The Apostate Ch. 03

Iliara and Cyra had camped outside the only entrance to Gauntlgrym they knew of. There were signs of a camp and combat, and they both had a strong feeling that Lura and Hammer had been here. They were both skilled enough in the wilderness to recognize footprints, even a few days old, and Iliara identified Hammer's massive footprint easily. So they camped in the same area, though not quite where the drow and human lovers had slept.

The sun was starting to flicker into the canopy created by the trees overhead, dappling Cyra's ruddy skin with cool light and setting Iliara's pale flesh almost to a glow. As Cyra opened her eyes, pure gold with only a thin slit of black down the middle, she relished in the sight. Iliara had always struck her as beautiful in a lithe, athletic way. She may enjoy larger female features, but Iliara's beauty was ethereal in its grace. She smiled and snuggled closer to the assassin.

"Lovely couple," a throaty, almost gravelly voice said. It was feminine, but didn't strike Cyra as the type of feminine she'd be interested in keeping around. She felt Iliara tense under her touch: her abdomen under Cyra's hand going taut, as if the elf was ready to spring her entire body into action.

"Dangerous, too," Cyra said in a low, threatening voice. She could taste flames like cinnamon in the back of her throat.

"Oh, aye," the other woman said. "I've seen your work. I'm not here to taste it myself."

Cyra rolled over, gracefully coming to one knee, reaching for any weapon that might be in close proximity. Finding none, she stood, wearing only her linen pants and crisp white blouse, completely unbuttoned for Iliara's benefit and giving this woman—a half-orc, by the looks of her—a delightful view of her cleavage, chiseled abdomen, and the two lines that formed a teasing V under her pants.

"What do you want, then," Cyra asked flatly, making no effort to cover herself. The scent of blossoming flame was hot on her breath. The half-orc, wearing only a thick woolen shirt and worn leather pants with stout boots, held up her hands, palms forward to put the red-skinned woman at ease.

"To offer my axes," she said, grinning. Her canine teeth were conspicuously sharp. The grin grew to her eyes, which sparkled a dull gray, and her prominent forehead creased. Cyra admitted to herself, if not aloud, that despite her rough, orcish facial features, she wasn't unattractive. Her lips were soft, and her jaw was strong. Her forehead was framed with short, spiky black hair that gleamed in the early morning sunlight. Piercings studded her eyebrows, a ring was thrust through her nose, and scars decorated her flesh, seemingly self-inflicted as badges of pride.

Iliara was next to Cyra now, and the dragonspawn had to note the distinct difference between the two. Iliara's pale white skin was stretched taut over lithe, compact muscles, while the ash gray skin of this half-orc was bulging with muscle that in some ways was more powerful that Cyra's. More than their distinctly different builds, the half-orc's feminine assets were large and glorious. Breasts that seemed to naturally ride high on the half-orc's chest were large and perky, round and firm. Her hips were wide—birthing hips—and packed with powerful muscle that even Cyra envied.

"We've gotten along well enough on our own," Iliara said, interrupting Cyra's appraisal of the warrior. "What need have we of you?"

The half-orc twisted her head back and forth, her neck popping loudly as she lifted a battle axe and hand axe out of their belt loops on her hips. "You likely don't. But I've been wandering around on my own since I was fourteen years old, about five years ago. I lived with a tribe of nomads to the east and north. They were human, and when my mother birthed me, I was an immediate outcast. When I grew into adulthood, I left. At fourteen, I was stronger, bigger, and faster than the rest of the human children. Orcs mature faster than humans, you see. And we harbor emotions that are far more intense. Rage burned my blood greater than I could control. Every insult was met with violence, and I knew I couldn't keep from killing someone if I didn't leave."

The half-orc began pacing back and forth, weaving the tale with her hands as much as her tongue. "My emotions, all of them, drive me to great heights and great depths. My solitude taught me to control them better, but I knew I could not survive on my own, not with any sense of sanity. When first I saw you two, I knew that I had a chance at companionship. You have good hearts, filled with love. I, too, know love." She blushed fiercely for a moment, eyes cast downward and cheeks turning an ashy-red.

"That's enough," Cyra said before the half-orc could continue. "What is your name?"

"Vath," she said. "Just Vath."

"Well enough," Cyra said, putting her arm around Iliara and giving her an affectionate squeeze. "Welcome, Vath."

There was a screech overhead, the sound very draconic.

Vath's eyes lit up as she spun her axes at her sides. "Sounds close," she said eagerly.

"Be calm," Cyra said as the red, winged form soared down around the trio and landed beside Cyra. "This is Drax, my..." she paused, considering what to call the beast. She'd never had to label it, and "pet" seemed demeaning. "My son."

The half-orc stood up straight, axes limp in her hands. "Son?"

"Long story," Iliara said as Drax licked at Cyra's thigh, sniffing her before turning one slit-pupil eye at the half-orc. He almost seemed to smile.

"Tieflings do strange things," Vath said.

"They do," Cyra said, and when she grinned, flames licked at her lips and sprouted form her horns, forming a crown of flame. "But I'm not tiefling."

*****

Vath was relieved when the tiefling—or so she thought—welcomed her into the fold. She'd been longing for company for years. Not just people to help her with a job for a few days, or a nightly lover, or something so fleeting. She wanted true companionship. She wanted people she could call friends, even family.

When first she'd seen the horned woman and her elven companion, her first thoughts hadn't been about their beauty. It hadn't been about the way they were overtly affectionate with each other. It was about the violence inherent in their every movement. Cyra was a woman built for close quarters battles. Strong, powerful, and with the ability to breathe fire right into the face of her foes. It was a beautiful thing to the barbarian.

And Iliara, so lithe and agile, her movements were graceful but lethal. She wasted no movement in dealing death, but the way that she moved was so eloquent as to be poetry put into flesh, a symphony of muscle and steel that left corpses piled around her. She respected the lethality.

The dragonling she'd seen before. When she heard it, she immediately felt the bloodlust that lived in her blood set aflame. She was eager to prove herself to these fine warriors. When the thing landed, she remembered Cyra's pet that often hunted the forest with her. She had not, of course, expected her to call it her son.

"What do you mean, not tiefling?" Vath asked, her prominent brow knitting together in confusion.

"It's...complicated," Cyra said. "My blood is draconic, but through some sort of sorcery, my blood was altered to keep that side of me hidden away. To all outward appearances, I am a simple tiefling, and I didn't know differently until another half-dragon mated with me. One I found out, after the fact, was sired by the same red dragon that sired me.

"I was born with the red skin and horns befitting my father, but constrained in this humanoid form. I know of nobody that can truly explain it better than that." Cyra shrugged her strong shoulders. "What matters now, though, is if you're willing to accept that truth and still journey with us, for we are soon to delve into deep, dark places, where our kind will not be welcome."

Vath looked over her shoulder, where she knew there was a cave that led to Gauntlgrym and the Underdark.

"If you mean that way, are you prepared to fight an army of drow warriors and wizards?" Vath asked skeptically.

"Lura and Hammer went that way," Iliara said, but her voice was laced with sudden uneasiness. She hadn't expected this.

"Then they are dead," Vath said firmly, "and I grieve for your loss."

"Surely you mean High Priestess Luriia Torviir and her consort, a warrior named Calavyr," came a silky smooth voice. "I knew there was something wrong about those two."

A drow walked around a tree, squinting in the morning light, hands confidently planted on his hips. All three women took up defensive postures, muscles tense. Vath even growled a little. Cyra's tail swished back and forth in agitation, the thick appendage laced with veins and muscle. Her throat burned with burgeoning inferno. Iliara had daggers in her hands, seemingly appearing from thin air. The magical blades dismissed and summoned with a thought.

"Pfah," the drow spat, smirking as he drew a slender rapier, magic crackling down its edge. "Once I dispose of you, I will unveil the little deception your friends have played on mine. They'll never make it to Menzoberranzan."

Cyra grinned. "Thanks for that," she said. "Drax, eat this piece of meat."

The dragonling exploded up into the sky, roaring its juvenile roar as it went before turning down into a spiral toward the drow swordsman. Instinctively, the drow dropped a glob of impenetrable darkness around him and leapt out the back just as the dragonling slammed into the earth, fire exploding out from the impact.

With a victorious shout, the drow thrust his blade into the darkness, thinking to skewer the dragonling. But Iliara jumped out of the darkness at him, seeming to float about the stabbing rapier, her feet kicking for the swordsman's face. Her firm heel planted squarely on his cheek, knocking him sideways. They squared off, sword ringing off daggers that moved faster than the drow could comprehend. He had a half dozen cuts on his sword arm before their first exchange ended.

Vath and Cyra were just about to join their elven companion when two more drow appeared from the shadows cast by the morning sun. Vath immediately went on the offensive, bloodlust boiling over as her axes assaulted her drow with unrelenting fury. She took many hits, but they didn't slow her in the least. She hammered her axes against shield and scimitar alike as the drow before her began to give ground.

Cyra was more cunning with her attacker, a warrior with a short spear. He stabbed and slashed at her, even smacking her in the ribs on a few occasions. Cyra, without weapons, settled for dodging, moving her muscular body more quickly than the drow seemed to anticipate. Her own sort of rage boiled in her blood, a draconic fury that could only be released with searing flame.

The spear stabbed into her gut, but her skin seemed to harden around the point, preventing it from penetrating deeply. She grabbed the haft, the drow, thinking his victory won, blinking in surprise. She reached out and grasped his throat, opening her mouth and vomiting an inferno into his face. Flesh and muscle sloughed off the bone and he fell in a smoking heap.

Vath had beaten her opponent into submission, her axes shattering the shield and batting the scimitar far away. She cleaved the warrior from shoulder to hip with her battle axe, howling with fury and victory.

Iliara was not as well off. This swordsman was skilled, and his magic shocked her every time she touched him. But the assassin hardened her resolve and reached out for the shadows around them. The drow might have been at home in the shadows, but she was shadow. The elf stepped into a tree's shadow, then disappeared within it. She stepped through the darkness and emerged behind the drow, standing in his shadow as he stabbed for her previous location. Her daggers found his kidneys and he fell face first into the dirt, quite dead.

"This changes things a bit," Cyra said when the elf rejoined her companions. Iliara nodded.

"Let's regroup in Neverwinter. We can't go to Menzoberranzan, just us three, and live."

*****

Cyra and Iliara had set up shop in an apartment adjacent to a small, well-to-do tavern in the center of town. It was sparsely furnished, for neither of the two spent much time in the small two-room abode. A bed big enough for both of them, a table for eating on, and a few chairs, only one of which comfortable enough to sit on for more than a few minutes of eating.

Iliara was quick to doff her leathers and daggers, letting her sleek form breathe through her thin clothing. Her half-dragon companion did likewise, her tough corset falling to the floor in a heap, letting her heavy breasts fall to a natural resting place, perfectly positioned on her chest. She reached up, baring her stomach and lower back as she stretched and let out a long exhale.

Vath only watched, unsure of what to do in her current company. It wasn't until Cyra turned about, unbuttoning her blouse and letting it fall open, and told her to make herself at home that she even considered removing her axes. The half-orc never wore armor, so she didn't have that to bother with. She did loosen the ties on her pants and on her loose tunic, though. The grey, non-descript clothing didn't do much to flatter her figure, but that was not a concern of hers either.

At least, not usually.

"We don't have much in the way of luxuries," Iliara said, sidling up to Cyra's flank, wrapping her arm around the half-dragon's lower back and resting her head against her shoulder. "Truly, we spend so little time here that only the bed sees much use. You're welcome to join us there if you need to relax, but between you and Cyra, there may not be room for me."

Her smirk was a bit suggestive, but Vath seemed not to notice any implications.

"My dear, there's always room for you. I'm sure we could stuff you between us, if we needed to," Cyra said with a giggle. Vath's lips pursed, still not catching on to the game the two were playing.

"What is the plan?" the half-orc asked. "Your friends are going into the Underdark unprotected, and you meant to rescue them somehow. What will you do now?"

Cyra smiled and sighed. "I don't know," she said. "I'm tired and I need to clear my mind before I can set a course of action."

"Likewise," Iliara said, grinning as she kissed her lover's shoulder. The two were of a like mind in one thing, as usual.

"Ah," the half-orc said. "Then I will go down the tavern. I've worked up a thirst and if you require time for meditation or something like that, I will leave you to it."

Vath turned to leave, but Cyra intervened. She quick-stepped toward the barbarian and interposed herself between the big woman and the door. "That's not necessary," Cyra said. She stepped closer to Vath. "You said you've been alone for years. That must have been lonely."

"It was," Vath said. Gods, she's being dense, Cyra thought. "But I made do."

"Did you not miss companionship?" Iliara asked from behind the half-orc. She turned to look, but Cyra put a hand on her face, preventing that. The elf was taking her time removing her garments, baring her beautiful, pale form.

"I...of course, but...what are you getting at?" the half-orc asked Cyra.

The half-dragon leaned in quickly, pressing her hot lips against the half-orcs plump lips, slashing her warm tongue against Vath's.

"Pfah!" the half-orc said, backing away quickly. "What is this?" she shouted.

Cyra's eyes were wide, but her grin wider. "You've never been kissed by a woman?"

"No!" she said quickly.

"Did you like it?" Iliara asked from behind the half-orc, who did not try to turn this time.

"I—hmm." Vath slowed her mind down long enough to register what had just happened, the gap between Cyra's shirt, the swell of her crimson breasts and the hard taper of her waist. The bloodlust she had been companion with for so long was replaced by a different kind of lust. "I did," she said in a low, growling voice.

"Good," Cyra responded, coming forward again to kiss the half-orc. This time, Vath melted into it. She kissed Cyra back, tentatively at first, then began to worm her hands around the half-dragon's waist, under her shirt, to feel the unusually warm flesh.

When Cyra bit the half-orc's lower lip, hard, Vath became a new woman entirely. She growled, grinned, and pushed Cyra's powerful form backward, slamming her into the wall. Vath was grinning fiendishly, her lip bleeding from Cyra's bite, and she charged, tearing her shirt from her torso in the process. The two women, both powerfully built, slammed into each other, breasts mashing, hips grinding, tongues wrestling as they groped and fondled each other.

"That's what I thought," Iliara muttered. She admired the sculpting of Vath's back, the muscles rippling and flexing as she and Cyra wrestled for dominance. Sauntering forward, her narrow body, packed tight with lithe muscles, swayed back and forth as her feet crossed in front of each other. Her breasts, small and compact, topped with pink areola and turgid nipples, bounced merrily with every step. Sex gleaming with eagerness, she stepped right behind the half-orc, her hands dragging long nails down the half-orc's back.

Vath paused in her struggle, giving Cyra the upper hand, one ruddy hand on the half-orc's strong neck, the other grasping the back of her head, fingers embedded in the short, spiky hair.

"No fair," she grunted, but Cyra yanked back with a bit of that dark hair. Vath only grinned.

"It's your first time with a woman," Iliara said. "We're going to make this special. When was the last time you were properly fucked?"

"Properly?" Vath asked, feeling Cyra's hot breath against her flesh and smelling fire. "Never. I've mated a few times in the last several years."

The sound of Iliara sucking on her fingers was obvious and thrilling. The way the warm digits dug into the moist cleft of the half-orc's rock hard bottom was even more thrilling. And when the moist fingers pressed against the barbarian's asshole, she felt her strong legs quiver with needfulness. A very throaty moan of pleasure rumbled from her throat.

She felt herself fall forward, toward the wall, as Cyra vanished from in front of her. Well, not vanished, she realized, looking down to see the half-dragon's horns between her thick, muscular thighs. The woman's tongue was hot against the cleft of her sex, burning at her folds as they lapped at the musky cunt. "Gruumsh's One Eye!" she grunted when the half-dragon nibbled on her hard, oversized clit.

That little gem was a delight upon Cyra's tongue. Her clit was thick and stiff, sticking out like a thumb-tip from the half-orc's cunt lips. She paid a great amount of attention to the stiff bud, suckling it and flicking her tongue against it. Iliara's fingers slid into the half-orc's asshole, plying the stiff ring open. Vath was growling aloud, her voice resonating off the walls and likely through them, much to their neighbors' annoyance.

Or pleasure. They'd never been able to determine which was more appropriate.

Cyra brought her hand up to Vath's leaking cunt and scooped up as much of the earthy nectar as she could, spreading it around Iliara's fingers. The more she did, the more easily Iliara could ass-fuck their half-orc friend. And thusly, the more fingers she could use.

"Vath," the elf grunted, jamming two fingers into the half-orc's ass. "I'm going to slide my entire hand into your ass and fuck you with it."

The half-orc laughed, moaning alongside the sound. She turned her head to look at the elf over her shoulder, seeing her petite, slender body gleaming with perspiration as her entire body undulated to back up her hand.

And then the elf was adding a third finger, a fourth, all coated by Cyra's saliva and Vath's nectar.