Two Feet Under

Story by Dakgnol on SoFurry

, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

#4 of Ink

A reupload of the first D&D story I did a month or two back. Since I've uploaded the latest one on this site, it only makes sense to reupload this one as well.


Lord Ekkard strode out to his lavish courtyard filled with rows and rows of well-kempt gardens. He had just escaped a gruelling meeting with a few merchants who just wouldn't take "no" for an answer, and his mood was rather foul because of it. He was very close to executing them but they wisened up and left the steaming noble before things got too unsavory.

His father died from an old war wound and left the young man in charge of his extensive estate. Ever since then, he was bombarded with con artists and sleazy merchants trying to scam the youth of the late lord's small fortune. However, no matter how angry or frustrated he would get, the oasis of greenery would calm his nerves.

Ekkard waltzed through the gardens and felt his frustrations melt away. He nodded to the ex-military guards and even the servants he'd usually ignore. The lord couldn't place it, but something about the place always kept him in high spirits. He made his way to the gazebo in the middle of the foliage, but he stopped when he noticed one of his new acquisitions planting flowers around the pavilion.

It was called a kitsune, a rare sentient creature of magical blood and fey heritage. Usually a sight never seen by the majority of the world, he had come across the tod when a slaver offered him in exchange for a healthy portion of his fortune. The young man, suddenly in possession of a vast sum of gold at the time, didn't hesitate on the offer. After a month of learning how to handle his money, he still didn't regret the purchase, even though he recently realized it was a tad overpriced.

He walked up behind the fox and watched him work, every small action done with fluid efficiency. He was a well-behaved thing, his free spirit presumably already broken by the drow slaver, though his body language seemed to imply some kind of training or professionalism. The vulpine's tail, fluffy but covered with dirt here and there, brushed up against the noble's leg. He turned and jumped when he saw his master, followed by a hasty bow.

"O-oh, master! I'm sorry! I didn't know you were here" he apologized. Ekkard chuckled and patted the tod on his head. It was his family's etiquette to not own slaves since they could easily afford any number of servants, but a pet was different, even if it could walk and talk. The noble walked up the steps of the gazebo and sat in a padded wicker chair. He waved the kitsune back to work.

Finally off of his feet, Ekkard winced at his sore soles. Taking care of the myriad of responsibilities his father had left him made him all too aware that his overly fancy shoes were not made for constant walking. He kicked the gaudy things off and stretched his toes, hearing each digit crack as he flexed them. After a few moments, an idea came to mind and he peered over to his furry trophy with a questionable grin.

"Fox, come" the lord ordered and the tod obeyed. He stood before his master, paws caked with dirt, and awaited further instruction. "Fox, tell me, do you come with a name?"

"Um, it's Ink, sir" he replied, averting his gaze.

"Ink, huh? Strange name. I might come up with a better one for you, but it'll suffice. Regardless, my feet ache and require attention. Tend to them. And" Ekkard pointed toward Ink's filthy extremities "care not to soil them further. I'm sure an animal such as yourself has a better method to manage one's body, yes?"

It took Ink a second to understand the lord's words. With a slight grimace, he knelt before him placed his paws on the ground for additional support. Ekkard noticed the bestial position but chose to say nothing. Ink lightly nipped the noble's sock, taking care not to bite his foot, and pulled it off. He did the same for the other.

The sweaty dew on his feet glistened in the sun. Ink bit his lip and silently sighed, the smell of foot odor invading his nose. He rolled out his long tongue and started licking the noble's foot. Ekkard's grin faded to a smile as he enjoyed the odd yet pleasing care he was receiving. The tongue-bath lasted for a good ten minutes before a feminine figure marched up behind the reclining lord.

"My lord" the woman started. "The duke will be here any minute. You should be preparing for his arrival." Ekkard looked up and glared at her. She was his stepmother and advisor, a strong-willed woman with a stern face and a sneer that gave off the "evil vizier" vibe.

His birth-mother died years back from sickness and his father remarried. A younger Ekkard would have spread rumors about his father's death being her doing, but even though she despised the young lord, she doted on her husband. His sudden death shook her as much as it did Ekkard.

"We also must finish our discussion about raising the people's tax-" She was cut off by the noble.

"?! Again?!" he interrupted. The sudden outburst startled Ink and he paused, but some prodding with his big toe signalled the fox to resume. "Tell me, why must we tax the people so soon after the departure of their lord? Hmm?"

"Because of the costs associated with the transfer of power, notably your father's funeral and your coronation, and your recent purchases." She rolled her eyes toward Ink. Ekkard sighed and motioned Ink to stop. He threw on his socks and shoes.

"Very well. After the duke, we will discuss our financial issues." He stood and turned to Ink. "We will continue this tonight. Be at my quarters after sunset." Ekkard left the gazebo with his advisor in tow. She turned her head and gave Ink a knowing look. He responded with a nod. Tonight.

It was dusk when Ink finished his chores. He washed himself with water from the well, clearing away the dirt that matted his body and making himself presentable. Figuring it was the appropriate time, he made his way to Ekkard's chambers. A guard stood watch outside is door and as Ink approached, he moved into his way.

"Halt. Gotta search ya. The master's orders" the half-orc grunted with a deadpan look. He ordered the kitsune to strip and once he verified that he didn't have any weapons or other harmful objects on him, he cleared the way for the tod. Ink reached for his clothes but the guard cleared his throat. Ink took it as a warning and walked up to the door nude.

Ekkard reclined on his bed with a glass of wine in his hand. After the lengthy meeting with the duke and a surprisingly smooth talk with his stepmother, he stayed the rest of the afternoon in his room with a bottle of wine she gave him. She explained that, even though she, in her own words, "doesn't give a rat's ass" about him, the estate was her highest priority and she felt it was necessary to at least quell the hostilities between them.

He swirled the half-empty bottle in his hand, the other half of the contents already in his stomach. He was quite the drinker, something his stepmother admonished him about, so her gift of extraordinary wine was a surprise. Maybe they could make amends?

Ekkard was about to take another sip when someone knocked on the door. He set his glass on his nightstand and straightened himself. "Enter" he commanded, having a good idea who it was. Ink opened the door and stepped inside. Ekkard gave Ink a once over and liked what he saw; the fox, albeit male, was quite feminine in appearance and if he didn't have certain parts, he could easily pass as a flat-chested vixen.

The young lord gave Ink a smile and wiggled his bare feet. Without word, the tod climbed onto the large bed and kneeled. With a foot in hand, Ink resumed his work from earlier, this time added in his acceptably clean paws for a lewd foot massage. The feeling was simply divine on his sore feet and Ekkard allowed himself a quiet moan, though it went unheard over the fox's suckling.

Letting the booze talk, he ordered Ink to stop and beckoned him forward. "Let's put that tongue to better use, hmm?" he said, his voice betraying his inebriation. Ink slowly crawled up the man and straddled him with a coy smile. His eyes were filled with a lust not uncommon for fox-folk and he slid his tongue across his lips. Everything was perfect. Too perfect.

Ink tilted his head back slightly and closed his eyes halfway. His smile stretched to a toothy grin, and from Ekkard's position, the fox started to look quite evil. Weakened from the alcohol, he gave little resistance as Ink held him down. With his other paw balled into a fist, Ink brought it down into the noble's throat, crushing his windpipe and voice box. Ekkard attempted to scream but it only came out as a gasping wheeze.

In his new position of power, Ink brought his fist down again and again, the resounding thumps echoing throughout the room. He giggled maniacally as he brought down weeks of pent up frustration, frustration not from playing servant but having to hold back his sadistic nature and rampant sex drive. Tonight he would quell one of those urges; the other would have to wait.

When Ink finally wore himself out, the bloody mess below him was barely recognizable as human. Oopsies, Ink thought, realizing that his assassins guild's prefered method of verifying a kill, the head, was nearly unusable as proof. . Ink nodded in approval, his tail lazily waving behind him in contentment.

Looking around, Ink spotted a blunt display sword on the wall. Shrugging, he took the blade and sloppily hacked at the noble's neck, spraying blood all over himself and whatever parts of the bed that weren't already soaked. It took several swings but he managed to dislocate the head, letting it hang for a bit to allow the blood to drain from its ragged neck. He wrapped it in a sheet and tied it around his waist, leaving the bloodied sword on the body. The Red Blade sends its regards.

Ink peered out the window and found the night sky to be clouded. "I'm such a lucky boy" he said to himself with a smile as he climbed out of the room and down the stone walls. He silently landed onto the ground without incident and took note of his surroundings; the lord's quarters faced the gardens, familiar territory to the pretend-slave.

Guards patrolled the area for intruders, but a month of late-night pruning and cleaning had allowed him to learn their routines. He managed to get halfway through the area before a loud, shrill scream echoed throughout the grounds. And there's where the luck stops.

Additional guards flooded the premises, searching high and low for the assassin. It didn't matter if they knew it was Ink or not, they were out for blood. Stealthily, Ink crawled his way through bushes and flowers, cautious about the placement of his steps. A loose twig or a misplaced tool could easily spell the end for the tod.

Despite his care, there was one thing he could not hide: the scent of blood. It was this that stopped one of the soldiers mid-stride, the half-orc from before noticing the metallic smell and, seconds after, catching a whiff of Ink's own natural odor. He followed the scent, leading him to the tod's location. Hoping that the half-breed didn't have a connection to the magical arts, Ink mumbled a spell under his breath.

The magic in his blood flared to life, warping the light around him. The guard pushed aside the brush that was hiding his prey and found another in the exact location he believed his target resided. He stared at the foliage with a questioning glare, but the rifling of another guard's search nearby snapped him from his thoughts. Shaking his head, the orc hybrid walked off. "I'm not paid enough for this" Ink heard him mumble.

Sighing in relief, Ink undid the illusion and finished his trek to the gate. There was one last guard, stationed to prevent the intruder from leaving. Smirking, he picked up a stone and tossed it at a wall nearby when the armored man wasn't looking. The rock smacked the brick and clattered into the bushes, prompting him to inspect it. Ink managed to maintain his giggles as he snuck past the dull lookout.

Ink prowled his way to the predetermined meeting point, a small shack at the edge of town. Inside waiting for him was his mentor, a drow woman who could kill with a tap of her fingers and a body to get her close enough to do so, and Lord Ekkard's stepmother. Ink undid his bundle and hung the noble's head by the hair.

The sight of the bloody mess caused the drow to snicker while the advisor looked away in disgust, barely stopping herself from retching. Much to Ink's convenience, they didn't need to repair the face to know who's head it was. The soon-to-be lady of the estate tossed a bag filled with gems onto the table, each worth thousands of gold a piece. They burned the head and buried the remains. Once the crime was sufficiently covered up, they went their separate ways.