“Of course, my, um, lady,” says Rianna, backing away.
“Wench, a question,” says Theora. “Who dwells in the castle that sits above Ulvenblad?”
“The baroness, my lady,” says Rianna, lingering but clearly wanting to depart.
“Thank you,” says Theora.
Rianna soon returns with your food and another drink for Theora. The angel seems to have recovered from the chill and has color in her alabaster cheeks. Your belly rumbles at the savory aroma of the stew.
“Looks fantastic,” you say.
“Made it meself,” says Riana, wiping her hands in her apron. She leans towards you and bumps you with her hip, adding. “Gave you extra rabbit.”
“What is the name of the innkeeper?” Theora asks and gulps down half her mead.
“Terrance,” says Rianna. “He’s me pap. Don’t mind him if he can’t keep his eyes off your, you know, all your bits.”
“My bits?” Theora raises a questioning eyebrow.
“They’re showin’ through,” whispers Rianna and you can see it is true. Her gown may be partly dried, but the pink of her nipples are visible beneath the clinging fabric.
“I care not,” says Theora. “I will arrange for our rooms and ensure they are properly warded. Lucas, you make inquiries about the baroness. Be subtle. Do not draw attention.”
You wait for her to get up from the table and stride over to the bar to question the bald man with a lazy eye cleaning out mugs.
“’Do not draw attention’ says the six foot tall angel,” you whisper to Rianna.
She giggles and flutters her long lashes over her green eyes. Your cock stirs at the buxom wench’s cleavage as she leans forward to fill your mug from her pitcher.
“I’ll be in and out,” she says, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “Just give a shout if you need anything particular.”
She winks and leaves you for her duties as the tavern’s only server. You watch the way men paw at her and whisper to her and realize she is playing you like she seems to be playing all of her male customers. The beautiful redhead has a talent for liberating men from their coin. You know that sort of girl. Their affection is usually available for rent.
You survey the other customers. They seem rather pale and unhealthy, but otherwise the sort of mix of farmers and laborers you would expect to find in any tavern on late evening. Rianna bustles back into the tavern from the kitchen with another tray of drinks and bowls of stew for a table of locals. Her laugh carries across the room.
You certainly know who you would like to question. Very thoroughly.
What do you do?
Question the locals about the baroness
Flirt with Rianna the bar wench
The Easily Defeated Hero’s Monster Girl Adventure
Book 5: The Lamia
By Amanda Clover
@amandasmut
Art created for the cover by Delacroix_Legion
Homecoming
Home. Though your journey to the Nightlands only lasted a few days, you cannot shake the feeling that you have not truly been home since your sister went off to the Academy of Wizards in Lorraine’s capital city of Elzeheim.
You can picture her washing clothes behind the house, scrubbing grime from your father’s work trousers and smiling at you as you tilled the garden soil to plant rows of potatoes. In this memory, Genevieve’s blue eyes are big and filled with innocence and her pale blonde hair stirs like corn silk in the cool spring breeze.
The flash of the goddess’s magic fades and you are transported back to your farmstead. Theora, the statuesque angel, stands beside you. It is morning still. There is a mist in the pasture and the grass still glistening with dew. You can see the glow of candles through the curtains of your farmhouse. Pepper, Genevieve’s black mare, is in the pasture with your workhorses. Your heart quickens and you hurry past Theora towards the front door.
“Genevieve!” You call out as you throw the door open.
“Lucas?” Your beautiful older sister bursts from her seat at the kitchen table and rushes to embrace you.
Genevieve LeBlanc seems smaller than you remember her. You realize it’s because you grew up with her always slightly bigger than you and you have finally outgrown her by an inch or two. You pull her tightly against you and she buries her face against your chest.
“Oh, Lucas,” she says, her slender fingers digging into your sleeves as if she is afraid you will suddenly pull away. “I was so worried you had managed to get yourself killed here on the farm. I never imagined you would… would become…”
“A hero?” You offer, raising an eyebrow.
“A damned fool!” She says, slapping your chest. “This golem woman you left told me you were off in the Nightlands! Fighting a vampire!?”
“Thanks a lot, Hina,” you say to the golem washing dishes.
“Apologies, master,” says Hina. “Your sister asked who I was and where you were and so I told her.”
“You ran off and left the farm behind,” says Genevieve, her eyes angry and accusing. Before you can offer a rejoinder, the anger melts from her face and she embraces you again. “But that’s alright. You are home again. And so am I! Three weeks until I must return to the Academy! And look at you, Lucas. Your arms, your shoulders; you’ve turned into a man while I was gone.”
“Thanks,” you say, your cheeks going hot at the rare compliment from your sister.
“Heroing suits you well, I guess,” she says with a shrug.
“You look so beautiful, Gen. You’ve cut your hair short though.” You stroke the shoulder-length curl of her hair. She is wearing the cream-colored novitiate robes, cinched tight at her waist so that her ample bust swells beneath it and her green, white, and blue stole is dangles over it. “I don’t think mother would have appreciated that.”
“That’s what you notice?” She laughs. “My hair?”
“Well, how is your schooling then?” You ask, setting down your pack laden with gifts from the Baroness.
“It’s amazing!” She enthuses. “I’ve learned cantrips and some novice spells. Here… watch this…”
She splays her fingers in a posture you recognize from Ganralf, the old, half-mad blue wizard who used to make the fountain in the market square of St. Ingbert’s glow like liquid gold at Candle Fest every winter. She whispers something you can’t quite hear and a silvery-white orb of glowing magical energy appears hovering in the air a few inches from her hand.
Genevieve furrows her brow and the glowing orb goes zipping around the room, colliding with objects around the room without moving them and spurting out magical sparks that fade quickly. She recalls the orb into the palm of her hand, closes her fingers around it, and snuffs it out.
“Just a light sprite,” she says. “But useful when you’re hungry in the middle of the night and can’t find a candle to go creeping into the kitchen.”
“That’s amazing,” you say.
“Yes, well, thank you,” she curtsies. “Still a novitiate, but next term I’m a pathfinder and I will get to decide my school of magic. I think I am leaning toward blue or green. That’s true magic or natural magic. Purity magic is… oh… who is this?”
You look over your shoulder and see Theora looming in the doorway behind you. She ducks her head and steps into the room, her expression neutral and her silvery-blue eyes as cold as ever. The firelight in the hearth casts dramatic shadows on her face, making her seem even more like a statue than usual. Theora’s wings open slightly and Genevieve gasps in surprise.
“That’s… that’s an… an angel,” she says, staring up in wonder at Theora.
“I am the holy angel of Veleda, guardian of Lorraine and protector of mankind,” says Theora in her most angelic and commanding tone. “It is my duty to instruct Lucas and help him defeat the threat posed by the monster girl invasion.”
“Wow,” says Genevieve, stepping past you to admire Theora like she is admiring a work of art, “and you’re so beautiful. Knowing my brother,
I bet he has a huge crush on you.”
“Crush?” Theora looks down at Genevieve and cocks her head to the side as if she does not understand. “I have squeezed him before, bent him several times, but I would never crush Lucas.”
You face burns red hot as your sister glances over at you and teases, “Squeezed?”
“The, um, the monster girls often, are, um, well, they want essence and that means, um,” you scratch your head trying to figure out how to tell your sister that having sex with beautiful monster girls is a key part of your job. “I mean to say, Theora has trained me, and so, um, to do that, well, my stamina…”
“It’s alright, Lucas,” laughs Genevieve, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “Relax. I’m not mom. I won’t judge you. If you want to get your stones squeezed by this beautiful angel, well, I’m proud of you for coming out of your shell. And into hers.”
Your eyes go wide to hear your sister talking so lewdly about you. She was always sassy, but you never talked about sexual things with her. Genevieve laughs again at your wide-eyed shock.
“Oh, come on,” she says, pulling you and Theora into the house. “Your doll girl and I made some supper. Let’s eat. You can tell me all about your adventures.”
Genevieve and the Hina you left behind to watch over your farm have prepared an impressive feast from the meager stocks available in your farmhouse. Hina’s dishes tend toward the fancy and your sister’s are simple and filling, the sort of thing your mother would have made. You exchange stories with her and although hers are not as filled with danger, they are every bit as exciting as she tells them with a smile and a twinkle in her eye.
You describe your battle against the vampiress Izabella in the Nightlands and Genevieve regales you with a story about pranking her potions teacher and causing his hands to go numb. She pantomimes his unfeeling, limps hands and even Theora cracks a smile. You tell Genevieve about Morelle and how she nearly sucked the life out of you and the neighbors. She is saddened by the news that the young farm girl has been turned into a succubus, but glad to hear that she lives on in the Crystal Sanctum. You keep alluding to that magical trans-dimensional palace and finally Genevieve insists you explain its properties.
“Well,” you say, taking out the Sword of Veleda from its sheath, “I hold the sword up and I say ‘Sanctum’ and then I say ‘Serenity’ and I am there.”
“That’s so cool,” says Genevieve, using slang words you’ve never heard before. “We learned about pocket dimensions in Basics of Planar Theory, but that’s just a beginner class. We didn’t really delve into them. Next semester I’ll get to visit one and then if I end up as a blue witch I will have to create my own to graduate.”
“Create your own?” You are amazed.
“Oh, sure, not with a whole palace,” she laughs. “It’ll just be a room or a house or something. A place to store things and relax safely.”
“What if you become a green witch or a white witch?” Theora asks before popping a forkful of roasted potato into her mouth.
“Well, white witches must bring a person back from the dead,” says Genevieve, “which requires a permanent sacrifice of life force from the witch. You can only bring so many people back from the dead before you lose all your magic ability forever. And if you are a green witch, you have to use natural forces to create new life.”
“New life?” You are amazed by the extent of this power.
“They say that the first monsters were born of a green witch that went mad,” says Theora. “Not completely true, but not as far off as you think.”
“Wow, you must know everything,” says Genevieve and you can’t tell if she is impressed by Theora or being a bit of a brat. “Did you witness the duel of Ezashan and Dormiter?”
“Witness? No,” says Theora. “But my sisters and I had to protect the humans of Kalenbak from being turned to ash by their magical battle. We erected a shield to spare them.”
“You did that? We were told that was the blue wizard of Kalenbak’s guild house that saved the population.”
“They tried,” says Theora with a shrug.
The dinner’s conversation turns into your sister excitedly peppering Theora with question after question about ancient wizard theory. Theora seems to relish the chance to recount her own exploits and you feel entirely left out. Feeling a bit annoyed, you finally blurt, “We have to travel to Kazadar.”
“The cursed city in the Sea of Sand?” Genevieve frowns. “Why would you want to go there?”
“We must reach the underworld,” explains Theora. “The creature that rules over Kazadar is the only one that knows how to find the entrance to the underworld.”
“Right,” says Genevieve. “The entrance to Chthona is said to be in the deadly jungle of Saturana, but the door moves.”
“That is correct,” says Theora. “And only Yasmeen, the ruler of Kazadar, knows the way to reach the entrance.”
“But that means… after Kazadar you are going to the underworld?”
“The Succubus Queen is there,” you say, trying to sound very serious and heroic. “She is the cause of the monster girl invasion.”
“Even now,” adds Theora, “hundreds of monster girls are invading Lorraine and the other human lands. They can be turned back if the Succubus Queen is defeated.”
“If you’re going to save the world, you need a witch by your side,” says Genevieve and she pounds a fist into the palm of her hand.
Theora glances at you with concern.
“Genevieve, it’s too dangerous,” you say.
“Too dangerous?” She stands up from the table, nearly overturning her cup of apple cider. “You just told me the human lands are in danger. If I sit here and do nothing I will still be in peril.”
“You cannot join us,” says Theora.
Genevieve waves dismissively. “You’re not my boss, angel lady. My brother is the hero, right? Chosen by the goddess?”
“That is correct,” says Theora coldly.
“Then he gets to decide,” she says, folding her arms over her soft breasts and squeezing them noticeably in her robe. Her blue eyes focus on you as she asks, “Do I get to go?”
You look at your sister’s pleading eyes, at Theora’s stern expression, and then deep into your heart. You have lost your father and your mother is missing, but seemingly alive. You cannot lose Genevieve too. The fear of harm befalling your sister would make your job impossible.
“No,” you say softly.
“What?” Genevieve scoffs. “What did you say?”
“I said ‘no’, Gen.” You rise from the table. “Theora and I must go and you must remain here. I have lost too much and—“
“I’ve lost the same things as you!” Genevieve snaps angrily at you.
“Stay here and watch over the farm,” you say, already gathering your traveling pack and your sword. Theora rises from the table and follows you to the door.
“What? You want me to cook and clean like a good woman? Is that it? Play house with your little sex doll?”
“I am not used for pleasure,” interjects Hina. “There is another model used for sexual pleasure.”
“Not helping,” you growl at Hina and the golem backs away.
Genevieve gestures in angry disbelief. You and Theora step out into the yard beyond the house. Genevieve, too angry to speak to you, does not follow.
“Veleda’s magic will carry us as far as Vorokesh,” says Theora. “We will secure a caravan across the Sea of Sand and to Kazadar. I know a… man… who we can bargain with. But he is unpleasant.”
You know Vorokesh. It is the farthest colony of Lorraine, a dangerous but profitable place for merchants, where the culture of the nomad traders of the Sea of Sand blends with the culture of Lorraine.
“Let’s go then,” you say, taking the hand Theora offers you.
She begins to intone a prayer to Veleda. The goddess’s holy light bathes your body. You feel yourself being lifted into the air.
“Lucas!” Genevieve calls out
to you, running from the house, her arms outstretched. It is too late. You accelerate into the light and you feel an impossible speed as you are transported through the heavens to reappear beneath a pair of towering kalojan palm trees.
“Welcome to Vorokesh,” says Theora, squinting against the pitiless sun in the trackless blue sky.
Beneath the blazing sun, a curving cliff face of red rock rises from the horizon, forming a wall of stone that stretches for hundreds of miles. The rock is riven, a huge seam splitting it into halves and that seam creating a passage through to the endless dunes of the Sea of Sand. But you can scarcely see the dunes for the profusion of buildings within the passage through the rock. Within the passage lies Vorokesh, seemingly as ancient as the magic that split the cliff in twain, yet alive with the bustle of a trade city. Buildings of red brick, sandstone, wood shingles, and tents cling to the inner sides of the passage and clog the way through. Roads from Lorraine converge upon Vorokesh, wagon trains bringing goods from your homeland to trade with exotic wares of the nomads from the Sea of Sand.
Theora pulls a hood of white linen over her golden hair and tucks her wings beneath her gown. She sets off along one of the trade roads and you fall in beside her as you pass through the massive cliff of red stone and into Vorokesh. You are overwhelmed by the scent of incense and spice, the shouts in a dozen languages, and the press of men and women trying to get your attention and offer you goods for trade. Theora shoves easily through them and you proceed in her wake.
“Where are we going?” You call out to her.
“To see the one man I swore I would never speak to again,” says Theora. “We are going to meet with the Toad.”
You are familiar with Theora’s looks of disgust, but you have never seen one that also combined a certain element of shame. Whoever the Toad is, Theora must have a very unpleasant history with him.
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