A visit to Verbobonc

By Strega

Inga the wolverine arrived in Verbobonc late on Market day and followed her usual routine when pulling into town.  She spent half an hour helping the drovers get the horses settled and then did a last walk-around to make sure nothing odd was going on. Thieves often assumed the best time to hit a wagon for some loot was as the crew was distracted by the labor of bringing the caravan to a stop.  She'd made a meal of more than one such sneakthief.

She met Mathis coming the other way, doing his own walk-around.  She looked him over and he returned the favor.

Mathis was tall for a human, inches taller than her own six foot and two, broad-shoulders and narrow-waisted. Like her he wore a mixture of mail and plate armor. He favored a broadsword and shield as opposed to the long-handled greatsword she rested on one shoulder.

He in turn noted the subtle curve of her small breasts where the armor was fitted around them and the wide hips that told the world she was female.  Her short, fanged muzzle projected from her helmet to let her sink powerful bites into opponents as she fought and her gauntlets and boots left her sharp white claws exposed.  Though inches shorter she was thick and muscular and weighed at least as much as he did.  He had a little more reach but she was just as fast and considerably stronger.

They exchanged nods and continued on their walk.  Inga smiled a carefully fang-hidden smile as she felt his eyes on her ass.  Mathis wanted her, she knew.  The scarred man was strong and a good fighter, but she preferred her lovers with fangs and claws.  One of these days it would happen, though.  It got lonely on the trail. One of these days she'd add to his scars.  It was almost unavoidable given a man's tender, delicate skin.  

She didn't frighten him.  They were well matched with weapons but he knew as well as she did that were they unarmed she was perfectly capable of overpowering him and swallowing him whole.  He'd seen her eat bandits, thieves and monsters on the trail and watched the bulge gradually shrink as she digested them.  Naked, together, in bed, if she chose to eat him he would not be able to stop her.

But he trusted her.  They'd fought back to back many times.  If he'd had fangs she'd long since have welcomed those fangs into her scruff and let him have her. After all, it was not as though he could get her pregnant.

Her walk-around complete, she checked in the caravan master.  A group of other mercenaries were doing the same. She smiled another tooth-hidden smile as he handed over her pay, feeling the weight of more coins than she was due.

Inga was a fierce warrior.  She was also trustworthy and methodical.  Her ability to make certain ne'er-do-wells disappear was useful, too.  Just the sort of person you wanted as a caravan guard and well worth an under-the-counter bonus.

Mathis was there too.  He weighed the bag of coins and shot her a look to let her know he'd also gotten a bonus.  Out of the dozen caravan guards only the two of them had helped the drovers and done the walk-around.

"We are here for three days unloading, resting, and loading," the master said. "I'll be hiring guards again for that trip."

The over-the-counter bonus he handed out was a chit that paid for a half-dozen drinks in the caravansary tavern.  Inga didn't plan to use it.  She rarely drank in public.  A greasy half-orc mercenary slipped her a couple of silver pieces for it, about half what it was worth. A good deal for both of them.

Harlag, the half-orc was named.  Small for a half-orc, not very smart and a habitual thief.  He'd kept his nose clean this trip.  It was to his benefit that he did.  The caravan master gave him the job as he was a distant relative but told Inga she could have him if he stole anything.  Rules were different on the trail than in town and only the half-orc's good behavior saved him from a short trip through a she-wolverine's digestive tract.

Enclosed within the caravansary's strong walls were stables, a blacksmith, a tavern, and shops that sold everything from food to armor and weapons - much of that secondhand, taken from dead bandits but patched up and functional. There were bunk rooms (cheap) and individual rooms (less so) for travelers, and a secure lockup for possessions. Inga paid the princely fee of a silver a night for two day's use of a small private room. It came with a bed, chamber pot, a weapon rack, and a strong chest.

Once sequestered in her room she stripped off her armor and took a brief nap on the rough, scratchy bed.  She did not bother to pull back the sheets, as to her tough pelt a woolen blanket was as fine as a silken bed.  She then dressed in her town clothes, a set of battle-scarred iron bracers, sandals, loincloth and a close-fitting top to accommodate the human need for modesty.  Left to her own devices she'd lose that and the loincloth, just as she slept naked on the bed.

She considered what she needed to do in town.  Very little, really.  The caravansary had everything she needed.  Just the same she went out the door, buckling on her belt and coin purse.  

She found Mathis lazing at a table in the courtyard and raised an eyebrow.  He grinned.

"Waiting for me, ever hopeful?" She growled.

"Pure coincidence, milady" Mathis replied.  "But I'll go with if you want company."

She nodded assent and he rose.  With thin vulnerable skin rather than her tough pelt and no natural weapons to speak of he wore a chain shirt that extended to his upper arms and upper thighs.  It was the same shirt he wore under his breastplate in more dangerous areas. His magical broadsword hung at his side.  Her greatsword, back in her room, was also enchanted, but that was too much weapon to casually carry through a town. She'd get by if need be with her fangs and claws.

The caravansary was outside the town walls, as they always were, and the guards at the gate stopped them for a few questions.

"Inga," she growled when asked.  "Of the Maker's people." (Obviously.) "Adventurer, caravan guard."

"Mathis, of Safeton," her friend said.  "Same."

The guards checked a list and rifled through a stack of mugshots, originally hand drawn but stamped out on presses for distribution.  There was a board in the caravansary with some of the more prominent ne'er-do-wells posted.

"Enter," the older guard said gruffly, then held up a finger to stop Inga for a moment.  "Gulper?"

"Yes, constable," she growled.  Despite their voracious reputation only about one in ten gul could swallow a man whole.  It was a reward from the Maker to outstanding Gul followers who desired it. Many of them did.  Gulpers among the Maker's raccoonfolk and foxpeople were much rarer.

The constable nodded, made a note on his check-sheet and waved her past.  You had to ask these questions, especially when it was someone's first visit to a town. You kept track of the people who could make a man disappear with a moment's effort and a day's visits to the latrine.

"Market?" Mathis opined, and she nodded.  The sun was on the horizon but the market would be open for hours yet.  They had cooked chicken and rice from a vendor (gul are more omnivorous than most people realize) and ate chilled strawberries that popped between Inga's sharp fangs and Mathis's blunt teeth alike.  Mathis burped. Inga grinned and easily outdid him in volume.

They weren't drunk enough (or at all) for that to go any farther and it was on the way back to the caravansary, and while Inga was seriously considering inviting Mathis into her room when they arrived, that it happened.

They passed by the mouth of an alley where a magical street lamp had somehow failed and the shadows were thick.  Though each was distracted by thoughts of what might happen later tonight they were immediately suspicious and when Inga's furry ear flipped toward a half-expected sound they turned in unison.  Four masked figured were halfway to them.

The thieves must be desperate to attack two obviously dangerous individuals but perhaps Inga's lack of a weapon fooled them into thinking her an easy mark.  She immediately explained otherwise as she batted aside a short sword with her iron bracer and hit its wielder so hard it sent him tumbling back into the alley.

Mathis' sword came out of its sheath in a beautifully smooth motion, rising at an angle so a downward sword stroke skipped off.  The seasoned warrior stepped to the side so one foe was momentarily behind the other and could easily have split the skull of the closer, still recovering from his miss.  Instead Mathis brought the pommel down on the man's head and he dropped as though poleaxed. By the time the other man was past the falling body you could see in his eyes the realization he'd made an awful error yet on he came just the same.

Inga's second opponent had only a dagger but he was lightning quick with it and fast on his feet too. The blade was everywhere and good as she was in close combat he cut her arm and the back of her hand as she fended off strokes with her bracers. Blood welled from the cut on her arm and she stumbled, feigning weakness.

It worked.  He came in low with the blade and she was waiting. He was slim and fast but he underestimated her speed and in an instant her fingers closed around his wrist like an iron band. She twisted until he dropped the dagger and as he tried for the blade with his other hand reached out almost casually to pull off his mask.

"Harlag," she said, not particularly surprised.  "Give up." Behind her came a clatter as Mathis easily disarmed his remaining foe.  Somewhere in the shadows Inga's first opponent gasped painfully for air.  She'd hit him full force and broken several ribs.

Harlag saw something past her.  His widened eyes might be a distraction and Inga trusted Mathis to keep her back safe but whatever it was panicked Harlag.  He drew back his head and butted Inga.

It was not a terrible idea.  A blow to the tender nose would make  her flinch and he might escape...if she weren't a gulper.  As he slammed his head forward Inga's jaws reflexively snapped open and Harlag rammed his face right past her fangs and sharp side teeth into her waiting gullet.

Slick throat squeezed in around Harlag's face as her jaws closed tight around his neck.  Inga wrapped one forearm around him to pin the arm she didn't already control and forced him to turn so she could see what was going on.

Two constables had appeared and Mathis, sword already sheathed, was gesturing as he explained what was going on.  One of them stepped past without blinking an eye at the sight of a man with his head down a gul's throat and kicked Inga's wounded opponent out into the light. They set about manacling the three.  Of the six people involved in the fight only Mathis's first opponent bled from a head wound and more red dripped down Inga's arm from the deeper cut.  A gul's hide is tough but there are limits.

When the muggers were manacled the constables turned their attention to Harlag. One briefly searched him, taking away his pouch and another knife he'd been unable to reach with Inga restraining him.  The other quickly and professionally bandaged the bleeding cut, to which she nodded gratefully - as much as she could anyway.

"Okay, Inga," Mathis said.  The constables made no move to restrain him.  They'd seen enough to know the guilty parties.  "You can let him out now."

Inga obligingly loosened her bite but as her fangs reappeared, connected by strings of saliva to Harlag's clothing, one constable stepped in and gave the half-orc a powerful shove.  Inga grunted surprise as his neck followed his face down her throat and shoulders wedged into her jaws.
"This one's on the list," said the constable.  "To be executed if he offends again. Do us a favor, if you please." He tossed Harlag's coin purse to Mathis.

"Just so we're clear, constable," Mathis said.  "You're telling her to eat him."

"He's escaped through the sewers twice before," said the constable.  "He can do it once more with her help." Inga, ears pricked up as she listened, was already working her jaws over Harlag's shoulders. 

As the half-orc's upper arms disappeared into the she-wolverine's maw Mathis stepped closer.  "Just a moment, Inga." She waited, sucking air through her nostrils, until he finished searching Harlag and stepped back.  One of the constables gave him an insulted look.

"You're not the one who has to pass something indigestible if we miss it," Mathis said reasonably.  "I work with her.  If she's in a bad mood I end up in a bad mood too."

The constable nodded, looking from one of them to the other with a smug expression. He was visibly sure the two big mercenaries were lovers. He wasn't far wrong.  If it weren't for this encounter there was a good chance Mathis and Inga would be in bed together by now.

Inga heaved her muzzle upward and a terrified shriek somehow made its way through her fur and muscle as Harlag felt himself sliding deeper.  Her powerful hands guided his hips into her maw and a visible contraction moved through her cream and brown throatfur as Inga swallowed.

Harlag was less than half her weight and Inga swallowed him with little effort. With a toss of her muzzle all that remained was a set of kicking, leather-clad legs.  Leather would be no challenge for the she-wolverine's potent stomach juices and she didn't bother to strip the pants off before swallowing again.

Inga swallowed and her midsection swelled as the terrified mercenary slid headfirst into her stomach.  He squirmed and kicked but with no knife or other weapon there was nothing he could do to save himself. As his arms joined his upper body in her gut he struck at her innards and perhaps caused her a bit of discomfort, but the slimy flesh was too slippery to damage. His elbows and crooked fingers just left tracks in the thick layer of mucus that surrounded him.  That same layer lubricated him for easy swallowing and Inga stood up straight, a boot protruding from either side of her muzzle.

She held up a clawed finger and Mathis nodded.  "She says this is your last chance to have  her spit him up.  Once she swallows he's not getting out the way he got in."

That was a bit of an exaggeration but it was tough to get a curled-up man out of a stomach.  He'd never seen her do it but she'd talked about it around the campfire and it wasn't impossible.  The man would just have to be both cooperative (it was hard to imagine he wouldn't be) and very lucky.

Harlag was not lucky.  Both constables shook their heads and Inga swallowed heavily. Two twitching boot toes were visible for a moment at the corners of her mouth and a moment after that the double bulge of feet made its way through her varicolored neckfur.  With a last bob of her muzzle Harlag was gone, swallowed alive.

"Thank you, officers," Inga slurred, then let out a long belch and worked her jaws to rehinge them.  "He was a jackass.  If he'd stolen from our caravan again, this would have happened days ago."

The constables watched with morbid fascination as Inga's swollen belly twitched. Harlag didn't like his current accommodations at all but the slimy chute the half-orc disappeared down was a one way thoroughfare. All he had to look forward to now was a gurgling demise and ending up as some short lived fat on the she-wolverine's flanks.

"No, thank you," said the younger constable.  "Having him killed during an attempted mugging saves the magistrate time.  I don't suppose..." The three manacled muggers went wide-eyed as they realized what he was thinking.  They'd been alarmed enough seeing Harlag get eaten, and now this!

Inga belched again. "Even one more and I'd be too full to walk.  I'm not sure I could manage another one on top of that and I definitely can't manage all three."

"Hm," said the younger constable.  "Maybe Bart...but I suppose they aren't actually on the list anyway."  He winked so only Inga could see.   Scared straight, indeed. Apparently the Verbobonc guards had the authority to summarily execute wrongdoers, or in this case feed one to a helpfully predatory passerby.  The remaining muggers would hopefully learn something from this experience.

Inga opened her mouth to ask who 'Bart' was but Mathis spoke first.  "We'll need an escort to the gate.  Most people will assume that Inga is pregnant," to which comment Inga belched, "But the gate guards won't and they know she is a gulper."

"We have to deal with these three," said the constable, "But I'll write you a note."

Harlag kicked a last time in Inga's belly and was still.  There was only so much air inside a gul, especially with her burping it up, and the heat and caustic juices didn't help. It took time to digest someone half your size but the gurgles emanating from her belly showed that it had started its work. The few metal buckles from his leather outfit would survive the trip through her guts relatively intact.  Harlag and his leather armor would not be so fortunate.  He would indeed escape through the sewer system one last time.

But not just yet.  There was a waddle to her walk now but the streets were largely clear and it wasn't far to the gate, where they showed the guard the note.

"Ah," he said.  "Harlag.  Good riddance." He waved them through without further comment.  Inga sat down on a stump in the caravansary courtyard, ignoring the curious stares at her suddenly fat belly.  More experienced mercenaries knew exactly what they were looking at.  Mathis told her to wait a moment and went off to talk to the caravansary owner. He was back shortly.

"I used part of my share to rent you a bigger room," he said.  He handed over a money pouch and a key.  "Here's your half." There was a gratifying weight to the bag.  Why was Harlag mugging people if he had this much money?  Her belly chose that moment to let out a long groan.  It was too late to ask him. 

"My bed is big enough for me, even with my belly," Inga said.

"The new room has indoor plumbing instead of a chamber pot," Mathis replied.

That was useful.  Digesting an entire man necessarily made for many trips to the bathroom.  A chamber pot has limits, a toilet does not.  You just have to flush it more.

"And I suppose the new room as enough room on the bed for me, my belly and you," Inga said.  But she smiled when she said it.

"I thought you might like a belly rub." He cracked his knuckles.

Inga considered the great bulge in her middle.  It gurgled again.  Her padded hands squeezed, feeling the still solid bones shift beneath her muscle and fur.  They would dissolve last, turning her droppings chalky white as she passed the final remains of her meal. That would be at least a day from now. In the meantime the bulge was heavy and even a bit uncomfortable.  She really would like a good rub.

"What do you get out of this deal?  You even paid for the room."

"I didn't like Harlag either," Mathis said.  "I wouldn't mind feeling him digest."

"You know I'm going to be crapping him out all night," Inga growled.  "Once an hour, probably." Her belly gurgled.  "Starting pretty soon." A gul's gut is shorter than a man's and a meal this size forced her body to process and eliminate it quickly just to get rid of all the mass.  That necessarily made for inefficient digestion but that was little consolation to the man soon to be moving through her bowels.

"I'll still go with you if you'll have me," Mathis said.

"Ever hopeful," Inga said with a smile.

"If you want to be alone, the room is yours," Mathis said seriously.  "Or I could go with you, give you a belly rub, and if something happens, it happens."

"I'd like that belly rub," Inga growled.  She'd known Mathis for a year and he'd gotten used to his scent, to having him around. If he was willing to put up with the aftereffects of her swallowing a man whole, she could put up with having him around.

They visited her old room, gathered her armor and gear, turned in the key, and moved into the new one.  She settled back to enjoy a belly rub, and to see if something happened.

And that was how Mathis got ten scratches on his back, five on each side, two deep enough to bleed and one that even left a minor scar.  When you bring a she-gul to her passion, unless you have a tough hide you'll most likely end up with a memento for your efforts.