***Mature Content Ahead: The following scene contains 18+ material. Reader discretion is advised***
The sun beat down mercilessly, the noonday heat cooking the earth beneath their horses' hooves. Six travelers, five horses—because naturally, the dwarves had to share.
"Remind me," Gror grunted, shifting uncomfortably behind Fror, "why I'm the one stuck spooning you all the way to Zlatnomirheim?"
Fror snorted, "Because if I rode behind, your fat ass would snap the horse's spine in two."
"I'm dense, not fat!" Gror shot back. "It's all muscle. Somewhere."
Ahead, Feredis snickered, calling back, "I'm betting your 'muscle' jiggles every time the horse trots."
Mei-Ling couldn't suppress a smirk, even as she glanced back at the bickering dwarves.
Beside her was Hattori and Hanzo—both Elven Scouts, clad in the dark leathers and crimson sashes of Lorianthel's elite Legionnaires. They were not there by chance. At Lorianthel's command, the pair had been assigned to Mei-Ling's journey as both guardians and silent observers. Their presence was not just protection—but a clear message.
Lorianthel had chosen his best.
Hattori, with his fiery red hair and molten gold eyes, carried the weight of command in every step. Known among the Legion as the Blazing Fang, his gladius was as sharp as his temper—and twice as dangerous.
Beside him, Hanzo was his shadow. Dark-haired, cold-eyed—a master of the silent kill. Where Hattori was fire, Hanzo was the arrow loosed from darkness, swift and unseen. A man of few words and deadly precision, he wielded his bow like an extension of his will. From the shadows, he never missed. By the time his target heard the whisper of the string, the arrow had already found its mark.
Both rode ahead of the group, ever watchful. Neither spoke unless necessary, their loyalty bound by duty, not camaraderie. Mei-Ling could feel it in every glance—they weren't here for her... they were here because Lorianthel willed it.
"By the gods," Feredis whispered to Mei-Ling, "those two... Do you think if I poke one, they'll shatter?"
"Best not try," Mei-Ling murmured back. "They look like they kill for less."
"Or worse," Feredis grinned, leaning conspiratorially, "they'll monologue about honor for an hour."
The elves, hearing every word, shot a sharp glance their way. Feredis froze, grinned sheepishly, and promptly turned forward. "Yep... just what I thought. Eyes like daggers, hearts like stone."
****
As the sun melted into the horizon, dyeing the sky in hues of crimson and gold, the weary group found themselves trudging toward Trgovinabohr — a city whispered about in every tavern, half in awe, half in warning.
Feredis, grinning like a fox in a henhouse, clapped Hanzo on the back. "Finally, somewhere that smells less like wet wolf and more like coin and sin."
Fror snorted, "I bet the first place he sniffs out is a brothel."
"It's called prioritizing necessities, Fror," Feredis shot back, smirking. "Food, drink... and flesh."
The gates of Trgovinabohr yawned open, and the sights, sounds, and smells washed over them — a fragrant blend of spiced meats, perfume, and that ever-present hint of trouble.
Mei-Ling's eyes sparkled, "It's... beautiful."
Hattori grunted, "And dangerous. Keep your purses close. Feredis, keep your pants on."
"No promises," Feredis winked.
****
As they navigated the chaotic market, hawkers shouted deals, dancers twirled, and a half-drunk dwarf attempted to sell "enchanted" rocks to passing orcs.
Fror sneered, "Bet that rock's only magic trick is staying ugly."
Mei-Ling's wonder was cut short by the light fingers of a pickpocket — a young street urchin, her movements swift as a shadow.
Before the girl could disappear, Hanzo's massive hand caught her by the collar, hoisting her off the ground like a wayward kitten. "I believe this is yours," he grunted, tossing Mei-Ling her coin purse.
Feredis grinned, "Brave little rat, I'll give her that. But really... stealing from Mei-Ling? That's just bad taste."
The hat came off, revealing tangled auburn hair and a scowl. "I'm not a rat!" the girl spat.
"Apologies," Feredis grinned wider. "A ferret, then. They bite harder."
The girl whistled sharply — a shrill, ear-piercing sound. Out of nowhere, a shimmering creature darted through the air, vomiting a cloud of blinding dust.
"Shit—" Feredis coughed, stumbling into Hanzo. "What the hell is that, a flying glitter bomb?"
"It's pissing fairy powder, that's what!" Fror barked, wiping his eyes.
In the chaos, the girl snatched Mei-Ling's purse and vanished into the frenzied market, triggering a wild, slapstick chase through the tangled crowd. Fror and Gror — in classic dwarf fashion — crashed headlong into a cart of rotten cabbages, emerging covered in green sludge.
Fror gagged, "Tastes like my ex-wife's cooking."
Gror snorted, "At least it ain't your new wife's."
Hattori nearly caught the girl before she vaulted onto a rooftop, cackling. "You'll have to be faster, Leaf-lover"
Mei-Ling finally ended the chase with a flash of magic, lifting the girl by her tunic and dangling her like a caught rabbit.
The alley reeked of rain-soaked grime and desperation, shadows pooling in every corner. A ragged girl, no older than eighteen, stood pinned against the slick brick wall, chest heaving, eyes flickering like a cornered rat. Her wild-haired companion, a snarling, skeletal beast of matted fur and sharp, unnatural eyes, writhed in the ethereal chains Mei-Ling had conjured—silver threads humming with quiet menace.
Mei-Ling stood before them, pristine even in the filth, her silk robes untouched by the wet. Her eyes, obsidian pools of detached calculation, locked onto the girl with unsettling calm. She spun the purse once in her hand, the heavy jade tassel swaying lazily.
"You caused quite a mess," Mei-Ling murmured, voice smooth as lacquered wood. "The chase. The chaos. And for what? A few coins?"
The girl spat, defiant but trembling. "I ain't givin' it back."
"You will," Mei-Ling replied, tilting her head, lips curling into the barest suggestion of amusement. "Because the alternative is... unkind." She glanced at the creature, whose defiant snarls were already weakening against the binding spells. "With your fury companion contained, you have little left."
She took a step closer, her heels clicking like a death knell in the silence. "Here is your choice, thief. Return the purse... and I let you go. Or refuse, and I flay the creature first—slow, methodical. You'll watch every second."
The girl's lip trembled. She cast a desperate glance at the beast, its eyes wide with something too close to human fear. Her shoulders sagged as the weight of defeat settled over her bony frame.
"Fine," she snarled, bitter as a winter wind. "Take your gods damned purse!"
With a guttural yell, she hurled the stolen bag toward Mei-Ling, the force behind it fueled by pure spite.
Mei-Ling caught it effortlessly with one hand, barely flinching. The purse settled in her palm, and she inspected it briefly, nodding once as if acknowledging the girl's final shred of pride.
Then, with a fluid motion, she plucked a single gold coin from within her sleeve. Its surface gleamed unnaturally bright in the gloom. Mei-Ling flipped it through the air, sending it arcing toward the girl.
"Payment," Mei-Ling intoned. "For your... cooperation."
The coin landed at the girl's feet with a heavy clink, sinking slightly into the mud.
The girl stared at it, hatred and humiliation warring in her eyes. "I don't want your filthy coin."
"Take it," Mei-Ling whispered, a cruel smile ghosting her lips. "Starve if you like, but you'll remember who fed you when it mattered."
Without another word, Mei-Ling turned, her silken robes flowing like water, the purse disappearing once more into her sleeve. The silver chains dissolved into mist, releasing the trembling beast, now too broken to snarl.
Behind her, the girl stood frozen, the gold coin gleaming at her feet.
****
The sign of Hladni Bjergtårn creaked overhead, worn by the winds but stubbornly clinging to life. Its carved mountain and tower motif looked more drunken scribble than artistry. Still, the promise of warmth and ale was too enticing for the weary group.
"Finally," Feredis groaned, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. "If I have to walk another damn step, I'll start screaming louder than a bard in heat."
"Oh, you know plenty about bards in heat," Fror snorted, elbowing him. "They sound suspiciously like you every time we pass a tavern."
Mei-Ling exhaled sharply, hiding the smallest smile. "Enough, children," she murmured. "Let's not embarrass ourselves before the door opens."
The door creaked as they pushed inside, met immediately by a blast of warm air soaked in wood-smoke, ale, and the faintest trace of sweat and roasted meat.
The tavern maid greeted them almost too perfectly—a curvaceous beauty with golden locks that cascaded over her shoulders, blue eyes bright with that glint reserved for weary travelers... or easy marks.
"Welcome to Hladni Bjergtårn," she sang, voice sweet as honeyed mead. "Come, sit. The finest ale, roasted peanuts... maybe something more..." Her smile curved wickedly at Feredis, whose pupils dilated like a starving cat spotting cream.
"Ah, gods have mercy," Feredis muttered, leaning towards Fror. "She's already flirting. Tonight, my friend, luck is fondling my—"
"—Please, spare me," Fror groaned, rolling his eyes. "I haven't eaten yet."
They were led to a corner booth, the table worn from years of spilled drinks and whispered sins. The maid's hips swayed with exaggerated grace, and Feredis's gaze followed like a moth to flame.
"Ale! Finest in the house!" she called, waving to the bar.
Feredis nudged Fror. "If that's the finest in the house, imagine what she offers in the cellar." He grinned, shameless.
As the ale arrived and the tavern's chatter grew into a symphony of revelry, Hattori's sharp eyes narrowed. "That girl's here again."
Mei-Ling didn't bother glancing. "I know. She's been tailing us since the square."
Hanzo flexed his fingers, ready. "Should I—"
"No," Mei-Ling interrupted, lifting a single hand. "Let her come. No blades tonight."
Fror snickered into his ale. "If she steals again, I'll tan her hide myself."
"You'll do no such thing," Mei-Ling shot him a look. "We don't bloody children over coin."
"Shame," Fror mumbled. "She's got that pickpocket look, though. Cheeky little thing."
Mei-Ling shifted, raising her chin. "Girl. Come."
The words cracked through the air like a whip. Silence fell as Hokira emerged from the shadows, arms crossed behind her back, head down but eyes defiant.
"Name," Mei-Ling prompted, voice even.
"Hokira," the girl answered, voice soft but steady. "But you... can call me Hoki." She jerked her thumb at the small creature peeking from her hood. "This is Miyx."
Miyx squeaked, half-rat, half... something far more unnerving.
Fror leaned back. "Cute," he drawled. "Name a price? Or is it just moral support tonight?"
Laughter rolled from the table, even Hattori's lips twitching. Mei-Ling shook her head, pouring more ale. "Sit, Hoki. No games tonight."
The girl perched cautiously, her eyes darting like a rabbit expecting the snare. But as the drinks flowed, so did the stories—battles won, lovers lost, debts unpaid. Hokira's own tale slipped free: a street rat turned bold by necessity, Miyx her only loyal shadow.
Somewhere between Fror's fourth tankard and Hattori's quiet second, the tavern maid returned. Her gaze settled—unsurprisingly—on Feredis. She leaned low, the swell of her breasts nearly suffocating the poor man.
"Care to... help me with a private stock?" she purred, voice dripping like honey from a dagger.
Feredis didn't hesitate. "Fror. If I don't come back... tell my mother, I died doing what I loved."
Fror snorted. "You barely knew your mother, you ass."
"Still counts," Feredis winked and followed the maid with the enthusiasm of a man marching to certain doom—and loving every step.
Minutes later, Fror leaned toward the others. "One silver says he finishes before she does."
"One?" Hattori chuckled darkly. "Be generous. Five."
Downstairs, in the dark embrace of the cellar, Feredis barely had time to speak before she grabbed him, dragging him against her ample chest. "No time, lover. Make it worth it."
His trousers hit the floor faster than a coin on cobblestones. "My pleasure."
The moment she dropped to her knees, her lips wrapping around his impressive length, Feredis lost any sense of pride or shame. "Gods above," he groaned, his hands tangling in her hair. "You're hired. Permanently."
"I charge by the moan," she teased between sucks, fingers stroking him like a prized instrument.
Sweat beaded on his brow as his control slipped. "Careful," he gasped, "I don't... last..."
"You'll last long enough," she smirked, shoving him back and pulling up her skirts. "Finish this right."
With a growl, Feredis seized her hips and drove into her with such ferocity the wooden casks rattled. She moaned—loud, shameless—as he devoured her mouth and breasts, rutting like a beast unshackled.
"Harder," she gasped. "Give me everything."
And he did.
His climax hit like a hammer—deep, violent, leaving him shaking. She laughed, satisfied, wiping her lips. "I'll remember you."
Moments later, Feredis emerged, shirt half-untucked, face flushed and smug. He sat down with a self-satisfied grunt.
Fror glanced sideways, grinning. "That was quick."
"Quick?" Feredis grabbed his ale. "Efficiency is an art. You wouldn't understand."
"Efficiently disappointing," Fror snorted. "Poor girl's probably praying for better customers."
"Says the man who's spent more on ale than on women," Feredis fired back, raising his mug. "To being well-used and well-spent."
Laughter erupted around the table, the air growing lighter. Hokira cracked her first real smile. Even Miyx chittered approvingly.
And for the first time that night, it wasn't just ale warming their bellies—it was the slow, reluctant stitching of a strange, misfit family.