Elsewhere Chronicles Ch. 00

"Namby, please!" she called on him - by now, she knew him well enough to know that he only stuttered when he was scared. "If she doesn't catch us, she can't hurt us."

Of all the beastmen she had encountered in her months of captivity, he was the kindest and most eloquent. Most were brutish figures, men with thick fur growing on their skin, wild and violent. More than once had she ended up on the receiving end of their blows, at least that first week trapped in the wooden cage while they traveled to the Bone Witch's fortress.

"I'm sorry we couldn't take the other one with us..."

Tears threatened to return to Meredith's eyes; she stopped and turned to her companion. Even in the dark forest, she could make out his sweet round facial features, round nose, cute lips like a cat's split under the nose. She marveled at his amazing physique, muscles and fur all mixed. He wore nothing but a loincloth to hide his intimates. His fur was a mix of golden and brown, unkempt only because of how he lived. She was certain she could make him look regal if she could only brush him.

She had other things on her mind.

"It's all right," she told him, repeating a statement made several times earlier. "She told us to go. She couldn't come with us. We would have been caught."

The hardest decision of Meredith's short life had involved leaving her mother behind, after spending so much time in captivity with her. But what else could she do but obey her mother? Had it not been for her round belly and her inability to move quickly, it might have ended up differently.

When she thought of all the times her mother had saved her in the past months, she simply couldn't disappoint her. That didn't prevent the decision from hurting as much as a real injury would.

Namby fell silent and trudged along, his pleading eyes on the girl he had rescued. Watching her suffer, knowing what the Bone Witch had planned, and then hearing the beautiful blonde creature's plea, how could he not honor her request even if it meant exile or death? No one could have suspected the cowardly Namby to suddenly grow a pair and actually show his true colors.

Meredith grabbed his furry hand.

"We need to run."

"Yes... I'm sorry. I... I'll follow."

"Thank you, Namby."

She kissed him on the cheek; then, holding his hand, she led him across the forest and away from the territory of the Bone Witch. They needed to get as much distance between her and them as possible before the evil woman realized they had escaped.

When I roll off Fiona, she doesn't stir. She's satisfied, slowly lulling herself into a peaceful slumber. I'm content too, and not just with my orgasms. I decide to keep the cock for now, in case another craving for Fiona's hole takes me later. It's been known to happen.

I get up from the bed and walk to my wardrobe closet, opening up and pulling out a silk green robe. They like green in this kingdom. It's a local color - it certainly explains why my lover has green skin, being the official representative to the place.

I sit at my desk and stare into the smaller mirror there, admiring my facial features. I lean in and check my correspondence, wondering who wrote me in my absence. I'm not surprised to find a letter from Namby. His writing has improved. It's not a fascinating tale but it's an interesting read. He tells me of his family and how amazing they are. He asks when I plan to visit. I have no idea. I want to spend some time in the Emerald City, visiting a few friends and making love to my wonderful Fiona.

The next letter isn't surprising either, though it's lengthy. Its author is known for his wordsmith skills, especially now. He wasn't always so erudite; more accurately, he didn't acknowledge himself as a savant. That's another small victory I can claim.

I peruse the first line of his letter, expecting what I read.

To her most sterling exemplar of outstanding prestance,

From your humbly devoted and settled erstwhile wastrel,

In pact and passion thus entwined to foreverness

He doesn't change. My dear, wonderful Vagabond - the smartest creature I have ever met, and a great friend in every right.

He never looked like much, in his dirty rags, behind his stained face and odd smell, but Meredith had come to rely on Vagabond as much as any of her other friends. They had met on the road, quite accidentally, and had not parted ways since. He was looking for a purpose, cleaning his broken glasses with a dirty handkerchief, heavy bags slung over his shoulders. She offered him a strip of her blouse instead. He thanked her and introduced himself merely as a vagadond with no name.

"I'm gonna call you that, then," she had said. "Vagabond."

He had merely smiled.

Today, she watched him silently work his technique against the lock, his deft hand and keen mind analyzing its structure with remarkable focus.

"This is a combination bolt," he spoke, separating each word. "It forces any interloper desirous to peruse past its structure to visit its internal chambers with two clips of varied length. Fortuitously, I have seized such implements as we were trampsing in the mechanist's shop."

"So you can open it?" Namby inquired.

"My flocculent friend," Vagabond replied, "the deed is performed to satisfaction."

And he snapped the lock open, a shy smile on his lips.

"Rags," Woodman replied, "you're amazing."

"Please don't call me that," he replied, pouting.

Meredith moved closer to him and caressed his cheek, kissing it gently.

"He didn't meant to insult you," she whispered to him.

"I truly didn't," Woodman apologized.

"Then," Vagabond replied, "I shall not hold any semblance of disagreement with you, friend."

Meredith stared at the door, worried. The tension in her voice was palpable.

"Oh! I hope she's in there. We've looked for her everywhere. But I know she's alive. I feel it."

"As do we all hope for you," Woodman said. "But we won't know until we enter."

"The threshold must be crossed," Vagabond added.

"I'm with you guys," Namby said, shivering from fear but resolute in his alliance with his traveling companions.

Together, they pushed the door open and walked into the room beyond, to whatever fate awaited them.

It didn't turn out so well back then, I remind myself, though in the end, some time later, we did manage to achieve victory. It was painful and humiliating, but I can live with that.

I have lived with it, many times over.

Vagabond's letter is simply a list of all the duties he has to take care of now that he's the leader of this place. He's asking for my insight on a few things. I don't think he needs it but it's always nice to see him. I might ask Fiona to come with me. She should leave her room more. We have a tendency for cocooning when I'm in town. I can't say I don't understand why, but it would do us good to be seen together, walking hand in hand. People have opened their hearts to us but it's always good to remind them that love is love, and that it doesn't care what genitalia you have between your legs.

I have both. I'm the best example there is.

I put the correspondence away and rise from my desk. I should start keeping a diary. My thoughts are jumbled enough as it is. I tried penning them down to paper last year (was it last year? Time flows strangely in this realm). I didn't have the drive. Perhaps I could try again.

I wonder how the intro could go.

Hello, I'm Meredith, a Kansas girl that was swept up in a tornado that changed the course of her entire life, for better and for worse.

No, I don't like that. I tried that last time. I need something fresh, exciting, that inspires action.

There once was a girl from Kansas. She had a nice life until it all fell apart and she was thrown in a world of danger, lust, good and evil, discovery, love and hate, suffering and care. She would be defined by her actions and transformed by this challenging new place.

I like it but... it's not quite it. You don't want to give away too much. You need to start somewhere simple.

Meredith lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with her father Charles-Henry, who was a farmer, and Emily, who was the farmer's wife and her mother.

It's reminiscent of something, a story I may have read long ago. I like it. Let's go with that.

ELSEWHERE CHRONICLES: AN INTRODUCTION