The Littlest Nymph- The Sultry Swamp

        The bogs of Lokus Liebe never seemed to end. Every mud filled creek and gnarled tree, every cloud of flies and hollow log looked the same. The bog was notorious as a place unwary travelers got lost in, a place where brigands, rogues and villains would hide from the law. Tales from woodsman were passed around of prodigies and horrid creatures that grew in the mud filled swamp, things with teeth and claws and flailing arms. In the cities neighboring the Lokus Liebe profiteering lowlifes made maps of the infamous swamp from scraps of cloth and charcoal, crafted completely from their imaginations and populated with false routes, hills, trails and rivers unique to the cartographer’s mind. Markers warning of trolls, dragons and wizards littered these maps, despite the few experienced denizens of the area never reporting such dangers.

 

        Fernweh gnawed on a stick of sweet bark while looking over one of these maps. If she was correct, she was in between “Poote’s Blacke Hille” and “Narow Streem”. She had only spent a few days in the town on the edge of the bog, and the promise of a land filled with trees, water and wildlife sounded perfect to her. The man in the tavern had described it like a good place to start her new home. Her magic kept the mud from sticking to her legs, and she could talk to the flies and mosquitoes and ask them not to bother her. They never listened. She didn’t want for food and shelter when the land’s magic sustained her, but she was still unsatisfied with her surroundings. She needed to find a place to shelter for winter, and despite the nice man at the tavern’s glowing description and affordable map, the bog wasn’t living up to her expectations. It was already mid fall, and the leaves were falling to the ground, the temperature dropping, animals disappearing to shelter for the cold season.

 

        She decided find “Yea Other Blacke Hille” and summit it to catch her bearings. Fernweh was barefoot, but that had never bothered her. Thorns failed to scratch her, the sticks did not crack under her weight, and her magic kept her from sinking into the thick mud that surrounded her. She walked with an unearthly grace, the weight of her backpack seemed to do nothing to alter her pace. With each step her breasts gave a little jiggle, her full, round behind, her curvy hips and thighs all rose and fell in time. The short skirt and tube-top of verdant leaves and vines she wore out of modesty barely concealed her charms, and were she among civilized company she would have drawn eyes from far away. Fernweh was oblivious to this, concentrating on the wiggling, snakelike line on her map.

 

        The dark lord Lance Hammerbane, scourge of the elven lands, defiler of the shrine of Imog, lord of the darkling horde, stopped to think for a moment. He had been pursued into the Lokus Liebe by the heroes of the realm following the crushing defeat of his army. His mount had found it impossible to move through the muck, grime and sludge of the swamp, and had had killed it in his fury. Still clad in his cursed armor he was finding it just as difficult. From his minions he had heard tales of the strange swamp, of its strange creatures and impenetrable terrain and thought he, the terrible lord of darkness, would be able to navigate it with ease. He spat on the ground in rage, cursing how wrong he was. The damned paladins pursuing him had even destroyed his demonic mace, leaving him almost completely unarmed.

 

        Tearing off his skull-faced helmet in rage, Hammerbane felt his stomach grumble. Having fled his pursuers nonstop for at least two days, he had neglected to feed himself. Something inside the dark lord snapped, and his hands fell into his hands. All his life he had relied on his minions to bring him nourishment; his orcish scouts looting choice foodstuffs from the regions he raided. Hammerbane had never had to fend for himself, to live off the land, to live as a filthy peasant. Never before had the warlord felt so helpless, trapped at the mercy of the elements, without his army, magic weapon or the power of his dark steed to aid him. Hammerbane’s tired muscles sagged under the weight of his armor, the heavy plates only making his flight more difficult. Without so much as a feeble goblin to punish, he could feel his frustration, hunger and exhaustion tearing him down. The plates of his armor creaking in frustration, the dark lord collapsed on the ground in unconsciousness.

 

        Fernweh studied the boulder in her way with a puzzled eye. Her map, if she was reading it right, said she should be passing by a lake of pitch. Instead, the trail was winding down a hill until it terminated at pile of rocks. Fernweh sighed, and focused her magic outwardly. She mouthed a question she wanted to ask the earth, to learn what the soil had seen.

“Earth, who has made the trail I walk upon? It is Fernweh, daughter of the summer falls, child of spring, who has always been your friend who asks you.”

In her mind, she could hear the land’s gruff response.

“A herd of deer. They walk up this hill every day to eat some berries that grow up top.”

“Have men, or any creatures who’s feet are shaped like man’s trod this path?” the nymph asked.

“None but you. Rarely do I see the paws of man-things.”

“Thank you, o land who I trod. Take this as token of my thanks.” With that, Fernweh reached into her pack and retrieved a pinch of soil. Seemingly unimportant to the untrained eye, but to a creature of magic like Fernweh, the lump of dirt was alive with fertility magic, and whatever was planted in it would surely grow rich and full. The nymph delicately kissed it and placed it in one of her footsteps, an offering to the swamp and its occupants.

A worried frown crossed her flawless brow, and Fernweh pursed her lips in worry. She had trusted the man in town, and even paid him with what little coin she had. The idea that someone would deceive her, would lie and trick her was alien. That someone would do it all for a meager metal coin was even stranger. She wasn’t even sure what humans did with all those coins. When she was younger she saw one with dozens of them in a sack tied to his waist and asked him what they were for. He laughed and told her “Anything! Food, shelter, company, whatever I want! But today, their for my landlord.” For years she was convinced humans ate them and made houses out of them, and maybe could use them in magic like she could with leaves and berries. But as she met more people that idea vanished, only to be replaced with the same mystery. She considered asking the animals around her, but paused when she sensed an emptiness within her. It was not unlike feeling hungry, or tired, but it was a fatigue of her soul, not her body. Speaking to the swamp had taken more of her magic then she had anticipated, and with winter approaching she would need to ration it carefully.  

She had not taken a partner in some time, and would need one to help her recover her lost magic, especially if she wanted to maintain her power through the cold. Shaking he head and mumbling in frustration, she decided to walk in the direction she thought was the exit of the bogs.

 

        Dark Lord Hammerbane had woken to his stomach turning. Half his armor was encrusted with mud, and feared that his wounds may be infected. It was impractical to wear his heavy armor, but he stubbornly refused to take it off. He sacrificed a dozen virgins to enchant it, he had butchered the army of Barro the Elder in this armor, the blood of his sphinx-knights staining it bright red. This was the armor he wore to the throne of Kaloc when he stole king’s crown, and it was in these plates he had wrestled his rival warlord Keigo to the ground and beat the life out of him with his bear hands. Without his demonic mace, his black steed and the dark banner he rode under, this set of armor was the last thing he had that marked him as Dark Lord Hammerbane.

        Struggling to move under his treasured armor, Hammerbane dragged himself through the mud, urging himself to get away from his pursuers. The effort of simply moving through the sludge felt harder than any conquest. Every fly and mosquito was a greater foe than any knight, every plant a greater obstacle then a fortress. It had been hours, but the wounded warrior had only managed to march about a mile. He needed to find a place to rest. It took some time, but he managed to locate a tree with a large hollow at it’s base, and with a grimace, he dragged himself into it. His face locked in a grimace, Hammerbane began to clean off his armor until he passed into sleep.

 

        Fernweh must have walked at least eight miles, and it was beginning to get dark. At the height of spring and close to the summer equinox she could walk for days without a rest, and spend every night dancing and laughing. But in this late season she needed to rest, and was starting to feel exhaustion in her long, lissome legs. Cursing how easily she could be fooled, she looked for a place to rest. It didn’t need to be comfortable, her enchanted form could lay in a pile of sharp sticks and have it feel like a bed of feathers, as long as she was in the wild. Anything could suffice, but she wanted something out of the way, where the swamp’s animal inhabitants, and any human travelers, wouldn’t bother her while she slept. Eyeing a stable branch above her, she decided to curl up on it and relax. It was large enough that she could stretch out without fear of falling, but about twenty feet above her. She stood on the tips of her toes and wrapped her fingers around a smaller branch to pull herself up. It was about the length of her arm and a bit thicker. She didn’t notice, however, the ring of rot where the branch connected to the tree’s trunk. She was halfway up when she felt the branch bend, and a half second later, it snapped.

 

        Hammerbane was woken with a start. He had heard a loud snap, and a moment later something heavy had hit the ground. In his life as a warrior he had seen many ambushes start in just the same way, and he was not about to fall prey to one. Pulling himself to his legs, he grabbed a rock from the ground and made his best effort to move soundlessly. The sound had come from the other side of the tree, so he peaked his head around the trunk and raised the stone in his hand, ready to strike with it. He expected a bandit, a monster, a warrior come to find and slay him. Instead he saw a woman. Young, perhaps in her late teens, with light skin and auburn hair that reached to shoulders. She had long, pointed ears, longer even than an elf’s. Her figure was impossibly perfect, a smooth, curvy hourglass with legs that tapered to fine, bare feet. Despite her surroundings her hair was silky and shiny, her skin glistening and perfectly clean. The woman, who was wearing a scandalously short skirt made of leaves and a revealing undergarment of the same material over her perky, smooth breasts, was facing away from him, dusting herself off. She reached down to pick up a plain, burlap pack, which offered Hammerbane a peak at her rump. He lowered his weapon arm, which caused the mail and plate to give a metallic rustle. The beautiful woman turned with a start, her eyes wide with fright.

 

        Hammerbane stood up, holding the rock above his head.

“Have you come to harm me wench? If you have you will fail, for you stand before Hammerbane, defiler of Imog, scourge of the elves, slayer of Keigo!”

Fernweh stood in silence, looking at the massive warrior in his dirty, spike-studded black armor. He had a handsome face, and dark hair slicked back with sweat. Fernweh could sense, however, the numerous wounds, bruises and injuries his metallic shell contained.

“I would never hurt you” Fernweh said, extending her hand “but it looks like someone has. I’m Fernweh, a nymph. I can heal you, but you need to trust me.”

Hammerbane looked from the nymph’s endearing, honest face, to her hand, to his stone, then back to Fernweh. This harlot was likely trying to get him to lower his guard, to disarm himself, so she could move in and bring him down. But, something about her, maybe her face, maybe how she stands, maybe some indistinguishable aura around her, made him want to trust her. What could this waif, this child, clearly unarmed, do to him, the terrible Dark Lord Hammerbane? If she could heal him, he might as well utilize her offer. And if it was a trap? He had destroyed cities in his grasp! Whole kingdoms had fallen before him! He could do away with one treacherous forest girl.

 

        Slowly, Hammerbane set the rock on the ground, never taking his eyes of Fernweh. As he stood up, he moved his hands to the strap keeping his right pauldron attached.

“Very well nymph. I will allow you to dress my wounds, and nothing more” he said “should you tell anyone you saw me here, I have servants who can make life very short for you.”

Undeterred, Fernweh stepped closer to him, her desire to help this strange man greater than her need to replenish her magic. She was unsure why he wore such uncomfortable looking clothes, why he acted so rude, and what had hurt him. With a few tugs and enough shuffling, Hammerbane had removed the armor protecting his right arm and shoulder.

 

        “It’ll be easier if you sit down.” Fernweh said. Hammerbane did as she said, eyeing her suspiciously. “I’m serious!” she said, “This takes a while, so you should at least be comfortable! Now get that chain mail out of the way so I can see your arm.” With a grunt, the armored warrior did as she asked, revealing a deep puncture wound in his shoulder and numerous gashes and bruises along his arm. Fernweh’s eyes widened and she gasped in surprise. “Who did this to you? How could they do this?”

“Its nothing. Had worse. Now get to the healing” Hammerbane said through clenched teeth. Fernweh gave a tiny, frustrated sigh and ran her hands along his arm, starting from the tips of his fingers and slowly, gently moving her way up, pausing to linger over the cuts and bruises that populated Hammerbane’s limb. The Dark Lord looked over his shoulder at the nymph, not expecting her to act like this. The sorcerers in his army had used healing magics by gutting a fatted sow and making the patient bathe in the entrails, none of this weak nature-magic. Still, he had to admit he enjoyed her touch. Her skin felt like softest silk, smooth and gentle, somehow failing to irritate his wounds when she touched him. After her palms left an area, it began to feel like that spot had just enjoyed a long warm shower; relaxed, warm and pleasant. His eyelids descended, her touch moving back down his arm from his shoulder, slowly stroking and rubbing his wounds. Fernweh was focusing all the magic she could on repairing the wounds along his arm, and was having to devote extra energy to remove infection and parasites from the damaged area. She was focused on the deep, bloody holes in his shoulder, but not too focused to see the Dark Lord staring at her breasts, a wry smile on his face. Fernweh blushed, unsure whether to offer him a better view or block his, but needing both hands to maintain her spell. Fidgeting a little and moving her chest, she began the penultimate step of the healing spell, massaging and kneading his flesh, relaxing the muscles and cleaning the sickness from the cuts along his forearm. Hammerbane was enjoying the little massage, and noticed the smaller cuts had begun to vanish, his skin was glistening as though it was freshly oiled. The nymph bent over his arm, pausing with her head next to his, before she looked up into his eyes, then slowly descended to his shoulder and planted a light kiss on his arrow wound. It felt heavenly, a relaxing warmth spreading through his body. She slowly planted kisses along his arm, traveling down the length of his limb until she reached his fingertips. When she gave the final kiss, the relaxing warmth in Hammerbane’s arm became an intoxicating bliss, and he could see his arm fresh, new, devoid of blemish and bruise.

 

        Fernweh let out a heavy breath and fell to her knees. She felt out of breath and exhausted, the many miles she had walked all catching up to her in a split second. Her legs were sore and her feet ached from days of walking on hard earth. She had overestimated something, maybe how late in the season it was, or maybe how much power she had remaining. Regardless, several of the enchantments her body maintained had failed, and she was dead tired.

“P-Please, stay here. I-I-I’ll do more tomorrow, in the morning.” She said. She gave an honest, friendly smile and curled up in a ball next to the armored hulk, falling into the embrace of sleep beside him.

 

        “That was…unusual” thought Hammerbane. He needed to get more space between him and his enemies, surely they were closing in around him at this very moment. But, this woman, and her lovely touch, her healing ability and admittedly, her beauty, compelled him to stay. Maybe just a few hours tomorrow, then he’d be on his way. Yes, that was the best course of action. Use her magic a bit then, ditch her. The proper way an evil warlord treats women. Content with his find, Hammerbane slipped back to sleep against the tree, his aching body at odds with his blissful arm.

 

        The Dark Lord awoke to the sun, light peaking between the autumn leaves and illuminating the small glen his slept in. Over night it had changed; the grass was rich and green, flowers blooming in abundance. Resting around his neck and on his head were flowery garlands, and though the leaves were not green, they were bright colorful reds, yellow and oranges that made the canopy vibrant and beautiful. Fernweh was nowhere to be seen, the spot where she was curled last night abloom with lilacs. Hammerbane struggled to his feet, resting his refreshed arm against the tree. He found he was especially sensitive, as though his normally calloused hand was being touched for the first time. “If that witch deserted me” he thought, thinking of all the ways he knew to murder the woman. He dragged his feet, feeling his empty stomach hold him down, but needing to move.

“Mister? Mister? Where’d you go?” he heard Fernweh call from the far side of the verdant meadow. “I got you some breakfast, sorry if I was away!”. The nymph came prancing through the grass, a trio of large, ripe fruit in her hands. He noticed her clothes had changed; what was once a revealing tube top had become, to his disappointment, a leafy shirt that covered her breasts and shoulders. Her skirt had lengthened to her knees as well.

        “Sorry I was away, the growth spell takes longer than usual this time of year, and It was almost impossible to find a plant that’s not poisonous to humans. I’m almost sure these are ok, just so you know.” Hammerbane looked quizzically at the fruit, they were ripe and purple, probably juicy and full of flavor. He didn’t care if they were toxic, he was starving. He grabbed the first one from her violently and tore into it, taking no time to savor the rich flavors. After he was done his beard was stained purple, and he let out a satisfied burp. He reached for the next fruit, about to rip it from her hands like the last, but paused. Instead, he took it calmly and gingerly from her open arms, eating this one slower, and taking the last one at a similar pace. Between burps and gulps of delicious fruit he mouthed “thank you” to her, feeling reinvigorated. Seeing her again, aglow in the morning light, flowery garlands adorning her, thoughts of violence vanished from his mind. He couldn’t really remember why he was rehearsing the Leonian Spine Cracker, just that seeing her made him feel content.

 

        Fernweh sat down in the grass, playing with the string of flowers on her head. After a moment of indecision, she patted the ground beside her, motioning for her patient to sit down. Hammerbane obliged, struggling a bit to find a comfortable position due to his remaining injuries. “You’re hurt so badly, worse than I’ve seen done to anyone before” she said. “Why would someone do this to you?”

“A battle” he said, “we lost.”

Fernweh looked over at him, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. Hammerbane sighed and continued.

“My army was camped alongside some river. My scouts knew it’s name, but I couldn’t care. We were-”

“Are you a general?” Fernweh asked

“Lord of Darkness. Conqueror of the weak. Black Champion of  Terror. And also general, yes. We were encamped by a river, and it flash-flooded. Half my force was lost, and in the confusion my enemies attacked. They drove off my guard and though I battled them mightily, striking with my dark mace and fury, they defeated me in combat. I had to escape on my steed, and we both jumped into the river and hope we survived its flow. I am sure they are looking for me still.”

Fernweh opened her mouth at the mention of his horse, but Hammerbane preempted her.

“I had to put it down. It struggled to get through this blasted swamp, and it was suffering from more wounds than I have. Should my enemies have found it, they would have done the same as I had.”

Fernweh puzzled this. She abhorred that he had slain his animal friend, but what surprised her more was that his foes would have too.

“Why would someone want to hurt you that badly? Couldn’t they just talk to you?”

Hammerbane chuckled, amused by her naiveté. “We were…past that. Irresolvable differences and all. I had done some things that made them…upset.”

“Im sorry, that doesn’t make sense” Fernweh interjected. “Nobody should resort to murder, especially if they were just upset. Im sure they could  have found a better way.”

“You no nothing of warfare” Hammerbane said with a frown. “Killing me removes the leader of my dark horde, without a leader the dark horde stops pillaging their lands and maybe they feel vindicated for some slight I allegedly gave them. Violence can make very complicated issues very simple.”

“But, what about respect for each other’s life, what about love?”

“Not everyone thinks about those things. You‘d find most people aren’t as naïve as you.”

That made Fernweh glum. She hoped he was wrong, but something about his weary demeanor said he knew what he meant. Sighing, and trying not to make eye contact, she got up and started walking away.

“What about healing me?” Hammerbane asked. “You said we would resume in the morning.”

“Not know. I need to think about…things. Just, just stay there for a while, Ill be back soon.”

 

        Fernweh went for a stroll through the Lokus Liebe, making her way slowly around a large pond. Whenever the strange man said something it made her upset. He was a violent man, he had done things that made other violent men want to hurt him, and he claimed that was the natural way of things. A small part of her wanted to leave him to wallow in his misery, to abandon the foul brigand. But a greater part enjoyed his company. He was clearly interested in her, both as a companion and, maybe, something more. She relished the opportunity to touch him, to make him feel better. And clearly he adored her touch, as much as he tried to hide it, Fernweh could sense his heart beating faster, his mood improving, the anger inside him breaking up when he saw her. And when she had touched him, the cruelty and malice inside him had almost completely faded away.

 

        Fernweh knelt down and examined a turtle poking its head from the murky water. So much like Hammerbane, a soft, unseen creature inside a cold hard shell. Fernweh smiled at the ridiculousness of the analogy. If the “dark lord” was bettered by her touch, maybe she should work to better him. She focused inwardly, trying to gauge the amount of magic within her bosom. Sadly, she found it emptier than she had hoped. The rest had restored a large amount of her power, but she had foolishly used almost all of it up beautifying the glen she had slept in. The lilacs were an accident; when she awoke she had brushed the ground she napped on to thank it, and imparted a bit too much of her power into it. She had barely enough to maintain the enchantments on her body, and little to heal the gruff warrior back in the glen. The turtle stuck its head out further, the shape of its head and neck reminding Fernweh of something. She had ways to restore her power, and if Hammerbane adored her hand’s touch, he would love what she was planning.

 

Back in the glade she found Hammerbane, still armored save for his right arm, laying on his chest and tying a few of the garlands she had conjured into a noose. When he saw her he threw it away and sat up, crossing his arms and looking at her impatiently. He had planned for the past hour on a lengthy, vitriolic speech demanding her services. But when he saw her again, and that indescribable force around her asserted itself, all that preparation vanished.

“Are you ready to aid me Fair, no, Fernweh? These injuries don’t just vanish like I wager yours do.”

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about that. The season is drawing to a close, and my magic is starting to wane. I overextended a bit making this glen bloom, and i'm a little bit, erm, dry after making you food.”

“Well what do you need from me then?” asked Hammerbane. “My court sorcerers required bloody sacrifices to perform their magics. Do you need me to hunt for a squirrel to power you?”

“Nothing so gruesome” Fernweh said. “I’m a nymph, and like all my kin we draw magic from nature, from life. And from love.”

She paused a moment, letting that sink in. She held her arms behind her back, pushing her chest forward slightly. Hammerbane cocked an eyebrow.

“Meaning, that if you, um, if we made love, I gather enough power to perform another healing spell.”

“So, you want me to lay with you? Is that all? You could have just asked if you wanted to ride my member.”

“Its not just that. Sex is a big part of it, but, well, the reason I said making love is because there needs to be love involved. You need to start to love me during the act.”

Hammerbane was taken aback. He had bedded many courtesans and consorts in his conquests, but never had he been asked to care about them. And who was this harlot he had just met asking for his affection? All she had done was restore his arm. And beautify their environment. And fed him, and listened to him whine about his fate. She was doing it out of the goodness of her heart. She had asked for nothing but his love, and she had given him so many reasons to give it. He had never ‘loved’ someone, but he could pretend to.

 

        He somberly nodded, and Fernweh smiled in response, her eyes lighting up. “Great!” she said, “Let me just freshen up, stay right there!” Fernweh bounded off beyond the glade, leaving Hammerbane sitting alone in the grass. With some effort, he struggled out of his armor, laying out on the warm ground. After a minute, he could hear rustling in the grass behind him. Fearing the worst, he stood up, looking for whomever was trying to ambush him. He heard a feminine giggle, and could see Fernweh crawling through the grass on all fours towards him, slithering like a buxom snake.

“I wanted to surprise you, but it looks like you’ve done that for me” she said, staring at his maleness. She was nude, her breasts hanging down, her back curved down and her rear in the air. Her skin and hair were slightly damp, as though she had walked through a warm mist, and she glistened in the morning light. Her lips, apple-red and full, were stretched in a smile as she moved in on him. She exaggerated the movement of her hips, swaying them from far left to right with each step, making her seem so much the sexy snake in the grass.

 

        Hammerbane watched her wriggle towards him, aroused by her wanton behavior. She reached him and placed her hands on his chest, just above his sternum. She looked up at him and their eyes met, hers wide and full of affection, his lidded and enjoying her satin touch on him. Placing a kiss on his chest and pressing her breasts against him, she slowly made a line of kisses down his torso, lingering around his belly button and teasing it with her tongue. She looked up at him, mouth slightly agape, pushing gently on his abdomen. Hammerbane obliged and sank onto his back, the pleasure of her attentions greater than the irritations his wounds gave him. She crawled over him, face inches from his, auburn hair hanging around her grinning visage. Slowly, she closed her eyes and pursed her lips, lowering her mouth to his. Not wanting to take his eyes off the beauty above him, Hammerbane met her kiss, but stayed fixated on her beautiful face. Their lips touched, and after a few cursory pecks, their tongues did too. She tasted like honey, her touch soft, gentle and loving, unlike the rough, tired courtesans the Dark Lord normally laid with. Their tongues danced together, exploring each others mouths, Fernweh occasionally taking a playful suck on her partner’s. She lowered the rest of her body until she was laying on him, pert breasts pressed against his scarred pecks. Slowly withdrawing her tongue from Hammerbane’s mouth until their faces were barely apart, she looked from his eyes, still rapt in attention, down to his penis. He was not yet erect, but she grinned and brushed the hair out of her eyes, then began to rub the lips of her sex against him, teasing him with the folds of her entrance. With a pleased moan, Hammerbanes’s hands found their way to the small of her back, pushing her against him in time. Fernweh was pleased he had touched her, that he was enjoying her. She could feel her own arousal growing every time her vagina touched his member, knowing that her fey folds must feel heavenly to him.

 

        She raised her head and looked down at Hammerbane, who was breathing heavily in time with her teases. With a thin grin and her eyes half-lidded, she reached back and stroked his cock, pulling it towards her. Hammerbane must have known what she was doing, for when she pulled him into her, his hands fell to her rear, gently squeezing her round bottom. His cock penetrated her warm, soft, velvet-like pussy, the feeling indescribably blissful. Slowly, she began to rotate her hips, circling the dark warrior’s penis around inside her. She lowered upper body back down onto him, pressing her tits as close to his torso as she could and resting her chin on his right shoulder.

“Do you feel for me?” she whispered into his ear as she began to raise, then lower, her hips, his member penetrating just a little deeper with each .

“Mhhhm. I feel something nymph. Please, don’t stop. This feels great.” With that, he brought his arms up around her, holding her close. One hand found its way to her hair, stroking and playing with the silky strands that framed her head. The other toyed with the side of one of her breasts, feeling the soft, wet flesh and the erect nipple. Fernweh gave a pleased “mmmmm”, picking up speed as he embraced her and adding an excited buck of he hips at the apex of each descent. She could feel his affection for her, both sexual and otherwise, and could feel her magic returning, like a bright golden warmth in her breast. Arching her back and raising her head, she gave an excited little moan as he pinched her nipple. Picking up the pace, she could feel him thrust up into her with in time, his member rock hard and slick with her juices. She began to moan in time with his thrusts, his hands moving back down to her butt, pushing her in close when he entered her and giving her an enjoyable squeeze when she retracted.

“Ooh, don’t stop Fernweh. You’re incredible.” he said between pleased grunts, his numerous injuries all but forgotten in the blissful sex.

 

        He could feel himself start to quiver, to reach an excited orgasm. He wanted to go faster, to fuck his nubile lover hard and fast, to pound her pussy with reckless abandon. But for the first time in his sex life he cared for his partner. He wanted to her to enjoy it, to feel as comfortable and blissful and content as he did. He felt that strange emotion Fernweh mentioned earlier, wanting to make his partner happy more than he wanted to selfishly fuck her. He restrained himself, willing himself not to orgasm, instead making sure his thrusts had more power, more force to them, trying to bring the panting nymph above him to cum. Her lithe back was arched and her eyes closed, and when he moved one of her hands to her sensitive clit, she threw her head back and moaned. His attentions to her button were gentle and smooth, but rapid enough to excite Fernweh’s already powerful libido. An orgasm was building swiftly, and magical senses told her Hamemrbane was nearing one two.

“Ooo, yes” she said through groans of pleasure, “Cum with me Hammerbane, fill me up with seed.”

        Her lewd moans, her jiggling breasts above him, her rapid thrusts on his cock, all worked together to overwhelm Hammerbane. Fernweh’s pussy contracted on him, squeezing his phallus and pulsing with orgasmic force. That pushed the dark lord over the edge, gasping as he released inside Fernweh, spilling his seed in the fey’s loins. She let out a deep, satisfied moan in response, loving the feel of the warrior’s orgasm. Fernweh slid down his cock, Hammerbane’s seed filling body her as the magic of their sex filled her  soul. Soon, the two were panting in the grass, beads of sweat on Hammerbane’s brow, as Fernweh slowly pulled Hammerbane’s penis out. Still wet with her juices, she gave a sultry wink and locked her lips around the organ. Slowly taking it in, she sucked the remaining juices off Hammerbane’s penis, not breaking the oral seal until she was at the very tip of is head. She then slid next to Hammerbane, lying on her side and holding him, one arm under his neck and one over his chest, resting her head on his broad shoulders.

 

        “You, wow, seem to have quite the experience Fernweh.” Hammerbane said, the aftershocks of his orgasm still rippling through his body.

“Mhhhm” Fernweh said, breathy and sweet “It may not look it, but I’m many times your senior, o terrible Dark Lord.”

Hammerbane was taken aback, and recoiled a bit

“Oh don’t be so melodramatic. Nymphs like me outlive the elves by many seasons, and we take many lovers in that time. But worry not, we don’t take illness from our unions, and we only bear children when we deem it fit. And I still am young for my kind, both in mind and body. I hope that’s not too vulgar for you.” Hammerbane couldn’t bring himself to anger against her, kindness overpowering any apprehensions he had towards her. “And with each lover, I find I can love each one more than the last” She added. He could feel her hands begin to rub his chest and shoulders, that warm, magical touch from earlier causing his torso to tingle. “Hammerbane,” she said, “that’s not a normal human name, is it? You weren’t born a Hammerbane, were you?”

Like before, she rubbed, massaged and kneaded his skin, working the healing magic into him. “No” he said, “It was Gregory once. Gregory Simnel. Born to a priestess of the war god and a philandering duke.”

“Duke…” Fernweh said, working over his abs. “Is that some kind of creature? Like an ogre?”

“No. Lesser ruler of humans, a meaningless title to give a king’s less loved relatives. They get some land and fancy clothes, enough to live life in comfort, but not enough to make them think they’re at the same level as their lord. And me, a bastard child of one of those inbred woodlice.”

Fernweh paused her ministrations and rested her head on Hammerbane‘s, or Gregory’s, chest.

“You didn’t like your parents? You said they could live in comfort, that doesn’t sound so bad.”

“It is when your father considers you a mistake. My mother was cast out of her priesthood when they learned she was with child, and my father took her in, for a time. But she was depressed, sad, the meaning of her life stolen from her. She took in so much of my sire’s meager resources, and almost drove us into poverty. When the duke was fed up with the nurses and the caretakers and fires them and forces me to become a knight in a far off land, hoping his embarrassment will die and let him sink back into luxury, I started to think of other plans.”

       

        Fernweh resumed the healing spell taking extra time to kiss Hammerbane’s wounds. Again, she reached over to kiss each injury, but this time there was no hesitation. In fact, she lingered a bit after each kiss, taking the time to appreciate his physique.

“It wasn’t long before Sir Simnel had assumed command of his force from the incompetent captain. We were cold and hungry, and nobody in the army desired war with the orcs. I took my captains head, and brought an alliance with the barbarians. It was then I changed my name. No kingdom would fear the Dark Prince Simnel, no king would bow to Gregory the Terrible. It was mostly for the orcs, they respected someone with a name that violent.”

“Did all of the knights hate your captain?” Fernweh asked, her lips barely apart from his shoulder.

“No, but they were the minority. Our leader was an old, incompetent oaf who only found his position through birthright. And he was an awful warrior to boot. When he was put down, my companions silenced those still loyal to the captain.”

Fernweh finished the healing spell, Hammerbane’s skin now soft and clean, devoid of blemishes and bruises.

“That…that sounds awful. Hurting all those people, just because they weren’t as, as, as mad as you were. Why did you have to go so far?”

“Again, violence makes difficult problems easy. For me, a sharp blade was always easier to wield than a sharp tongue. And we were all miserable. The campaign was a failure, none of the men cared for the cause, the orcs were savage foes and so on and so on. With all the men and orcs under my command, we marched back into my father’s land. It was my first taste of pillaging, of not having to abide by codes of honor, or chivalry, or any of the garbage they fed us knights. We butchered all we could find, taking everything for ourselves. And when we reached my father’s mansion…”

“And then what?”

“And then…I went in alone. Covered in the blood of the people who served the duke. Mother was the first to see me, and something about my appearance; gory, clad in martial regalia, a spirit of violence, it must have done something to her. She was a priestess of the war god after all. She did something, a blessing perhaps. She died casting it, and I just watched. But I was stronger after. Killing was easier, I could wield arms I had never touched with ease. Arrows and blades failed to touch me, for a time at least. And…I couldn’t have cared. I saw her prostrate herself to me, gasping up blood and muttering psalms, and it meant nothing. I just walked past her to where I knew my father would be, hiding in the vault beneath the house.”

“Your mother, she killed herself? Because of how you looked?”

“Maybe. It was very fast, and I never really gave it any thought. She was always a ghost to me anyways. When I found the vault, I tore the door off with my bare hands, lusting for blood and death and, and, well Im not sure what, just wanting to kill. And my father, cowering among his wealth unarmed, aghast at my appearance, was the only target I had. I, I strangled him” Hammerbane looked at the concerned Fernweh, her expression one of revulsion, pity and confusion, “relishing the look on his face. That was my first taste of conquest. And after that I couldn’t stop. My horde pillaged the countryside, took everything we could find. Thieves, highwaymen, all the violent dregs of life flocked to my banner. We grew with every battle, no army could stop me. Countless kingdoms fell to me, none could stop my conquest! Me! Hamemrbane! The Dark Lord!” He was sitting up now, his hands balled into fists, his teeth clenched. Fernweh, head still in his lap, looked up at him. His body healed, but something still wrong inside of him.

“Do you regret it? All that meaningless violence? Now that you have nothing to show for it?”

 

        That took Hammerbane aback. Surely he had something to show for it. His army, gone, the plundered artifacts and loot gone, all that was left was the suit of black armor at the foot of the tree. Over twenty years of ceaseless violence, and he had sixty pounds of iron and steel to show for it. “During my reign of terror, no. Not really. But recently, ever since I’ve been on the run, its started to feel hollow. I, I never had anyone like you in my life. Nobody cared about Lord Hammerbane, just feared him. None of my servants, no matter how loyal, would have sat down with me and just talked. Or gone out of their way to feed and care for me if they did not fear reprisal. And meeting you makes it feel so pointless, having spent so long without, well as embarrassing as it is to say it, without love.”

“Well, you don’t have to go without it any more.” Fernweh said, rubbing her face against his newly soft, replenished skin.