I want you so much, she thought. I want to make you forget everything. I want to kneel between your legs and taste you. I want to sink my fingers into your heat and feel you let go. I want to give you what no other can give you.

The queen’s voice was steady as she asked, “If you could speak freely, what would you say to me?”

“Tell me I’m not out of line,” Salanei breathed. “Tell me —” she couldn’t finish it. It felt… blasphemous even to begin to voice her desires. This was the queen. And she was a gutter-rat tiefling from nowhere, with no family and nothing but her magic and her fighting skills.

“I want you, Salanei,” the queen said unflinchingly. “I want you, but I don’t want you afraid.”

Her lips parted when she heard those words, and she turned to face her queen properly. Ria still hadn’t done up the bath robe, leaving a column of perfect skin exposed between her covered breasts, and a soft nest of golden hair between her legs. Salanei’s fingertip ached to touch her just there and see if her knees would buckle at the contact.

Without a word, the queen turned and walked slowly towards the bathroom, leaving the door open. An invitation? Salanei stood there for a long time, listening to the slosh of the water in the huge copper bath as the queen got in and then lay back. Steam billowed out of the room, coiling along the floor like crooked fingers calling.

Swallowing, her heart thudding, Salanei padded into the bathroom and came to an uncertain halt. The bath stood in the centre of the small chamber, and the queen had her back to the door where she reclined in the steaming water. “Come here,” she said gently.

“Would you like me to stay?”

“I’d like you to do more than that, if you feel comfortable…” she purred, and as Salanei drew level with the bath, she looked up at her, features sharpening. “Don’t do anything you don’t want to, alright? I’m well aware of what I am, and what your station is. If… If you feel as though you’re… obliged in any way to… to…” tears filled her eyes but she refused to let them spill, and in a rush Salanei knelt on the cold marble beside the bath and put her left hand on the rim of the tub.

“No,” she said fiercely. “I want this. Trust me, I want this…”

“You can touch me,” the queen said in a low voice, tilting her head back. The bubbles just skimmed the surface of the water, but as she moved, fragrant waves lapped at her chest and Salanei glimpsed the roundness of her breasts beneath the water and the dusky pink of her hard nipples too. “Please…”

Salanei slid her right hand into the water, her plum-purple skin in sharp contrast to the warmth of the queen’s own, and she found the inside of the queen’s thigh, letting her palm play up and down it for a moment. Ria let out a long, broken moan and arched her back a little, and it suddenly occurred to Salanei that she probably hadn’t ever been touched like this. Aside from being dressed by her maids, she was always apart, always unreachable, always kept safely at arm’s length.

“I…” Ria faltered, her eyes still closed. “I never thanked you. I never found a minute, but… I should have made time. You’ve given everything to me, and you helped to save my life.”

“I made your father a promise,” she said, still just cupping the curve of her thigh in her hand, hardly daring to believe that this was happening. “And I grew to love you years ago. Your goodness, your grace, your kindness… You won me heart and soul, Ria. I’m yours. Always.”

A tear slid from Ria’s eye and disappeared into the dampness on her skin at her neck. “Touch me,” she whispered, voice intense, and Salanei complied.

She moved her hand further up her smooth thighs, feeling her tail coiling around her own ankle as her body heated up and she began to get wet from the sheer anticipation of touching the queen like this at last. How many nights had she touched herself with thoughts of the queen’s pleasure ringing in her imagination?

At the smooth glide of fingertips over her folds, the queen’s legs fell apart and she bucked weakly, sloshing water almost over the rim of the bath. Another moan escaped her and she let her head loll as Salanei repeated the gesture on the other side before circling her swelling clit and then nudging just beneath it.

A shudder ran through the queen and she gripped the edges of the bath as Salanei brushed against her, teasing and testing, finding out how she liked to be touched, where was too sensitive and what garnered her the most vocal reactions. Slow and firm seemed to drive her closer to towards her peak, while tentative and teasing made her buck and gasp, shivering and grunting with satisfaction delayed. Naturally, she drew out the process for as long as she could, and oscillated between the two.

“Please!” Ria finally gasped, curling forwards, knuckles white on the rim of the copper bath as Salanei ran one callused fingertip back and forth just between her clit and her entrance. It was far too slow and far too teasing. “Oh goddess… oh goddess…” she chanted, her whole body winding tighter and tighter. The water could not disguise the slickness that eased Salanei's attentions either.

In a single motion, Salanei slid two fingers deep inside her and crooked them, pressing against her walls while circling her clit with her thumb, and the queen shattered. Salanei was fairly certain she’d soaked through her own underwear, but nothing could distract her from the tight, clenching heat as pleasure ripped through the other woman and swept her away with it. She gave herself completely to it and convulsed, water slopping over the edge of the bath and onto the floor and drenching Salanei's loose trousers too.

“You’re so beautiful,” Salanei crooned as the queen continued to come. “Goddess, but you’re so beautiful…” She kept the pressure inside the queen’s body with her fingertips, easing her through it until finally Ria slumped back against the bath, her chest heaving, her eyes closed, and the softest, sweetest look of joy on her face.

When she’d caught her breath, she opened her eyes with a flutter of golden lashes and whispered, “I want to do that to you.”

“I’m yours,” Salanei replied with a wry smile, withdrawing her fingers and tracing a fond touch across her sensitive inner thigh without removing her hand from the water.

“Give me a moment to feel my legs again,” Ria said, “And then help me out of here, and I’ll return the favour. I do feel bad that you were on the floor though,” she said, a tiny frown pinching her eyebrows together.

Salanei laughed hoarsely and said, “If you knew how wet I was, you wouldn’t have said that.”

The queen went still, a surprised smile on her face. “That got you wet? Doing that to me?”

“You have no idea.”

With that, Ria stood somewhat shakily, water cascading down her perfect body, and, with her eyes practically glowing, said, “Show me.”

___

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

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#tiefling #exophilia #sapphic exophilia #wlw #tiefling x human #female tiefling x human #female tiefling x female reader #female reader #female monster

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zippdementia · 7 years ago

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Part 40 Alignment May Vary: Vraath Keep

This is the ongoing adventure in the 5e conversion of classic 3.5 adventure The Red Hand of Doom! Not only does this detail the adventures of my three players but it also give detailed suggestions on how to run a 5e conversion of this campaign.

Tools I reference a lot: The 3.5 Red Handbook of Doom, The beastiary Revenge of the Horde, secondary beastiary Tome of Beasts.

Hunger. The sensation never left him. The best he could do to counter it was to hunt and kill and gorge until his belly sagged with food and he could not deny the truth, that he could not physically eat any more. It wasn’t quite what someone else might describe as being full, but there was satisfaction in knowing he had eaten to the point where physically he could no longer do so. But then he got bored. When the smell of blood and fear wasn’t filling his nostrils he would become restless, and anger always followed restlessness.

He was feeling restless now. He had just killed, a female deer that he had spotted while flying over the forest, but it had been an easy target. She had frozen in fear with the smell of him and he had flicked his tail and shot two spines from his tail directly through her neck. It had been a good shot, better than he intended, and she had died quickly. That had disappointed him. He had wanted a good chase, a mad dash through undergrowth, the adrenaline coursing through him like the finest potion. Maybe she would run back to her den and he could eat the little ones, too, if she had them. It was the right time of the year for little ones.

But instead he was here, already home and the dawn not even broken yet. Ahead of him, the Keep that Should Be His loomed. The Hobgoblins were scuttling away from the dawn, returning to their bunks in the old broken down keep. His own entrance, a hole in the roof of the old armory, was not far. He would crawl into his hole and eat his disappointing, if filling, dinner.

Briefly, as he flew past, a crow caught his eye. It was perched on the broken tower, bathed in the sickly green light that emanated from the Bugbear sorceror’s magics (the Bugbear was fond of his little trick, making people think the Keep was haunted). For a brief moment, Clydus thought of giving chase to the little black speck, but the crow would make a paltry meal and most likely a poor chase. He ignored it, and settled instead on his roof, dragging the corpse inside the hole with him.

“Manticore,” Jorr said in his warble of a voice and spat to one side. The picture the crow had drawn for them was poor, but surprisingly good considering Nysyries was using only a beak and talon to produce it. “Vicious creatures, nasty tail spines that they can shoot at you. They become embedded, infected, bad way to go.”

“So we sneak in and kill it,” Tyrion said. “It doesn’t know we are here, we have the advantage.”

“There is another way,” Nysyries said this as she transformed, the black feathers becoming black scales, the legs and wings elongating into limbs, the simple clothing and leather armor she wore emerging on her body. “When I flew over I saw a breach in the wall Southern. Looks like giants broke through there. We could sneak in that way. There were no guards.”

“Then we go,” Xaviee insisted. “This is what I’ve waited for, I won’t wait any longer. It is dawn, we have the advantage. We strike now.”

Beelzebub was exhausted. All night he’d been patrolling the woods around the old ruined castle. Koth--no, he was Wyrmlord Koth, he’d have to remember that--had ordered regular patrols ever since the hunchback had come back with reports of the three warriors hanging around the Ferry town. They had gone south this night, along the Dawn’s road and had even thought that they had seen campfires burning off in the woods, but when they chased them the lights kept moving and eventually the Sergeant had called off the trek, growling about fey magic. These woods were strange, it were true.

Now he undid his chainmail and climbed in his bunk, grateful to catch a few hours sleep before his shift for watch was up. However, he had barely closed his eyes it felt like before the ruined hall that served as their barracks exploded into noise and chaos. His eyelids snapped open and he saw a tall elf standing before him, a bandanna wrapped around his eyes. Beelzebub rolled instinctively but the elf seemed to track his movements, his hands darting out like clubs, cracking into his ribs and head. Blood poured from Beelzebub’s mouth and breathing was suddenly difficult as he completed his roll out of bed and desperately fought to regain his footing and his senses.

There were five of them, he saw. A huge black-scaled Dragonborn wearing dirty leathers used a heavy mace to bash in the face of the hobgoblin next to Beelzebub. A tiny man was screaming in rhyme as he darted swiftly about the room, magic blasts flying from one hand while the other idly held a gigantic black axe at the ready. Near him moved someone who was obviously a soldier: he wore a soldier’s hard monotone features as he moved about the room, sparring with the hobgoblins who rose to meet him. A bow twang announced the presence of the fourth fighter, an old man in dark green clothing, shooting arrows into the fray, taking careful aim before each shot. And then there was this elf fighting blindly, whose hands were like cudgels when they struck.

The Sergeant was calling for someone to raise the alarm. Beelzebub stood, dodged a kick from the elf and began to run. He felt pain in his back as he moved past the little one (that must have been the ax cutting me, he thought) but kept moving, kicking open the door to the courtyard and bellowing out the alarm as he ran outside, making his way for the stables. Behind him, he could hear the clash of steel continue and then it was drowned out by a sudden roar.

That would be Karkilan, he thought. The Wyrmlord’s bodyguard had joined the fight.

Karkilan was awake before the intruders had taken two steps inside the large hall. He came forward like a walking fortress from behind the dividers he had set up (for some privacy during his meditations) and charged directly at the elf, head down, clawed fists swinging around to crush the elf’s body into his horns, then throwing his head up to chuck the elf forward, the crash of the elf’s body hitting the sprawled out corpses of the Hobgoblins he had killed a wonderful music to Karkilan’s ears.

Behind him, he heard a mad cackle as Zharr, the Hobgoblin cleric, moved his deformed hunchbacked body into the hall. “Protect the Wyrmlord!” He shouted to Karkilan. “We shall take care of these.”

Karkilan wanted blood and battle: he did not wish to retreat. But years of battle training had taught him to obey and he did so now, retreating towards the entrance to the tower.

But something was wrong: the floor was coming alive beneath his hooves. He bellowed in rage as vines erupted from beneath the stone floor, pushing their way up and around his body, locking him in place. Nearby the hunchback was also struggling feebly, his misshapen body held fast by the vines. The summoner of the vines had to be the Dragonborn: she was staring intently at them and mumbling under her breath, as if calling the very earth to help her. And as Karkilan stood there, fixed in place, the elf and the halfling moved forward and drove their weapons, fist and axe, into the hunchback’s unprotected body. Two strokes was all it took: Zharr fell.

“Very entertaining,” the voice growled from the hole in the wall where they had climbed in. Traki could not see the voice’s owner, but he could smell him. The stench was like that of a great beast that wallowed in the corspses it ate. It stank of death and blood and fecal matter, with a pungent rancid smell over the top of it all that was quite unique. It had to be the Manticore. Though he had never seen one, and never would, he knew how dangerous the beast could be. And yet there was a playfullness in its voice that reminded him of a cat.

“If you would hold on for a moment,” Traki responded, “I’d be happy to come play with you next.”

The answer he got was a deep thrumm that passed, he assumed, as a chuckle. Then there was a sudden swishing sound and a change in the air. Instinctively, Traki raised his left hand and gripped the spine that had erupted from the manticore’s tail, bare inches from impaling itself in his neck. Disdainfully, Traki tossed it away.

“Listen, I said give me a moment! I’ve got others to fight first.”

This time, he got no response. Traki had no chocie but to assume the manticore had decided to wait. If he had had the eyes to see, he would have seen the manticore sitting with its monstrous, grotesque head resting on its lions paws, eyes watching Traki dart back and forth between his opponents, like a cat watches a mouse.

Fire spread from his fingertips as the vines crept under the oaken door and made their way across the chamber. The sight of them enraged him. How dare they. To make an attempt on his keep, when it was his time to rise, when the world should be bowing to him. Wyrmlord Koth, Bugbear Sorceror in service to the Great Red, was having none of it.

He strode foward, seven foot tall, flames erupting from his naked arms and twining around his hands. The vines wilted and died as he approached, his heat singing the color and life from them. At the door he paused only to announce himself: “I am the Wyrmlord Koth, son of the Dragon, weilder of the Flame! You will burn here with the force of my power!”

Then he launched the fire from his body in a massive blast that exploded above the hall, raining tiny meteors of flame down upon the intruders and their petty vines. The halfling was caught badly, falling to his knees under the onslaught. The Dragonborn ran for cover, beating off fires from her leather clothes. The Elf moved almost like the wind, dodging every speck of fire, slapping some of them from the air as they approached, turning them into sparking embers. And he looks blind.

Then aid arrived: the doors to the back of the hall burst open and his Hobgoblin warrior Beelzebub rushed in, followed by two worgs, one of them bearing a full armored Goblin warrior, Kelshab, the Prince of the Forest Tribe. Beelzebub fell quickly to a sneak attack by the monk, the elf slamming a palm into his face, crushing his jaw and killing him. But the worgs were close behind, and they leapt upon the monk and began tearing into him. Koth saw blood and sniggered at the sight. He reached inside his robes and pulled free a wand of Magic Missile, then held it forward and launched the magical bolts into the battle where they slammed into the interlopers one after the other. Koth cackled and readied another volley, but something stopped him. The Dragonborn was changing, morphing, her skin shifting into something wet looking, and rubbery. Soon, where she had stood, now instead coiled a gigantic serpent, its maw large enough to swallow a small dog whole, and to give a pony serious concern. Koth was no dog or pony, but even he took a step back as the beast lunged forward and Karkilan stepped in front of him to block him from its attack. It wrapped around the minotaur, serpent and bull locked in a sudden gruesome battle to the death.

Perhaps it is time for me to leave. Koth took two steps backwards into the tower room and disappeared from view.

Encounter: Vraath Keep

The above description doesn’t cover the whole battle, but enough of it to give the general idea. After Koth flees, the party regroups and focuses on the minotaur. Karkilan fends off the group long enough for Koth to fully escape the fortress and the battle ends in a quite epic fashion, as Trakki rides the giant snake form of Nysyries up the tower stairs to where Karkilan is about to drink a healing potion, leaps off the snake’s back, and delivers the final punch to Karkilan, taking him down.

Battle difficulty meant to be: Vraath Keep can be easy or hard, depending on how many enemies are alerted at one time. I would say my players end up approaching it in a medium to hard difficulty. Had the Manticore joined in, it would have been very difficult, possibly a TPK. But that’s appropriate, since they took most of the keep’s defendents on at one time.

Players are supposed to walk away feeling: Accomplished (or dead). They just took on a fortress, and whether they bluffed their way in via the manticore, snuck in and got what they needed, or took on the enemies in a straight fight, victory here should feel like that plan is a success. The great thing about the keep is it has so many approaches that it allows the players the opportunity to formulate any plan they like and really sandbox the approach.

Rebuild: I use hobgoblin veterans and a captain for the bunker group and a hillgoblin warrior and Alpha worgs to spice up the goblin riders. You can find these in the Revenge of the Horde. If you don’t want to use those, then I still suggest using some sort of buffed creature here. They won’t last long enough otherwise, unless your players are lower level.

For the Manticore, I only buff him a little by giving him higher than average life and I give him one use of a legendary free successfull saving throw. He likes to attack from afar, so I wanted to give him at least a chance to get there and not be immediately charmed or petrified or made afraid at the opening of combat.

For Karkilan, I Barbarian him up a little bit, giving him a STR and CON save and making him resistant to all damage except psychic once the battle starts. I have him use reckless attack, as well, for most attacks (giving him advantage to hit and players advantage to hit him).

For Koth, I do a from-scratch build, focused aroud the idea of a Fire Dragon-Gifted Sorceror. I don’t get to do too much with him yet, but it will be fun to have him come into the later battles.

Tactics: WIth all the different kinds of fighters, there are a lot of options for the DM to throw at the players and get to play around with: heavy hitters, mages, and quick-on-their-feet monsters.

The Manticore is very interesting and I enjoy that the book set him up as an aloof observer who only gets involved if directly ordered to do so or if attacked by the players. You have to decide how much of this you want to play into. I play into it heavily, because I like the world building and because it feels like it brings the challenge down to an appropriate level for my three-person party.

For a tougher fight, Koth could decide to lay his life on the line here and tackle the players with everything he’s got, throwing fireballs, using the wand of magic missile, and using his meta magic to make saves hard for the players—maybe even charming one of them. He won’t last too many rounds against a concentrated assault, but he can do some serious damage before going down, and if assisted by the Manticore, could spell a TPK for a smaller or unorganized party. Just keep that in mind when playing this encounter and remember that Koth can decide to flee whenever he feels outnumbered or like the battle is going against him. Same with the Manticore. They are your “pressure valves” in this fight.

Special Loot: The real point of this battle is to give players potential access to Koth’s maps, which really sets the pace for the rest of the adventure. There is a chance that Koth gets it and runs, which is fine if it happens, but then you will need something else to push the players onto the Skull Bridge (see next post for ideas on this). Other than this, there is the secret vault which has the game’s first big treasures. Most can be converted fairly straight (+1 Frost Bastard Sword, Gauntlets of Ogre Power, +1 Mithril Chain Shirt) and there is A LOT of gold here, which is fine—just remember to use DnD 5e magic item costs and this should actually be appropriate. The Staff of Life is an interesting item. DnD 5e is much more generous with how classes heal and which can heal, so you don’t really need the staff to stand in as the party’s healer, which is its original intent. Instead, I simplify it quite a bit. Our druid takes it.

Overall, I think this converts fine into Fifth Edition with very little adjustment. The DM has a lot of options at their disposal to make the fight easier or harder by reducing the involvedness of either Koth or the Manticore and my players definitely walk away feeling encouraged, though they are aware that the escape of Koth means their presence is probably reported to the rest of the horde. At the same time, they find the map and their next big decision will be centered around that.

#staff of life #DND 5e #Dungeons and Dragons #Pathfinder #Journey Log #Red Hand of Doom

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