The Feast

by Rowan Bree

  “Are people very religious in Black Hollow?” you ask.

  He smiles. “Hardly. Talk of religion seems to frighten you. Where are you from?”

  “Tyven,” you reply begrudgingly.

  He looks you up and down. You must be in a sorry state. He frowns. “What brings you all the way out here?”

  Epilogue.

  You push through your exhaustion and arrive at Black Hollow just as dawn is breaking over the mountains. There are no walls, only a narrow river that could be easily swum across. A low, wide bridge takes you into the city.

  The streets are still quiet. The only other person out at this hour is a man in the robes of the king’s religion. He approaches and you prepare to flee, or fight. You’ve learned not to trust those who think they serve the gods.

  His face is clean shaven, and kind, and the smile he offers makes you a little less wary. He introduces himself as Sanley the keeper of Black Hollow.

  “Where have you come from?” he asks.

  You keep your guard up. “What’s a keeper?” you ask him. “Is it part of the church?”

  He looks puzzled, then seems to remember the robes he is wearing. “Oh, these? They were a gift when I was in need. Just fabric, nothing more.”

  “Are people very religious in Black Hollow?” you ask.

  He smiles. “Hardly. Talk of religion seems to frighten you. Where are you from?”

  “Tyven,” you reply begrudgingly.

  He looks you up and down. You must be in a sorry state. He frowns. “What brings you all the way out here?”

  Epilogue.

  As you pull back the curtain you glimpse a thin man in black robes pull a dagger across the throat of another man who is kneeling before him. The room is full of nobles who look on in horror and fascination as a black cloud rises from the floor below. You feel a deep sense of dread and turn away to run. Behind you, you hear screams and a cacophony of growling and inhuman noises. The guests start to flee, overtaking you and shoving you aside. The decanter goes flying, splattering wine like blood.

  You follow the crowd down the staircase towards the exit. You hear someone mention monsters and turn to see a demonic creature on its four spindly limbs sprinting after you. It catches one of the slower women and drags her to the ground. You hear her dress tear and her screams as you flee.

  You make it out of the castle as alarm bells start ringing across the city. You don’t know where to go. Most of the guests are heading straight for Tyven’s main road while others are going east towards the docks where their boats must be.

  Follow the bulk of the crowd.

  Go to the docks.

  Something tells you not to go in there. As you turn away you hear a scream, then a cacophony of growls and inhuman noises followed by more screaming. Nobles in their fine clothes start running from the room, overtaking you and shoving you aside. The decanter goes flying, splattering wine like blood.

  You too start to run, not knowing what you’re running from. You follow the crowd down the staircase towards the exit. You hear someone mention monsters and turn to see a demonic creature on its four spindly limbs sprinting after you. It catches one of the slower women and drags her to the ground. You hear her dress tear and her screams as you flee.

  You make it out of the castle as alarm bells start ringing across the city. You don’t know where to go. Most of the guests are heading straight for Tyven’s main road while others are going east towards the docks where their boats must be.

  Follow the bulk of the crowd.

  Go to the docks.

  You go east towards the docks.

  As you near the docks you feel that something is off. Besides the guests hurrying to cast off, it is far too quiet. Usually there are fishermen and merchants working into the night hauling crates and shouting across the docks. There isn’t even the usual twinkle of torchlight.

  You see a slender ship with high masts and an intricately carved tentacle curving out from the bow. A muscular man hurries back and forth across the deck preparing to set sail. Though he isn’t wearing a shirt, you can tell from his finely oiled hair and silken trousers that he is high born. He notices you on the dock and nods for you to get on his ship.

  Get on the ship.

  Look for your own vessel.

  You go east towards the docks.

  As you near the docks you feel that something is off. Besides the guests hurrying to cast off, it is far too quiet. Usually there are fishermen and merchants working into the night hauling crates and shouting across the docks. There isn’t even the usual twinkle of torchlight.

  You see a slender ship with high masts and an intricately carved tentacle curving out from the bow. A muscular man hurries back and forth across the deck preparing to set sail. Though he isn’t wearing a shirt, you can tell from his finely oiled hair and silken trousers that he is high born. He notices you on the dock and nods for you to get on his ship.

  Get on the ship.

  Look for your own vessel.

  You continue down the main street with the crowd. Behind you, you can hear more screams as the creatures claim more victims. They must be drawn by all the people. You duck into a side street to get away from the crowd, your heart thudding in your chest. Painful breaths pass through your lungs.

  You feel something wet drip onto your shoulder and look up. Crouched on the building above you is a demonic creature with an elongated face and rows of sharp teeth. Its jaws drip saliva down onto you.

  You’re not sure if it has seen you yet, as its large eyes are black voids. You fear running in case it can sense your movement.

  The creature crawls down the side of the building with alarming speed. You try to escape but it’s far too late. The creature lands on your back and you fall to the cobblestones. It tears at your dress with spindly fingers, making easy work of the fabric and scratching your tender skin. Its drool drips down into the cuts making them sting.

  You can feel its member hard as iron poking your thighs and ass. It is as long and thin as the rest of the creature and when it slips inside you, you can feel it pushing against your cervix.

  At the same time, a long tongue laps at the cuts on your back, the stinging getting worse before dissolving into a tingling feeling. You think the creature’s spit must be poisoned.

  The creature fucks you roughly, the flash of pain at the end of each thrust only making you crave more. You feel like you’re going crazy as you moan and writhe underneath the beast.

  You can feel its cum flowing inside you, then outside across your back and ass as the creature pulls out. It rubs its cock against your sticky body, its thrusts slowing until it has had enough. Your vision starts to fade as the creature’s poison overwhelms you.

  You are vulnerable to anyone, or anything, that happens upon you.

  Epilogue.

  A portly elven woman works over you with a sponge. She scrubs your skin so hard you feel like it’ll rub right off, then pours a bucket of water over your head. You sputter as the dirty water runs over your face.

  The men who caught you were slavers. They sold you last-minute to be entertainment at the king’s feast. Though slavery is looked down on across the kingdom, the Dorians apparently requested that there be slaves available to them tonight. And the king was only too quick to oblige.

  The woman slaps you on the back and makes you get out of the tub. You wonder why she’s so averse to using her words. She roughly dries and powders you, then spritzes you with oils. Finally, she slips a light linen dress over your head and clamps a collar around your neck.

  You’d fight back if it weren’t for the guards waiting just outside. They take you up to where you the Dorian guests are waiting. It is an intimate, private party only for those in the king’s inner circle and his most honored guests.

  You pass through a stone archway draped with black curtains. Beyond is a room filled with guests, some in fine dress and others in stiff black robes. Half-dressed slaves m
ove amongst them, serving wine and submitting to the guests’ whims. This is what you too will be doing tonight.

  Red candles are placed on different surfaces and in sconces, and an open space has been cleared in the middle of the room. A circular symbol is carved into the stone floor. It looks like dark magic but no one seems to mind. The guards push you forward into the room.

  “Get to work,” one of them tells you. “We’ll be keeping track of those who put in the most effort tonight. The king’s promised freedom if you do as you’re told.”

  You quickly scan the room looking for something to do. On one of the tables is an ornate decanter full of wine you could use to refill guests’ glasses. Otherwise there is a finely dressed young man with curly dark hair who keeps looking at you.

  Serve wine.

  Go to the curly-haired man.

  You hurry up the gangway onto the man’s ship. He and his crew make quick work of the preparations and before you know it you’re watching Tyven grow smaller across the waves.

  “I’m Hawke,” he says once he’s able to rest. “Chief of the sea tribes. We’ll take you to one of the settlements at the edge of the endless sea. You’ll be safe there until we find out what happened tonight.”

  He doesn’t even ask you about your collar, or seem to notice it for that matter. You think you might be able to trust him.

  He shows you to his private sleeping quarters where you can rest undisturbed, then goes back up to take watch. There are bookshelves on the walls with nets strung tightly across each shelf, likely to keep the books from falling in rough seas. Everything is brightly colored in yellows, blues, and greens. Curiously there is a small wooden pony in the corner, the kind that children play on. It is so worn that the paint has faded and many of the details in the carving are lost. You wonder if Hawke has a child back home.

  You sink into the rich silks of the sea chief’s bed and drift off. You aren’t used to being at sea and the rocking of the boat wakes you again in the early hours of the morning. You sleepily get out of bed and go up for some fresh air.

  Dawn is just breaking over the horizon. The sea glitters like emeralds, the sky a soft yellow. Hawke is sitting at the bow. He must not have slept all night. You go to him.

  “We’ll stop at shore soon,” he says to you. The sunrise bathes his tan skin in warm light. His muscled shoulders ripple as he stands. “Let me take care of that collar for you.”

  He takes a thin metal pin from his pocket and reaches around to the back of your collar. His face is so close to yours that you can see the little specks of sea spray on his cheeks. He could have had you turn around so he could get at the lock easier but he didn’t. Maybe he wanted an excuse to be this close to you.

  Kiss him.

  Wait for him to remove the collar.

  You hurry up the gangway onto the man’s ship. He and his crew make quick work of the preparations and before you know it you’re watching Tyven grow smaller across the waves.

  “I’m Hawke,” he says once he’s able to rest. “Chief of the sea tribes. We’ll take you to one of the settlements at the edge of the endless sea. You’ll be safe there until we find out what happened tonight.”

  He has an easy way about him that makes you trust him. You’re glad you took the chance of climbing aboard his ship.

  He shows you to his private sleeping quarters where you can rest undisturbed, then goes back up to take watch. There are bookshelves on the walls with nets strung tightly across each shelf, likely to keep the books from falling in rough seas. Everything is brightly colored in yellows, blues, and greens. Curiously there is a small wooden pony in the corner, the kind that children play on. It is so worn that the paint has faded and many of the details in the carving are lost. You wonder if Hawke has a child back home.

  You sink into the rich silks of the sea chief’s bed and drift off. You aren’t used to being at sea and the rocking of the boat wakes you again in the early hours of the morning. You sleepily get out of bed and go up for some fresh air.

  Dawn is just breaking over the horizon. The sea glitters like emeralds, the sky a soft yellow. Hawke is sitting at the bow. He must not have slept all night. You go to him.

  “We’ll stop at shore soon,” he says staring out to the sea. The sunrise bathes his tan skin in warm light. His muscled shoulders ripple as he adjusts his posture.

  Drape your arms around his shoulders.

  Sit beside him.

  You continue down the docks, deciding to search for your own vessel. You only need to get away from Tyven, not sail the endless sea. Something small like a fishing boat will do fine.

  As you run along the docks you step in a puddle of something. It appears to be some sort of oil, or sap. It’s slick to the touch, a bit gelatinous. It reminds you most of a jellyfish. Must be the remains of whatever fish they caught today.

  You notice more patches making a mottled pattern across the docks. You try to step out of the puddle but your foot sticks. You scream as the gelatinous liquid starts moving up your leg, crawling like something alive. You try to wrench yourself away but the liquid is too fast. It is growing and bubbling upwards, moving steadily past your knees and towards your waist. You lose your balance and fall over.

  The ooze spreads up your thighs, slipping underneath your panties as it swallows you to your hips. It is warm and slippery against your most sensitive places. You can feel it pulsing there, then bulging like a finger to prod at your openings.

  You scream for help, desperately kicking at the ooze though your legs barely move through the viscous material. But everyone is too busy trying to escape the coming monsters that no one stops to help you.

  The ooze moves higher, gliding along your stomach and up to your breasts. The slippery warmth against your nipples makes you shudder. You fear it will suffocate you as it engulfs your shoulders, your neck. A single tendril of it creeps up your chin and into your mouth, stifling your cries.

  You feel the bulges below your waist begin to lengthen and the ooze push itself inside of you. Your muffled cries only sound lewd as the ooze fills and fits to your holes. When you struggle it feels like your whole body is being massaged with warm oil. The stimulation is too much, and there is no use fighting anyway. The ooze pulses inside of you. You come, your whole body shuddering inside the gelatinous mass. Still it assaults you.

  You can see lights on the dock, people running towards you. It looks like some fisherman heard your cries after all. You fight to get free from the mass just enough to call to them. You can feel it shifting, undulating. It slides off the edge of the dock taking you down with it.

  The cold water hits you like a brick and the wind is knocked from your lungs. You struggle to hold your breath, but the gelatinous mass only squeezes you tighter, taking what little air is left out of your lungs. Its nubs continue to massage you as it sinks deeper, maddeningly teasing you. Your arousal builds as your brain loses oxygen. After everything, is this how you are going to die? The cold starts to spread to your bones, your heart. Only one place is still warm between your legs. You open your mouth as you come, your lungs filling with water. The salty taste of the sea is the last thing you know.

  Epilogue.

  You continue down the docks, deciding to search for your own vessel. You distrust any reason a high born man would have for wanting a slave on his ship. Something small like a fishing boat will do fine. You only need to get away from Tyven, not sail the endless sea.

  As you run along the docks you step in a puddle of something. It appears to be some sort of oil, or sap. It’s slick to the touch, a bit gelatinous. It reminds you most of a jellyfish. Must be the remains of whatever fish they caught today.

  You notice more patches making a mottled pattern across the docks. You try to step out of the puddle but your foot sticks. You scream as the gelatinous liquid starts moving up your leg, crawling like something alive. You try to wrench yourself away but the liquid is too fast. It is growing and bubbling upwards
, moving steadily past your knees and towards your waist. You lose your balance and fall over.

  The ooze spreads up your thighs, slipping underneath your panties as it swallows you to your hips. It is warm and slippery against your most sensitive places. You can feel it pulsing there, then bulging like a finger to prod at your openings.

  You scream for help, desperately kicking at the ooze though your legs barely move through the viscous material. But everyone is too busy trying to escape the coming monsters that no one stops to help you.

  The ooze moves higher, gliding along your stomach and up to your breasts. The slippery warmth against your nipples makes you shudder. You fear it will suffocate you as it engulfs your shoulders, your neck. A single tendril of it creeps up your chin and into your mouth, stifling your cries.

  You feel the bulges below your waist begin to lengthen and the ooze push itself inside of you. Your muffled cries only sound lewd as the ooze fills and fits to your holes. When you struggle it feels like your whole body is being massaged with warm oil. The stimulation is too much, and there is no use fighting anyway. The ooze pulses inside of you. You come, your whole body shuddering inside the gelatinous mass. Still it assaults you.