Originally Posted Summertime 2017, On Tumblr
“And just how do you plan to kick us out? You can’t even lift me!” cried Troy. He smacked a hand against his leather-clad belly and laughed. The innkeeper, a frail man with bags under his eyes and thin hair, crossed his arms. As Troy continued to laugh, he looked over at me, and cocked an eyebrow. I returned the gesture with a shrug, and lifted an arm. I reached up, and clasped a hand on Troy’s shoulder.
“Troy, buddy. Um, I think we should-” I started, but Troy swatted my hand away. He scowled, and turned back to the innkeeper. He took a step forward, and jabbed a chubby finger in the man’s chest.
“Now listen here you swine-fucker,” said Troy, his mouth a grimace beneath his bushy beard. “Abzadon and I delivered as promised. You asked for a band, and we played. You going to fucking pay us, or am I gonna have to test metal with you?”
I had to give the innkeeper credit. He was a wisp of a man, but he didn’t buckle to Troy. He smacked the bard’s wrist away, and shook his head. “ Ye’ also had an entire barrel of’ ale to ya’self, and that’s ‘afore we get to the food. Ye’ a lucky lot I don’t call the guards for blatant thievery!”
I watched as Troy’s face relaxed. His hand dropped from the man’s chest, but I kept my eyes on them. They were huge and callused at the tips, a musician’s hands. But also a brawlers. I kept my eyes on the digits, and watched as Troy curled them into a fist. I took a step forward between the two, and forced a grin.
“A thousand pardons, good sir,” I say, holding up my hands, “What my compatriot here meant to say is that we’re eternally grateful for the pro-provisions. We’d be happy to play again at your establishment, granted you can find it in your graces to allow us,”
The innkeeper blinked, and raised a hand to speak. I’d already turned heel, reached up and gripped Troy by the ear. The big man gave a howl and dragged his heels. I pushed a hand forward, the double-doors of the in slapping behind our heels. The street, lit by a few torches, stood in dark contrast to the warmth and light of the inn. The shadows were long, and each star seemed a pin-prick of silver on black velvet. Troy stamped his foot, and smacked the leathers on his girthy belly. He gave a snort, and placed his hands on his hips.
“Bastard! We were about to make some coin!” he shouted. I rolled my eyes, and hooked my fingers into the loops of my belt. Troy’s blue eyes burned into my own, and I held the gaze as long as I could. The air was pregnant with violence, but I was the first to pull away. I shook my head, and brought my fingers to my eyes.
“Troy, look. We can’t keep getting kicked out of every backwater swillhole. There’s only so many Inns, Troy. What would you have us do? Sleep outside, like a bunch of sharp-ears?”
Another snort as a fat finger sliced through the air. Troy jabbed my shoulder, and said “And what’s wrong with the damned sharp-ears, eh? At least they pay!”
“Yeah,” I said, “In rabbit meat. Look, it’s dark. I’m tired, and my head feels like a smith’s anvil. You got a map?”
Troy looked at me a moment, his nostrils wide. He crossed his massive arms, and turned his back. He faced the inn, and tapped his foot against the cobblestones. He turned his head, and gave me the smallest glance only to turn back towards the inn. “I say we go back in there, and demand our pay like red-bloods instead of yelly-bellys,”
I tapped him on the shoulder, but my massive friend seemed as stone. I rested my hand on his shoulder, and gave a sigh. “Look mate, all I have is a dagger, my wits, and my hands. You’ve muscle, but that falls short to steel. Be reasonable. This isn’t Iron Peak. You can’t just barge in and bully people. Besides, our bellies are full, right? All we need is a place to rest our heads,”
I watched as his shoulders gave way, and his arms fell limp at his sides. Troy hung his head, and gave a sigh as he clenched and unclenched his hands. He turned to me, and patted through his trousers. First he pulled out a snub of a pipe, and a pinch of tobacco. Then came a yellowed piece of vellum, folded so sharp it almost broke. As Troy stuffed his pipe, he pushed the map under my nose and shook his head. I unfolded the map as the smell of sage’s puff filled the air.
“Some bloody outing this is,” muttered Troy, “Can’t get paid, can’t crack a few heads. ‘Oh, you can play anything, Troy. Come with me, Troy. We’ll be rich, Troy’,” he said, his voice falsetto. I rolled my eyes, and spread the map over his back.
“Shut it. Look, Mercy’s Crest is ten miles out. We can make it in a few hours if we move now. I don’t trust that horse-sucker to not call the guard. Are you in, or is this where our story stops?”
Troy turned his head by degrees, his pipe a merry chimney in his maw. His eyes twinkled, and a slow grin spread across his face. “Mercy’s Crest, eh?”
“Yes, mate. It’s the closest town, alright?”
Troy took a drag, and gave a slow chuckle. He turned towards me, and I pulled the map away. I folded it over, and handed it back to him. He stuffed it in the waist of his trousers, and gripped his pipe. He stared off above me, towards the eastern road. I looked over my shoulder, and eyed the street. I turned back, and Troy’s grin was so wide his yellowed teeth showed. I thumped his stomach, and he looked down. He gave a nod, and shoved me to the side. I fell in step behind the big man, almost at a run.
“Troy? Troy, talk to me. What is it about Mercy’s Crest? You know something, don’t you? Fucking speak, you big berk!”
Troy, without a pause in his step, said “I got a place we can rest. And let me tell you, they’d love to have a band for the night,”
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Her breasts were as big as her ass was wide, regardless of measures used. The makeup upon her wrinkled face was like icing on a rotten cake. Gods be damned, Troy still smiled wide and opened his arms as the madam slung the door wide. She waddled forth, her voice a hot knife that cut the quiet, darkened street in twain.
“Troy-baby!” cried the old woman. Her arms, skin waddling, flapped around him in a tight embrace. Troy just threw back his head and laughed. He lifted the old woman in the air, and gave her a squeeze. She let out a yelp, and slapped his shoulder.
“Not so hard! My back, Troy! My back!”
He set her back on the cobblestones. The matron patted the purple ruffles of her dress, and adjusted her hat. It was a garish thing, bright pink silk with a ratty feather. She placed her hands on her massive hips, a coquettish smile curling on her lips. “You know, it’s been far too long. How’s your mum?”
Troy hitched his thumbs into his trousers, and shrugged. “Still up in that tower of hers, I guess. This here is Abzadon,” he said. He jerked a thumb towards me, and glared. I swallowed hard, and took a deep bow. The old woman clapped with glee, and extended her hand towards me. The bony claw was choked with stolen royalty. She whipped a fan from her skirt, and spread it before her face. Troy looked down at me, fury in his eyes. His lips moved as he mouthed kiss her fucking hand. I gave a frown, but curled my lips back as my head bent. The old woman giggled, every inch of her jiggling as she pulled her hand free.
“Such a gentleman,” she said, “I take it he’s like you, Troy? A renaissance man, all that?”
Troy smirked, and nudged me with his elbow. “He can carry a tune well enough, Yaga. Look, we need a bed. One will do, but two if you got ’em. Any free?”
She blinked, and her face grew a sugary shade of pink. “Well now, that depends. Do you want company, or-”
“Without,” I butted in. Troy shot a look at me, and stepped forward. He wrapped an arm around the mistress, and gave a grimy wink.
“He’s just tired-but whatever you got. I heard you got a new harp in there? That true, love?”
The old crone chuckled, and slipped an arm around Troy’s waist. I tried not to gag as she cupped his ass. If Troy noticed or cared, he didn’t so much as shudder. “Well, we do. It’s not for just any bard though. Came from Hesfestus’ temple. Can you believe someone thought to rob a temple? I swear, love. Times might be hard, but even I would never dream of such a thing,”
Troy smirked, and jerked his head towards me. “Well now, we’re not just any bards, Abzadon and I. ‘Least I’m not. Tell you what-why don’t you let us in, I’ll give a look. Maybe tune it, play for a bit. Then I can tune you. How does that sound?”
I covered my mouth as bile retched up my throat. The painted buzzard just hemmed and hawed, and gave Troy a spank on the ass. She pulled away from him, and leaned against the door frame. She pressed herself against it, and lifted the edge of her billowing skirt. Her hairy, liver-spotted leg peeked from the hem, the flesh the pallor of maggots. My stomach turned, but my friend just laughed and wriggled his eyebrows. The madam pulled out her fan, and gave a rancidly lustful chuckle.
“Well now, I’m sure we can find something for men of your talents. Come in!” she said, turning from us. She waved a hand inward, and turned her head to Troy. “And Troy-baby, do take a look at that harp. You know how I so love your playing,”
Troy snorted, and broke into a loose chuckle. “Of which variety, Yaga?”
“Oh, you!” said the old woman. She walked deeper into the building, the scent of grog and smoke heavy in her wake. I turned to Troy, our expressions holding until she was out of sight. I reached up, and grabbed the berk by his collar. I pulled him close, right until his beard brushed my chin.
“Troy Thundersides, where in the two-hells have you brought me?” I said, my grip sure in his shirt. Troy shrugged with a grin, and pulled my hand away. He turned, and swept an arm over the entrance.
“A fine eating establishment, one friendly to men of our reputation and vocation. Plus, free room and board. Are you complaining?”
I hear the madam giggle from within the building, above the dull roar of conversation. My stomach turned, and I jabbed a finger towards the open door. “I am not fucking that old cunny. You can’t fucking make me, Troy,”
Troy dropped his hand, and sighed. He rolled his eyes, and leaned close to me. “And neither am I, so long as the grog keeps flowing. Hopefully she’ll get drunk and fall asleep. Now for god’s sake, come on before she comes looking, alright?”
I blinked, and looked from Troy to above the door. A sign hung there, on a single hing. The other had broken, it’s chain dangling in the wind. Emblazoned upon the wood was a horse with an obvious erection, a nude maiden atop it. I looked back towards Troy, who raised his eyebrows.
“The Bucking Stallion? Is this a whore house? Did you drag me to a damned whore house?”
His brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “First of all, these are ladies with jobs, mate. Show some respect. Secondly, why do you think they’ve an open job for a band? And third, I didn’t drag you. You walked of your own accord, didn’t you?”
“You didn’t tell me we were going to a whore house!”
“Gods damned it, they’re not whores. Look, come in. Get a feel, look around. It’s not all that bad. I promise, alright?” said Troy. He stuck a hand out, and gave a half-smile. His batted his big blue eyes, and put a hand to his chest. “For your brother from another sow, please?”
I shook my head, but I took his hand all the same. Troy broke into a full smile, and clapped a hand over my shoulder as we stepped inside. Less than a foot in the door, I was hit with a wave of smells. Fresh bread, spilled beer, and sweat. Candles festooned free surfaces, but the purple curtains that covered every window cast a tinge on their light. The bar, to my surprise, was made of beautiful dark wood. It sat off to the right. On the far wall of the room was a stage, little more than raised floor panels. Scattered about were mis-matched tables, chairs and patrons of every race. A gaggle of sharp ears sipping steins here. Some green-skins and tinys arguing over old wars there. But what drew my eyes, what had Troy parting people in front of him, was a golden harp.
Or rather, it looked like gold. Carved in the shape of a voluptuous woman, it sat big as destiny. Too large for a normal musician-but, as Troy stepped up and the murmur of the bar died? I realized it was the perfect size for a man of his proportions. I hopped on stage beside him, and turned my eyes back towards the crowd. They’d grown silent, drinks held in their hands as every set of eyes watched. I felt sweat break on my forehead, and my lips twitched into a smile. I glanced over a Troy, his hands gliding over the harp. His head was bowed, eyelids low as his fingers traced the strings.
His head jerked up, and his face scanned the crowd. A smile crept slowly across his face, and he hefted the massive harp into one hand. A low murmur broke through the crowd, but he lifted a hand, and silence returned. He held the hand up another moment, and gave a nod. As his fingers drifted towards the strings, his lips parted. He said, “Ladies and folk, we’re your entertainment tonight. Now, I done been told about this harp, here. Where it came from, whose it was. We’re going to sing a ballad for the old gal. Can I get a cry for her? For the goddess that smiles upon places like this, people like us?”
The bar erupted into a chorus of hoots, hollars and pounding glasses. Troy pumped his fist into the air, and started to play. I cleared my throat, and tried to place the song. His notes drifted to meet my own, and we were in sync after a few beats. Over the next few hours, I sang, he played, the songs change with the crowd. The green-skins joined, their bass voices beautiful despite their lack of sobriety. The tenor of the sharp-ears came during another, and I watched as one of the tinys wiped a tear from their cheek. But it was during an old sailing ballad I looked up the stairs. Over the banister stood a figure, wrapped in a purple silk. A hood was pulled over their face, and I squinted to see any features.
I felt my face warm as the figure parted it’s purple silk, and pushed a massive set of breasts over the rails. It’s hands lifted from her sleeves, and the mysterious woman tweaked her nipples as she watched us. I pulled my eyes away, and continued to sing towards the dwindling crowd. When last call came, I smiled as a sharp-ear slapped a bag of coins on the stage. “D-drinks on me, boys!” he said, a hiccup escaping his throat. He joined his friends, and exited through the door. The bar was, mercifully, empty at last. Troy placed the harp on the stage, and pressed his fingers to his lips. He touched the head of the harp’s figure, and gave a nod.
A loud clap erupted from the bar, and we turned to see Yaga jumping. She lifted a lace handkerchief to her eyes, and dabbed at her running makeup. “Oh my goddess, boys. That-that was spectacular! Abzadon, you’ve the voice of a dryad. And Troy, your hands are so deft and masterful!” she said. She waddled from behind the bar, and approached the stage. We dropped from it, and I pocketed the coins. Yaga wrapped her arms around Troy, and pressed her face into his leathers.
I glanced back up at banister, but the woman-whomever she was-was gone.
“Oh, please tell me you’ll stay. Please, love? We need more evenings like that. Yes we do,”
Troy embraced the woman, but lifted his fist in a yawn. “Yaga, you know I don’t mind. But right now? We need beds. Right away. I don’t know how much longer Abby here can stand. And some steins too, if you don’t mind,”
Yaga pulled away, and smacked a hand to Troy’s chest. “Absolutely. I’ve an entire barrel of honey mead to spare, just for you. And after that, you can come to my bed love. Abby?” she said, turning towards me. “You’re going to have to share a room as well. But I promise it’s with a guest you’ll love. She certainly loves you,”
I thought of the purple-swathed figure, and swallowed. “Uh, sure. That sounds great, ma’am,”
Yaga laughed, her bulbous body jiggling as she smacked my chest. “Ma’am. Listen to you. Let me get that ale, boys. Then, loves, we’ll retire,” she said. She shot Troy a wink. I had to contain a laugh as he gave a fake smile to the old gal, and jogged with her to the bar.
“You know Yaga, why don’t you share some of this ale with me?” he said, his hand on her back, “I know how much you love a good drink,”
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The wasn’t what I was expecting. The guest more so fit my idea, but still came as a surprise. The bed was as plush as she, her purple silk parting in a wide slit. Her tanned legs fluttered from it, her cleavage threatening to push the silk aside at any moment. The décor around her matched in color and sheen. A single candle lay on the nightstand, and cast shadows upon the relief on the wall. A woman, her figure carved into the rock, with massive breasts. Shrouded in a robe. I glanced at the wall, and then towards the figure on the bed.
The coincidence made me shake my head. She ran a hand along her thigh, and tilted her head. Her lips were a deep tone of violet, but her eyes were still hidden.
“What’s wrong?” she said, her voice a sin-laden, knowing tone. “Am I not to your liking?”
I swallowed, and shook my head. I hefted my pack over my shoulder, and held it near my waist. I twitched in my leather trousers, but smiled. “N-no, it’s not that. You’re certainly to my liking,” I stuttered. The woman on the bed giggled, and her robe parted. Her massive breasts, globes that hung down to her waist, freed themselves. Her nipples were a dark brown, easily the size of my palm.
My pack hit the floor with a thud. Her finger curled, and beckoned me towards the mattress. I stood still, and the figure cocked her head. A single eye, a violet iris, met my own.
“Come here,” she said. My knees wobbled, and I moved towards the edge of the bed. Her hand dropped to her bare thigh, and she bent her head once more. The hood fell over her eye, and the woman smiled. “That’s not how we come to bed, is it? Clothed? Remove them. Remove them all, at once,”
My hands moved of their own accord. It was only as my last boot was pulled from my feet I felt warmth against my flesh. I blinked, and looked up at the woman as my cock stirred. It twitched and grew thick, swelled with blood until it smacked against my navel. The woman before me smirked, and pulled her hood away. I gasped, the revelation rippling through my body as I beheld her.
“H…Hesfestus,” I said. I took a knee right away, and bowed my head. I looked up slowly, only to see the goddess smile down at me. She raised her palm, and I rose to my feet again. My heart pounded against my ribs, and I placed my hands over my girth.
The goddess chuckled, and gave a small nod. “You worship the old ways then,” she said. She slid an idle hand around her nipples, and rubbed small circles over them. They grew pert beneath her tips, and I gave a nod.
“Y-yes ma’am. I mean, your majesty. Fuck, I mean-” I started, but the goddess just smiled, and lifted a hand.
“You recognized me, Abzadon Glass. That is enough. Though, I am flattered,” she said. She lifted her head, and I felt my body chill as her eyes met my own. My cock smacked against my palm as a throb rippled through it, and I swallowed. I watched as she pinched her massive nipples, her head pressed back on a pillow.
“Tell me-you’re aware of me, but do you know the particulars of paying reverence in my name? You certainly know the songs, but do you know the dance, boy?” she said. I felt my face grow flush, my throat choked on the words. I gave a nod, and she lifted her hand. Her fingers glimmered in the candle light as she crooked the finger towards her.
“Come. Show me how thorough your education is Abzadon. It’s been so long since I danced. Show me the way,”
I swallowed, and crawled atop the mattress. Her legs parted, and wrapped around my waist. The head of my shaft rubbed against her sex, slick and warm. Welcoming. I bent my head, and lifted her breast to my mouth. I rolled my tongue against her nipple. The goddess gave a moan as her thighs tightened across my back. As I suckled, warmth flooded my mouth.
It reminded me of summer. Of apples and cinnamon, of sweets and youth.
It reminded me of my mother.
She wrapped her arms around me, and lifted my chin. Her ankles pressed against my back, and I within her. As her nails dragged along my skin, I gave myself to her utterly.
I did the dance Hesfestus so desired.
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Troy sat at the bar, a steaming cup of tea in his hand. His pipe sat askew in his lips, smoldering away. The bags under his eyes were massive. The man was deathly pale, his cup shaking in his grip as I joined his side.
“You know Troy, I like it here,” I said. I tapped the bar, and the taverness placed a steaming pile of eggs in front of me. I glanced at Troy, and furrowed my brow as the big man barely moved.
“Troy? Troy Thundersides, are you there?”
“Two hours,” said my friend, “Two hours of bloody sleep. And that’s after being on the road, after already drinking and playing and gods damned all else,”
I gave a chuckle, and shoved a bite full of eggs into my maw. I shrugged, and looked up at him.
“So, we can keep the harp,” I said between bites. Troy shuddered, and looked down at me. The color returned to his face, and his pipe flared as he took a drag. He tilted his head, a puzzle of an expression sweeping over his features.
“Said who? Yaga seemed intent on keeping it,”
“The owner,” I said with a grin. I shoved another bite into my mouth, and looked up at the big man. I watched as he seemed to fit the pieces together, the morning’s tea pushing him along. He shook his head, and looked down at me. He took a long drink, and shook his head. It was only then I noticed the bristles of his beard and hair were askew at all angles.
“You’re a bloody fool,”
“No, no I’m not. Hesfestus herself said we could keep it, on the grounds we wrote a ballad about her,” I said.
Troy turned on his stool, and jabbed a finger towards me. “So I’m suppose to believe the goddes of hedonism and sex told lil’ old you over me that she wants a ballad wrote about her? That’s what you’re telling me?”
“Yep,” I said. I pushed my plate back on the bar, and fetched a rag from my back pocket. I dabbed my mouth, and nodded up at him. “That’s what she told me. Personally, mighten I add,”
Troy rolled his eyes, and ashed his pipe. “I take it back. You’re twice the damned fool I thought you were Abzadon,”
I smirked, and thumped his side. As he jumped, I gave out a small laugh. “You’re just jealous,” I said. Troy jabbed a finger over his shoulder, his eyebrows furrowing in fury.
“I just stayed up into the wee hours giving an old biddy timber. I’d be jealous of you no matter what, mate. But I’ll humor you. What kind of ballad does the goddess want, hrm?”
I smirked, and looked up at him.
“A love song,” I said simply. Troy groaned, and took another sip from his tea.
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