Old Habits

Notes: I wrote this as a little gift for another forum.

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One

Hey, listen: this the story of how I was sent to retrieve a trinket, and, like some wet-behind-the-ears shit-face, got caught at it. I like to think it's a good story, because I'm the best storyteller in the East. I used to be the best thief in the East, but that was a lifetime ago.

But keep an eye on your pockets, friend. Old habits, and all that.

----

The city of the Dōsjin, Tōlmarak, was an ogre-built fortress: all massive slabs of grey ironstone wedged together so tightly that an ant couldn't fart comfortably. The thing about ogre-built structures is that they're far more accommodating on the inside than they appear on the outside. They just look like that to drive away everyone except the brave...or the foolhardy.

My mam always told me that out of her thirty-two offspring, I was the most stupid. Maybe that's why the city didn't look so bad to me. It was either that or the fact that I grew up in a stronghold built by ogres, and still occupied by them. Half-ogre, that's me. I know, the grey skin is a dead giveaway, but the pointy ears? The all-black eyes? The lack of tusks? I got those traits courtesy of my elven father. He was what they call a shadow-elf, one of the crazy types. Who else would think it was a great idea to fuck an ogress twice his size? On top of that, he was a flighty asshole; as soon as he knocked up my mam, he was out of there like a hut on fire.

She claimed I took after him. Never could keep still, and always managing to melt into the shadows when I stole some food or broke some of her pottery. I couldn't help it, that's just what shadow-elves do: take things, especially if they're really shiny, and then use their magic of concealment. What kind of magic? Well, take shadows, for example. Shadows have a lot more potential than most people think and shadow-elves, better than anyone else, know how to manipulate them properly.

I wasn't too concerned about getting into Tōlmarak, but the man beside me seemed pretty anxious. We crouched behind the scraggly bushes, watching the activity at the massive front entrance. It was made of two parts: a pair of mighty wooden doors, which were currently standing open, and a long drawbridge which crossed a moat filled with brackish water. Now and again, the dark water would ripple as the spiky fin of some smallish dragon broke the surface. All kinds of people streamed in and out; I saw a few fauns, some sea-elves, flittering fae, and even a cantering herd of centaurs. It was barely past dawn, and yet Tōlmarak was already wide-awake.

"Are you sure you can get in?" The man beside me asked. His name was Marce, and he was the 'prince' of the village that had hired me for this job. I glanced at him and shrugged.

"It's not barricaded," I pointed out, getting to my feet and adjusting my oft-repaired cloak. "I'll just walk right in."

He stood up as well. He was tall for a human, but I was slightly taller. I suppose he and I were the same age, but the lines in his brow made him appear far older than twenty winters.

"But they might be keeping Marchel locked up in a special place," Marce said, wringing his hands together and blinking rapidly. "Are you sure?"

I got a little irritated, I must admit. I scowled at him, tossing my long braid over my shoulder. The messy black hair tickled the back of my neck.

"Look, are you sure?" I asked, folding my arms over my chest. "You know who you're talking to, right? I'm Ruzhyll Delance."

"I know your name," he answered, frowning in return. "No need to repeat it."

"Obviously I need to, 'cause you seem to be forgetting who I am. Who did the Red Legion call when they wanted to swipe the crown jewels from the Talon?"

"You," Marce said, through his blackened, contorted teeth. "So they say."

I narrowed my eyes. "They're damned right, too. And who stole that talking harp from the Giant in Cloud Forest?"

"You," Marce said, even more reluctantly than before. "All the same, I hope you're worth your deposit."

"You better hope you have the rest of my payment ready when I get back your sister," I said, stepping over the bushes. "Or else I burn down your whole village."

Marce let out an incredulous scoff, and I could understand why. I'm tall, but as skinny as a broomstick, with a narrow face to match; I have a serviceable pair of tits, nice and firm, but overall I look like I can hardly light a match. I've been told that my eyes are my most striking feature: a bit larger than those seen on a pureblood elf and tipped up at the outer corners. Apart from that, I suppose I don't look like much of a threat.

I stopped walking, and snapped my fingers, concentrating very hard. With some satisfaction, I watched as blue flame erupted on my fingertips. Not very big, because I don't have that kind of power; but Marce's village has a lot of thatched roofs. Very flammable.

"Like I said," I told him very quietly as I looked over my shoulder. "I retrieve your kidnapped princess, you give me the rest of my money."

"Fine," he said, and he sneered as he folded his arms over his chest. "Get to work, half-breed."

If that was the best he could come up with, I felt kind of sorry for the future of his village. After all, any sensible village-head would demand a bond-gift from the Dōsjinni for their stolen girl, but most full-blooded humans hated the Dōsjin. I shook the flame from my fingers, and pulled the large cowl of my cloak over my head, putting my face into shadow. I felt my natural magic unfurl lazily and deepen those shadows, effectively shielding my sharp features from any close inspection. If necessary, I could do a quick glamour, but like the blue flames, that was magic I had to work hard for. It took a lot of energy out of me.

I walked right up to the end of the drawbridge, melting in easily with the busy in-going crowd. I even managed to slip my fingers into a few purses, earned seven silver coins, twelve copper and five gold. Not bad for a five-minute walk.

The city was big, but it was easy to figure out where a captive princess would be held. A tower, of course, and for its great size, Tōlmarak had but one: a massive spire rising right in the centre of the bustling town. It took me half a day to get to it, and on the way I saw more and more Dōsjinni: tall warriors dressed in battle-armour, weaponry slung over their backs or worn low on their hips. The spire stood in the middle of a great stone-paved plaza, the main roads of the city radiating from it like spokes on a great wheel. The other buildings ringed the edges of the plaza at a respectful distance.

At the steps of the tower, I peered up the wide flight. A group of Dōsjin stood at the top, chattering companionably; they seemed to be returning from patrol. One of them turned their head, looked straight at me, and I felt a jolt rush through my body. She had dark brown skin, pale grey eyes, and curly black hair cropped short. Her nose turned up ever so slightly at the tip, and her chin was softly rounded; they served as an interesting contrast to the sharpness of her gaze and the heavy shape of her eyebrows. Like the majority of Dōsjin, she was built tall and strong: a whole head taller than me. She wore form-fitting armour, covering every inch of skin. Pity; I would have loved to see if her tits were as impressive as the rest of her.

She kept staring at me, and I decided to take a direct route. Pulling back my cowl, I smiled up at her, invitingly. She smiled back and, look, you hear people talk about love at first sight, that's shit.

However, there's always lust.

I climbed the stairs, putting a great deal of swagger into my walk. The other Dōsjin, noting the fixed expression of the one still gazing, all turned to watch as well, but I barely noted them in the periphery of my vision. I couldn't seem to shift my stare from her. When I finally got to them, I executed a fanciful greeting: twirl of hand, deep sweep of arm into a bow. When I straightened, they all had similar amused expression on their faces.

"Greetings, ye mighty of Tōlmarak! I am Zorn the Amazing and Amusing," I told them, giving one of my many aliases. "I offer my services to you, at a special cost!"

They dipped their heads in reply to my exorbitant bow; for a race of ruthless fighters, I've found that the Dōsjin are deeply courteous when not in battle.

"What kind of services?" My Dōsjinni asked, her tone low. She had a massive, curved sword strapped to her back. I didn't let my gaze stray too close in that direction; it seemed sharp enough to slice my eyeballs out just for looking.

"General entertainment, Jiyiō. Minor trickery and the like," I said, sidling close to her. She smelled like weapon-oil and animal rawhide, and I picked the deep musk of her sweat. She laughed, a pleasantly deep sound, and I hoped my pronunciation hadn't been too awful. I knew a number of simple Dōsjin words and phrases; Jiyiō was one of the few I could pronounce without insulting someone's mother. I think it was a noble title of some sort, like Lady or Duke.

"I am no Jiyiō, my dear Zorn," she said, and her companions agreed with hard laughter. "You may call me Isthar."

"Isthar," I purred, going even closer to rest my palm lightly on her chestplate. She glanced down at my hand and then looked up, her gaze hot as it raked over my face. As far as I knew, the only type of magic most Dōsjinni possessed was the innate kind which aided them in fighting, and occurred to them as natural as breathing; they didn't deal with direct forms of magic, like curses and charms. Yet, I felt a powerful compulsion to just lie back, spread my legs like a reckless succubus and let her stab her tongue deep into my dampening sex. I parted my lips and one side of her generous mouth quirked up in response.

"Come, then," Isthar said and just like that, I was in.

Two

Nothing like a Dōsjin party, I tell you. Tables of steaming food, barrels of drink potent enough to melt your face and lots of soft surfaces to fuck on, if you wanted. I did have a show: Zorn the Amazing and Amusing had some talent with tricks and song, and I easily held the attention of the Dōsjin warriors. They laughed and roared with laughter at my lewd jokes, and I have to admit that I enjoyed myself. I don't mind having the attention of a crowd focused on me; that's probably more from my ogre side. Shadow elves are secretive as fuck.

Near the end of my show, the huge wooden doors at the back of the grand hall swung open and a Dōsjinni of great stature strolled in. He was huge, even among his own people. His black hair fell in long waves over his shoulder, a thick sheaf that fell almost to his waist. He had a wide brow, deep-set grey eyes and a broad jaw. The overall effect was one of brooding mystery, especially with his brown skin, dark like the polished rare wood imported from the eastern borders. He wore thick furs over his broad shoulders and his dark clothing had gilt edges.

A large silver amulet hung against his chest. My fingers itched to swipe it, but he'd probably break my hand as soon as I reached for the shiny thing. I've heard that certain Dōsjinni can move faster than a blink.

A human woman walked beside the big Dōsjinni, her arms folded into the large sleeves of her fancy blue gown. She was tiny beside him, the top of her head barely reaching the middle of his thick bicep. She possessed curves that were probably illegal in some of the more conservative areas; the neckline of her gown plunged almost all the way to her bellybutton, exposing the inner curves of her breasts. She had lovely brown eyes, a heart-shaped face and a tumble of shiny black curls set against the soft amber of her skin. This was Marchel,the kidnapped princess; I knew her by the thin collar of tattoos inked into the skin of her neck which Marce had described. Though there was a vague resemblance between the two of them, it was hard to believe this sweet-faced girl was his twin.

As I continued to amaze and amuse, I watched as the Dōsjinni led Marchel over to one of the seating areas, a low table surrounded by fluffy piles of pillows. Marchel didn't seem as terrified as Marce insisted she would be; she actually offered a small smile to the Dōsjinni as they settled down together. Isthar appeared out of nowhere behind them, bending to murmur in the male's ear. Her armour was gone, and she wore a loose, long-sleeved blouse and trousers. Isthar's gaze flickered up to me. She offered a small smile and I almost forgot what I was supposed to be doing; mostly because I could see right down the front of her blouse when she bent over like that, and her tits were fantastic: big and round, topped with dark nipples that looked as if they'd fit nicely in my mouth.

I struggled to regain my composure as she straightened up. A show was a show, after all. Keeping up a string of idle chatter, I picked my way over to Marchel and her companion.

"And now, for my final act!" I held my arms out to her. Marchel blinked up at me, before glancing at the Dōsjinni beside her.

"Viosthar, is it safe?" she asked in a quiet manner. I stared at her, surprised. Her tone was very trusting, and she addressed him as if she expected him to ensure her well-being.

"It is, sōheen." His voice was a confident rumble, and he smiled at her as he said that weird little Dōsjin word; it had a nice ring to it, that word. I resolved to learn the meaning of it before I snatched this girl and returned her to her village. In the middle of my resolution, Viosthar turned his grey gaze on me, and the threat in it was very readable: this trick of yours WILL be safe. I hoped my expression was calm and soothing, but I have to admit I was a little rattled. It seemed as if the enormity of stealing a princess from underneath the collective nose of the Dōsjin suddenly settled on my shoulders, but I threw it off. I'd get the job done, and my reputation would be so damned shiny, I'd probably have to steal it from myself.

Marchel gave me a very dubious glance, but she held her slender arms out to me.

"Sit right there," I told her as I grasped her forearms and let my magic seep out into the room, seeking out the shadows hidden under alcoves and in the ceiling. "Don't move."

See, there are many things people don't know about shadows. For example, shadows have characteristics specific to the person or thing they belong to. I can't explain it, it's like a sensation or a scent...or maybe both at once. All I know is that once I touch your shadow, I can find it again within a certain radius and time-frame. And if I can find your shadow, I can find you.

Another example: shadows have a tangibility which can be manipulated by shadow-elves, and I did that now, pulling them close to me and piling them under Marchel's bottom. She let out a surprised little sound as she rose up in the air, supported by nothing but wispy darkness. She laughed, looking down at Viosthar with shining eyes and the other warriors in the room released out loud cheers. I grinned as I gave the command for her to be returned to her spot; at the same time, I touched those shadows nestled in the crook of her elbows, memorising the particulars.

The crowd of Dōsjin hollered as Marchel floated back down to her place. When I released her arms, she clapped very enthusiastically.

"That was wonderful!" she exclaimed and leaned into Viosthar's side, staring up at me with a broad smile. "Do you have any more tricks?"

"I am finished for now, for it is quite late," I told her, noting the way Viosthar put his arm around her shoulders, very gently for his apparent strength. "But if I am allowed, I will present more tomorrow!"

Marchel turned to Viosthar, one small hand twisting into the furs he wore. "I would like to see more. May the entertainer stay?"

Viosthar's arm tightened very slightly and then relaxed. "Of course. Isthar?" He turned a little, not quite looking over his shoulder. Isthar stepped forward. "Place the entertainer in our guest quarters."

"As you wish, Jiyiō," Isthar answered and looked at me with what seemed to be contemplative amusement. "If you would follow me, Zorn."

I trotted behind her as we exited the great hall and down a corridor, tall and wide. Small torches lit the way at regular intervals, firelight branding the stone walls. Despite the attempt at lighting, this spire had lots of shadows, and I nodded to myself in satisfaction.

"Isthar, what does sōheen mean?" I had to race to keep up with her; even though I was almost as tall and my stride should have matched hers, she moved like a swift breeze down the corridor. I was at a jog when I spoke, and my voice emerged breathlessly. She glanced at me, quirked one sweeping eyebrow and slowed her pace drastically.

"It means..." She wrinkled her nose for a moment. "It has many meanings, mostly endearments. 'Darling' or 'lovely'. It's a very old word, though. Powerful."

Interesting. "And is Viosthar your brother?" I grinned as she gave me a very long look out of the corner of her eye.

"You ask a lot of questions."

"It's all a part of my natural curiosity," I claimed, eyes wide in an attempt at guilelessness. "They're harmless questions, though. Much like me."

Isthar huffed, but answered: "Yes, he is my brother. As the first-born of the Dōsjin sovereignty, he is the Jiyiō. Not me." She stopped at a place where the corridor split into two: one path led onwards at the same level; the other climbed the sweeping curve of a wide staircase. She inclined her head to the smaller corridor. "The guest quarters are this way."

I reached out and grasped her elbow. "One more question," I said, stepping near. Her skin was warm under my fingers. "Are you really going to send me to the guest-rooms, and not take me to bed?"

I was close enough to see the narrow, vertical pupils of her eyes widen to almost completely consume the grey of her irises. The smile that spread across Isthar's mouth was predatory.

"Let's see how amazing and amusing you really are, then," she murmured, gripping my hand and pulling me towards the stairs.

----

Isthar shoved me against the wooden door of her private room as soon as she dragged me in. I managed to unhook the strap of my travelling pouch and let it drop to the floor just as my back hit the timber. She grasped my chin and kissed me, groaning into my mouth as I shifted one thigh to push against her crotch and slung the other leg around her hip. She rocked against my thigh and I jerked back from the kiss with a surprised gasp.

"You have a little something extra, I see," I said, half-accusing, half-teasing. Her soft laughter puffed against my lips before she kissed me again, her tongue swirling into my mouth. Her hands gripped at my bottom, holding me in place as she ground what felt like a massive prick against my leg. I pulled back, panting. "I thought you were female. Your face--" I stroked her jaw, enjoying the feel of her shadows. To me, the shape of her face seemed more feminine, what with the slant of her cheekbones and her full lips.

"For a Dōsjinni, there is no such thing as 'extra'," she said, pulling back. I shuddered at the loss of contact. My nipples were hard enough to drill through the stone wall surrounding us, and my pussy felt as if it was dripping. She smiled as if she knew how wet I already was. "I tried being fully male last year. Didn't like it too much. You may think of me as mostly female, if that's of any importance to you."

"I admire that kind of flexibility," I told her as she pulled me towards the fur-covered bed in the middle of the small room. She yanked off my cloak, the shirt made of a rough weave and my loose trousers, tossing them to one side. She laughed a little at my drawers; they were old-fashioned and a shade of pink that used to be red, but I liked them because my mother had made them for me. Well, she'd made them for someone, and I'd stolen them before leaving my childhood home. I like to think that my mam left them out on purpose.