Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Raiders of Insanity
So I'll come by and see you again
I'll be such a very good friend
Have mercy on my soul, I will never let you know
Where my mind has been
-Melissa Etheridge, Angels Would Fall
27th day of the month of Centipedes, Annum of the Swarm, 3rd Age of Horrors
She ran.
Noira the dark elf sorceress fled in a blind panic through the madly twisting catacombs of the Fortress of Insanity. The long tassels of her silken battle-gown flapped against her trim and shapely thighs. Her impractical but luscious High-Heels of Charisma clacked on the marble tile. Her flowing river of pale hair bobbed and weaved behind her, like a ghost doing parkour. Her +1 Bustier strained to contain her luxurious, ashen breasts as they bounded and kicked, like curvaceous stallions, bucking for a freedom that would not come. Delicate beads of dark elf sweat (which, as we all know, tastes like champagne) formed on her flawless, silvery skin, entirely and utterly devoid, as it was, of freckles.
How had it all gone so wrong? She and her friends had come looking to stop the Madness Vortex that had been engulfing the land, warping everything in its path into macabre grotesquery. Get to the tower. Vanguish evil. Destroy the Psychic Auger. Easy-peasy! Then, they got here and were almost instantly separated, as if the dungeon itself was the digestive system of some multi-headed monstrosity, trying to swallow them up! Now, after several hours of running and sweating and looking utterly ravishing doing it, she was starting to wonder if this was had all been something of a mistake.
Just then, she rounded a corner and was delighted to be reunited at long last with her friend Calamastia, the wood elf barbarian. Rough-hewn leather armor never looked so good, and seeing Calamastia always put a smile on Noira's face. She was, however, somewhat less delighted to see the horrific creature Calamastia was fighting.
A floating, fleshy orb with a fanged maw and one bloodshot eye in the center hovered menacingly in the air! And all around its lumpent, wrinkled body were festooned an array of penises, each flopping and writhing independently.
A Dickholder!
Its unseemly wriggling turned her stomach, but as a great sorceress, she steeled her nerve and forced herself to remember all she had learned of the ancient forbidden lore about such a creature. Flexing her mighty and mystical mind, she searched for the relevant text across the sinister & apocryphal Tome of Genuinely Unpleasant Things. She mentally plumbed the depths of all 69 volumes of Tobin's Spirit Guide; Naughty Edition. Her mind's eye perused Know Your Aberration; An Informational Pamphlet. That one didn't take very long, but the sinister folio still held some useful tidbits. Ancient, forbidden, arcane tidbits! Such was the power of her intellect and depth of her wisdom, she could almost see the words floating before her:
Dickholder; Aberration- "Most like a Beholder it is. But with dicks! (see also: Beholder, Cockhydra)"
She smirked. That was less than useful. Fortunately, her friend did not seem to require aid. Like a tornado was Calamastia, her fists flying like thunderbolts! Truly, the Dickholder had chosen the wrong person to fuck with! Punch after punch punctuated a plentiful panoply of penal penile punishment! Soon, it wilted under her assault and sadly, slowly flopped to the ground where it lay in a flaccid pile.
Calamastia stood majestic in victory; her chest thrust forward, glistening and heaving as she took heavy breaths. Noira watched a single bead of sweat (wood elf sweat, which tastes more like a chardonnay) tease its way down her slim but wiry shoulders, dancing the length of the gentle curves of her subtle muscles, tickling the tiny, delicate hairs on her forearms. Never was Noira more glad for the acuity of elven vision! She tracked another as it went its way over Calamastia's elegant collarbone and braved the maddening descent down her alabaster chest, before disappearing down between... between...
"Noira!" cried the barbarian, snapping her fingers in the dark elf's face. "Are you okay? Did the beast bewitch you with its serpentine dance? Are you under a bedicklement?"
Noira blushed, her smooth, silvery (freckle-free) skin staining a subtle rose gold. "N-no! I'm fine! I don't even... I mean... I'm not sure I'm even into... you know!"
Calamastia raised a quizzical eyebrow, glancing back at the sad, saggy pile of fallen flesh and then to her companion again. Noira's blush deepened to an incriminating copper. If she had freckles, they would have blended right in. But she didn't. Who even has freckles anyway? "I just mean... I never... I don't..."
"Neverrrrrr?" grinned the barbarian, in a display as cocky as it was intoxicating. Although, not quite as cocky as the Dickholder had been. Noira supposed she would have to devise some manner of chart to keep all of this straight.
"Well, I don't... I mean...", she gestured toward the pile of limp and deflated phallii, "I don't know if... if I even... " She wished she had a spell of silence prepared! How Calamastia always managed to talk her into such corners she would never know!
Calamastia leaned in close. Noira pressed her back up against the wall for support. You and me, wall! We'll get through this! Hand and brick! She felt herself uncontrollably press back against the barbarian as she leaned into her. Something about that tawny body, tall and lean, and that damned cocky grin, seemed to invariably draw Noira in of late.
"It's okay," purred the wood elf in a sultry whisper, "I think I know what you mean. In fact..."
Suddenly, Noira realized it wasn't Calamastia's body she was attracted to... okay, well, it was. She was slowly coming to accept there were no two ways about that. But at this particular time she was also being thrust forward because the wall behind her was moving. And now that she noticed it, so was the one on the other side!
Et tu, wall?
"Noira, lookout!" shouted Calamastia, and roughly pulled the sorceress forward into an embrace, spinning her away from the wall just as a thousand wooden spikes emerged from a thousand fist-sized holes. As embraces go, it was pretty great. Her heart jumped up in her throat and she felt a warm flush all over, even if the moment was ruined somewhat on account of the impending death. The doors slammed shut! The walls were closing in! They would be crushed! And impaled! Or, actually, impaled and then crushed, but even a sorceress had to admit there were times when being pedantic was not helpful.
"I'll stop them!" cried the barbarian, as she threw her sinewy shoulder against the wall. She pressed her mighty side against the stone and dug in with her long, shapely legs, straining to hold the wall back. The wooden spikes continued to extend. As the powerful wood elf struggled against the wall, a spike caught on her shoulder guard, and unceremoniously pulled it from her and tossed it to the ground. Still, she heaved, adjusting her grip, but when she did, now a spike was caught upon her leg armor! With a seemingly deliberate roughness, the spike pulled at the tassets until the fasteners snapped and the dislodged armor slid slowly... so slowly... down the graceful lines of Calamastia's bare legs. Again, she scrambled for purchase, working the powerful muscles in those statuesque limbs, clad now solely in a soft pelt undergarment. Still, she slid towards the center. The walls could not be stopped! This time yet another spike caught on the lip of her chestplate, tearing, slowly prying apart the front of her armor!
Noira shook her head. As much as she would dearly like to watch that spike finish its work, the walls had to be stopped! She spun, shot her arms into the air and weaved them through a series of mystic gestures.
"WARP WOOD!" she cried, and suddenly there was a resounding crack as all the wooden spikes were shattered! They fell from the walls, clattering harmlessly to the ground in a rain of large splinters, like the Discarded Toothpicks of the Gods. Calamastia, her armor in tatters dangling from her shapely shoulders and sinuous hips, gazed at Noira admiringly.
"Wow!" she said with an awed tone, "That was... that was like... punching sooo many dicks!"
Noira practically seized up. She never knew quite what to do when Calamastia praised her, a quandary only made trickier now that she was so very close, and so very in her underwear. And was there just the faintest hint of the predator about Calamastia's gaze? A hunger in her eyes? No, it couldn't be. Probably just some barbarian class feature. Animalistic Gaze or something. She was sure she'd read about something like that. Besides, what was there here that someone like Calamastia would want?
As Noira pondered, the walls ground forward. Calamastia placed her hands against the wall on either side of Noira's head and pushed for all she was worth. The walls pushed back, and soon the two adventurers were pressed against each other. Struggling to hold back the crushing force, Calamastia stood with her elbows above Noira's shoulders and her forearms against the wall. Their faces were mere inches apart, their bodies squeezed together.
"I don't know how long I can hold this wall!" the barbarian grunted, "Do you have another spell up your sleeve?"
Noira looked down at her arms, which were the long, willowy arms of a tall person. A tall, freckle-free person. She also wore no sleeves, and that wouldn't be where she kept her spells anyway, but this nuance would probably be lost on a barbarian. However, now that the two had been pressed so close together, there was rather a different problem. She started, "Yes, I have Sculpt Stone, but..."
"But nothing! If you can't stop these walls, we're toast!"
"Toast?"
"Or, no... PANINI!"
"Panini?"
"Because we'll be smooshed together!"
"Yes, I get it!"
"LIKE A PANINI!"
"I can't cast! My... my hands!"
"What about your hands?"
"They're stuck!"
"What do you mean they're stuck!"
"They're ... you know... pinned!"
"What do you mean pinned? Can't you move them?"
"I can move them. But if I do... let's just say they're stuck in... um... locations."
"What does that mean? Where could your hands possibly be that... whoa-oa-oa!" Noira wiggled her fingers to illustrate the problem, and Calamastia suddenly knew all too well exactly where her friend's hands had been pinned. She glanced down at the delicate dark-elven fingertips that lay upon her chest, pinned there by both their bodies.
"And how, exactly, did those get there?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
Noira's face felt as if it was caught in some sort of fire trap, "Um... I was trying to ... push... because... walls?"
Calamastia smirked, "You were trying to push the walls apart and you put your hands... there? You don't exactly have to have Master Level Skill Ranks in Knowledge (Architecture and Engineering) to know THOSE AREN'T LOAD-BEARING!"
"I..." she started and stopped. She cast her eyes down in shame, but that just left her staring into Calamastia's alabaster cleavage. She cast her eyes kind of off to the side in shame instead. Wait, just one more peek at the cleavage, and then, off to the side in shame. There. Nice. Now for the shame. Shame time is go.
"Noira... Is there something you want to tell me? I can't hold these walls forever, so you know... might as well..." asked the barbarian. Her tone was uncharacteristically soft and serious. Almost imploring.
"Calamastia..."
"Yes?"
"I think... I mean... I'm in..."
"It's okay."
"I've always..."
"Uh-huh?"
"I... you..."
Suddenly, a familiar voice, honeyed but imperious, called down to them from above, "Looks like I missed quite a party!"
Pyriel. The Ifrit Bard. Her flaming hair danced behind her as she flashed them a perfect winning smile from a hatch high up in the ceiling. So pretty! So popular! How Noira hated her! Well, not really of course. She was too charming to hate. But the idea of Pyriel? The perfect, effortless togetherness of her? That, she could hate.
"It's not what it looks like!" exclaimed Calamastia.
"We're being crushed!" added Noira.
"Yes, I can see. There's definitely some crushing going on!" laughed the bard, lights dancing in her eyes. Why did it always seem like she knew something everybody else didn't? Noira hated that, even though she could never stay mad at Pyriel.
"I think I can help! There's an ancient Ifriti secret for escaping traps like this. Stay there, I'll be right down!"
Noira glanced up, and immediately regretted it. Well, regret is a strong word. She felt guilty about it. Not so guilty that she looked away, but guilty. After all, it would be poor form for a sorceress of her stature to shy away from forbidden knowledge. In this case, the knowledge that, regarding Ifrits, the carpet really does match the drapes. The fiery, luminous, hypnotic drapes.
As Pyriel climbed down the wall in her +1 Leather Skirt of the Commando, Noira attempted several will saves to attempt to look away. Alas, the rhythmic dance of Pyriel's hips and thighs, bare and brassy and lithe, was too much for the inquisitive dark elf! She felt Calamastia squirm against her, and was suddenly afraid her companion had noticed her naked stare! What would she think? Would she judge? And could there be anything more embarrassing than being caught in a faux pas by a barbarian?
Timidly, Noira lifted her eyes to meet Calamastia's, fully expecting a shameful glare, only to find that not only was the barbarian enjoying Pyriel's show as well, she was actively drooling. Which Noira should have expected, really. No need to look anywhere else when Pyriel is in town.
Before long, the Ifrit had shimmied her way to the ground next to them. If she noticed her companions' stares, she didn't show it. She was probably used to it, pondered Noira. Probably the center of attention everywhere she goes. Probably doesn't even notice. Probably takes it for granted.
"So, show us this ancient Ifriti trick then! My arms are about to give out!" snapped Calamastia.
"Alright, but you must swear to secrecy! Few are allowed to witness such secrets and live!" teased the bard.
They both nodded hastily in ascent. Pyriel bent low, scooping up a pair of broken spikes. With an elaborate flourish and a totally unnecessary twirl, she jammed one under the bottom edge of each advancing wall. "We call it... It's just a doorstop, stupid!"
Pinned thusly in place, the mechanism behind the sliding walls juddered violently and broke down with a wrenching, grinding sound, and then were still. With a snap and a clang, the west wall shook and fell away backward, crumbling into a pile of tossed brick. When the dust cleared, it revealed a dark passageway deep into the bowels of the Fortress.
Freed from the walls' vice-like grip, Calamastia and Noira's bodies drifted apart. And then, a few moments later, Noira moved her hands.
Pyriel stood atop the rubble and, with a flick of her wrist, sent a small spark of flame dancing down the newly-revealed passage, illuminating the way forward. "Onward and downward?"
"Actually, I think this would be a good spot for a break," boomed the voice of the Goddess On High.
--
October 11, 2013
Or rather, Steph.
"The pizza's here," she added, holding up her phone to illustrate the delivery notification.
Max shook her head and looked up from the assembled miniatures on the game mat. Slowly, Steph's University of Washington dorm room coalesced before her eyes where before there had been catacombs and underpants barbarians.
She picked up her miniature alter-ego; tiny Noira, and turned the figure back and forth, letting the light play over the subtle metallic silver paint on its skin. How much of that had been in her head, exactly? She didn't remember this game being quite so... stimulating. Maybe Steph was just a really great DM.
She placed the figure back on the table, right next to Chloe's mini. Tiny, plastic Calamastia was the perfect analog for Chloe. Lean and lithe and daring. Axe in one hand and mouth agape, challenging the whole world to fuck with her and telling anyone who did where to get off.
She stole a glance across the table at actual Chloe. Long hair like a river of honey splayed out over the speckled grey of her oversized UW t-shirt. A grey, shapeless bag never looked so good! Especially with the sleeves rolled up like that. Those bare shoulders, and those arms... those arms! Max felt like she could spent the whole rest of the evening running up and down them with her fingertips. The juxtaposition of bare, elegant arms and boxy, functional cotton somehow implied just barely enough of the Chloe structure underneath that the baggy old thing was sexier than a thousand tank-tops. Maybe there were other reasons Max's imagination had been getting away from her than just the game.
"How's my favorite enchantress doing?" grinned Chloe.
"She's a sorceress," corrected Steph. "Enchanting requires a Prestige Class."
"Well, I think she's enchanting," Chloe retorted, leaning forward, chin on her hands and elbows on the table.
Max opened her mouth to say something, but suddenly there was a hand on Chloe's shoulder. A hand wearing a distinctive blue bracelet.
"Let's go get that pizza!" chirped Rachel, "Come on, Chloe!"
Chloe looked at Max and smiled, "Don't go anywhere, okay?"
"No! No! It's not okay! I love you! Don't leave me! And don't go with her! I don't even like pizza!" Max screamed internally.
Chloe scrambled to her feet and scooped up the collected bills they'd put together to pay for their dinner.
"Having fun, Rachel?" asked Steph, as the actress stood and pulled on her sandals.
"You know it!" laughed Rachel, and rubbed Steph's downy buzz cut as she passed. "Down two flights and to the right?"
"Left!" corrected Steph, "Deliveries always come to the back door."
"Okay, I do like pizza," offered Max out loud. She felt like the conversation had left her behind a couple of sentences ago. Chloe cocked her head at the non-sequitur. Rachel didn't seem to notice, intent instead on Chloe's attention. Impatient. Like she had something to say. Rachel met Chloe at the door, and the two of them exchanged a few terse words as they slipped out into the dormitory hallway. Sounded serious. Max glanced down at the Pyriel miniature. Stupid Ifrit! Thinks she's so great! Just because she is!
Steph sighed loudly, and it took Max a minute to realized the sound hadn't come out of her own mouth. "You hadn't met Rachel before, had you, Max?"
"Yes. I came down for Chloe's birthday party while they were dating."
"Really? I don't remember you being there."
Max sighed deeply. That birthday party, and how thoroughly Rachel had dominated Chloe's attention (and apparently, also Steph's) still haunted her. Often she'd find herself awake at night replaying the events of that trip and wondering what she might do differently if she suddenly found herself inexplicably endowed with the power to rewind time.
On the other hand, she'd always known she'd have to share Chloe eventually. And Rachel had been Chloe's first girlfriend for what, just under a year? Of course she was special to her. This is exactly what Max should have expected when she first heard Rachel was visiting from Cal State for the weekend and Steph wanted to host them all for game night.
She couldn't quite understand her own reaction. Why so jealous? It's not like there was any doubt that Chloe was singularly devoted to their friendship.
And why did that word suddenly sting so much? Friendship. That's what it was, right?
After all, it's not like Max and Chloe were romantically interested in each other.
That would be weird.
Right?
Wouldn't it?
Since Chloe had started school in Seattle, and they'd been seeing each other a few times a week instead of a few times a year, Max had noticed that idea growing progressively less weird with each passing day.
She found herself staring longingly at the dorm-room door through which Chloe had vanished. With Rachel. She glanced down at the game board and saw tiny plastic Calamastia. Somehow standing right next to tiny plastic Pyriel again. Arg! How did that even happen?
Steph read Max's consternated smirk for what it was, "Yeah, Rachel can be a little bit of an attention hog. I don't think she does it on purpose though. You can't really blame her. It's just who she is. She's very used to getting what she wants."
"That must be nice", sighed Max, her eyes still fixed on the Calamastia mini.
"Trust me, Max! Parents like to talk about death and taxes but the only real unavoidable certainty in this world is 'Rachel Amber Always Gets What She Wants,'" Steph asserted, eyes closed and nodding sagely to herself.
"Always?"
"Certain as the dawn!"
[TO BE CONTINUED]